ice_whisper

What I'm Working On

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 20:32:38 GMT

Okay, so I know some of you guys are waiting around for me to finally update "Damaged Souls" and I am working on it. I'm forcing myself to move my ass because I want to get it done for all of you who have been waiting.

Finals begin next week, so I'm working on that too. Finals will finally finish December 21. Can't come fast enough. I also have to finish Christmas shopping. One gift left to buy!! =D

List of my WIPS:
- The epilogue of "Damaged Souls". There are two other chapters prior that are completed. I just want to get this epilogue done before I post so you guys don't have to wait however long. I'm working on it today, though, so hopefully I can get it done and beta'd today. This epilogue is just being stubborn.
- Working on my Secret Life Of The American Teenager/Firefly crossover, "He's Just A Child". I've made mentions of it before both here and over on FanForum. I'm hoping to move my ass and get it done ASAP so that I can post it before the new episodes of SLOTAT start. I really don't want to have to go through it to fix canon things once new episodes come. It's going to be six or seven chapters long and I'm stuck on how to start Chapter 4.
- Kyra's Christmas gift. It's Queer As Folk, Brian/Justin, post-series.

Ultimate Goal:
Get some major posting done between now and January 4 (when SLOTAT returns).

Bear with me! Fics are coming!!

Secret Life Of The American Teenager - Fanart

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 00:17:14 GMT

One new Ricky/Amy fanart.

*If taken, please credit.
*No hotlinking.

Sick To His Stomach

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 13:58:57 GMT

Title: Sick To His Stomach
Characters: George/Alex with some George/OMC and mentions of George with other OMC/OMFs.
Word Count: 1,285
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Summary: You get to a point where you just can't watch that person with someone else. Alex has reached that point.

Written for the Gex-Fest.
Prompt: A closeted Alex becomes very upset and makes a bold move when someone(guy or girl) makes a pass at openly bisexual George.

PLEASE REVIEW!

He felt sick. It wasn’t sick in the way he used to feel, kneeling over the toilet when he had to drop pounds for wrestling and exercise wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t the kind of sick he’d started feeling when he was thirteen and had his first dream about a guy. It was a mix of both as he stood there, watching O’Malley flirt with that new blond from Ortho.

His stomach was doing that stupid flipping thing it used to do for Charlie Brian back in high school while something in the back of his mind whispered to him that he’d calm down if he just purged himself like in the old days.

He didn’t go to the bathroom like a growing part of him wanted to. Instead, he planted his feet, watching as Blondie put his hand on O’Malley’s arm and leaned in, smiling a shit-eating smile.

He hated Blondie for being so damn proud and having the balls to just go out there and flirt.

He hated O’Malley for accepting those come-ons, hated him for bringing back all these feelings he didn’t want.

He didn’t want to feel like this. This wasn’t who he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be finding a nice girl to take home to Mom before he took her down the aisle, not staring at George frigging O’Malley and wondering what it would feel like to go onto his knees and take that dick into his mouth. It would look different than it did way back when the sores of O’Malley’s syphilis stared back at him.

Bile gurgled in his stomach when something in him said he wanted to know.

He’d never been ashamed of who he was, never bothered giving two hoots about what Sally in the corner would whisper to her friends. It was the things he didn’t want to admit, things he never told a living soul that made him sick.

In twenty-seven years, he would never say a word about what dreams of Charlie Brian had made him feel. He would never say a word about how just maybe his only-when-needed weight loss trick for wrestling would come back when he was feeling too stressed. He would never say how if his scholarship hadn’t been riding on wins, he wouldn’t have minded being pinned beneath those guys on the mats.

He leaned against the wall as his stomach churned enough to almost send him dashing for the bathroom. His eyes pressed shut and stayed shut as Blondie laughed and told O’Malley it was a date, tried to force the contents of his stomach back down because, damn it, he was used to this. O’Malley had become the freaking stud of the hospital after he came out as bi. He’d just frigging sprouted, got this confidence once it was out in the open and men and women were flocking him like birds.

He’d never say that he envied O’Malley. No matter what that little voice in the back of his head said.

He’d never say that he was jealous of Blondie.

No. Never.

It’s a date echoed in his head for the rest of his shift and as he finally walked out of Tape Worm Dude’s room, he sighed. His stomach still hadn’t stopped its dance, twisting and turning until he’d spent the last two hours with one foot poised to dash out the door if need be.

He shouldn’t be reacting like this. O’Malley had been going on dates more and more as time went on and he hadn’t reacted this badly before. His stomach had still gone queasy, but not for this long

That stupid voice whispered the reason why, but he didn’t say it aloud, wouldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t admit that he’d been dreaming about O’Malley in ways he hadn’t since Charlie.

He looked away as O’Malley came down the hall, his ass—that he totally wasn’t looking at—snug in a pair of jeans.

God, he needed to vomit. There was nothing in his stomach but bile, but he was almost at the point where he just didn’t care.

He walked away, almost at a jog to get out of the hallway, ran to the stairs and stared out at the floor below, breathing heavily as he looked towards the doors.

And there was Blondie, smiling as he looked around, probably for his date, probably thinking about drinks and dinner...about after.

He gagged as images sprouted in his head of O’Malley and Blondie, of flesh sliding across flesh. He lurched forward, fingers gripping the rail as his head hung between his arms. Nothing came up, just a dry heave as he forced it all back.

Then hands were on him and he could hear Meredith’s voice beside the blood pounding in his ears.

“Alex, what’s wrong?”

“Fine,” he grunted as he pushed those mental images away and forced his stomach to calm. He pushed away the hands that were on him, stepping away from the railing and view of the still waiting Blondie.

“Alex!”

He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know why his feet were going back in the direction he’d fled from. This was a bad idea. He should just go right past O’Malley, go to the locker room, change, go to Joe’s, and take home a girl.

But his feet wouldn’t stop moving, not until he could see O’Malley walking in his direction. He couldn’t hear his own breaths over the pounding of his heart, loud enough that he could swear O’Malley would be able to hear it.

He didn’t. He didn’t hear the pounding of Alex’s heart as he walked by.

He did feel it, though, when Alex grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

“Alex, what are you-” George’s words stopped as Alex pulled him close, his entire body shaking as he leaned in close to his ear.

“Fuck me.”

The words were whispered, sounding just as scared as George felt shocked. Then Alex was pulling away and slipping into the on-call room beside them.

He was standing in the middle of the room when George followed him in. He turned to meet George’s eyes, sweat beading on his brow as he pulled his scrub top over his head.

“Wait. Alex...” He didn’t finish the sentence, words trailing off as Alex once again stepped in close to him. He looked at him, confused—and Alex was pretty sure, interested—as trembling hands touched his hips. “You’re-”

“Fuck me,” he whispered again before George could finish that sentence. He didn’t want to hear the label that came with what he was asking. The word scared him. It would change everything if he used it, said it, had it pinned to his name.

He didn’t want to hear the word now, didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to.

He was ready to run the longer George stood there and just fucking stared at him. He was ready to, ready to push him out of the way and run when George moved.

Then they were kissing and there it was, the thing that was missing in every kiss he ever shared with a woman; that firmness, the scent of cologne, aftershave.

He fell onto the cheap mattress, right side of his face turning into the pillow as George attacked his neck. One hand buried itself in his hair as the other grasped his hip.

He didn’t realize until they were lying, curled together and exhausted, that his stomach had settled and the urge was gone.

“You okay?” George asked tiredly, lips pressed lightly to his temple as he spoke.

“Yeah,” Alex replied, voice still no higher than a whisper, “Just fine.”

The End

Secret Life Of The American Teenager - Fanart

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 17:53:09 GMT

Realized I never posted any of the fanarts I made over here. I've made five.

Ricky/Amy - 3
Ricky/Ashley - 1
Fanfiction Banner - 1

My latest one and most favorite so far. Lyrics are to "You Found Me" by The Fray. I forgot to sign this one like I usually do, but it is mine. I swear! =P

Probably my second favorite.

Probably my least favorite, but I'll let you guys be the judge.

A little Ricky/Ashley friendship thing. A kind of "what if" their trip to the garage sales went wrong.

A fic banner I made to go along with a SLOTAT/Firefly fanfic I started. It's still a WIP. Hope to start posting soon. Thought I'd give you a taste.

*If taken, please credit.
*No hotlinking.

Let me know what you think!

To Protect Him

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 14:28:24 GMT

Title: To Protect Him
Pairing: Carter/Chuck with strong Chuck/Nate friendship (or pre-slash)
Word Count: 1,186
Rating: NC-17
Status: Complete
Summary: Directly Post-1x04 (Bad News Blair). Chuck's beloved watch and ball weren't enough for Carter. He'd do whatever he had to if it meant protecting Nate.

WARNING: Contains dub-con and slight mentions of self-harm (though is that new in this show?). Also, this is based on the Carter Baizen we met at the beginning of the show (back when he was an ass), not on the Carter of recent episodes that is trying to better himself. He's pretty evil in this. Diehard fans of him probably shouldn't read.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Chuck Bass cared about three things: money, the pleasures money brought him, and Nathaniel Archibald.

Nate’s name echoed in his head as he stood in the doorway of his suite, skin crawling as Carter Baizen watched him.

He knew it, knew they wouldn’t be enough. Money-wise, they were more than enough, but Carter wanted more. Chuck shifted slightly under the leer Carter sent him, trying not to look as unnerved as that stare made him feel.

“What do you want?” he asked, “A plane ticket?”

Carter smirked at him, gaze slipping lower down Chuck’s body as he stepped around him and into the room. “Not a plane ticket.”

“Then what?”

Please don’t say it.

He didn’t say it, but as Carter pressed in close to him, Chuck wished he had. It would have felt less real to hear the words than it was to feel this asshole’s erection pressing into his leg.

“You.”

The word was whispered in his ear, breath blowing at the peach fuzz that ran along his skin, and it took everything in Chuck to not vomit as images flashed through his mind.

“I could go to Nathaniel to collect.”

His eyes shot to Carter’s and he knew it was a threat that would be followed through on. Not Nathaniel. He wouldn’t let it happen.

He swallowed back the bile in his throat as he nodded and, with Carter’s wrist in his grasp, moved toward the bed.

“Once,” he said, trying to sound as firm as he could even though his body was shaking, “Once and you leave. No one ever knows.”

“Fine with me.”

Then Carter was kissing him and Chuck was forcing himself to kiss back, grateful that he had long since sent Nathaniel home. He tried not to cringe at the taste of stale nicotine and cheap whiskey. Dirty fingernails pulled his shirt from his pants, clawing themselves into his hips the second they could.

He stood there, moving as Carter moved him, eyes either kept closed or turned towards the ceiling. He tried to not notice chapped lips on his suddenly bare chest, tried not to notice how his body was reacting to this. Blood shoots to his face in a humiliated blush that Carter doesn’t care about and he lets himself be pushed onto the bed as his pants and boxers disappear.

