Miscellaneous Ficlets
Written for fandom_stocking.
All are PG-13 or lower unless noted.
For random_chick:
Pride.
Jericho, Stanley/Mimi. 178 words.
Mimi came to a shocked halt when she entered the barn. It took a few tries for her voice to work. "What. What. What is that?"
Stanley looked up from where he was doing something disgusting with a knife and bloody hands. "The fox that was harassing the chickens."
Mimi took a step back. "Why are you?" Words failed her. She waved her arm around instead.
"Virgil Matthews knows how to tan fur." Stanley made another slice with his knife.
Mimi took another step back. "Fur?"
"I thought you could use a hood, for winter," Stanley said.
Mimi whimpered. She was getting better about life on a farm, she really was, but this was too much tooth and claw for her after wringing a hen's neck for supper.
Winter wasn't for months. She wouldn't think about it until the temperatures started to drop.
"Wash your hands before you come inside for supper," she demanded.
If she managed not to burn the meal. Stanley wouldn't care, was always delighted no matter what she tried, but Mimi had her pride.
For laura_isaac:
Mesmerized.
Doctor Who, Doctor/Master. 379 words.
(Goes AU toward the end of The Sound of the Drums)
"Won't you do what I say, Doctor?" The Master's smile was predatory, and all the Doctor could think of was Martha and her family, under the Master's control.
The Doctor had to close his eyes and shudder before he said, "Yes. I will."
"Such a good boy," the Master crooned. His fingertips whispered down the Doctor's cheek. He didn't know whether to tremble or press closer.
Not alone. Not alone. Not alone.
"Do you remember the Academy?" the Doctor asked, because he couldn't bite the words back. Sometimes, visions of Gallifrey swept through his mind, and he never knew if he should dive into them or banish them forever. His world, hated and fled and beloved and home, was gone, smashed from the fabric of time, yet the Master remained.
"Of course I do, Doctor." The Master's hand was on the Doctor's collarbone now, unbuttoning his shirt, slipping inside and tapping in rhythm with first one heart, then the other. "Such a beautiful beat, and we're the only ones left who create it."
"You're all about destruction," the Doctor said, and he should have held his tongue, he should have, because the Master reared back, nose flared.
The Doctor braced for a blow, but it didn't come. Instead, the Master gestured to the woman garbed in red silk, his human wife. "Lucy, darling, won't you ask the captain of the guard to throw Tish over the side?"
She hummed a dissonant tune, and left the control room with a vague wave.
For all that his soul cried out, the Doctor knew no objection would save Martha's sister. He was lucky the Master hadn't decided to go straight for Martha, but he probably wanted to save her to quash some future rebellion.
"There, there," the Master murmured. The Doctor felt a sharp prick at his neck, but couldn't see what caused it. "Creation doesn't occur without at least some destruction, dear Doctor." A warm lassitude spread throughout the Doctor's limbs.
The Master's nails against the Doctor's cheek were intoxicating. Why were his hands bound? He wanted to touch in return, but all he could do was listen to the delightful purr of the Master. "Don't you want to see what we can do together?"
Rassilon help him, the Doctor did.
For i_am_girlfriday:
Tasting.
Gossip Girl, Chuck/Blair. 226 words.
Another Friday night, another party filled with the bright and the beautiful. Blair sipped at her champagne, confident that she was among the upper echelon of both. She bestowed a smile on a likely-looking polo player, who returned the favor with interest.
"I've heard he has herpes," came a murmured voice from behind her shoulder.
Blair stifled a sigh. "Chuck. Really. This jealousy is so unbecoming."
He circled around to her side, trailing a fingertip across her collarbone. "I like the necklace," he said.
Blair was too composed to blush. Just because he'd given it to her didn't mean she could never wear it. She raised an eyebrow. "I wish I could say the same of your cravat."
Some colors weren't meant to be seen together, and Chuck discovered them with the voraciousness he brought to all his pleasures.
Pleasures. Chuck stroked down Blair's arm to her elbow, and she barely kept herself from shivering.
"Can I get you a canapé?" He gestured at the elaborate arrangement of hors d'oeuvres, full of delicacies.
It would give her a moment to breathe. She nodded, regally.
"I doubt they'll taste as delicious as your lips." He always tried to get the last word. Blair would have to think up something particularly stinging for his return.
Or maybe sidle closer to the polo player and watch the sparks fly.
For calliopes_pen:
Caper.
Highlander, Methos/Amanda. 211 words.
Five thousand years and Methos still couldn't think of a way to duck out of this one. He contemplated flinging himself under the nearest subway train in order to escape, but the grip Amanda had on his arm was too tight.
