Fic: Five Tunes - multi-fandom drabbles
I've decided to set myself a weekly challenge. Every week, I will hit random on Mobo, my Creative Zen, and list the next five songs to come up - regardless of what they are. Then I will use these songs to inspire drabbles/ficlets. Easy, no?
I call this challenge Five Tunes . Because four just wasn't enough. All drabbles have a link to the MP3. It's fic in stereo!
"let's dance on" the monkees
Juliet/Lassiter, Psych
"Dance with me!"
"Uh, no."
"Why not?"
"Because you're talking at me in that voice?"
"What voice, Carlton come on come on come on!"
"The voice, O'Hara, that suggests to me, as your superior officer, that you have had a little too much to drink and I'm suffering for it."
"You coulda gone with the others."
"And leave you here as prey for these local gomers? I really don't have the stamina to break in a new partner at this time."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleaaaasssse? One dance, then we can go home and I will feed Miffy and Jones and I bought new pjamas. They have ducks on them."
"Of course they do."
"I like your tie. it matches your eyes. You have real pretty eyes."
"...One dance."
"One. Scout's Honour."
"One doesn't mean eight. Come on."
"Yaaayyyy!"
"And no Watusi or Macarena, you hear?"
---
"jeden tag sonntag" farin urlaub
Garret & Tess & Pancakes
His plate was clean, and she was happy.
"Thank you," Garret said, as Tess lifted his plate away and put it in the sink. "As always, a delicious and well-cooked meal, Tess."
"It's nice to see some one appreciate my cooking, now the kids are gone. We used to sit around the table on Sundays, pancakes and orange juice and bacon, fighting over the paper and now?" She wipes her hands and offers him some coffee. "Now I miss those Sundays."
Garret smiled, and took a sip. "Oh, Tess. Every day's Sunday with you."
---
"comfort me" shihad
Dani & Charlie, Life
She smokes another cigarette, despite not smoking since college. He's watching her, closely, annoyingly, like the tag on the back of her shirt that's itching like a bitch.
She wants to slam him in the face.
That was her first reaction, the guttural one, when he pulled her off his front porch at 4 in the morning and sobered her up with a pint of water. It'd been hours since she stumbled there, off her face, her knees bleeding from something and her nails cracked. It'd been hours, and he'd said nothing, so she dug in her bag and pulled out a squashed box of menthols and lit one with some sort of sixteen-year-old defiance.
"Don't you dare look at me like that." She scowls when he simply shrugs, and bums a smoke.
"You know what we used to use for money in jail?"
She doesn't even try to hide her disdain. "Smokes, right?"
Charlie turns to his partner and watches. The tag scratches at her neck and her head is pounding.
"Smokes. And other things. Everything's a commodity in jail."
He walks towards her and cuts the tag off her shirt, handing both the scissors and the tiny piece of material to her before walking out the room in a haze of the sun rising.
---
"clearlight" cordrazine
Miss Parker/Jarod, The Pretender
The thud of the drums and the cling of her dress, the heat running down her thighs and he's in a leather jacket despite the humidity.
One weekend, two days, forty-eight hours, two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes. He's worked her up against a brick wall and a man runs past screaming in Spanish or Portuguese and it's enough to make her pull him into the alley.
Later, they rock back and forth in some sort of slow dance, but the clock's ticking louder and they can feel the breath of those chasing them on their necks.
He wraps her into arms that are no longer caged, and they dance to the sound of drums and his fingertips burn through her dress.
---
"don't get me wrong" the pretenders
Juliet/Lassiter, Psych
The first day he smiled at her, she smiled back. She wrote it in her diary, in short hand, and watched a TiVoed episode of Oprah with her pink pom-pom socks on and Miffy across her lap.
The first day he brought her lunch, she ate it even though it was wrong. She kept the sticker that held the paper together, and received a copy of Full Metal Jacket in the mail that she forgot she ordered on a whim, because he'd mentioned it was his favourite movie.
The first time he remembered her birthday, she called him Carlton in front of the whole station and made a fuss over the pink bow that sat on top of the box. She wore the ribbon in her hair, the long ends falling down her back, and blushed into the ladies' room mirror when she remembered the copy of Jane Austen's Emma that had an inscription in it she wouldn't - couldn't - forget.
The first time she kissed him, she was a little bit drunk on Mai Tais. She rubbed her face against his stubble and felt him lean away while trying to hold her close, and it was so much of a mistake that they never spoke of it again except in the ways their bodies seemed to draw together from then on like magnets.
The first time he kissed her, she was tired and cranky and smelt like Chinese food. This time, and every time after, he wrapped his arm around her center and she smiled into his kiss while the squad room they'd always known seemed to fall away around them and her stocking feet, free of their high heels, wrapped around his legs like a vine.
