Drabble x4
Drabbles from thedrabblesquid!
Drabbles:
1. Sugar high; Bones/Angela, Bones
"Oh, sweetie," says Angela. "Sweetie, um, this... this isn't exactly a sugar high, you know. We're on some pretty... pretty strong stuff, FUCK, Bren, what are you doing?"
Brennan looks up from where she's been nuzzling Angela's neck. "Reaching a logical conclusion."
"You're... okay, try again, 'cause you're not making much sense. And you need to keep your mouth off of that spot on my neck," Angela tries, finding it easier just to pin her friend's arms to her sides.
Except WHOA, she forgets Brennan can do all that kung fu shit. HELLO! Brennan's on top, straddling her on the couch in her office.
"I like sex," she's saying, "and physical closeness. It makes me feel good. So does being friends with you. And I trust you more than any guy. So why not?"
"Because," Angela says, "we're high on meth and mummy dust?"
"That's just a plus," Brennan enthuses, and then she kisses her, and okay.
Brennan's pretty good at this, and she has a point.
Maybe Angela should have dragged her to a club sooner.
2. Tiptoe through the tulips; Grissom/Sara, CSI
"I'm dying. This is it. Grissom, you were an awesome boss, when you weren't painting mildew on my feet. Sara, my only regret is that I never got to see your completely bangin' body outside of work."
Greg slumped down in his seat, and Grissom thought it a credit to his performance that there was real sweat beading on his forhead.
"It's just music, Greg. We're waiting until the guy's done with his set, then we'll get our chance to talk to him," he tried, but was rewarded with a groan.
"Sara, help me out here," Greg pleaded. "Grissom's of a certain age, he doesn't know this stuff is poisonous to our generation."
Sara looked between the two of them. "...I'm not getting caught in the middle of this."
The singer crooned on, tiptoe through the tulips, and Greg began to beat his head against the table.
An hour or two later, when Greg had been released back to the lab and the safety of loud music, Sara looked up from the file she was reading. "Greg keeps his job, right?"
Grissom snorted. "My aging heart couldn't take the stress of firing him."
She rolled her eyes. "You're not old."
One Grissom-brow went up. "I don't think I'm old. Do you?"
"No, which is why I said you weren't. I know that it was confusingly straight-forward of me, wasn't it?"
Grissom smiled a little, and picked up a picture, examining it in the light.
When she couldn't take it anymore, she had to set the file down completely. "Okay, I give. How come you're taking this so well? Three months ago, I'd be helping Greg find a nice box to live in out on the Strip."
He stepped up behind her, fingers curling over her hips. "It's pretty hard to feel old when we had a quickie in my car before we got here."
3. Ice Skating; Ron/Draco, Harry Potter
"And you're sure this will work?" Ron shot a suspicious look at old Moody, who was sharpening a set of ice skates.
"We're both men, if you hadn't noticed," added Draco in an icy clipped tone.
Ron snickered. "Are y'sure about that one?"
"SHUT UP--"
"--both of you knock it off, you great sodding idiots. You both been banned from singles skating this Wizarding Olympics, but neither of you's banned from pairs." Moody looked... extremely proud.
"Listen," hissed Draco, wrapping his arms around himself. "Even if I were to ignore the dubious application of logic to this situation, I would still have my doubts."
"That's just because you're going to be the girl," boomed Ron, and began to laugh. "Ha, okay, Moody, I'm in. Why the bloody hell not?"
Moody looked at Draco. "Son, you won't be the girl. It's just that you're more delicate, more refined than this oaf. He'll display you like a fine piece of art."
"...art?
A sharp elbow from Moody, and Ron was agreeing. "Yeah. Art. ...womanly art."
Draco sniffed, his head held high. "Very well. Weasley's attempts at humor aside, I'm in too. We will be..." His nostrils flared. "Partners."
4. the Discovery Channel; Foreman/Cameron, House MD
Maybe it was working with House too long, but when Cameron had told him that he could maybe pay her back for the thing with the article, Foreman had expected something a little more... cruel and menial, maybe. Wash her car, pick up some clothes. Take over checking House's mail. Clinic hours, especially with that flu going around right now.