"Now, we'll need tights, of course. And cowboy boots. It's too bad the oaks have begun to turn, because that tree outside the museum would have provided perfect cover."
Methos nodded, eyes darting for distraction as she nattered on: "Do you think Robin Hood will give us enough length? The bow line can be high-tension, of course, and if your cowboy has a lasso, much of the problem will vanish, but I'm still stuck on the carry-all. How will we disguise the chalice and the mirror to get them out without security noticing?"
McLeod would have to die. That was all there was to it. Then Methos could flee the country and not be party to this madness.
He'd sworn never to wear a cowboy hat again, not even for Amanda's latest scheme. Not even if the chalice and mirror in question were very enticing indeed. Methos didn't need to spend the rest of his immortal days imprisoned for grand larceny.
If only he could get Amanda to let go.
For venetia_sassy:
Five times Ryan and Summer invited speculation.
The O.C., Ryan/Summer. 470 words.
1.
When they laughed just a little too long at Seth for tripping over his feet. Marissa rolled her eyes at them, and Seth muttered about growing too tall too fast and his sense of balance was messed up forever.
"We don't all have the same problem you do with height, Cohen," Summer said.
Ryan chimed in, "Yeah. Way to make us self-conscious."
2.
At a Harbor School dance, when Seth was off procuring punch and Marissa was darting around fixing decorating mistakes. Ryan and Summer stood in the corner, and Summer sighed something about not being one of the cool kids anymore.
"You could go out there," Ryan said. "Any guy would feel lucky to dance with you."
"You're just saying that, Atwood," Summer said.
"No, really." Ryan stared at Summer's profile, the curve of her chin and the way her smile plumped her cheeks.
"Who wants punch?" Seth returned, and Ryan coughed into his hand.
3.
When Ryan started talking about Roman engineering and the amazing things they did with concrete, Summer giggled at him. "I don't know why Cohen is called the geek," she said. "You're even worse."
Ryan sketched a picture of an arch and said, "They conquered the known world. They're awesome."
Summer looked at Ryan's hands, the way he held a pencil, the flex of his wrist, and bit her lip.
4.
The sun beat down on the beach, and Summer stretched out a leg.
Ryan returned from playing in the waves and flicked water on her shin.
"Hey, that's cold!" Summer objected.
The blanked beckoned, and Ryan threw himself down, groaning at the warmth of the sand underneath.
"Not as cold as the ocean." Ryan pressed up onto his forearms, turned and looked at Summer. Her bikini skimmed her breasts and hips, and her hair tendriled onto her neck. "Do you need more sunscreen?"
The glance she gave him was coy. "On my back." And she swiveled around.
If Summer's eyes closed while Ryan massaged lotion in, nobody was around to notice.
If Ryan didn't want to stop, he was the only one who knew.
5.
Moonlight made the atrium glow even more than the fairy lights nestled in the trees.
"So, are we doing this, Atwood?" Summer asked.
Ryan gazed into her eyes, warm and brown and knowing. He didn't answer, just pulled her closer and bent his head to press his lips against hers. They kissed until the moon slid out of view, wrapped up in each other. Ryan learned the contours of her mouth, the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin. Summer learned the strength of his arms, the press of his thigh between hers, the taste of his passion.
"We should go inside," Ryan said at last.
"No we shouldn't," Summer said. "We should stay right here."
For fannishwaldo:
Break.
Stargate: SG-1, Jack/Daniel. 217 words.
Jack clutched at Daniel's hands, determined not to let go. "Damn it, Daniel, I told you to stay away from the levee. If these people had been capable of maintaining it, they wouldn't be fleeing."
"Rats from a sinking ship," Daniel said, and Jack tried to ignore the blue tint creeping into his lips.
"Hold on, Daniel. Carter and Teal'c are getting equipment. They'll be back soon."
If Daniel hadn't been walking the fragile levee, searching for more artifacts that would prove Asgard involvement in the founding of this world, he wouldn't have been in the middle of a collapse of timber and mud, wouldn't have trapped his leg in debris, wouldn't be close to hypothermia now as freezing waters rose higher and higher. Once Daniel was back in the infirmary, Janet tending to the gash on his head, Jack would read him the riot act.
For now, Jack tightened his grip and listened for the sounds that would be Carter and Teal'c returning.
Pounding footsteps heralded the ropes and levers they needed to free Daniel, and Jack let his head drop for just a second in relief.
Once Daniel was out of the water, wrapped in blankets and receiving Carter's efficient brand of first aid, Jack stared into the roiling flood. That had been too close.
