[multiple fandoms/original] [multiple characters] 13 Drabbles.
Existence; Prompt: Flirt; Brad/Nate.
It starts with a handshake, with a soft sargeant and a crooked smile.
It starts with a harder Brad, a glance across the hood of a humvee, across sand and a very annoying lack of surf.
It starts in a dark corner, between boxes of cigarettes and with hush voices, murmured names because somehow, there's less privacy here than there was in a ranger grave. Nobody cared there, maybe.
It exists in looks and raised eyebrows, smirks and shakes of the head. It exists in the silence and the overwhelming possibility of getting caught doing something you haven't done yet.
It ends in a beginning, an apartment in California, in a kiss in a hallway and an unsaid
finally.
Hero; Prompt: Superhero; Brad
If there's something life in the Corps has taught Brad, it's to ignore anything that isn't an order. The bullshit people come up with, especially if they happen to be a whiskey tango hick called Person, can poison you, searing itself into your mind and slowly ridding you of all logic and intelligence. Listening to people is, in essence, detrimental to your health.
More importantly, Brad has perfected the art of seemingly paying attention, but also immediately forgetting anything that was said. It's an especially important talent when being forced to constantly listen to the inane drivel Ray spews.
Neither of these facts explain why something Rudy had said is rattling around his head, bouncing around and repeating itself over and over and refusing to be forgotten. Every moment of silence (not that there are many) is punctuated by the sound of Rudy's voice, the curling sounds of I put on my super hero uniform every day I'm in the corps. He's still not sure what Dharma is - except for hippy bullshit - but there's something to what Rudy had to say.
At least it's not Ray's thoughts trapped in his head, another one of his rants about NAMBLA haunting Brad's every waking moment. It could be worse.
Want; Prompt: I Shouldn't Want This; Nate(/Brad)
It's rules, not just slap on the wrist rules but a ruined career rules, a dishonorable discharge and a black mark on your record, on you forever. It's not just his career but Brad's too, Brad's entire life because he doesn't have anything but the Corps.
It's ridicule and shame and Don't Ask and do not fucking Tell and the fact he's an officer and Brad is not. It's what keeps him awake at night, what makes his hands shake when he lets them, what haunts his every waking moment when he lets it.
He doesn't think about ifs or ands or possibilities, he doesn't read into the glances and the friendship because he knows it's not like that the way he's like that, he knows it's the admiration of competence and a decent man surrounded by men who are not.
It's rules, and something he shouldn't even begin to want.
Downpour; Prompt: Caught In The Rain; Brad/Nate
He stands in the downpour, waiting for the door to open, and reflects on how nothing has changed. He thinks about the sun and the sand and the surf waiting for him on the other side of the country, calling his name, singing out for him. Not for the first time, he thinks this might have been a bad idea. He can hear noise coming from inside, the low mumble of a TV or a radio. There's a light on. He knocks again, and ignores the sting in his knuckles.
He hears the murmured sing-song of a shout, a "coming" or a "fuck off" or a "nobody's in", he's not quite sure. Water trickles down his back, but then the door is opening, and there's Nate, in a stupid fucking polo shirt and barefeet.
"Brad," Nate says, like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. "You should have called."
"Surprise," he says, and holds his arms up, tada and I missed you and something else. Before he can think to back off, Nate's hugging him, slapping him on the back to make it friendly and not what it is, and his shirt's soaking wet now too. The sun's still calling for him, but Brad hasn't forgotten that Marine's make do.
Eventually; Prompt: Awkward Encounter, Ray(/Walt)
It's strange seeing Walt with longer hair, with a smile that isn't tinged with something hard behind the eyes and for a while, too long, Ray's not sure how to act around him, nine months of differences between them and no ripped fuel to force the conversation.
The silence is awkward. Ray peels the label off his beer, and occasionally Walt pipes up with something, someone he's seen recently, someone he hasn't, a what the fuck is Brad doing these days, a he never answers my emails. Ray doesn't mention that Brad doesn't answer his either.
It's awkward, and it stays awkward, because Ray can't get himself over that point on shitty beer, and his mind is full of things it shouldn't be full of, things like Walt's dumb hick accent and whether or not the beer would taste better on his lips.
"It's nice being able to talk without you butting in with something retarded," Walt says, grinning wide, eyes shining bright.
"Fuck you," he says, but there's no venom in it, just a touch of I'd love to.
"We should do this again sometime." Walt's squinting across the bar, some chick in a skirt that's barely as long as Ray's belt. She bends over, and nobody in the bar misses the flash of red. Walt doesn't look away.
"Yeah," Ray says, and starts peeling the label off of Walt's bottle too.
Goodbye, Goodnight; Prompt: Coffee, Brad/Nate
They meet over coffee, and talk about things neither of them care about. Sports and the weather and what everybody else is doing. They don't talk about what they're doing, separately, together, alone. They don't talk about who's waiting for them at home, who's going to have dinner on the table for them tonight, who they're going to kiss goodnight, not goodbye.
They drive to a shitty motel in separate cars, and pay in cash. Half each, an unofficial decision that's never been contested. They don't say anything about the state of the room, the suspicions stains and the burn marks on the blankets, they don't say much about anything.
They kiss goodbye, not goodnight, and make coffee plans for the next week and they don't talk about how long it's going to work.
