A thoery... and some drabbles.
Okay, for some reason this morning while lying in bed... I'm thinking to myself about how I'm stoked about playing mini golf. So then I start thinking about the WORD stoked. Now to some of you not in the loop, that means to be excited.
Okay, but to me, and the other cool people on the planet, I think it SHOULD mean... having relations with/getting the shit kicked out of you by one Mr. Nick Stokes. Ponder over that, it does make sense, does it not?
Oh, I actually had A LOT of fun tonight... between taking off my pants and you know... breaking a few laws... it was a good time, even if I lost HORRENDOUSLY at mini golf... I just feel so refreshed when I'm so wonderfully surprised by people.
So... here be some drabbles I wrote for some people...
For velocityofsound and acadecian
What's the craziest thing you've ever done, really?" something spurred him to ask, glancing across the table with mock lewdness. The day was perfect for something other than a question like that. The sun was bright, the birds were chirping and House, well he wished he was skilled in the art of pistols so he could begin picking them off.
This was the type of day that a person like Doctor Cameron loved. Placing her sandwich back down on the paper she looked up at him from under her long lashes. "Really?"
"Yes, really. The craziest thing you've ever done." House took a sip of his soda as if he were disinterested. As if. It was getting rather difficult for him to ignore her as of late, thus his interest.
"I gave my professor head," she said with confidence but shrugged it off like it was nothing.
House spit out the beverage that had been in his mouth and his eyes went wide. It wasn't dude to her indiscretion, it was for her choice of words. "That's not such a big deal."
"I was down on my knees, under his desk... during office hours while he was seeing students."
House's face drained of all color. "How long?"
"Forty-five minutes maybe..."
"Forty-five!?"
"Tantra," she said and shrugged. "What about you?"
"Well it seems tame compared to yours."
"Spill," she ordered, taking another bite of her cucumber sandwich.
"Well," he began, feeling oddly compelled to tell her, "I once stole a couple cc's of morphine because my girlfriend at the time wanted to fuck, stoned." Unlike him, his use of such a word did not stun her, it turned her on.
Cameron's eyes went wide, as if her revelation wasn't just as shocking. "And no one noticed that it was missing?"
"No, they did. But as it turned out one of the interns was already pilferring from the stash, so I was home free." He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth. "Kids today, eh?"
For no1_antielitist
No one would know what was truly hidden in the depths of the canvas bag he toted around with him.
There was a notebook of course; it was a tattered thing, once green, now with white peeking out all over the place, exposing the paper underneath. Flimsy pages were filled with phone numbers and places, scratched out strategies and reminders.
Of course there was his cell phone, also filled with numbers and reminders. It would filter to the very bottom of his bag so that when it rang he would become frazzled with retriving it, the search for it seeming more like an expedition than a menial task.
There were granola bars, snacks that Donna had shoved in there when he wouldn't have time for lunch.
The front pocket was filled with his wallet, which was empty, because he never seemed to have time to run to the ATM.
Several do-dads had made their way into the bag as well; there was a mirror that he never used, a couple of pens, an outdated palm pilot that had never really seen the light of day.
But the one thing, the one thing that seemed to see the most sunlight on any given day was the picture of her that he kept trapped in the leather clutches of his wallet.
It was her that he treasured, frozen in time, staring up at him.
For binx_349
Theirs was not an intricate thing. There was no room for it now.
It was not a tango, sensual and fast paced.
There was no room for swing dancing; salsa was too erotic and energetic and was over far too soon. The cha cha was too ridiculous and cumbersome to navigate, the fox trot too archaic.
The way they danced about each other was timeless and elegant, the equivalent of years of practice and care. It was everything, the way they stepped about each other.
Their dance was a waltz, slow and deliberate and he was waiting for the crescendo to dip her.
For csinut214
"There was no need for that, Jim!" Gil Grissom shouted at the detective who was casually making his way back to the cruiser.
Brass shrugged, his back still to his friend. "The man was coming at you, I had to stop him."
"The suspect is going to say you used excessive force."
Brass simply laughed and unlocked the door. "I did not, he knows that, you know that and I certainly know that."
"Well," Grissom continued, "There was no need to call him what you called him."
The other man considered that statement for a moment. "I suppose so, but he pissed me off," Brass said as a justification. "And besides, that wasn't *that* bad."
"That was that bad..." Gil said, unlocking his Tahoe to stash his kit in the back. "You could have asked him to, I don't know... something else that wasn't so lawsuit worthy."
"Yeah Gil, but see, that's not how we do it in Jersey," Brass said with a certain amount of pride.