All are PG-13 or lower unless noted.
For random_chick:
Pride.
Jericho, Stanley/Mimi. 178 words.
Mimi came to a shocked halt when she entered the barn. It took a few tries for her voice to work. "What. What. What is that?"
Stanley looked up from where he was doing something disgusting with a knife and bloody hands. "The fox that was harassing the chickens."
Mimi took a step back. "Why are you?" Words failed her. She waved her arm around instead.
"Virgil Matthews knows how to tan fur." Stanley made another slice with his knife.
Mimi took another step back. "Fur?"
"I thought you could use a hood, for winter," Stanley said.
Mimi whimpered. She was getting better about life on a farm, she really was, but this was too much tooth and claw for her after wringing a hen's neck for supper.
Winter wasn't for months. She wouldn't think about it until the temperatures started to drop.
"Wash your hands before you come inside for supper," she demanded.
If she managed not to burn the meal. Stanley wouldn't care, was always delighted no matter what she tried, but Mimi had her pride.
For laura_isaac:
Mesmerized.
Doctor Who, Doctor/Master. 379 words.
(Goes AU toward the end of The Sound of the Drums)
"Won't you do what I say, Doctor?" The Master's smile was predatory, and all the Doctor could think of was Martha and her family, under the Master's control.
The Doctor had to close his eyes and shudder before he said, "Yes. I will."
"Such a good boy," the Master crooned. His fingertips whispered down the Doctor's cheek. He didn't know whether to tremble or press closer.
Not alone. Not alone. Not alone.
"Do you remember the Academy?" the Doctor asked, because he couldn't bite the words back. Sometimes, visions of Gallifrey swept through his mind, and he never knew if he should dive into them or banish them forever. His world, hated and fled and beloved and home, was gone, smashed from the fabric of time, yet the Master remained.
"Of course I do, Doctor." The Master's hand was on the Doctor's collarbone now, unbuttoning his shirt, slipping inside and tapping in rhythm with first one heart, then the other. "Such a beautiful beat, and we're the only ones left who create it."
"You're all about destruction," the Doctor said, and he should have held his tongue, he should have, because the Master reared back, nose flared.
The Doctor braced for a blow, but it didn't come. Instead, the Master gestured to the woman garbed in red silk, his human wife. "Lucy, darling, won't you ask the captain of the guard to throw Tish over the side?"
She hummed a dissonant tune, and left the control room with a vague wave.
For all that his soul cried out, the Doctor knew no objection would save Martha's sister. He was lucky the Master hadn't decided to go straight for Martha, but he probably wanted to save her to quash some future rebellion.
"There, there," the Master murmured. The Doctor felt a sharp prick at his neck, but couldn't see what caused it. "Creation doesn't occur without at least some destruction, dear Doctor." A warm lassitude spread throughout the Doctor's limbs.
The Master's nails against the Doctor's cheek were intoxicating. Why were his hands bound? He wanted to touch in return, but all he could do was listen to the delightful purr of the Master. "Don't you want to see what we can do together?"
Rassilon help him, the Doctor did.
For i_am_girlfriday:
Tasting.
Gossip Girl, Chuck/Blair. 226 words.
Another Friday night, another party filled with the bright and the beautiful. Blair sipped at her champagne, confident that she was among the upper echelon of both. She bestowed a smile on a likely-looking polo player, who returned the favor with interest.
"I've heard he has herpes," came a murmured voice from behind her shoulder.
Blair stifled a sigh. "Chuck. Really. This jealousy is so unbecoming."
He circled around to her side, trailing a fingertip across her collarbone. "I like the necklace," he said.
Blair was too composed to blush. Just because he'd given it to her didn't mean she could never wear it. She raised an eyebrow. "I wish I could say the same of your cravat."
Some colors weren't meant to be seen together, and Chuck discovered them with the voraciousness he brought to all his pleasures.
Pleasures. Chuck stroked down Blair's arm to her elbow, and she barely kept herself from shivering.
"Can I get you a canapé?" He gestured at the elaborate arrangement of hors d'oeuvres, full of delicacies.
It would give her a moment to breathe. She nodded, regally.
"I doubt they'll taste as delicious as your lips." He always tried to get the last word. Blair would have to think up something particularly stinging for his return.
Or maybe sidle closer to the polo player and watch the sparks fly.
For calliopes_pen:
Caper.
Highlander, Methos/Amanda. 211 words.
Five thousand years and Methos still couldn't think of a way to duck out of this one. He contemplated flinging himself under the nearest subway train in order to escape, but the grip Amanda had on his arm was too tight.