---
Who knows how long this will last, but by golly, it's fun.
I call this challenge Five Tunes . Because four just wasn't enough. All drabbles have a link to the MP3. It's fic in stereo!
"let's dance on" the monkees
Juliet/Lassiter, Psych
"Dance with me!"
"Uh, no."
"Why not?"
"Because you're talking at me in that voice?"
"What voice, Carlton come on come on come on!"
"The voice, O'Hara, that suggests to me, as your superior officer, that you have had a little too much to drink and I'm suffering for it."
"You coulda gone with the others."
"And leave you here as prey for these local gomers? I really don't have the stamina to break in a new partner at this time."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleaaaasssse? One dance, then we can go home and I will feed Miffy and Jones and I bought new pjamas. They have ducks on them."
"Of course they do."
"I like your tie. it matches your eyes. You have real pretty eyes."
"...One dance."
"One. Scout's Honour."
"One doesn't mean eight. Come on."
"Yaaayyyy!"
"And no Watusi or Macarena, you hear?"
---
"jeden tag sonntag" farin urlaub
Garret & Tess & Pancakes
His plate was clean, and she was happy.
"Thank you," Garret said, as Tess lifted his plate away and put it in the sink. "As always, a delicious and well-cooked meal, Tess."
"It's nice to see some one appreciate my cooking, now the kids are gone. We used to sit around the table on Sundays, pancakes and orange juice and bacon, fighting over the paper and now?" She wipes her hands and offers him some coffee. "Now I miss those Sundays."
Garret smiled, and took a sip. "Oh, Tess. Every day's Sunday with you."
---
"comfort me" shihad
Dani & Charlie, Life
She smokes another cigarette, despite not smoking since college. He's watching her, closely, annoyingly, like the tag on the back of her shirt that's itching like a bitch.
She wants to slam him in the face.
That was her first reaction, the guttural one, when he pulled her off his front porch at 4 in the morning and sobered her up with a pint of water. It'd been hours since she stumbled there, off her face, her knees bleeding from something and her nails cracked. It'd been hours, and he'd said nothing, so she dug in her bag and pulled out a squashed box of menthols and lit one with some sort of sixteen-year-old defiance.
"Don't you dare look at me like that." She scowls when he simply shrugs, and bums a smoke.
"You know what we used to use for money in jail?"
She doesn't even try to hide her disdain. "Smokes, right?"
Charlie turns to his partner and watches. The tag scratches at her neck and her head is pounding.
"Smokes. And other things. Everything's a commodity in jail."
He walks towards her and cuts the tag off her shirt, handing both the scissors and the tiny piece of material to her before walking out the room in a haze of the sun rising.
---
"clearlight" cordrazine
Miss Parker/Jarod, The Pretender
The thud of the drums and the cling of her dress, the heat running down her thighs and he's in a leather jacket despite the humidity.
One weekend, two days, forty-eight hours, two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes. He's worked her up against a brick wall and a man runs past screaming in Spanish or Portuguese and it's enough to make her pull him into the alley.
Later, they rock back and forth in some sort of slow dance, but the clock's ticking louder and they can feel the breath of those chasing them on their necks.
He wraps her into arms that are no longer caged, and they dance to the sound of drums and his fingertips burn through her dress.
---
"don't get me wrong" the pretenders
Juliet/Lassiter, Psych
The first day he smiled at her, she smiled back. She wrote it in her diary, in short hand, and watched a TiVoed episode of Oprah with her pink pom-pom socks on and Miffy across her lap.
The first day he brought her lunch, she ate it even though it was wrong. She kept the sticker that held the paper together, and received a copy of Full Metal Jacket in the mail that she forgot she ordered on a whim, because he'd mentioned it was his favourite movie.
The first time he remembered her birthday, she called him Carlton in front of the whole station and made a fuss over the pink bow that sat on top of the box. She wore the ribbon in her hair, the long ends falling down her back, and blushed into the ladies' room mirror when she remembered the copy of Jane Austen's Emma that had an inscription in it she wouldn't - couldn't - forget.
The first time she kissed him, she was a little bit drunk on Mai Tais. She rubbed her face against his stubble and felt him lean away while trying to hold her close, and it was so much of a mistake that they never spoke of it again except in the ways their bodies seemed to draw together from then on like magnets.
The first time he kissed her, she was tired and cranky and smelt like Chinese food. This time, and every time after, he wrapped his arm around her center and she smiled into his kiss while the squad room they'd always known seemed to fall away around them and her stocking feet, free of their high heels, wrapped around his legs like a vine.
---
Who knows how long this will last, but by golly, it's fun.