He’s nothing but a rag doll as Carter moves on top of him, not moaning or bucking as dry fingers are shoved into him. He doesn’t let himself cry or whimper even though the actions are halfway up his throat.

There’s a shot of fear amidst the pain as Carter pushes into him, sans condom. He’s slept with men before, that’s never mattered, but always, always with protection and never as the bottom. No matter who he was with, he’d always used protection, and now, Carter Baizen was fucking him without one and all he could think about were diseases. He’d get a panel done once Carter was gone.

“So tight,” Carter moaned, biting his neck, hard.

Chuck hated how his body reacted, hated the stars that danced across his vision when Carter hit his prostate again and again. He hated Carter for fucking him face to face like they were lovers sharing this moment.

He hated that he came without Carter touching his dick once.

He bit his lip as he came, hard enough to taste blood as he pressed his eyes shut and tried not to sob. He felt disgusting.

Then Carter was coming, semen shooting up into him and his eyes shot open, wide and glassy as tears flooded his vision. They didn’t fall, he didn’t let them. He wouldn’t give Carter the satisfaction of seeing him break.

Carter kissed him again as he pulled out too fast—God, the pain—and pet his cheek, smug. “The debt’s repaid.”

“You leave him alone,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound like a plea.

Carter just smirked, getting off the bed and getting dressed. He pulled that ugly sweatshirt back over his head and he was gone. There wasn’t a worded promise that he’d leave Nathaniel alone, just an agreement that left an uncomfortable pain in his backside and bile in his throat.

He was running for the bathroom seconds after the door clicked shut, barely making it in time before the contents of his stomach were splashing against the porcelain walls of the toilet.

He didn’t know how long he kneeled there, purging his stomach of everything inside. He didn’t know how long he sat there afterward, bare ass on cold tile. He didn’t know how long he was there until he stumbled to his feet and into the shower, water turned on at the absolute hottest it could go.

The water burned him, stung his skin, but it did nothing to alleviate the still-present nausea in his gut. It did nothing to wash away the feeling of disgust. Carter’s scent washed off of him and out of him as he adjusted the spray of the nozzle, but he could still feel those hands on him.

For a moment, he thought he felt like a rape victim. Then he reminded himself that he was Chuck Bass and he had done this on his own. His eyes strayed out towards the medicine cabinet where he knew his razor was and his arms burned, echoing of an addiction he hadn’t touched in years.

As much as he wanted to, felt that he needed to, he didn’t follow the urge. When he finally got out of the shower, he’d set up a few lines of coke and more than a few shots. He’d give himself away to urges that didn’t make Nathaniel look at him like he’d just broken his heart.

He did this for him, for Nathaniel, to protect him, so he would never have to feel like this. He could handle it; he was Chuck Bass, he could come back from anything. He’d recover with time and the right amount of oblivion. If Nathaniel had had to do this...it would have ruined him.

There was no one else he would ever have done this for. No one but Nathaniel Archibald.

He succumbed to nausea once more before he got out of the shower. By then, the water was running ice cold, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything past the phantom fingers of Carter Baizen.

He did three shots before he did three lines.

Symmetry.

He’d call room service when he was far gone enough, tell them to change his bedding and burn the old ones. He’d tell them to burn the clothes he’d worn that day, the towels he’d used to dry off. He’d tell them to wash the bathroom from top to bottom until it looked brand frigging new.

Once he sobered up, he’d go to a little no-name clinic to get tested, use a fake name and get every test under the sun.

He’d throw out his razors and use an electric one just to be safe.

No one ever had to know.

Nathaniel never had to know.

The End

Fucking Butterflies

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 03:32:37 GMT

Title: Fucking Butterflies
Pairing: Chuck/Dan with mention of past Chuck/Blair and brief mention of Nate/Blair
Word Count: 465
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Summary: They were always there, fluttering enough to make him nauseous every time he walked into the room.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he rationalizes that he must have had a breakdown at some point, because there was no other reason why Chuck Bass would be staring at Dan Humphrey’s lips and wondering what they tasted like.

He had no problem with men; he’d fucked enough in the past, but this was Humphrey and he was Chuck Bass. The Chuck Basses of the world don’t have rational minds wondering what sounds the Dan Humphreys make in bed.

Chuck grimaced and took a swig from the bottle of scotch, ignoring the glass he never bothered to take out.

Fucking butterflies.

The ones for Blair had long since died, shriveled up and vomited out the day she came back to New York with that ring on her finger. It was their demonic, little gay spawn that had replaced them, fluttering enough to make him nauseous every time he walked into the room.

Maybe he’d hit his head, fallen when he was drunk, high, or whatever. Maybe he had brain damage.

He hoped he did. At least then he could blame what he was doing now on the injury.

Chuck Bass didn’t bottom. He did the fucking and he did it his way.

He hated Humphrey for being an exception to that rule.

He could feel the blood rushing through his body, half to his face and half much lower as Humphrey pushed him into the mattress and Brooklyn born lips sucked on his neck. There was no fighting it and they both frigging knew it.

Humphrey joked once that Blair had told him the nape of the neck was Chuck Bass’ kryptonite and Chuck had hoped that he hadn’t figured out that it went both ways.

Of courses he did.

His entire body was shaking, the over sensitive skin on his neck burning hot as he cursed Mother Frigging Nature for putting too many nerve endings in his neck. Did people not get why he kept his neck covered? The entire thing was an erogenous zone.

He hated Humphrey for knowing what spot made him turn into a moaning little whore.

He hated himself for being proud of him.

He hated himself even more when he heard his own voice let out a needy please.

Chuck didn’t even think he was in his own body when Daniel started fucking him, careful and slow, lips never leaving his neck.

He came twice while Daniel fucked him, feeling each time like some inexperienced little teenager that couldn’t hold it off.

It was that third time when his body was so completely spent and they came almost in unison that his mind went black and he felt his body go slack, a complete deadweight.

Fucking butterflies.

Fucking Daniel Humphrey.

They could go to hell.

The End

Scrunchy Face!!!

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 18:49:06 GMT

I order you all to watch and squee at the scrunchy face!!!

Ed Westwick ♥

Can I have him for Christmas? Pwetty pwease?

Broken Beauty

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:46:26 GMT

Title: Broken Beauty
Pairing: Chuck/Nate with mentions of Chuck/Blair and past Nate/Blair
Word Count: 2,010
Rating: NC-17
Status: Complete
Note: Takes place after Bart's death. Somewhere in between Blair waking up to Chuck's note and Chuck leaving for Thailand.
Summary: This wasn't like the other times. This time, Chuck isn't Chuck and it's scaring Nate.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Nate Archibald was going to hell.

He knew that fact as he knocked on the door of Chuck’s suite for the fourth time and got no response. He let himself in, using the key he’d never had to use before, and stopped in the doorway.

The suite was trashed. A table was overturned and a lamp lay broken on the floor by the bar. There were four lines of coke prepared on the coffee table with a rolled up hundred sitting just to the side of the drugs. Bottles of every kind of alcohol were littering the floor, some empty, some with enough left that it leaked out and soaked the carpet.

But it wasn’t the mess in front of him that scared him, it was the broken image of his best friend as he tossed clothes into a suitcase. Chuck was too pale, eyes too blood shot, his frame was growing way too thin.

For a second, Nate’s mind flashed back to when Blair’s bulimia was at its worst. Chuck was slowly beginning to look like that, but Nate knew it wasn’t from an eating disorder. It was from too much alcohol in his system and too little food. He doubted Chuck had really kept anything down since the accident.

“Blair has been freaking out looking for you.”

Chuck didn’t even turn around, just tossed his scarf into his suitcase. He stared at it a minute, then took it back out and dropped it to the floor, discarding it, almost like he was discarding himself. “I’ve been right here.”

But he hadn’t been, not really, not since his dad died. This wasn’t the Chuck Bass they’d all known since kindergarten. Their Chuck was an asshole, a self-serving asshole that would help you out when he felt like it. This Chuck was...he was a shell, still sarcastic and biting, but the undertone was all wrong. There was something in his tone that shook Nate to the core, something that made him feel like if Chuck was left alone, he might do something stupid.

His chest pressed against Chuck’s back—and he could feel every vertebra piercing into his sternum—and his arms wrapped around his waist. He tried to ignore the hip bones that poked his arms more than they used to. He could smell the alcohol on Chuck, not only on his breath, but seeping out of his pores. He needed to shower. He needed to sober up.

Chuck didn’t fight the embrace like Nate thought he would. All the fight in him was gone. He followed Nate’s lead as his friend led him towards the bathroom and into the shower.

Nate stripped off his own clothes as he got in, supporting Chuck’s slightly shorter body against his own. He shivered as he turned the water on cold, dousing both himself and Chuck under the stream. His teeth gnawed at his bottom lip the whole time as he soaped Chuck down, trying to push back the worry when Chuck didn’t even react to the temperature. He’d gotten nothing more than a hitch in breathing when the water first hit, but after that, nothing. It was like he was numb.

He finished off the shower fairly quickly, getting them both out and dried before he led Chuck over to the bed. He laid Chuck down under the covers, still naked and hair still damp as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Chuck just lay there against the pillows, eyes half closed as he stared at nothing in particular.

“My dad’s dead,” Chuck whispered as Nate stood up, “Dad’s dead. Mom’s dead.” He didn’t say anymore after that, but Nate saw the tears that tried to gather in Chuck’s eyes. They never fell, just got pushed back like always.

It didn’t matter. Nate’s eyes were tearing up for them both. Chuck never talked about his mom, never more than his annual shot in her memory on Mother’s Day.

He ran his hands through Chuck’s freshly washed hair in comfort and Chuck grabbed his hand as he pulled back. Shaking fingers held his wrist in a death grip and Chuck looked up at him, begging, pleading. He didn’t need to speak the words. Nate knew what he wanted.

He dropped his towel to the floor before he slid under the covers, chilly skin meeting only slightly warmer skin. He kissed Chuck, hand secure on the back of his neck as his tongue searched Chuck’s mouth. That same hint of scotch was always there, just underneath the mint of the toothpaste and Nate kissed him harder.

Nate knew how Chuck wanted it, hard and fast like they always did. Another fuck just like they’d been doing since they were fifteen. It was what Chuck wanted right now, Nate inside him, thrusting deep.

That wasn’t what he was getting.

His lips attached themselves to the skin under Chuck’s left ear, kissing and nipping down his neck and to his collar bone. He stayed there for a minute, letting himself find those little spots on Chuck. They’d never done it slow before, always too scared that if they took their time it would mean admitting something they didn’t want to. They’d always had to be so careful, rush even when they were in the privacy of 1812 because anyone could come by. They fucked and he slept on the couch.