"Pick me up at seven," she'd said, and he had done it, driven her to some lighted brick building downtown.
And really, since she had been working with House just as long, he probably should have expected that she could be cruel and creative. "Dancing? Ballroom dancing?"
"What's the matter, Foreman? Can't keep a beat?" She was baiting him, and the thing that had always made it easy to resist House was that House was not a pretty woman. Shit.
Eight weeks, it turned out, was the duration of the class. Every Tuesday found Foreman ready to back out again, but every Thursday found him at her door. Turned out almost dying made him a little bit faster to want her forgiveness.
And the whole thing wasn't so bad, really, once he got going. Cameron was pretty, and she smelled good, and moved fluidly against him. Second or third night into it, she even bought Chinese and they hung out at her place, watching the Discovery Channel and eating fried rice.
Animal shows weren't so bad, but then it went onto something about tribes in Africa, and Foreman groaned. "Not this tribal shit. I bet you House watches it so he can needle me easier."
Cameron raised an eyebrow. "You don't buy into any of it? Not even the anthropological stuff?" She licked the tip of her chopstick.
"Well, I guess, maybe," he said, thinking of the dark edged looks he was getting from the other two men he worked with. Not because they wanted to sleep with Cameron, he suspected, but because neither of them was allowed to guide her around corners with a hand to the small of her back.
"Well, that shoots down that approach," she said suddenly, and looked nervously at the TV.
"What approach?"
"I was going to give you some crap I made up about an anthropologic reason you should kiss me."
Maybe working with House so long made direct approachs to personal relationships seem crazy. Foreman set down his carton, took hers too. "Okay. How about you try the straightforward approach?"
She was embarrassed. "Foreman, I--"
"Let me hear it."
"Foreman, I'd like you to kiss me." Cameron was rolling her eyes and sounded frustrated, so he cut if off by kissing her, licking spice from her lower lip.
One good turn deserved another and all.
Drabbles:
1. Sugar high; Bones/Angela, Bones
"Oh, sweetie," says Angela. "Sweetie, um, this... this isn't exactly a sugar high, you know. We're on some pretty... pretty strong stuff, FUCK, Bren, what are you doing?"
Brennan looks up from where she's been nuzzling Angela's neck. "Reaching a logical conclusion."
"You're... okay, try again, 'cause you're not making much sense. And you need to keep your mouth off of that spot on my neck," Angela tries, finding it easier just to pin her friend's arms to her sides.
Except WHOA, she forgets Brennan can do all that kung fu shit. HELLO! Brennan's on top, straddling her on the couch in her office.
"I like sex," she's saying, "and physical closeness. It makes me feel good. So does being friends with you. And I trust you more than any guy. So why not?"
"Because," Angela says, "we're high on meth and mummy dust?"
"That's just a plus," Brennan enthuses, and then she kisses her, and okay.
Brennan's pretty good at this, and she has a point.
Maybe Angela should have dragged her to a club sooner.
2. Tiptoe through the tulips; Grissom/Sara, CSI
"I'm dying. This is it. Grissom, you were an awesome boss, when you weren't painting mildew on my feet. Sara, my only regret is that I never got to see your completely bangin' body outside of work."
Greg slumped down in his seat, and Grissom thought it a credit to his performance that there was real sweat beading on his forhead.
"It's just music, Greg. We're waiting until the guy's done with his set, then we'll get our chance to talk to him," he tried, but was rewarded with a groan.
"Sara, help me out here," Greg pleaded. "Grissom's of a certain age, he doesn't know this stuff is poisonous to our generation."
Sara looked between the two of them. "...I'm not getting caught in the middle of this."
The singer crooned on, tiptoe through the tulips, and Greg began to beat his head against the table.
An hour or two later, when Greg had been released back to the lab and the safety of loud music, Sara looked up from the file she was reading. "Greg keeps his job, right?"