Again; Prompt: Desperation; Brad/Nate
Biting kisses and skin stretched over bones, arching and fighting and clawing, desperate for purchase on sweat slick skin.
"Fuck," he says, breath lost somewhere in the ether, somewhere between the door and his clothes and the bed, somewhere between his heart and his mind and his sanity by this point. A laugh and a kiss, breathtaking again, and bruises on his lips, finger shapes he'll be able to fit his to, able to trace and remember, a secret beneath polo shirts and a straight laced veneer. "I missed you," he says, and there's a bite on his shoulder, bruising and beautiful. A reminder, for the next time, for tomorrow when he's alone again.
Start; Prompt: Castles, Knights & Magic; Godric, Salazar
The castle stands in front of them, perfect and beautiful and humming with magic. Moving staircases - more Rowena's idea than anyone elses - and secret passages. A life's work, not fully complete yet, not filled with a new generation of witches and wizards ready to resent the knowledge being handed down to them. They'll come soon, trunks packed and quills ready, and the halls will echo with their noise.
"It's wonderful," Godric says to Salazar - at his side, as always. "Majestic."
"It's certainly something to be proud about." The doors open, Rowena and Helga deep in conversation revealed behind them. Godric wonders if they're thinking the same things, wonders if they might burst with pride the way he is.
Breakfast In Bed; Prompt: Naked Breakfast, James II/Teddy
They make breakfast, toast with jam and golden syrup, and eat it in bed, covers abandoned half on the floor, clothes not even in consideration. Their legs tangle around each other and they don't give a shit about crumbs, not for the moment at least, and they trace the shadows and sunlight across each others skin, touch with sticky fingertips and kiss with strawberry lips.
It won't last for long, until the downstairs door slams and the dog begins to bark, and then Teddy will get his clothes on, go back to his girlfriend with clean hands and a kiss that tastes like toothpaste, and James will be alone with crumbs in his bed.
GRYFFINDOR, GODRIC - IT, Prompt: Love In An Elevator, Godric/Salazar
(Ahaha, this could be the start of the office AU I was told to do forever ago)
He meets Salazar for the first time in an empty elevator. For a vague moment, he's impressed, impressed by the way Salazar carries himself, the way he's dressed perfectly, everything about him. It doesn't take him long to decide Salazar's pretentious, mostly so he doesn't feel uncomfortable in his jeans and ugly khaki shirt. He's IT, he doesn't need to dress smartly. It's practically a rule.
The second time he meets Salazar - in an elevator again - they actually talk.
"How long does it take for oxygen to run out?" He asks, as they stand in the point between two floors. "Not that I'm scared, mind you." He's not, not even a little bit, it's just a thought he can't forget, and he's wishing he paid attention in science for once.
"I don't know," Salazar says, but he looks up from his newspaper and smiles a smile that's more of a smirk. "Just don't faint. I don't have any smelling salts."
"Fuck you," Godric says, but he grins back anyway. Salazar goes back to his newspaper, and Godric counts the points of the braille on the buttons.
They meet for a third time, and Godric decides to take a leap of faith.
"We should go for a drink sometime," he says. Salazar raises his eyebrow at him, still smirking, always smirking like he's perpetually amused by the inferiority of others.
"I don't even know your name." Godric takes his chance to raise his eyebrows, flicks the name badge on the breast of his shirt that reads GRYFFINDOR, GODRIC - IT. "Fine, you don't know my name."
"Sure I do, you're Salazar Slytherin." There's a pause. "Your name is on your door, mate, I'd have to be an idiot not to know who you are."
"Well," Salazar says. "I suppose if you're not an idiot."
Apart; Prompt: Deconstruction; Original
He takes himself apart, back to the bones and sinew that make him up, and tries to figure himself out.
He traces lines and lies and conversations, a twist here and there, a trick of personality, blames his mother for a few things and his father for more. He finds what he's looking for in the dark of memories and hazy moments, fuelled by alcohol and lust and something that never became love. An accident, a moment, a kiss, a promise of misery and sadness that looked like a promise of happiness and joy.
He finds it, and he hides it and buries it and forgets it, and builds himself back up, and stops blaming his parents, and becomes human again.
Rust; Prompt: Sparkle; Original
It's a world away from hers, from a home that is never clean and food that is rarely on the table. Everything is sparkling, and everyone is happy, and her stomach hurts from how much she ate. Couples are dancing, twisting and turning, ball gowns and top hats and laughter, and she is so out of place.
Her shoes slip against the floor, but James has her, hand tight on her wrist as he leads her through the crowd, to their table, to a seat with her name on it and a glass of water that isn't tinged with rust.
"Are you okay?" he whispers, lips close to her ear, his breath dancing with her hair.
"No," she says, and doesn't stop smiling.
Screaming; Prompt: Crossfire; Original
The world ends with screaming. Screaming on the radio, on the news channels, on the streets. Everywhere he goes, he hears screaming.
The world ends with people dying. So many people dying. His neighbors die, and his mother, and his brother, and he is still alive, still standing, just listening and waiting and occasionally, hoping he'll die next.
He walks, walks motorways and country roads, and he looks for hope. He finds ashes and sorrow and broken homes and broken people and nothing like hope. He loses himself along the way, but he finds a friend too. A girl with ebony hair, a girl who never smiles and holds his hand like you'd hold a bird.
The world ends with silence.
The world ends with two people living.