But right now, Nate just didn’t care. He knew he should, he’d heard Blair when she called to say Chuck was missing, crying about how she’d told Chuck she loved him and how he hadn’t said it back. His ex-girlfriend loved his best friend and here he was, kissing and touching Chuck’s body in ways that he didn’t want to think about Blair doing. He should have called Blair the second he found Chuck, should have been the good guy and let Blair take care of him like she wanted to, but he didn’t. Right here, right now, he wanted Chuck to himself. He wanted to take care of Chuck on his own.

“What’re you doin’?” Chuck asked, confused as Nate kept kissing and caressing him. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t what he wanted.

“Sh,” Nate said, kissing Chuck again to quiet him. He knew this wasn’t what Chuck wanted, but he also knew this was what Chuck needed, even if he didn’t know that.

So he kept going, kissing and touching Chuck as he heard the confused noises turn into long moans and felt Chuck go into full hardness. He pressed a kiss to the tip, licking at the pre-come as he reached for the lube.

Chuck’s body shuddered as he inserted his first finger and jolted when he added a second. He stretched Chuck slowly in a way that he never had before and let those moans soak into him, turning him on even more. Chuck was below him, making noises that he didn’t know Chuck could make as he inserted a third and final finger.

“Please,” Chuck breathed, finally seeming to have accepted this wasn’t the sex he’d asked for, but accepting it anyway. He reached for a condom, ripping the package open. His hands were shaking too much to put it on Nate.

Nate kissed him, taking the condom and putting it on himself. He shook his head at Chuck as the shorter man moved to go onto his hands and knees like usual. No. This time he wanted to see his face. He put his hand on Chuck’s hip, lowering it back onto the mattress as he instead lifted Chuck’s legs over his shoulders.

He put two fingers back in Chuck, experimenting with the angle as he kissed Chuck again, this time bending him almost in half. Chuck moaned loudly and Nate smiled into the kiss, removing his fingers so he could reach for the lube once more.

Then he was pushing in, watching as Chuck’s back arched up off the bed and his eyes rolled back, then fluttered shut as his breathing stopped.

He looked beautiful.

Nate kissed him again, couldn’t stop himself. Chuck just needed to be kissed right then. It would be wrong not to, not when he looked like that. You kiss perfection.

Chuck moaned his name into his mouth, hands reaching behind Nate’s back and trying to push him into moving. The second Nate’s hips moved, Chuck was clawing into Nate’s back like he never had before, never could. They couldn’t risk Blair ever seeing the marks. Chuck had always had to clutch the blankets, but now he clawed at Nate’s skin with helpless abandon.

This was them, Nate and Chuck, coming together as the blankets draped around them, shutting them out from the harsh reality that lay outside.

Chuck bucked against him as Nate hit his prostate, nails definitely drawing blood as he angled himself to hit it with each thrust.

“Nathaniel!”

It was his full name that always got to him, listening to Chuck call him that, taking the effort to form each syllable even during sex.

One of his hands went to Chuck’s leaking cock, jerking it in rhythm with his thrusts. Chuck didn’t last long after that and neither did he. It was Chuck’s face as he came that sent him over the edge. It wasn’t something pornographic.

It was the tears, the tears that finally came when he did, bursting forth with no chance for Chuck to stop them. Nate kissed him once before he filled the condom, holding Chuck as they both rode their highs.

Beautiful, even as he cried.

Nate knew he cared for his best friend more than he probably should and that it probably made him more than a little gay, but none of that mattered. He was Nathaniel Archibald and the man below him was Chuck Bass. They just were.

He pulled out of Chuck with a reluctant kiss and disposed of the used condom. He didn’t get up for a towel to clean them off. They could shower later. Right now it was time to comfort Chuck. The dam had broken and Nate had been ready for that.

Chuck was shaking like a leaf as Nate pulled him up against his chest, shoulders heaving as he cried into Nate’s neck. They didn’t speak, just laid there as Chuck finally cried not only for his father, but for the death of both his parents. He cried himself into an exhausted sleep, maybe one of the first sleeps since the accident that hadn’t involved drugs or alcohol. Nate dozed beside him, eyes closed as his hand rubbed Chuck’s back until he finally dropped off into slumber.

Chuck was gone when he woke up.

The space beside Nate was cold and the bags from before were gone. There wasn’t a note or a text telling him where he was going or when he’d be back, but Nate hadn’t really expected one. He’d hoped Chuck wouldn’t run away, but at the same time knew it was what Chuck did.

Nate dressed with slumped shoulders as his eyes kept drifting back to the empty bed and his mind kept flashing back to Chuck’s face only hours before.

He was halfway to the door when he stopped and turned back, going straight for the scarf Chuck had discarded when he first got there. He lifted it to his face, feeling a bit silly as he inhaled Chuck’s scent.

Nate Archibald was in love with his best friend. God, he knew it.

Nate Archibald was in love with Chuck Bass, but Chuck Bass was in love with Blair Waldorf.

He took the scarf with him when he left, folded into his jacket pocket as he looked at his phone and saw a new text from Blair.

Anything?
-B

Nate bit his lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard before he finally typed a response.

He’s gone.
-N

He pressed Send as he exited the building and cast one last look at the hotel.

Chuck was gone, left without a goodbye.

It hurt more than Nate wanted it to.

The End

Understanding

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 05:28:18 GMT

Title: Understanding
Pairing: Chuck/Dan with mentions of past Chuck/Blair
Word Count: 870
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Note: My first fic for the fandom. I've only just gotten into the show within the last week (mid-way through season two), but I couldn't resist.
Summary: Chuck Bass is like a puzzle. Dan is figuring him out one piece at a time.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Five years together and Dan’s still learning. Chuck’s been a mystery since the beginning, despite the act he puts on, but as time goes on, he’s figuring out the little things that make Chuck Bass who he is.

He knows that when Chuck gets that distant, sad look in his eyes, it’s going to be a bad day. All this time later, that look still sends him back to the night they sat in the jail cell. It hurts him to see Chuck look like that, so sad, so lost. Those days come without warning, but when they do, Dan just makes sure Chuck knows he isn’t alone, whether it be by a touch or by fucking him so slowly that Chuck’s unconscious by the end, thrown into a mindless oblivion where his mind can recover enough to make that look go away.

He knows that Chuck still cries for his father every year on the anniversary of the accident. Chuck tries to hide it, acts out in a vain hope that he can make Dan stop caring for those twenty-four hours. He always fails, because Dan isn’t going anywhere and he’d hoped that Chuck would have realized that by now. There isn’t much Dan can do on those days other than keep an eye on him while at the same time trying to let Chuck have his space to mourn. He doesn’t know why, but every year when Chuck goes up to the roof to stare out at the city, Dan feels absolutely terrified.

He knows that Chuck buys Lily a gift for Mother’s Day every year. He never gives it to her, never even says the words, but Dan’s seen the credit card receipts and the carefully packaged gifts that get hidden in the back of the closet. Chuck’s never called Lily anything other than her name, but everyone knows. Dan thinks it may be in a quiet loyalty to his birth mother that he doesn’t say it, unwilling to give the name to anyone but the woman he never got to know. It never stops Dan from delivering the gift the second Chuck’s back is turned. Lily knows who it’s from and Chuck knows what he does, but they never address it.

He knows that Chuck drinks a little heavier on the anniversary of the day he and Blair finally fell apart. Dan’s never jealous. He knows there’s still a part of Chuck that loves the brunette, but he also knows that Chuck loves him more, even if he doesn’t say it. He understands that it’s hard for Chuck. She had been the first one that he’d actually fallen for, actually found a meaning with. They didn’t work out, their lives much too different, but it doesn’t discount the fact that they did love each other. They’re still friends and Chuck spends that day with Blair, but Dan’s never worried that he’ll cheat. Blair would never allow it and he trusts them both to never take that step. It’s a silent understanding that they all have, Blair has him for that one day a year, but Chuck always comes home to Dan.

He knows the idea of being with one person for the rest of his life scares Chuck to death. Since childhood, he’d been so used to being abandoned at a moment’s notice. Even growing up with friends, there was still that part of Chuck that was alone, that part that was a scared little kid, desperate for someone to hold onto. Chuck still has a hard time believing that he has that in Dan and he tests him constantly, pushing his buttons to see if Dan will finally walk away like everyone else. Dan never does and he thinks Chuck’s finally beginning to figure it out. They’re still young and maybe he isn’t the person that Chuck will grow old with, but he’ll stand beside Chuck for as long as he’s welcome.

“I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

Dan’s eyes fell away from the screen of his laptop as Chuck shifted in the bed. The other man was still somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness as he lay on Dan’s stomach. It had been one of those days and Dan kissed the messy brown hair once as his right hand traced tiny circles on Chuck’s back. His left was on the keyboard of his laptop, awkwardly typing for a moment before he closed the lid and slid the computer from its place on the mattress beside him and to the floor.

Chuck shifted against him again, this time somewhat awake as he blinked owlishly up at Dan. His brows furrowed as he looked up at him in that same confusion as always, as if asking what Dan was still doing there.

Dan didn’t say anything, just smiled gently as his fingers threaded through Chuck’s hair and he smoothed the crinkles with a kiss. He slid down, this time holding Chuck chest to chest as he murmured softly at the other man to go back to sleep.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?”

Charlie Trout smiled at his lover, nodding even though he didn’t look all that convinced. “Yeah, I know.”

The End

Connect The Dots

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 22:20:32 GMT

Title: Connect The Dots
Characters: Alex centric through Meredith's POV. Mentions of Alex/Izzie and teeny bit of George/Alex
Word Count: 714
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Summary: Post 6x05 They found him lying on the bathroom floor.

PLEASE REVIEW!

They find him lying on the bathroom floor.

He’d moved back in when Izzie left, more by her own command than anything else. He’d lived his married life in that trailer with Izzie for however short that marriage was and she knew he couldn’t go back there. She’d told Derek under no uncertain terms that Alex was moving back, at least until he got back on his feet.

“We’re his people.”

Derek had just nodded, knowing how important her people were to her, and she spent another two weeks in her hospital bed, trusting him to keep an eye on Alex.

“Make sure he eats. We had to keep reminding him when she was having treatments. And don’t let him run himself into the ground. He’ll do it without realizing.”

She didn’t see Alex in the hospital to make sure that Derek followed her instructions. Derek never said anything and she trusted him enough to do it.

“The running. He does it every morning-”

“I know, Mer. I have lived with him.”

“Yeah, but when he’s stressed, he pushes himself too hard.”

When she finally came home, she saw that Alex looked thinner and paler, but knew at the same time that Derek couldn’t watch him 24/7. She let it go, taking on the task to take care of him on her own. She had another month before the Chief was even thinking about letting her back. He’d mumbled about how he didn’t want to lose more doctors because they came back too soon and she let him, it was more time to keep an eye on Alex as he walked around like the living dead.

