Romeo

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 22:08:51 GMT

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 22:03:16 GMT

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:57:09 GMT

Pics

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:48:56 GMT

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:41:10 GMT

FanFic BSG: Strangled

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 02:53:01 GMT

Man, this gets harder each day. And not the going on part; we've grown used to this standard of living. It's the living with each other that breaks every heart. There are so many words to say and so many revelations stopping us. Dee looks at me wistfully sometimes, but she won't come close. Kara tries not to look at Sam, but she can't help getting close to him. In the same way, she can't seem to help being close to me.

The most haunting places are the ruins of huge cities, so much like what Caprica and the rest of the colonies will be centuries from now, and Kara takes me with her to the second one we find. It's after everyone has seen it and known there is nothing living there, after the littlest bit of light is gone, and we're on the floor of the raptor we stole away in.

She tells me that in this hopeless place, she lays down to rest and she imagines that the man beside her, still her husband even after everything, is my brother. I joke and say that he might be, we look as alike as Zak and I did. She doesn't playfully slap me, or push me away, she just gives me this examining look and turns her back to me. I stare at her naked back and wonder what she wanted me to say to that anyways. I rest my arm just at her waist and whisper that I love her, and she grabs onto my hand and says nothing back.

She stops seeking me out after that, and I'm so busy, just the way I'm supposed to like, that I can't track her down. Months go by, and she gets buried under my new worries. But when I go to Galactica and see Sam getting out of his viper, I remember her. And shame and guilt floods me, for what we did with each other and to Dee and Sam.

I wonder what it would be like to be him, used as a stand-in for another man, and know it. Because in usual Kara fashion, she doesn't hide for too long what she wants.

Sam catches me staring and his hand freezes at the zipper of his flight suit, something in his expression makes me shiver and tense, and I'm sure he took notice. Maybe he was headed for me when he started walking, but I can't be sure, because I got scared enough to jog to the Admirals' quarters.

(-)

How this got started, I don't know. It was during the long weeks of moving down to this graveyard, of clearing away the concretes and metals left behind by our cousins, and building our small, simple houses. Real ones though, no one even bought up the idea of another city of tents.

We ended up on a raptor together, him carrying a small, mostly empty bag, asking if I wanted to come over and see where he and Kara would be staying. “No thanks”, would have been the correct reply, which is exactly why what came out of my mouth was “Sure”.

Really, I've never been attracted to men before, and can't say I am now. In general at least. I mean, who can't notice Sam is hot, but it's the fire in him I love, so much like Kara's... Before all this, he must have been a rebel, and reckless, just showing off because he knew he was the best. Now he's toned down a bit, but not enough to not have these sweet little joints in a container that looks like he's had it forever.

Not that long apparently; as he shifts close enough that he's almost in my lap, he takes it from my fingers and after a drag yells, “I've had this since I joined my high school Pyramid team.”

Later, and he's straddling my lap. With his head on my shoulder, he takes my hands and whines pleasantly, “Touch me. Please...”

Lush lips move along my jawline, and when teeth begin nipping lightly, I can't stop myself from giving in to his pleas.

(-)

On this chill and windy night on Earth, in my new home and my warm bed, he holds tightly to me as I thrust in and out of him, muffling his half strangled whimpers against my neck. Only our second time and how open and vulnerable he is makes me hotter than I was on a long ago New Caprican night with his wife.

He starts to come just as I finish and I kiss him once on lidded eyes, warning him, “Sam, I think I'm falling in love with you.”

Once his breathing calms down, he looks up at me, smiling, “About time.”

(-)

Black and blue marring the beautiful skin of his arms is all I see when I go to their home, intent on discovering why he failed to show for our one year anniversary date. He has to be hurt a lot, because he's not fast enough to slam the door and I'm in, and he's sliding down to the floor with his back pressed against the wall. Shaking, he draws his knees to his chest and tells me, “Kara found out. She doesn't want me to see you anymore.”

Staring down at him, looking at his bruised body, absorbing what he just said, I shake my head, “No, Sam. No. Kara couldn't have hurt you.”

His broken sobs are proof enough that I'm wrong, because yes, she could have hurt him, and she did. I have to know as I fall to my knees at his side, “Sam, didn't you fight back?”

Leaning into my embrace, he lays his head over my heart and answers, “She was right. I deserve this; I cheated on her.”

Double standards and domestic abuse come to mind, but we'll talk about that later. Now I hold him and when his tears run out, I tug him gently to his feet and direct him to their bed, arranging him carefully on his back. I know what it is to fight with Kara, and if Sam wasn't defending himself, it's very possible things are damaged inside.

He's down to a pair of boxers when I've finished ghosting my hands over his bruised body, thankful that I didn't come across any broken bones, when I can't contain my fury any longer. It's his wife that I want to hurt, but he's right here and I grab his hair with one hand and slap him sharply with the other, yelling, “What the frak is wrong with you? How the hell could you just stay there and take it! She could have frakking killed you, you idiot!”