Sara pulled up the rear, her case bobbing at her side; she smiled at the exchange going on. "I don't know Jim," she began, grinning like a fool. "I would have done a lot worse than you did." Both men spun to look at her. "I think goddamned, motherfucking asshole, put your fucking ugly face in the dirt before I put it there... would have been more appropriate."
Both sets of eyes went wide at her, but Brass began to chuckle. "Sara!" Grissom exclaimed, mouth just slightly slack.
She shrugged, much like Jim had done. "Hey, just, you know, watching your back. Making sure all of the bases are covered so to speak."
Brass laughed harder at that and then pointed at her. "That," Brass said vehemently, "Is how we do it in Jersey."
He walked away, leaving Grissom to ponder over what the hell had just happened.
For miss_andromache
Nick Stokes looked at himself in the mirror. Scrutiny, he'd never considered the word before.
His chin was chiseled, his eyes weren't bad, his hair was... well, that was another story. Once it grew back it would be fine, he was sure.
Ripped, he was ripped and had nice skin. He was tan, but not too tan and he had that nice Southern drawl. Overall, Nick Stokes was a fine specimen of man, he concluded, flexing his muscles a little oafishly.
Fit, athletic, smart, handsome, polite... he couldn't seem to find anything that was wrong with him. He was a tad emotional, but there was no reason that should be held against him, and certainly not by women.
Again he looked himself up and down and went over the mental checklist once more.
Why, oh why on earth... was Nick Stokes single?
For Scully5590
"Weird," she said, popping a kernel of popcorn in her mouth, chewing loudly in his ear. She couldn't believe the words she had just heard come from her partner's lips.
"Hmm," he agreed. "Very weird."
Scully twined her feet up underneath her on the couch. "So, how do you intend to rectify this situation, Mulder? It is rather strange."
"I know it is, it's freaking me out." On the other end of the line, she heard him take a sip of something and smiled.
Shiner Bock, she would bet. "I don't know-"
"So how about we just-"
Mulder went into a fit of coughs, sputtering over his beer. "It's uh, heh, yeah, Saturday night and..."
"Mulder, you just said that you missed me, just come over. We'll eat popcorn and watch uh, Silence of the Lambs and be... together."
"Saturday night... and who better to spend it with?"
Okay so on Sunday they rested? Or, you could play along and pick a pairing and post a drabble for Sunday... you KNOW you wanna. (Psssst, that icon of Grissom surprised is the fucking silliest thing I've seen in a bit...)
Okay, but to me, and the other cool people on the planet, I think it SHOULD mean... having relations with/getting the shit kicked out of you by one Mr. Nick Stokes. Ponder over that, it does make sense, does it not?
Oh, I actually had A LOT of fun tonight... between taking off my pants and you know... breaking a few laws... it was a good time, even if I lost HORRENDOUSLY at mini golf... I just feel so refreshed when I'm so wonderfully surprised by people.
So... here be some drabbles I wrote for some people...
For velocityofsound and acadecian
What's the craziest thing you've ever done, really?" something spurred him to ask, glancing across the table with mock lewdness. The day was perfect for something other than a question like that. The sun was bright, the birds were chirping and House, well he wished he was skilled in the art of pistols so he could begin picking them off.
This was the type of day that a person like Doctor Cameron loved. Placing her sandwich back down on the paper she looked up at him from under her long lashes. "Really?"
"Yes, really. The craziest thing you've ever done." House took a sip of his soda as if he were disinterested. As if. It was getting rather difficult for him to ignore her as of late, thus his interest.
"I gave my professor head," she said with confidence but shrugged it off like it was nothing.
House spit out the beverage that had been in his mouth and his eyes went wide. It wasn't dude to her indiscretion, it was for her choice of words. "That's not such a big deal."
"I was down on my knees, under his desk... during office hours while he was seeing students."
House's face drained of all color. "How long?"
"Forty-five minutes maybe..."
"Forty-five!?"
"Tantra," she said and shrugged. "What about you?"
"Well it seems tame compared to yours."
"Spill," she ordered, taking another bite of her cucumber sandwich.
"Well," he began, feeling oddly compelled to tell her, "I once stole a couple cc's of morphine because my girlfriend at the time wanted to fuck, stoned." Unlike him, his use of such a word did not stun her, it turned her on.
Cameron's eyes went wide, as if her revelation wasn't just as shocking. "And no one noticed that it was missing?"
"No, they did. But as it turned out one of the interns was already pilferring from the stash, so I was home free." He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth. "Kids today, eh?"
For no1_antielitist
No one would know what was truly hidden in the depths of the canvas bag he toted around with him.