She tried to get him to talk to her, tried to tell him that she got that he was in his dark and twisty place. She’d grown up there…

Though she knew he had, too.

For the longest time, she’d taken a silent pride in the fact that she knew him, got him. She saw the things he tried to hide from everyone else. She knew about the abuse, knew more than Izzie about how bad it really was because she was dark and twisty enough to see the signs of a survivor. She knew he had abandonment issues, left by everyone that said they cared about him. She knew that he’d been in love with one person before Izzie, someone that he’d refused to admit to himself or anyone else, but she saw. She knew about the white, almost invisible, scars that littered his body, some from his father, some not.

So why hadn’t she seen this coming? Had being married taken away the dark and twisty enough that she became this blind?

“Mer, call 911!”

They found him on the bathroom floor, forearms split open and pouring blood all over the tile and into the grout.

She stood there, completely frozen as she tried to remember if she saw the signs, and God damn it, she had, but she hadn’t connected the dots right.

She’d connected the dots into a bottle of tequila.

He’d connected them into the shape of Izzie’s favorite carving knife.

The phone slipped from her hand and to the floor, battery pack snapping out. She didn’t remember making the call, didn’t remember anything past the image in front of her of her husband pressing too white towels to Alex’s arms.

The towels turned red too fast.

She tried not to notice that as Derek cursed and lowered his lips to Alex’s.

Not a kiss.

CPR.

She tore her eyes away from the scene in front of her as tears blurred her vision and there, to the side, was a note. She stepped forward, trying not to vomit as her bare feet landed in the ever-expanding pool of blood.

The corner of the paper was wet with blood as she picked it up, sitting on the side of the tub as she unfolded it.

Right there in front of her was the messy but somewhat elegant scrawl she’d associated with Alex since the first time she met him. It was shaky this time, the ink of his black pen smudged with a few stray tear drops.

They all leave.

She was the only one that knew by ‘they’, he meant George.

The End

Snow

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 01:49:40 GMT

Title: Snow
Pairing: George/Alex with mentions of Alex/Izzie
Word Count: 1,006
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Summary: Spoilers for S6 - Alex used to hate the snow.

PLEASE REVIEW!

By all rights and purposes, he should hate snow. He grew up in small town Iowa, buried in snow year after year. Freezing weather, shoveling, ice. He should hate it.

But he doesn’t.

He had when he left home, smiled for the first thirty miles as he passed the state line out of Iowa, headed for Seattle. He’d been so happy to be rid of the frozen flakes.

Then…he found himself loving it.

He was muttering to himself as he walked out of the hospital, temper flaring as he watched his steps. Fucking snow. He knew there was black ice lurking beneath the four inch deep snow, just waiting to make him fall on his ass and break his wrist all over again. He almost lost his wrestling scholarship the first time, he wasn’t chancing getting kicked out of the program because he couldn’t operate.

Not when the Chief was already pissed at him.

It hadn’t even been his fucking fault. How was he supposed to know the patient had been self-medicating? He couldn’t watch the asshole every second. It wasn’t his fault the idiot OD’d and as much as the Chief yelled at him about not noticing, he knew it wasn’t his fault.

Patient what’s-his-face was just stupid.

Too in love with his drugs to think about anything else.

Heh. He sounded kind of like his old man, now that Alex thought of it. No wonder he hated the guy.

Alex shook his head, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. Even the gloves were doing nothing against this cold.

“Alex!”

Great. Fucking O’Malley.

“Alex! Hold on a second!”

He really wasn’t in the mood.

“Damn it. Will you wait?!”

A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back a step.

Right.

Onto.

Ice.

Alex hit the ground, pulling George with him as his feet flew out from under him. He hit the wet concrete with a grunt, coughing as George landed on his chest and the air rushed from his lungs.

“Shit! Sorry. I-”

“Will you get off of me?” Alex rasped, opening his eyes to glare at George. He paused, what breath he had catching as he realized just how close O’Malley’s face was. He could almost feel the heat of the blush on George’s face, could definitely feel the hot breath warming his frozen nose. His eyes fell on George’s lips, paler than usual from the cold, almost vibrating as the snow seeped into both their clothes.

He tilted his head up and kissed him.

He told himself that O’Malley’s lips just looked like they’d needed warming, but even he knew that was bullshit. He’d wanted to do this for months, spent so much time staring at those eyes, those lips, and that fucking ass.

Alex could feel himself growing hard despite the cold and he could sure as hell feel George doing the same as he kissed back. Fuck. He hadn’t felt this fucking turned on since being in the locker room with Brian junior year.

Shit.

They’d realized ten minutes later, after they’d stopped making out like teenagers and tried to get up, that the fall had broken Alex’s ankle. Funny what cold and another pair of lips could make you forget.

Six months.

They’d gotten six months of hot, sexy, secret sex before George had whispered to him that he wanted to tell the others. He’d frozen, mind running in all different directions and creating a million and one different scenarios.

He couldn’t do it.

He and George were over after that. He couldn’t bring himself to come out and George deserved a guy that could. He kissed George one last time, submitted to him for the first, and told him it was over. He left after that, snuck past Lexie’s door and out of the house, back to Meredith’s.

They pretended everything was fine the next day, like they hadn’t spent the last six months together, like he hadn’t…fuck, he thinks he fell in love with the guy.

Damn it, O’Malley.

He’d started liking the snow because it was where he and George had their first kiss. He felt like a teenage girl for saying it, but it was true. George had made him like the snow.

Now George was dead, body lying six feet under the frozen soil.

Alex clenched his eyes shut, biting his lip as he kneeled. The snow crunched under his knees, soaking through his jeans in seconds, but he didn’t care. He forced his eyes open and stared at the granite stone in front of him. George’s name stared back, white flakes stuck in the indentations. They melted against his fingers as he traced out the ‘G’.

Tears pricked at his eyes and it took him a minute before he finally decided to let them fall. They felt hot against his skin, burning his skin.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what, he didn’t know. For not coming out? For ending what they had? For getting with Izzie? For getting married? For not breaking down when he died? For looking him in the eye when George gave Izzie away, to him?

Maybe he was apologizing for all of it, for all of his mistakes.

He loved Izzie…but she wasn’t George. He realized that now, way too late, but he realized it.

He’d left George and gone to Izzie, thinking that if he couldn’t have George, he could have his best friend. At the time, he’d deluded himself into thinking that Izzie could take the place George had been taking up in his heart, but she’d never been able to.

He’d married Izzie, but it wasn’t what he wanted, not really. The admission made his left hand feel that much heavier and he could swear that he could feel it sink further into the snow as the wedding band weighed it down.

He’d been in love with George.

George had made him love the snow like he hadn’t since he was six.

But George wasn’t here to enjoy it with him.

The End

Don't Hate Me

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 13:57:31 GMT

I know a bunch of you are probably waiting on Damaged Souls and some of you are waiting for me to start posting the Secret Life/Firefly crossover, He's Just A Child.

Don't know how long that's gonna take.

I just can't get my muses to write the fics. They're happily coming up with a million and one new fic ideas, but they won't let me finish these two. *glares at muses*

I'll get the fics (more specifically, Damaged Souls) up as soon as I can. These chapters just don't want to write. Be patient with me!!

And on a completely unrelated note, any of you not hating me enough to tell me where I could get my hands on some Brian/Justin (QAF) animated mood themes?

Regrets

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 12:55:44 GMT

Title: Regrets
Pairing: George/Alex with mentions of Alex/Izzie
Word Count: 574
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Summary: Post S5 - Alex has regrets.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Izzie was alive.

O’Malley was dead.

George was dead.

Alex knew he should have been gluing himself to Izzie’s side. His wife had almost died, hell, she had died. But he couldn’t look at her, each time he did, all he saw was a memory of her best friend.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

He pressed himself against the outer wall of the hospital, clothes catching against the weathered concrete as he slid to the ground. Right in this second, he hated himself.

He’d been the one to end whatever it was he and George had. Meredith had asked a question about the time they were spending together and, fuck, he knew it was a joke, but he’d gotten scared. He didn’t have the courage to be out and proud. He could do damn near anything else, but he couldn’t come out of the closet.

Fucking coward.

He hadn’t even offered George an explanation.

“Hey,” George whispered, closing the door of the on-call room behind him and locking it. He lowered himself to his knees beside the bottom bunk, kissing Alex’s clothed shoulder.

Alex kept his back to him, face pressed into the pillow. God, he didn’t want to do this.

A hand on his hip.

“Alex?”

“Get out.”

“W-what?”

“I said, get out.” His eyes clenched shut.

“Alex, I-”

A snort. “What? You love me? Is that what you were going to say? Well, save it. I don’t. How could I love you? Really? It was a fuck, O’Malley, a few mediocre fucks.”

Months worth of sex that had made him feel so…

The door clicked shut and Alex looked over his shoulder. The room was empty. George was gone.

He bit his lip, burying his face back into the pillow. “I’m sorry.”

Now, George was dead.

He couldn’t bring the tears to rise. It was like he’d cried himself dry when Izzie had flat lined. George had deserved better than some guy that couldn’t even cry for him, deserved better than some guy that was so scared to come out that he’d faked his way into a hetero marriage. He loved Izzie, just not in the way…

Not in the way he loved George.

Fuck.

He pressed his forehead to his knees, shoulders shaking in silent sobs as he hid from the rest of the world. He sat there for what felt like hours, turning himself into a quivering mess with barely a look heavenward as the skies opened up and the rain began to fall.

A hand touched his shoulder and he nearly screamed at the shock, springing away from the touch. He saw the hand that had touched him and followed the arm to…

No.

It wasn’t possible.

“Hey,” George said, eyes soft.

George.

“You weren’t down there when everyone figured out…Meredith got it wrong. The guy wasn’t me. I was over at Joe’s.”

Alex raised himself onto his haunches, one hand laying itself on George’s cheek. The skin felt cool from the rain, but he could feel the hot breath brushing against his wrist.

George.

Alive.

He sprang forward, lips catching George’s in a kiss that knocked the air from his lungs. They hit the ground, lips melding together and tongues searching for contact instead of battling for dominance.

He should be with Izzie right now. She was probably wondering where he was.

But George was alive.

He’d take care of the rest later.

The End

Echoing Screams

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 21:46:14 GMT

Title: Echoing Screams
Characters: Ashley, Ricky
Word Count: 420
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Summary: The screaming hadn’t stopped, only grown louder and more strangled as that pool of blood continued to grow.

PLEASE REVIEW!

For a split second, nothing else existed. Time froze. The sirens stopped, the people shouting orders fell away, and it was just them.

Then it sped back up and she was being torn away from him and surrounded by police and paramedics as their hands searched her body to look for wounds. She didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on the growing pool of blood beneath him. It was spreading fast, too fast.