"Now, we'll need tights, of course. And cowboy boots. It's too bad the oaks have begun to turn, because that tree outside the museum would have provided perfect cover."
Methos nodded, eyes darting for distraction as she nattered on: "Do you think Robin Hood will give us enough length? The bow line can be high-tension, of course, and if your cowboy has a lasso, much of the problem will vanish, but I'm still stuck on the carry-all. How will we disguise the chalice and the mirror to get them out without security noticing?"
McLeod would have to die. That was all there was to it. Then Methos could flee the country and not be party to this madness.
He'd sworn never to wear a cowboy hat again, not even for Amanda's latest scheme. Not even if the chalice and mirror in question were very enticing indeed. Methos didn't need to spend the rest of his immortal days imprisoned for grand larceny.
If only he could get Amanda to let go.
For venetia_sassy:
Five times Ryan and Summer invited speculation.
The O.C., Ryan/Summer. 470 words.
1.
When they laughed just a little too long at Seth for tripping over his feet. Marissa rolled her eyes at them, and Seth muttered about growing too tall too fast and his sense of balance was messed up forever.
"We don't all have the same problem you do with height, Cohen," Summer said.
Ryan chimed in, "Yeah. Way to make us self-conscious."
2.
At a Harbor School dance, when Seth was off procuring punch and Marissa was darting around fixing decorating mistakes. Ryan and Summer stood in the corner, and Summer sighed something about not being one of the cool kids anymore.
"You could go out there," Ryan said. "Any guy would feel lucky to dance with you."
"You're just saying that, Atwood," Summer said.
"No, really." Ryan stared at Summer's profile, the curve of her chin and the way her smile plumped her cheeks.
"Who wants punch?" Seth returned, and Ryan coughed into his hand.
3.
When Ryan started talking about Roman engineering and the amazing things they did with concrete, Summer giggled at him. "I don't know why Cohen is called the geek," she said. "You're even worse."
Ryan sketched a picture of an arch and said, "They conquered the known world. They're awesome."
Summer looked at Ryan's hands, the way he held a pencil, the flex of his wrist, and bit her lip.
4.
The sun beat down on the beach, and Summer stretched out a leg.
Ryan returned from playing in the waves and flicked water on her shin.
"Hey, that's cold!" Summer objected.
The blanked beckoned, and Ryan threw himself down, groaning at the warmth of the sand underneath.
"Not as cold as the ocean." Ryan pressed up onto his forearms, turned and looked at Summer. Her bikini skimmed her breasts and hips, and her hair tendriled onto her neck. "Do you need more sunscreen?"
The glance she gave him was coy. "On my back." And she swiveled around.
If Summer's eyes closed while Ryan massaged lotion in, nobody was around to notice.
If Ryan didn't want to stop, he was the only one who knew.
5.
Moonlight made the atrium glow even more than the fairy lights nestled in the trees.
"So, are we doing this, Atwood?" Summer asked.
Ryan gazed into her eyes, warm and brown and knowing. He didn't answer, just pulled her closer and bent his head to press his lips against hers. They kissed until the moon slid out of view, wrapped up in each other. Ryan learned the contours of her mouth, the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin. Summer learned the strength of his arms, the press of his thigh between hers, the taste of his passion.
"We should go inside," Ryan said at last.
"No we shouldn't," Summer said. "We should stay right here."
For fannishwaldo:
Break.
Stargate: SG-1, Jack/Daniel. 217 words.
Jack clutched at Daniel's hands, determined not to let go. "Damn it, Daniel, I told you to stay away from the levee. If these people had been capable of maintaining it, they wouldn't be fleeing."
"Rats from a sinking ship," Daniel said, and Jack tried to ignore the blue tint creeping into his lips.
"Hold on, Daniel. Carter and Teal'c are getting equipment. They'll be back soon."
If Daniel hadn't been walking the fragile levee, searching for more artifacts that would prove Asgard involvement in the founding of this world, he wouldn't have been in the middle of a collapse of timber and mud, wouldn't have trapped his leg in debris, wouldn't be close to hypothermia now as freezing waters rose higher and higher. Once Daniel was back in the infirmary, Janet tending to the gash on his head, Jack would read him the riot act.
For now, Jack tightened his grip and listened for the sounds that would be Carter and Teal'c returning.
Pounding footsteps heralded the ropes and levers they needed to free Daniel, and Jack let his head drop for just a second in relief.
Once Daniel was out of the water, wrapped in blankets and receiving Carter's efficient brand of first aid, Jack stared into the roiling flood. That had been too close.