Sam covers his face, right where the bright red mark is, and my heart clenches and I hate myself as much as I hate Kara right now. He turns his back to me and what I did is just so wrong. It would have been just as wrong with Kara, but she would have hit back harder and I'd have known what to do. Instead, I'm sick of myself and I can't touch him because I never wanted to hurt anyone. But I can't leave Sam, so I stay alongside him, no more than an inch of space between us, and I whisper to him, “I'm so sorry.”

(-)

We jolt awake at the slam of a door. Sam's back is pressed to my front and my arms and legs entwined with his, and when I realize who it is that just walked into the bedroom, I hope that Kara's too drunk to be dangerous. She doesn't say anything. All she does is walk to the other side of the bed and climb in, but not before pulling off my shoes.

When she looks at me, I know she's sober, and that she had to have been crying all night. She kisses the palm of Sam's hand, begging in hushed tones, “Can you ever forgive me?”

In response, he guides her to him and I hear him breathe out gratefully, “You came back.”

...and this is where I leave, but Kara grabs my shoulder and Sam's legs trap mine. She stares straight at me and he twists around to see me better, and when they both ask me to stay I fall back into place.

END

Monk FanFic: Relief

Sun, 03 Aug 2008 17:03:26 GMT

Rays of sun still peek through the horizon, but the streetlights turned on three minutes ago. It's been nine minutes since Natalie left, and Randy has just about enough courage to get of his car and begin the walk to Monk's apartment. He talks to himself in hushed tones, like he did when he was little and alone. He says that this is a good time to try to speak with Monk. There are no major open cases, the former detective seems to be relatively stable, and Randy himself is getting sick of hiding his feelings; if he doesn't put them out in the open now, they're bound to come out at an inappropriate time.

Then Randy has to shut up, because suddenly he blinks and Monk is in front of him, asking why Randy's been standing in front of his door silently for ten minutes. Randy opens his mouth and tries to talk, really, he does, but no words come out. Monk fidgets nervously, asking Randy what's wrong, because of course there has to be something wrong for the Lieutenant to be at his home, at night, without the Captain.

Seeing that Monk is getting agitated, Randy firmly orders his voice to work again, pleased when he hears himself at last, telling Monk that nothing is wrong, he's just here because.... And he's scared. Maybe he shouldn't be here just now, or ever. Maybe he should turn around, walk back to his car, pretend this never happened, but wait- Monk is inviting him in.

He seats Randy on one end of the couch, and fidgets a little before taking a seat on the far end. Randy stays quiet, but listens as Monk tells him how he had been using his new duster earlier, and how Natalie walked off, nearly yelling that he wasn't listening to her. Do you want to see the duster? No, no thanks, Monk. You know what, I just remembered I have a-, a date with this lady....

Randy makes it to the door and is unlocking it when Monk asks once more, Randy, why did you come here? The younger man sighs heavily, turns around and with both hands jammed firmly in his jacket pockets, he tries to verbalize his half-made thoughts. Monk, you are a very brilliant man, and you notice a lot of things I will never have the ability to. But for a while now I've had feelings about you, and I think that maybe you haven't noticed them.... Well, I've had feelings for you since I met you. I used to be jealous of you, because the Captain always preferred you over me. And that was okay, because the jealously went away as my respect for you grew.

Recently, it seems that respect has led me to feel other emotions for you. I consider you a good colleague, but I want us to connect on a deeper level, and basically I came here to let you know I think I'm in love with you, and to ask if you would be willing to give an intimate relationship with me a try....

Randy trails off, breathless from fear of rejection, already holding back tears, regretting this, wishing he didn't feel the way he did, wishing he had taped his mouth shut before coming here. Or better yet, handcuffed himself to the steering wheel of his car until this desire for a more fuller life or something had passed.

Monk thinks, and thinks, and briefly entertains examining the other man a if he were a crime scene, finally saying something that doesn't destroy Randy- completely. Randy. Ah, Randy, I never thought that you considered me a, uh, candidate for your, uh.., boyfriend.

This is it, this is it, I've made a fool of myself. His heart breaking, Randy yanks open the door and is running away, hearing Monk still speaking but not listening anymore.

Two days later it's Wednesday. Just after sundown, and Randy wasn't returning calls from the Captain who asks why he decided to take his vacation all of the sudden, with no plans to go anywhere. But the Captain came over earlier today and Randy had to plaster on a smile to greet his superior and make up lies about how the hotel he was booked at is shutting down due to dead zones and the beach is infested with whales, and the airline lost all their planes to a major processed pasta incident. The older man seemed a bit skeptical, but told Randy to take care of himself and he's looking forward to having him back at the job come Monday morning.

