svmadelyn wins the internets and a made-up meme

[technosage]

♥ Y'all, svmadelyn wins the internets. Forreals. She runs undermistletoe singlehandedly, is super-organized, and every time I turn around the woman is doing something fabulous for fandom. ♥

She's at it again. This time it's a Valentine's Day anon-love gamesetmatch something. Basically, pick up to 14 people on LJ, say something nice about them in an email, and send it to

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[technosage]

Leaving. Bruce raked a hand through his hair, then tugged his sleeves down. Yazoo left tomorrow. He stalked the small kitchen of his Tropolis apartment, hunted two Lalique goblets, two bottles of 1991 Opus One cabernet he'd not intended for this purpose. Leaving him.

Keys in the lock, no knock, and quiet as a curl of smoke, Yazoo leaned in the doorframe separating the kitchen from the living room. "Hey." The tentative note in Yazoo's voice shivered _leaving_ over Bruce's skin stretched too-tight.

They'd barely begun, and yet. Leaving. The relentless monotone of his thoughts grated. He could do better than lips pressed flat and fingers curled tight around crystal and glass that seemed precariously slick. "Yazoo." His name still felt forbidden, exquisite, over his tongue, and it ached now, resonant with the specter of Bruce's night-terrors.

Yazoo's gaze fell to where his toe edged the seam where tile gave way to hardwood. "I don't want to. Kadaj says we have to."

Inclining his head toward the sitting room, Bruce eased past Yazoo. The mere whisper of cotton against the leather not yet removed drew Bruce hard, and sex was the least important loss. He fought back the surge of bitterness over Yazoo's words. Kadaj says, as if Bruce needed a reminder that Yazoo didn't belong to him, not really. "We do as we must," Bruce replied, though he believed it less than ever.

He prowled, Yazoo followed, and when he sat, Yazoo blinked uncertainly, eyes wide, sleek body stiff. Leaving, and Bruce had to do better, or it would be for good.

"Come." He set the bottles and glasses on the table, arched an eyebrow toward the space beside him.

Yazoo shrugged out of his jacket it, left it in a tangle of straps and zippers and buckles, then came. Settled awkwardly on his knees beside Bruce like he might spring up at any moment, and Bruce would do better. A frightened Yazoo was incorrect, wrong, unacceptable.

Hand outstretched, he lifted just the ends of Yazoo's hair on his fingertips. For the space of a held breath, he said nothing, then he let it out, met Yazoo's gaze, and curled his fingertips around the silver strands. "It's not far."

"No."

"I'll visit."

Yazoo nodded, seeming unconcerned. Even now, Bruce knew better. He lay the hair straight on Yazoo's shoulder, brushed the pads of his fingers over Yazoo's chest. His heart beating trapped-rabbit fast cinched it.

Arm wrapping low around his hips, Bruce pulled Yazoo toward him and Yazoo didn't resist, moved to straddle Bruce's lap.

Gaze dark, serious, Bruce thumbed over the fullness of Yazoo's lower lip. "I will visit, Yazoo."

Again, Yazoo nodded, but his tongue slipped out to curl around Bruce's thumb. "Okay."

His Playmate didn't believe, or was afraid to believe, and given his background - and his own - Bruce understood. He changed tack. "Do you have a corkscrew on your pocketknife?"

Measure of the snarl this made of his thoughts that he'd not brought one from the kitchen.

"Yeah."

Bruce reached around him, dusted his lips across Yazoo's temple as he took hold of the bottle. "California cabernet, one of the best."

"What if I don't like wine?" A hint of Yazoo's most playful smile flirted with the corners of his mouth.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and took the knife Yazoo held out for him. "Matter of principle."

Head tilting, curiosity engaged, Yazoo smiled. "What principle?"

"Important events should be marked. Commemorated." Though he rarely drank, he'd had plenty of practice opening bottles at Callahan's and since being made part of Tara's family. And this bottle, fine as it was, acquiesced easily to the corkscrew.

...continued next comment...

[technosage]

"My leaving is an important event?"

He shook his head once. "Promises are important events."

The small frown while he poured said Yazoo didn't understand.

Spilled-blood red drained down the bowl of the second goblet. Handing one to Yazoo, he swirled his, watched legs form and drip slow. "Two matching bottles. One to drink now, our first together." The crystal sang out, chimed promise, when he touched his glass to Yazoo's. "One to go with you, for next year."

Yazoo lifted the crystal to his perfect mouth then drank. He rolled the liquid on his tongue, jerked his chin up telling Bruce to drink, too.

As he did, Yazoo smiled, brilliant. "You'll visit."

Leaving, yes, but not for good. And Bruce would visit.

[toxictattoo]

and quiet as a curl of smoke

And that? That is why I think you are the most brilliant writer I've ever known.

This was so aching and poignant and sad and hopeful and sweet and hot and did I say aching? [sighs happily]

Thank you so much for this. Really. I have no words at all but a huge feeling of gratitude.

[technosage]

*flails incoherently*

One line does not a brilliant writer make. What it makes is a hit or miss creative mind with occasional flashes of brilliance. *hands* Still. I do appreciate that you think so, and some days I even believe I might be good enough to be worthy of half that admiration. *kisses you*

Bruce told me the story, exactly as he wanted it. He missed Yazoo so much, that short while between towns; I hadn't reckoned how much. I don't think I'd realized just how hard he'd fallen then. The story is Bruce telling me his hopes and fears and how everything rested on the same thing: a future with Yazoo.

*hands* The boy went and fell in love when we weren't looking and then when I looked again, it was fait accompli. Not that I'm complaining. He's happy, Yazoo's happy, you and I are happy. *laughs*

You're welcome, y'know, and don't be grateful, just enjoy. That's all the gratitude I want. *hugs tight*