fandom valentines and other things
Just an announcement, plus me tantalizing you with some fic tidbits...
The McFassy Fandom Valentines Guideline Post is up! Hop over there and look; hope you can all join us for at least Part One (leave a rec or line of appreciation for someone/some work in this fandom), if not Part Two (gifties!) as well. Lots of participation, we wants it. (We are also evidently channeling Gollum. Oh, hush, I've just finished giving a writing workshop, brain is tired...)
Here, have...four sentences from the next Erik/Charles holiday fic, four sentences from the next Erik/Charles Porn With Emotions, four sentences from the next James/Michael Buddy Holly thing, and four sentences from that fabled James/Michael Continuation of Doom Part Ten. Sentences all plucked up from random spots and not in any kind of order...
“The problem is,” Raven explains, earnestly, “Charles is impossible to play April Fool’s Day pranks on.”
After a second he figures out that it’s a bizarre combination of relief-Charles is here, fine, answering him-and a hint of disappointment: he doesn’t get to rescue Charles from anything after all.
What if it is real?
“Charles,” Erik says, with what he considers quite remarkable patience under the circumstances, “how long is this going to last?”
In his head, he’s sitting very quietly in a room that looks a lot like his favorite Oxford pub, maybe combined with some implausibly endless bookshelves and fewer windows and a distinct lack of any other people or music or for that matter extra chairs.
Tony’s never been scared of him, or of the telepathy; probably having seen a person intoxicated enough to start drawing DNA helixes in a puddle of spilled tequila on your kitchen floor means that you’re unlikely to ever be scared of said person, Charles reflects philosophically, and carefully opens up and narrows down the projection, letting Tony feel everything, for a single split second.
“Hey, all us geniuses have our own coping mechanisms. At least yours is sexy.”
“We need a bedroom. Not whichever room he’s been using.” Erik’s fingers brush hair out of his eyes. Charles tilts his head into the touch. “And…I think…anything metal that you can spare.”
Michael notices the dark lines on those eloquent wrists, the bruises, while James is folding laundry.
“It’s a chocolate confetti torte,” James says, with dignity, “with vanilla whipped cream and chocolate ganache.”
“You don’t say no. Not to me. Not about anything.”
“That’s actually not true.”
Michael woke up, on their wedding day, to the whisper of leaves in the wind, and the gleam of early autumn sunshine wandering curiously through the room, and James naked in his arms. The world was very quiet, wrapped in stillness and expectance and calm morning light, and everything, even the sheets and the bedside table and James’s half-open closet door, sparkled as if brand new.
“James,” Michael’d said, and squeezed his hand again, “this is our wedding. About us. Not my mother. You’d feel better, with all the people, if we were outside, right?”
“He looks happy.”
“Oh, so I have something for you. Finally. I wanted to have it for you this morning, but Kevin was running late. And I needed his help. And you can stop looking nervous about that; it’s not going to bite.”
The McFassy Fandom Valentines Guideline Post is up! Hop over there and look; hope you can all join us for at least Part One (leave a rec or line of appreciation for someone/some work in this fandom), if not Part Two (gifties!) as well. Lots of participation, we wants it. (We are also evidently channeling Gollum. Oh, hush, I've just finished giving a writing workshop, brain is tired...)
Here, have...four sentences from the next Erik/Charles holiday fic, four sentences from the next Erik/Charles Porn With Emotions, four sentences from the next James/Michael Buddy Holly thing, and four sentences from that fabled James/Michael Continuation of Doom Part Ten. Sentences all plucked up from random spots and not in any kind of order...
“The problem is,” Raven explains, earnestly, “Charles is impossible to play April Fool’s Day pranks on.”
After a second he figures out that it’s a bizarre combination of relief-Charles is here, fine, answering him-and a hint of disappointment: he doesn’t get to rescue Charles from anything after all.
What if it is real?
“Charles,” Erik says, with what he considers quite remarkable patience under the circumstances, “how long is this going to last?”
In his head, he’s sitting very quietly in a room that looks a lot like his favorite Oxford pub, maybe combined with some implausibly endless bookshelves and fewer windows and a distinct lack of any other people or music or for that matter extra chairs.
Tony’s never been scared of him, or of the telepathy; probably having seen a person intoxicated enough to start drawing DNA helixes in a puddle of spilled tequila on your kitchen floor means that you’re unlikely to ever be scared of said person, Charles reflects philosophically, and carefully opens up and narrows down the projection, letting Tony feel everything, for a single split second.
“Hey, all us geniuses have our own coping mechanisms. At least yours is sexy.”
“We need a bedroom. Not whichever room he’s been using.” Erik’s fingers brush hair out of his eyes. Charles tilts his head into the touch. “And…I think…anything metal that you can spare.”
Michael notices the dark lines on those eloquent wrists, the bruises, while James is folding laundry.
“It’s a chocolate confetti torte,” James says, with dignity, “with vanilla whipped cream and chocolate ganache.”
“You don’t say no. Not to me. Not about anything.”
“That’s actually not true.”
Michael woke up, on their wedding day, to the whisper of leaves in the wind, and the gleam of early autumn sunshine wandering curiously through the room, and James naked in his arms. The world was very quiet, wrapped in stillness and expectance and calm morning light, and everything, even the sheets and the bedside table and James’s half-open closet door, sparkled as if brand new.
“James,” Michael’d said, and squeezed his hand again, “this is our wedding. About us. Not my mother. You’d feel better, with all the people, if we were outside, right?”
“He looks happy.”
“Oh, so I have something for you. Finally. I wanted to have it for you this morning, but Kevin was running late. And I needed his help. And you can stop looking nervous about that; it’s not going to bite.”