There was a notebook of course; it was a tattered thing, once green, now with white peeking out all over the place, exposing the paper underneath. Flimsy pages were filled with phone numbers and places, scratched out strategies and reminders.
Of course there was his cell phone, also filled with numbers and reminders. It would filter to the very bottom of his bag so that when it rang he would become frazzled with retriving it, the search for it seeming more like an expedition than a menial task.
There were granola bars, snacks that Donna had shoved in there when he wouldn't have time for lunch.
The front pocket was filled with his wallet, which was empty, because he never seemed to have time to run to the ATM.
Several do-dads had made their way into the bag as well; there was a mirror that he never used, a couple of pens, an outdated palm pilot that had never really seen the light of day.
But the one thing, the one thing that seemed to see the most sunlight on any given day was the picture of her that he kept trapped in the leather clutches of his wallet.
It was her that he treasured, frozen in time, staring up at him.
For binx_349
Theirs was not an intricate thing. There was no room for it now.
It was not a tango, sensual and fast paced.
There was no room for swing dancing; salsa was too erotic and energetic and was over far too soon. The cha cha was too ridiculous and cumbersome to navigate, the fox trot too archaic.
The way they danced about each other was timeless and elegant, the equivalent of years of practice and care. It was everything, the way they stepped about each other.
Their dance was a waltz, slow and deliberate and he was waiting for the crescendo to dip her.
For csinut214
"There was no need for that, Jim!" Gil Grissom shouted at the detective who was casually making his way back to the cruiser.
Brass shrugged, his back still to his friend. "The man was coming at you, I had to stop him."
"The suspect is going to say you used excessive force."
Brass simply laughed and unlocked the door. "I did not, he knows that, you know that and I certainly know that."
"Well," Grissom continued, "There was no need to call him what you called him."
The other man considered that statement for a moment. "I suppose so, but he pissed me off," Brass said as a justification. "And besides, that wasn't *that* bad."
"That was that bad..." Gil said, unlocking his Tahoe to stash his kit in the back. "You could have asked him to, I don't know... something else that wasn't so lawsuit worthy."
"Yeah Gil, but see, that's not how we do it in Jersey," Brass said with a certain amount of pride.
Sara pulled up the rear, her case bobbing at her side; she smiled at the exchange going on. "I don't know Jim," she began, grinning like a fool. "I would have done a lot worse than you did." Both men spun to look at her. "I think goddamned, motherfucking asshole, put your fucking ugly face in the dirt before I put it there... would have been more appropriate."
Both sets of eyes went wide at her, but Brass began to chuckle. "Sara!" Grissom exclaimed, mouth just slightly slack.
She shrugged, much like Jim had done. "Hey, just, you know, watching your back. Making sure all of the bases are covered so to speak."
Brass laughed harder at that and then pointed at her. "That," Brass said vehemently, "Is how we do it in Jersey."
He walked away, leaving Grissom to ponder over what the hell had just happened.
For miss_andromache
Nick Stokes looked at himself in the mirror. Scrutiny, he'd never considered the word before.
His chin was chiseled, his eyes weren't bad, his hair was... well, that was another story. Once it grew back it would be fine, he was sure.
Ripped, he was ripped and had nice skin. He was tan, but not too tan and he had that nice Southern drawl. Overall, Nick Stokes was a fine specimen of man, he concluded, flexing his muscles a little oafishly.
Fit, athletic, smart, handsome, polite... he couldn't seem to find anything that was wrong with him. He was a tad emotional, but there was no reason that should be held against him, and certainly not by women.
Again he looked himself up and down and went over the mental checklist once more.
Why, oh why on earth... was Nick Stokes single?
For Scully5590
"Weird," she said, popping a kernel of popcorn in her mouth, chewing loudly in his ear. She couldn't believe the words she had just heard come from her partner's lips.
"Hmm," he agreed. "Very weird."
Scully twined her feet up underneath her on the couch. "So, how do you intend to rectify this situation, Mulder? It is rather strange."
"I know it is, it's freaking me out." On the other end of the line, she heard him take a sip of something and smiled.
Shiner Bock, she would bet. "I don't know-"
"So how about we just-"
Mulder went into a fit of coughs, sputtering over his beer. "It's uh, heh, yeah, Saturday night and..."
"Mulder, you just said that you missed me, just come over. We'll eat popcorn and watch uh, Silence of the Lambs and be... together."
"Saturday night... and who better to spend it with?"
Okay so on Sunday they rested? Or, you could play along and pick a pairing and post a drabble for Sunday... you KNOW you wanna. (Psssst, that icon of Grissom surprised is the fucking silliest thing I've seen in a bit...)