She blinked and she saw it again, the slow motion as she saw the car speeding at her, heart drumming in her chest. She felt the air rush around her as she was pushed out of its path. She heard the scream when she realized that he didn’t have time to save himself.

The screaming hadn’t stopped, only grown louder and more strangled as that pool of blood continued to grow.

“Ma’am,” the cop tried as a paramedic draped a blanket around her shoulders, “Ma’am, are you hurt anywhere?”

Oh, God.

His eyes blinked open for a second, barely open as he tried to figure out where he was, and sobs began to join the still echoing screams as they began to drift closed again. No! Stay awake!

Please…

She wanted to tell the paramedics they were moving too slowly. He needed a hospital now. If they kept at the pace they were going…he wouldn’t make it.

Her phone began to ring and she forced herself to look away from him.

She didn’t want to.

Oh, God. This was all her fault. If she had just looked where she was going…

Her phone rang again and she stared at the broken screen for a moment before she raised it to her ear. Tears ran down her face, making their way into the crevices between the buttons as she pressed the phone too hard against her cheek.

“Ashley?”

She couldn’t muster the words to tell her father she was alright. She couldn’t even stop crying and sat there, eyes watching with blurry vision as the paramedics loaded him onto the stretcher too slowly. Her knees drew up against her chest and she could hear the wet clothes squish together.

She’d worn black today.

No one could see the blood that covered her as she’d held him to her chest, begging him to stay with her.

They couldn’t see the blood, but she could feel it seeping through her clothes and into her skin, marking her down to her very core.

This was all her fault.

Ricky…

The End

Damaged Souls Update

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 04:55:16 GMT

Not a chapter.

I know. I suck.

I'd written in a comment a few posts back on here that the tentative return date for "Damaged Souls" was September 1...I think you can tell it apparently isn't. I'm sorry!

I suck times two.

Long story short...ish. School is about to start. Life is hectic. One chapter is being held hostage from my beta until I get something from her. Writer's block on the chapter after that which I can't ask my beta for help on.

All that equals out to one very stressed out Crissy.

I know some of you (there are fans still out there, right?) waiting for new chapters, but just wait a while longer! The chapter I'm blocked on is the epilogue and there's only three chapters until the fic is complete. I just want to give you a regular posting schedule. =(

I suck times three?

Tanarian Search

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 23:15:21 GMT

Okay, so I'd had a ton of tanarian's fics tabbed up on my computer, but lost them when my computer decided to be mean. I'd saved them to my favorites list and just realized that all the entries to tw_flashfic are gone, so now I'm missing a couple. Not sure why it only seems to be on that comm, because the ones on jantolution and torchwoodcoffee work fine.

The ones I'm missing:
- Silver Service
- Winner Take All

If anyone has those saved to their hard drive, I'd love it if you could e-mail them over. I'll provide my e-mail address when the fics have been found.

Thanks in advance!

ETA - Found! And I stupidly didn't realize until this was replied to that I didn't post this on twstoryfinder like I thought I had. *facepalm* Links in comments.

Freedom!

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 04:00:45 GMT

My summer classes are over! *dance* God only knows what my final grades are, but I'm hoping to get them soon.

Onto the topic of my fics which is probably all you guys really care about...

I'm going to be working on "Damaged Souls" (Torchwood/Buffy The Vampire Slayer crossover for those of you that didn't know) and I'm hoping I can get back to posting soon. I've made you guys wait much too long. Since my flashdrive committed suicide and started this whole drama, my typed out plan for the fic had been to be around 20 to 22 chapters. Since then, though, I've looked over what I can remember from my original plan and realized that I'd added a couple chapters that really had no point to them. Looking at it now, it's more of a better bet to say that there will be either two or three chapters left, leaving the total at 18 or 19, one of the chapters being an epilogue.

I'm also going to be working on a new multi-chapter fic that will be about 6 or 7 chapters total in length. It's a crossover between Secret Life Of The American Teenager and Firefly. Weird combo, I know, but trust me on this. It's called "He's Just A Child" and there's a picture to go with the fic that I'll post when I begin posting the chapters.

And lastly, I have some fics that I wrote (some finished, some not) while sitting in my night class. Those will be posted...eventually. There're are a couple Torchwood (Janto and gen), Grey's Anatomy (George/Alex), Secret Life Of The American Teenager (Ricky/Amy), and one that's Torchwood/Secret Life Of The American Teenager (either gen or having a hint of Ricky/Amy and Janto). There may have been a couple others that I can't remember just yet.

So I'll have a lot of typing to do.

Really...I'm not even sure if anyone even reads this, but I'm posting it anyway. If any of you are readers from "Damaged Souls", I'd love to know that you're still sticking around through my long as hell hiatus.

Hit The Floor

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 02:40:13 GMT

Title: Hit The Floor
Character: Ricky centric with some Ricky/Amy
Word Count: 901
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Summary: He was a son, a student, a boyfriend, and a father. Somewhere in the mess, Ricky forgot to take care of himself.

Spoilers: Only if you haven't read the sides (available on Fanforum in the SLOTAT Spoiler Thread) that tell the gender of Anne's baby and the baby's name. Otherwise, you're safe.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Time was dragging.

Ricky squinted, blurry eyes trying to locate the seconds hand on the clock. Was it even moving? Too slow. There were still well over two hours left of school.

What was Mr. Martin saying? He couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in his head.

He wanted to go home, wanted to curl up under his comforter and rest, but he couldn’t. He’d already missed too much school, skipping to see John. It didn’t matter that he was sweating or that his stomach felt like it was ready to split open. It didn’t matter that he’d already had to duck into the bathroom twice to throw up a breakfast he didn’t eat. It didn’t matter that he was so tired, he’d thought he saw red floating in the bile.

It would be hours before he could lie down. School, John, work, John again, homework. He wouldn’t be going to bed until two and he’d be up again at six to start it all over again, just as he had for the last year.

He bit back a groan as a shot of pain raced through his stomach. Oh, God, it hurt. His vision blurred, black dots dancing across his vision as the too slow clock seemed to disappear into the wall.

Then the bile was rising in his throat again. He dashed for the door, Mr. Martin’s shouts lost in the buzz. He was pulled to a stop by the middle aged man and he saw lips moving, probably asking him what he thought he was doing, but he couldn’t hear the words.

Oh, God. He couldn’t…

And his stomach revolted.

He doubled over, vomiting over Mr. Martin’s shoes, and then everyone was screaming, and he saw it.

Blood.

He choked on his scream, voice caught as more blood fell from his mouth and to the floor.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Too much blood.

Oh, God.

He was going to die.

---

The first thing he heard was beeping.

Ricky squinted his eyes open, cringing against the too bright light.

“Oh, thank God,” someone sighed. He knew that voice, but his mind was running too slowly. Who…

Margret.

“Mar…” he croaked, voice rough and throat too dry to finish her name. He closed his eyes as she kissed his forehead, brushing his hair off his sweaty skin.

“Richard Timothy Underwood, you will be the death of me.” She squeezed his hand and he clutched hers as hazy eyes begged a question. “Sh, it’s alright. I’m just paging Eli.”

He didn’t let go, hung on as Eli all but ran in, kept hanging on as they explained what had happened. His hold turned into a death grip as he got lost in the words of hundred-and-five degree fevers, flu, blood loss, too close, and undiagnosed bleeding ulcers. His grip lightened at the words full recovery. Margret was crying by the end, God knows how many times she’d heard it already. She kissed his hand over and over, and only stopped at a tentative knock at the door.

“Do you think you’re up for visitors?” she asked, looking worried and as if she didn’t want to let anyone else near him except herself.

He nodded slowly, taking a sip of the water Eli offered him and closed his eyes, staying silent as Margret kissed his head. Part of him wanted to reach out for her again, didn’t want to lose that security she brought, but he held himself back and let her leave with Eli, leaving room for his visitor to enter. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Amy returned softly as she inched in and sat in the chair beside his bed. “How are you feeling?”

He shifted in the bed, wincing as stitches and IV lines pulled. “Ask me in a couple days.”

She laughed and it cut off into a sob. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “It’s my fault.”

“Amy, it wasn’t-”

“You work so much for me and John. You ran yourself into the ground for us.”

“I’m fine.” He took her hand in his, this time mindful of the IV, and squeezed. “Full recovery. I’ll be home in no time.” He pulled on her hand until she met his gaze. “Just fine.”

“But the ulcer,” she said, “they’re caused by stress, aren’t they?” She shook her head, decisive. “I’ll pick up some more hours at the daycare.”

“Amy-”

“I don’t want you to get sick again,” she whispered. “What if it happens again? What if next time…what if they aren’t fast enough?”

“It won’t.”

“But it could.”

Ricky closed his eyes in a slow blink, knowing he was in a losing battle. When he opened them again, he looked around. “Where’s…”

“They wouldn’t let me bring him in,” Amy said sadly, “Risk of infection and everything. He’s at home with my mom and Robie.”

His brow furrowed. “Then how’d you…”

“I drove.”

He blinked, eyebrows shooting into his hairline. “You hate driving.”

“My boyfriend was rushed to the hospital. Nerves didn’t matter.”

He was speechless for a moment. Amy hated driving, avoided it like the plague, but she drove here for him. Almost five years with Margret and Eli and six months dating Amy and he still wasn’t used to people caring.

Amy smiled at him, eyes glassy as she leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thank God you’re okay.”

He could get used to this.

The End

Bend In The Road

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 02:29:40 GMT

Title: Bend In The Road
Character: Brian with a teeny hint of Brian/Justin
Word Count: 158
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Note: My first fic of the fandom. =) And the amazing picture that is below the cut that goes with this fic? Made by my lovely Kyra. Love you, hun!!
Summary: Pre-Series: The impossible had happened. Brian Kinney was getting bored.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Sex, drugs, drinking, having a good time; it was all that mattered. Meet a hot guy, screw the hot guy, watch him leave, and know that it hadn’t meant anything. He didn’t care. Why would he? It was all cock and hole, thrust and fuck. Love didn’t matter. Names didn’t matter. He didn’t need love, never had before.

So why was everything getting boring?

He’d smile, bring a guy home or to the back room. He’d pretend he was having fun when the truth was that he really just felt kind of numb. It didn’t feel right; Brian Kinney bored?

But he was.

The thrill of the chase was gone. Guys came and went in both senses of the term and he hardly had to do a thing before they were all over him. It was all too easy.

He needed fun.

He needed thrill.

He needed something new.

Then he saw him under the streetlight.

The End

Friends

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 16:47:57 GMT

If there is one person or more on your friends list who makes your world a better place just because they exist and who you would not have met (in real life or not) without the internet, then post this same sentence in your journal.