Grissom snorted. "My aging heart couldn't take the stress of firing him."
She rolled her eyes. "You're not old."
One Grissom-brow went up. "I don't think I'm old. Do you?"
"No, which is why I said you weren't. I know that it was confusingly straight-forward of me, wasn't it?"
Grissom smiled a little, and picked up a picture, examining it in the light.
When she couldn't take it anymore, she had to set the file down completely. "Okay, I give. How come you're taking this so well? Three months ago, I'd be helping Greg find a nice box to live in out on the Strip."
He stepped up behind her, fingers curling over her hips. "It's pretty hard to feel old when we had a quickie in my car before we got here."
3. Ice Skating; Ron/Draco, Harry Potter
"And you're sure this will work?" Ron shot a suspicious look at old Moody, who was sharpening a set of ice skates.
"We're both men, if you hadn't noticed," added Draco in an icy clipped tone.
Ron snickered. "Are y'sure about that one?"
"SHUT UP--"
"--both of you knock it off, you great sodding idiots. You both been banned from singles skating this Wizarding Olympics, but neither of you's banned from pairs." Moody looked... extremely proud.
"Listen," hissed Draco, wrapping his arms around himself. "Even if I were to ignore the dubious application of logic to this situation, I would still have my doubts."
"That's just because you're going to be the girl," boomed Ron, and began to laugh. "Ha, okay, Moody, I'm in. Why the bloody hell not?"
Moody looked at Draco. "Son, you won't be the girl. It's just that you're more delicate, more refined than this oaf. He'll display you like a fine piece of art."
"...art?
A sharp elbow from Moody, and Ron was agreeing. "Yeah. Art. ...womanly art."
Draco sniffed, his head held high. "Very well. Weasley's attempts at humor aside, I'm in too. We will be..." His nostrils flared. "Partners."
4. the Discovery Channel; Foreman/Cameron, House MD
Maybe it was working with House too long, but when Cameron had told him that he could maybe pay her back for the thing with the article, Foreman had expected something a little more... cruel and menial, maybe. Wash her car, pick up some clothes. Take over checking House's mail. Clinic hours, especially with that flu going around right now.
"Pick me up at seven," she'd said, and he had done it, driven her to some lighted brick building downtown.
And really, since she had been working with House just as long, he probably should have expected that she could be cruel and creative. "Dancing? Ballroom dancing?"
"What's the matter, Foreman? Can't keep a beat?" She was baiting him, and the thing that had always made it easy to resist House was that House was not a pretty woman. Shit.
Eight weeks, it turned out, was the duration of the class. Every Tuesday found Foreman ready to back out again, but every Thursday found him at her door. Turned out almost dying made him a little bit faster to want her forgiveness.
And the whole thing wasn't so bad, really, once he got going. Cameron was pretty, and she smelled good, and moved fluidly against him. Second or third night into it, she even bought Chinese and they hung out at her place, watching the Discovery Channel and eating fried rice.
Animal shows weren't so bad, but then it went onto something about tribes in Africa, and Foreman groaned. "Not this tribal shit. I bet you House watches it so he can needle me easier."
Cameron raised an eyebrow. "You don't buy into any of it? Not even the anthropological stuff?" She licked the tip of her chopstick.
"Well, I guess, maybe," he said, thinking of the dark edged looks he was getting from the other two men he worked with. Not because they wanted to sleep with Cameron, he suspected, but because neither of them was allowed to guide her around corners with a hand to the small of her back.
"Well, that shoots down that approach," she said suddenly, and looked nervously at the TV.
"What approach?"
"I was going to give you some crap I made up about an anthropologic reason you should kiss me."
Maybe working with House so long made direct approachs to personal relationships seem crazy. Foreman set down his carton, took hers too. "Okay. How about you try the straightforward approach?"
She was embarrassed. "Foreman, I--"
"Let me hear it."
"Foreman, I'd like you to kiss me." Cameron was rolling her eyes and sounded frustrated, so he cut if off by kissing her, licking spice from her lower lip.
One good turn deserved another and all.