Not So Happy Update

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 05:32:46 GMT

So my summer classes started today; Literature: The Novel (online), American Lit 1 (online), and Physical Science 1 (in class). It's past 1 in the morning (so I guess my classes started yesterday) and I'm only just starting to get around to reading today (yesterday's) batch of fic updates on LJ. I haven't even tackled FFN yet.

I hate to say it as much as you guys (especially all of you that are waiting on Damaged Souls), but if my assignments keep going the way they seem to be going, then I'm going to be completely bogged down. I may disappear somewhat, but I'm going to try and not disappear completely. I'll work with what free time I can manage, but it's looking like these next two months are going to be made of suckage.

I'm not abandoning you guys and I'm not abandoning my fics (especially Damaged Souls). Reading and writing these fics keep me sane. I just think I'm going to have to step back a bit.

Don't give up on me!

This is the last time I listen to my sister about school. "Online courses are easier," she says, "especially in summer."

Yeah. Not with the teachers I got.

X.x

I'm Home!

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 15:36:45 GMT

I'm home!! Dammit. Of course the weather got completely gorgeous on the day we went home, but that's my luck, right?

*sigh*

To Do List:
-Unpack
-Eat
-Go through 7 days of updates (kill me now)

Will Be Back

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 13:51:43 GMT

Yup, it's June again and like last year, I'm going on my week long vacation with my family. Have my laptop this year, but I don't know if the house we're renting has wifi connection (since reading/writing slash fics in the middle of the living room may not be the best idea), so I'm not sure if I'll be able to get on again before I come home next Saturday.

Promise you guys that while I'm gone, I will work on "Damaged Souls". The muse has been incredibly stubborn when it comes to rewriting Chapter 17 and I'm running into some issues. Don't worry, though. I'm bringing my laptop instead of a book this year, so even if I don't have wifi, when my friend and I retreat from beaches and sunburns to the nice central air of the house, she can read while I write. Don't know how much I'll get done, but it's better than nothing, right?

What I'll also be working on is a new fic. I've decided that to keep a rhythm going, I'll be writing a chapter of "Damaged Souls" followed by a chapter of my new (and still unposted) Firefly/Secret Life Of The American Teenager crossover, "He's Just A Child".

For those of you reading "Damaged Souls", don't worry. Alternating fics will actually keep me writing faster and then I can write a few more chapters before I resume posting so that you have a regular posting schedule.

I think that's all for now.

Talk to you guys in a week!!!

Alphabet Prompts - Master List

Sun, 31 May 2009 06:33:57 GMT

Title: Alphabet Prompts - Master Post
Pairing: *deep breath* George/Alex (Grey's Anatomy), Mark/Derek (Grey's Anatomy), Jack/Ianto (Torchwood), Jack/Owen (Torchwood), Owen/Ianto (Torchwood), Spike/Angel (Angel), Spike/Wesley (Angel), Angel/Wesley (Angel), Gibbs/Tony (NCIS), Tim/Tony (NCIS), Gibbs/Tim (NCIS), Munch/Fin (Law & Order: SVU), Mark/Roger (RENT), Maureen/Joanne (RENT), and some general ones.
Word Count: 4,225
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Note: To all of you that are on multiple comms that I'm x-posting to, I am so sorry for spamming your flists!!
Summary: The master post. Take a look and see what you can find.

A is for affectionate, RENT, Mark/Roger
They were used to the insults, the slurs that people would send their way when they kissed on a sidewalk or when Roger would slide his hand into his back pocket. They couldn’t say it didn’t bother them sometimes, but they didn’t let it get to them.
Mark was fairly certain that Roger waited for those comments, just so he could kiss him hard, right in front of whoever had opened their mouth.
Back in Scarsdale he would have blushed and whispered something to his partner about keeping the shows of affection for home, but here and now, he didn’t. He wasn’t going to have forever with Roger, he might not even have next year.
He needed to fit in every kiss and caress he could.

B is for blanket, Torchwood, Ianto/Owen
He was bloody well freezing. Himalayas? Saxon couldn’t have sent them somewhere warm?
Shivering, he curled into a ball on his rickety village-provided bed, pulling the blanket closer around him, and groaned when all that did was put his knees into an uncomfortable position below his chin. He stretched out, glaring at his slumbering bunkmate. Stupid teaboy was sleeping like a baby.
He could almost feel the warmth of the light bulb going off above his head. Teaboy had another blanket. Two blankets and two bodies meant more warmth. Completely professional, nothing desirable about it. He was sure the girls were doing it over in their room. He was just cold. It had nothing do to with the street clothes Teaboy had taken to wearing in place of his suits and how his jeans were too damn tight to be comfortable when they were climbing up a mountain. Nope. Not at all.
Resolved, he rose from his bed, clutching his blankets to him and pushed Ianto to the side so he could climb in. He settled against the taller man’s sweater clad chest, already feeling warmer when he felt something poke into his thigh. He frowned, shoving his hand into the other man’s pants pocket, and pulled out...a rock.
A warm rock.
That bloody bastard! He brought the heating stone from the archives!
He scowled, shoving it into his own pocket as he settled back against Ianto’s chest. “Cheater.”

C is for corporate greed, Torchwood, Anyone
Jack was always in a foul mood when he had to go to a UNIT conference and in an even worse one when he came back. Three days of listening to officials he didn’t respect as they picked apart every action and charge to the budget.
Jack never understood why UNIT would never accept the charges for whatever sex toy he stumbled upon.
Ianto never seemed to mind them.
Though he did have a habit of mentioning he’d charged it to the Torchwood account when Ianto was otherwise occupied.
He was sure Ianto wouldn’t mind though, not if those moans meant anything.

D is for diamonds, Law & Order: SVU, Anyone
Fin looked up from his birthday gift, meeting John’s eyes as he pulled the necklace from the box. “John, you realize that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, right?”
John knew he meant it as a joke and scowled half-hearted at his partner. “Just shut up and say ‘thank you’, Fin.”
“Can’t shut up and thank you at the same time,” Fin said with a smirk, fingers playing with the diamond eyes of the onyx dragon pendant.
Cragen had to break up their paper wad fight five minutes later.

E is for enigmatic, Torchwood, Ianto/Owen
Owen didn’t know what Ianto was thinking half the time.
Honestly, sometimes he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
He was a light sleeper, always had been. He always had to be there at the first ring at of a phone or pager, people to help, lives to save.
But he couldn’t do a God damn thing when quiet whimpers would wake him in the middle of the night.
Ianto didn’t thrash in his nightmares, didn’t shout at figures that were only in his head. He suffered in as much silence as his sleep-fogged mind could accomplish. And really, it scared Owen more than he liked.
He never asked what the nightmares were about and Ianto never offered answers. He’d wake up in the morning, blue eyes darker than they had been the night before and they seemed to keep getting darker as the nights went on. Part of Owen was sure one day they’d wake up and those blue eyes will have turned black.
He let Ianto keep that mystery about him for a while until the darkness of his eyes was finally too much.
He pulled the cleaner dampened cloth from Ianto’s hand as the younger man cleaned the kitchen one morning, dragged him into the living room and pulled him onto the couch. “The dreams. Tell me.”
Ianto talked for hours and Owen listened.
He still had a nightmare that night, but when he woke up, wrapped in Owen’s arms, his eyes didn’t look any darker.

F is for first kiss, Angel, Angel/Wesley
His heart would be pounding if he were alive, would be pounding and hammering, threatening to burst from his ribcage. But it was still, long stalled and doing nothing to portray the panic he was feeling as he pulled Wesley from the water.
“Wesley, come on,” he demanded, hair dripping wet, “You aren’t dying like this. Breathe.”
He didn’t and a second later, Angel’s lips were covering his. Angel tore away a second later, cursing as he realized that though his shoulders would move as if breathing, his lungs had stopped working a long time ago.
He closed his eyes, breathing deep and trying to remember just what it felt like to have air come into his lungs. Wesley wasn’t dying and no one else was here. He had to do this.
He covered Wesley’s lips again, practically shouting in relief when he felt air rush past his teeth and down Wesley’s airway. Pulling back, he applied the compressions before returning to add more air.
And then Wesley was coughing water into his mouth.
Thank God.

G is for gloating, Angel, Angel/Spike
“Don’t forget who beat you getting to that cup,” Spike singsonged as they patrolled the sewers below Los Angeles, “Should just let me lead.”
Angel grit his teeth as Spike went on. His fists clenched and he could swear he heard the wood of the stake groan against the force.
There had only been one vampire that night, most of them realizing the upcoming apocalypse and hightailing it from the city. It was a waste of time to be down here, but it needed to be done.
Angelus was angry inside him, growling at the cocky Childe. One fight, he’d lost one fight for a cup of Mountain Dew.
“Can’t handle being the leader, eh?”
And he snapped, throwing the stake to the side as he spun on Spike, throwing the smaller vampire against the wall of the tunnel and smashing his lips against Spike’s in a bruising kiss. He growled, breaking away from the kiss and shoving his hand into Spike’s pants as he bit into the blonde’s neck.
He’d show Spike who was boss.

H is for holding hands, NCIS, Tony/Tim
He was shaking, shaking and gasping as he lay in the hospital bed, bathed in blue lights. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even see straight. His head was pounding, his nose was running, and God damn it, if he could just get his airway clear, that would be great.
How much longer was he supposed to do this? The virus was dead, died long ago, but he wasn’t getting better. When his vision was clear enough, he could see the silent looks between Brad and Emma. They didn’t think he was going to make it and, to be honest, neither did he.
He almost couldn’t feel the hand suddenly surrounding his, squeezing with a strength he couldn’t even muster anymore. A Probie shaped blob smiled down at him, settling into the ugly, deformed chair beside his bed.
The doctors told him the next morning that he’d slept straight through the night.

I is for inconspicuous, Law & Order: SVU, Munch/Fin
Olivia looked up from her paperwork, lips twitching in a smile as she watched Fin and Munch across the bullpen. It was a slow day, thank God, and they’d really just been spending the day catching up on the mountains of paperwork that always seemed to pile up.
Munch and Fin were standing shoulder to shoulder by the window, staring out at the thunder storm as they spoke about something she couldn’t hear.
“Do they really think we can’t tell?” Elliot asked, pulling her attention away from her coworkers. His question made her smile and she laughed softly. “I thought Fin was supposed to be experienced in undercover.”
“Maybe his skills are only in Narcotics,” she joked.
Eliot snorted back a laugh, covering his chuckle when Munch laid a hand on Fin’s back that was just a bit too far down for friends. “I’m seeing why we never send Munch undercover.”
“You think Cragen knows?”
“Oh, he knows.”
Olivia and Elliot jumped as Cragen appeared behind them, both flushing a bit as they felt like two children caught telling a secret.
Olivia coughed, trying to clear the awkwardness. “Should we tell them we know?”
“Nah,” Cragen replied, “I think they’ve made a game out of it.”
Olivia snorted into her coffee as Elliot groaned, both of their minds going to the same exact place. Cragen groaned a second later as his mind caught up to his words.
They’d been working here entirely too long.

J is for jealousy, Torchwood, Jack/Owen
He slept with Ianto when Jack was gone. Just once, rushed and hard down in the vaults and they didn’t talk about it after it happened.
Jack had figured it out within a week of being back, came up to him, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned into him and quipped, “Making your way around the place, huh? Gwen, Ianto, me by association.”
He probably would have said more, but his mouth was covered a second later. They were alone as he shoved Jack against the autopsy table and his mind was anywhere but the CCTV footage when Jack lifted him up and climbed on top of him.
If he was going to have Jack down on his list of People Screwed, he wasn’t going to have it in some pansy way of ‘by association’.

K is for kinky, Angel, Spike/Wesley
Wesley was fairly certain he hadn’t been like this before he came to the States. He’d never had any desire to even contemplate what it would feel like. But things seemed to have changed.
He gasped, head thrown back as Spike slid sharp teeth down his chest. His back arched and he moaned, loud, when he felt a fang pierce his skin. He shuddered as Spike chuckled low in his throat and licked the tiny spot of blood away.
The teeth were back in a second and he could feel the bumps of Spike’s game face against his skin as fangs sunk into the inside of his thigh.
“Oh, God!”
“No God here,” Spike grunted against his thigh.
Oh, but it was the sweetest hell.

L is for late, Grey's Anatomy, Derek/Mark
“Derek, I’m late.”
“You can’t get pregnant, Mark,” Derek slurred, still half asleep as he watched Mark rush through the room with one squinted eye.
Mark glared at him, pulling his head through his shirt. “Work, Derek. I’m late for work. You know, that big place with patients and smells like antiseptic.”
Derek nodded. “Good.”
“Good?”
“You’d look funny pregnant,” Derek said, sinking into the pillows.
Mark stopped in his mad dash around the room, blinking slowly. “Derek, you realize that you’re late, too?”
Derek was up in a second. “Shit!”

M is for music, NCIS, Tony/Tim
Three hours.
They’d been stuck in this stupid elevator for three hours with that God awful elevator music playing. Really, give them a reason for it.
Gibbs, probably. This hell hadn’t been added until Vance noticed how much Gibbs used the elevator for conferences.
“I’m going to go insane,” Tony groaned, banging his head back against the wall as the song looped for the thirty-eighth time.
“Could be worse,” Tim shrugged, sliding down to sit beside Tony.
“How could it be worse, Probie?” Tony snapped.
“You could be stuck in here with Ziva.”
Tony froze, and then shivered. “She’d kill me.”
Tim laughed, patting Tony’s knee. “They’ll have it fixed soon.”
“And until then?” Tony asked before pausing and smirking, “Actually…scratch that. I have the perfect idea.”
“Wh—oof!”
Well, that works.

N is for neighbors, RENT, Maureen/Joanne
Maureen was a screamer.
She wasn’t like the quiet lovers Joanne had had in the past. She didn’t make quiet moans and whimpers. There weren’t whispered words.
Not with Maureen.
Maureen vocalized her pleasure for all to hear, moans and curses echoing off the walls of their apartment when the performer would wake her up for sex at two in the morning. She didn’t hold back, wasn’t shy about telling Joanne just how good she made her feel.
Their neighbors probably didn’t appreciate it.
Joanne loved them, though, could still hear those echoes bouncing off the ceiling afterward as they drifted back to sleep.

O is for overwhelmed, Tony/Gibbs
Tony was gasping under him, body shuddering under Gibbs’ touch. His eyes clenched closed, hand flailing as it searched for something to hold. It found Gibbs’ and held on tight, squeezing and loosening before squeezing again.
Gibbs kissed his forehead before he lifted off of Tony, keeping hold of the smaller man’s hand as he settled himself in a sitting position beside him. He waited for Tony turn onto his stomach and bury his face in his lap as his fingers threaded through brown hair and he closed his eyes.
He listened as the gasps turned into heart wrenching sobs, listened as the sounds echoed off the walls.
The anniversary of Kate’s death was hard on all of them.

P is for penguins, NCIS, Anyone
Abby and Ziva couldn’t help the snorted giggles as they entered the hall and saw Gibbs, Tony, and McGee in their tuxes. Gibbs had a hand in a pocket, well used to the wear of the outfit from his marriages. Tony didn’t look too phased, probably mentally comparing himself to James Bond and using his Sean Connery voice.
But poor McGee. He looked so uncomfortable, fingers pulling at the bowtie, legs in a constant dance from foot to foot as he fidgeted. Gibbs fixed him with a glare, probably not the first of the night and he froze. The dance began again after Gibbs looked away.
Abby stifled her giggles, gliding up to McGee and pulled him onto the dance floor. At least there the dancing wouldn’t look quite as awkward.
Ziva shook her head, joining Gibbs and Tony as they stood to the side. She caught the tail end of their conversation, something about Tony needing a landlord that would actually fix things, before she reached them. Gibbs nodded at her, eyes catching Ducky across the room before he left.
Tony smiled at her, leaning back against the wall.
She smiled back, eyeing him a little closer.
“Like what you see, Zee-vah?”
“You look like a penguin.”
Tony grinned. “A sexy penguin.”

Q is for quiz, Angel, Spike/Angel
“Pop quiz,” Angel said, rolling on top of Spike and rousing him from his sleep.
“Wh’ th’ fuck?” Spike mumbled, eyes snapping open when he felt Angel’s lips on the skin behind his ear. He groaned as Angel blew softly on the wet skin.
“Pop quiz,” he repeated, “Name That Bone.”
“Thought you were waking me up for sex,” Spike complained, trying to roll onto his side, but unable to push off Angel’s weight.
Angel shook his head, kissing the bone just beside the hollow of Spike’s throat. “Name?”
“Not playing,” Spike murmured, moaning low in his throat when Angel nipped the skin.
“Playing now?”
“Mm, clavicle.”
“Very good.” Angel kissed down Spike’s arm. “Bone?”
“Ulna.”
He kissed down Spike’s chest. “Bone?” he asked, slipping his hand between Spike’s legs.
“Dick,” Spike cursed, thrusting against him.
“Not there yet,” he chuckled, “Bone?”
Spike almost whimpered.

R is for recession, RENT, Anyone
Money was tight, always was with them, but as the prices continued to skyrocket and their supply of money began to dwindle, things got hard. The ATMs Collins had wired were of no use to them anymore now that they’d all been replaced with newer ones. Benny turned off their heat again.
Mark shivered against the cold, watching as Roger curled up on the duck taped couch, looking even thinner than he had yesterday. He looked paler, too.
They needed money. Roger hadn’t been able to book a gig with anyone in over a month. Bars and clubs wanted bands, not a one man show. He hadn’t sold a film since No Day But Today and even that hadn’t sold for much.
He sighed, fingers tightening around the chipped coffee cup as Roger sneezed once and made his decision. He’d go back to Buzzline, beg for his job, grovel if he had to.
They needed the money, even if it meant selling his soul.
Roger needed heat and food if he was going to stay healthy and Mark wasn’t going to let the sleaziness of Buzzline keep him from making sure Roger lived another day.

S is for success, NCIS, Tony/Gibbs
He got Gibbs out safe.
That was all that mattered as he pressed against Gibbs’ bare chest that night. He’d gotten Gibbs out safe and no one had had to die. So he’d had to use a movie to give him the idea of looping the video feed while they got the kids to safety and got to the bad guys.
Gibbs was safe.
He was here and he was in one piece.
Tony closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of wood and coffee as he felt Gibbs’ arm tighten in its grip around his waist. He rested his chin atop Gibbs’ heart, eyes blinking open to meet his lover’s.
Gibbs kissed him, pushing him down as he moved to straddle his waist.
He knew Gibbs wouldn’t lay there singing his praises. He’d done his job and got everyone out alive, he took control as Senior Field Agent when Gibbs let himself become a hostage.
But Gibbs was safe now, he was home and Tony was in his bed, lashes fluttering as lips trailed down his body.
Good day.

T is for talented, Law & Order: SVU, Munch/Fin
It was always amusing for John to watch Fin when he went undercover. This whole other side of Fin would come out, a glint in his eyes that wasn’t normally there. He had fun with it. And he was good.
But even though he’d have his fun being someone else, the end was always the hardest. He was quiet after coming back, always was. He’d barely speak and it was impossible to get him to crack a joke or a smile of any kind.
So they’d just lie in John’s bed—always John’s since it was bigger—while he kept one arm secure around Fin, grounding him until he could ground himself.

U is for us, Grey's Anatomy, George/Alex
“What are we, Alex?”
It was a valid question. They’d been having sex for four months and, sure, having sex didn’t mean everything, especially not at Seattle Grace, it had to mean something that they weren’t screwing then leaving, right? Right? They’d taken each other home, his more than Alex’s so the girls wouldn’t ask questions, and they actually spent the nights together.
He could feel Alex’s fingers tangled in his hair, unmoving now that he’d drifted off to sleep. He didn’t want to wake Alex, but he needed to know.
“Hm?” came Alex’s sleepy reply as he shifted below George.
“What are we?”
“You woke me up to ask me that?” Alex grunted, pulling George in for a kiss when he saw the other man’s blush, “We’re us, George.”
“So there’s an us?” George asked, trying to hide his smile.
“Go to sleep, George.”

V is for Valentine's Day, RENT, Mark/Roger
They weren’t like other couples. They didn’t spend their Valentine’s Day sitting in front of a cozy fire, sharing chocolate covered strawberries.
They had a metal garbage can, burning old scripts that Mark had long since abandoned and they each had their own bowls of Captain Crunch. And though they shared a blanket, it was more for warmth than romance.
Mark rested comfortably against Roger’s chest, his head fallen back against a leather clad shoulder as he felt the thu-thump of Roger’s heart against his back.
They didn’t make promises for next year, because they didn’t know if they’d have it. They’d already lost Angel and Mimi. Life was too unpredictable to make plans for next year, not in a life like theirs.
Roger began to hum what Mark immediately recognized as the tune for “Musetta's Waltz” and he smiled, fingers trailing along his camera.

W is for weathered, NCIS, Gibbs/Tim
He was crying in a stairwell when Gibbs found him, his suit wrinkled and damp from the tears that dripped off his chin. He looked up at Gibbs, wiping his eyes as he tried to erase any evidence of the tears. He could feel his cheeks burning.
Gibbs wouldn’t cry.
Tim scowled at himself, telling himself that he got off easy. He was only being moved to Cyber Crimes. Tony and Ziva were leaving, Gibbs was getting a new team.
Gibbs sat beside him, looking older than Tim had ever seen. His eyes were dull, tired, and he could see wrinkles that he knew hadn’t been there before…before the Director died.
He clenched his eyes shut to fend off the next wave that he knew wanted to come rushing out. His eyes popped open as he felt a hand rest on the back of his neck, giving a soft squeeze. Wide eyes landed on Gibbs, staring at the man who kept his own eyes straight.
“Boss?”
“Never be ashamed of tears, Tim,” Gibbs said. His own voice sounded rough.
He could have sworn he saw Gibbs’ lashes start to glisten.

X is for Xander, Angel, Spike/Angel
There weren’t heart monitors beeping that reassuring beep. In fact, had they been on, they would have been giving that long shriek.
Spike’s heart hadn’t beaten in over a century.
That beeping would have perfected the scene, though, would have perfected image of his Childe, small and frail in the hospital bed while he sat in the chair, clutching a limp hand.
Spike would wake up in his own time, his body needed time to heal from the damage.
Angel closed his eyes against the memories of finding Spike lying unconscious almost in the light of the rising sun. He’d dashed for the smaller vampire that had been missing for over two months, grabbed him and pulled him into the safety of the shadows.
He almost jumped as Spike’s fingers tightened around his.
“Wh’ happen’d?” Spike slurred, eyes barely open a sliver. “How’d y’find me?”
“Xander,” he said, knowing Spike was too far gone to be able to listen to the explanation of how Xander had found him.
Spike made a grunt of acknowledgement, eyes slipping closed again. “One tha’ sees.”
“Sleep, William.”
He kissed Spike’s forehead, listening as the needless breathes evened out.

Y is for yoyo, NCIS, Tony/Anyone
Gibbs didn’t really get why Tony would stare at that damn yoyo like that. It was nothing more than cheap blue plastic and weak string. Nothing special, but DiNozzo carried it with him every day, would stroke the deformed plastic like it was a block of gold.
He didn’t get it.
“Do you remember where it came from?” Tony asked when he finally asked just what was so special about that damn toy.
“Yeah,” he replied, remembering Tony’s first birthday with him. Abby had dragged them and Ducky to the movies, followed with a trip to the arcade. He’d won it in a twenty-five cent claw game and tossed it to Tony for no reason at all.
Tony smiled, leaning into his chest as his fingers continued to stroke the yoyo. “It was the first thing you gave me.”

Z is for zoo, Grey's Anatomy, anyone
Amelia squealed, pointing and laughing as George’s head was assaulted by an ostrich. “Papa! Look at Daddy!”
Alex laughed, hefting Amelia a bit higher on his hip as George darted away from the bird, rubbing his head. “Daddy got pecked.”
Amelia giggled.
“Who are you giggling at?” George asked, smiling as he took the four year old from Alex.
“You, Daddy!”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh!”
Alex shook his head, already knowing that George was never going to want to go to the zoo again, but also knowing if Amelia asked neither of them would be able to say no.
George put Amelia down, letting her run the three feet to the balloon man, two dollars in hand. “I got pecked by a bird.”
“I saw.”
“I’d rather be pecked by my husband.”
Alex smiled. “I think I can do that.”

Echo Of The Past

Mon, 25 May 2009 06:48:15 GMT

Title: Echo Of The Past
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 1,462
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Note: Despite the summary, this actually isn't a Post-Cyberwoman fic.
Note 2: I know! I'm supposed to be working on "Damaged Souls", but the bunnies called! Please remember that voting for the Children Of Time Awards is still open. And please vote for "Damaged Souls". It's under the Torchwood WIP section.
Summary: "Have you ever loved anyone, Jack?"

PLEASE REVIEW!

“Amara, I know how you must feel-“

Amara glared at Jack, hazel eyes ablaze as she shoved him hard in the chest. “You know nothing!” she snapped, “My fiance is dead!” She shoved him again. “Have you ever loved anyone, Jack?!”

“Have you ever loved anyone, Jack?”

His breath caught in his throat for a moment as he grabbed Amara’s wrists. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he heard Gareth yelp across the Hub. He turned his gaze from Amara’s furious face and to the blonde haired tech. “Gareth-”

“I think we have a problem, Captain,” he cut in, turning nervous brown eyes to him. He pointed at the piece of tech they’d found that morning and Jack noticed that something had switched it on. Jack closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. He’d had his suspicions about the device and he’d told Gareth to be careful.

“Sir? What’s-”

“Gareth, what did you do now?!” Zoe snapped, interrupting Alec. She placed her hands on her hips, pushing her white lab coat behind her. Her face went pale when she saw the whirring machine. “Damn it, Gar!”

“I didn’t touch it!” Gareth defended, “I was only running scans!”

“He was,” Alec said, eyeing the artifact warily.

“Well, a lot of good that does us,” Zoe scoffed, “We don’t even know what it—what just happened?”

The entire group went quiet, their only sound being Amara’s sniffles. Around them was still the Hub they’d worked in for ages, but it…wasn’t. It wasn’t their Hub anymore. The walls were less chipped, the couch under the Torchwood stamp wasn’t the one that Amara had insisted on buying a month before; this one didn’t hover. Everything was so…old.

“My God,” Gareth breathed, walking over to what should have been his workstation, “Will you look at these? They’re ancient!”

“I don’t care, Owen.”

“Tosh, lay off,” Owen huffed, “It’s just a little porn.”

“You’re ‘little porn’ is clogging up Mainframe,” Tosh said, sliding into her seat and turning to her computer.

“Wh-What? What’s going on?” Gareth asked, suddenly terrified as Tosh stepped right through him. He was shaking as he rejoined the group, pressing close to his equally terrified coworkers.

Jack’s chest clenched as they watched Tosh and Owen argue, biting his lip when Gwen entered.

“Honestly, Owen,” Gwen rolled her eyes, “No man needs that much porn on his work computer.”

“He shouldn’t even have it on his work computer,” Tosh grumbled, opening a new scan.

Owen snorted, falling into his chair and propped his feet on the edge of the desk.

“But that’s my…” Zoe said, trailing off as she watched Owen at her workstation.

“Why don’t they see us?” Alec asked, watching as Gwen went to his desk.

“We aren’t really here,” Jack said softly, “The device…it brings forward points of the past. I hadn’t been sure when we found it, but this…this time shouldn’t be here.”

It was so much like the Ghost Machine, bringing back images that had grown fuzzy in his mind. He’d never forgotten them, never forgotten this team. He remembered every one of them and though words and petty arguments grew fuzzy over time, he remembered each detail of their face, each aspect of their personality. He remembered everyone from his past in one way or another, just as he would remember his current team when he lost them as well.

“Woah, guys!” Amara exclaimed, pointing past the bickering figments of the past and straight to…

“Jack?!”

Jack chuckled, leaning against the door of his office as he watched Owen and Tosh argue, and cast a glance at Gwen. He shook his head, going back into his office.

His team turned astonished eyes to him.

“Captain,” Gareth said, “When are we?”

“2008,” he said, staring at the door his past self had disappeared through.

“That’s over two hundred years ago,” Amara gasped.

He nodded.

He’d left Cardiff after Gwen had died. She’d been the last remaining member of the team and with everyone gone, the Hub was suddenly so much bigger. Myfanwy was gone, flown right into the Rift one night. He hoped she’d been sent home, though he knew it was a long shot. He joined the Doctor again when he left and traveled for a good century and a half before they’d returned for a refuel and he couldn’t bring himself to leave. The Hub was as he’d left it, computers turned off, brochures strewn across the desk of the tourist office, papers still piled on his desk; no doubt, UNIT would be more than a little miffed that they were late. Seas of dust had gathered, but he’d cleaned that before he returned to work and recruited his current team.

He glanced at his team, cringing slightly as he saw them send each other short looks before they ran for what had been and still was his office.

“You’ve barely changed a thing,” Alec said, looking around and freezing as another man walked through him. He spun, eyes widening as he got a close look at the man that had perched himself on the corner of Jack’s desk. “Isn’t that the guy from your tin?”

Jack bit his lip, nodding once as he remembered returning to the Hub and finding his team scrambling to pick up the contents of the tin from when they’d dropped it. None of them had ever asked questions about the creased and yellowed photos and he’d never offered answers.

“Porn will be gone in the morning?” Jack asked, smirking from behind his coffee cup.

“As usual,” Ianto assured, taking a bite from one of the donuts on Jack’s desk.

“Looks like you’ll be staying late tonight.”

“Looks like.”

Jack grinned, putting his cup down and rising from his chair. He circled the table until he was standing between Ianto’s legs. His chest pressed against Ianto’s and his hands braced himself on the desk as Ianto’s own hands wrapped around his waist. He pressed his lips to Ianto’s neck once before kissing his lips. “Believe I still owe you that date.”

“That you do, sir.” Ianto’s head fell back as Jack’s hand drifted to his crotch and he moaned.

“Maybe another night.”

Ianto laughed and pulled Jack in for another kiss.

The scene faded, Ianto’s laughs seeming to echo off the walls as Jack’s office suddenly seemed too cramped. Jack set his jaw and went to his desk, sending a glance at his team that clearly told them to get out. He rose an eyebrow as Amara lingered in the doorway.

“Jack…I,” she lowered her gaze to the floor, “I’m sorry.” She returned her gaze to him, looking at him with more understanding than she had mere minutes ago, then turned on her heel and left, the door swinging shut behind her.

He sighed, one hand reaching for his tin. The picture on top was old and he peeled the two photos apart carefully, smiling gently at the group photo. His thumb traced over Owen, Gwen, and Tosh’s faces, but paused on Ianto’s, stroking gently. Those two photos had always seemed to stick together. He doubted his team had noticed it when they’d raced to replace everything.

With one last, gentle pull, he stared at the second photo.

Ianto.

He’d snapped it with the digital camera Tosh had brought. They’d taken it the same day as the group photo as they lounged on the beach. He’d taken a walk with Ianto, he remembered, pulled him away from the group and shared some kisses behind a large grouping of rocks. They’d climbed to the top and just sat there, Ianto lying between Jack’s legs, comfortable against his chest. They’d snapped a few shots together as they sat there—those had been lost in his travels with the Doctor, he recalled with regret—and it was that last shot as they stood and prepared to leave that Jack couldn’t resist.

Ianto had been staring out at the water, smiling as the water reflected off his eyes. One hand was cupped above his brow, blocking the sun from his eyes as he watched the seagulls, for once devoid of his suit. He’d been dressed more casually than he ever was, dressed in a white wife beater and his short sleeve button up that he himself had unbuttoned before they left the Hub. He hadn’t been able to convince Ianto to wear shorts, remembering the younger man’s shyness about the scars on his legs, caused by burning floors during Canary Wharf.

These were the last pictures of a time he’d never be able to get back.

Jack closed his eyes, ears reaching out as if they could still hear Ianto’s laughter.

Had he ever loved anyone?

Yes, yes he had.

The End