Sipping on his third cherry slushie of the day, Randy thinks life would be easier if he was just a different way. If he wasn't such a loser maybe he'd be a more normal adult, and maybe he'd be attracted to a person who could return is feelings, and he, or she, would. Because he would be able to say what he wants to, and have it sound like a respectable man is speaking. Instead, he's nervous and what come out isn't right. It's not what he wanted to express, and he ends up sounding like a kid with no clue.

As his third brain freeze of the day hits, a muffled knocking at the door startles him out of himself. Plastic cup in one hand, and the other pressed to his forehead, Randy dizzily makes his way to the door, absently opening it.

It's Monk, with the sleeve of his jacket rolled over his fist, ready to knock again, but Randy's already blinking slowly at him, blushing a gentle pink shade. The door is shutting until Monk places his foot forward to stop it.

Randy, please, we need to talk about the other night. You know, when you came to my apartment and-

I know, are the words that come whispered from where Randy hides behind the wooden barrier between them.

Can I come in?

The door gives when Monk pushes it next and when he walks into Randy's home the younger man is standing a few feet away, hugging his over sized and brightly colored container of cold, sugary happiness.

I'm not in love with you, Randy. I think of you as a good friend, but I have never thought of you as a romantic partner. Truthfully, I never thought anyone would want to be with me. Trudy was a miracle, why she even gave me a chance I'll never know.... Randy, I'm warning you, this will take a lot of time and you know I don't like changing things, but if you still want to try, I'm willing to.

Monk finishes and looks to Randy, relieved when the younger man smiles shyly and nods yes.

END.

Law and Order: CI FanFic- Levels of Leaving

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 02:58:55 GMT

Levels of Leaving

Alex was no blabbermouth, but she wasn't ever completely silent.

She injected words into a conversation when she needed to, made remarks when he needed an answer to one of his own, made observations when he needed to hear them. She was the kind of woman who spoke with her actions, subtle though they were. He recalls how she did the talking, first with Deakins, and for a short time with Ross, and how he would stand fidgeting in the corner.

Now it's reversed. Alex is standing still in the corner by the door, to his left, as he engages in yet another argument with Ross. As usual, it's about how his partner feels uncomfortable working with him.

This speech is so well versed by both men that it's now automatic, and Ross doesn't even really care when Bobby tunes him out. It's more important that said partner is watching the pair with attentive eyes, wondering when would be a good time to request a transfer.

Inwardly Ross tallies up another point on his mental scoreboard for The Partners That Ran Away, and quashes down the fear that he may not be able to find a different partner for Major Cases' most unique detective.

As Ross winds down, Goren relaxes slightly, peeking out of his peripheral to the woman in the corner. He wants to talk to her, but Ross is here, and privacy is needed for what he has to say. For now Bobby reflects back to the long-lost days when they were like two of a kind. Always together; a set that couldn't be taken apart because one without the other was something... worthless.

Less than a couple of years ago, Bobby could have counted on Alex to be his friend, but not anymore. That thought makes him almost angry at her. How dare she become someone dependable and even caring for him, and then just leave him the way she did. His fists clench at how he had to face the death of his mother, and her illnesses, all on his own, when Alex had all but said that she would be there for him when he needed her.

Consumed in the growing fury that is the only emotion, other than sadness, that dominates his soul nowadays, Bobby misses the end of Ross's little rant. It's not until he feels Danny's hand on his shoulder that Bobby flinches and realizes he's been dismissed. The touch of sympathy in Ross's gesture is disarming and unwelcome, and Bobby nods as he leaves, hoping to avoid another familiar lecture, this one all the more painful for the peace of mind it seeks to bring him.

By the time he reaches his desk, his emotions flee, and he is once again the stoic being everyone at 1PP has come to know him as. Bobby feels his soon-to-be former partners' stare on him as he moves to collect all the documents he will need back in the almost-solitude of his apartment, but he does nothing. He doesn't even spare the young man a glance as he walks away.

~

Warm tears spill from his eyes as he flashes back to Alex's cold and mutilated body hanging from the ceiling of the room that had been her prison, courtesy of Jo Gage. He had stared and stared at Alex, hoping that somehow this nightmare might fix itself; that the cuts might heal and the blood might flow through her veins, banishing the iciness.

He shakes off his coat and drapes it over her, after releasing her arms from the hook. He has a few moments before the guys with the body bags came and take her away, and in those moments he holds her in a tight bear hug, hoping he would hear her muffled voice ordering him to quit crushing her. Or tell him he's stupid for shedding tears because there's nothing to cry about here.

When someone repeats his name for probably the fourth or fifth time, he knows it is time to let her body go. So he had hugs her just a bit more tightly and plants a quick, chaste kiss on her forehead.

When he saw the bag being zipped up, he had thought that that would be the last time he would ever see her.

He had been wrong. So wrong, because Alex had been there at her funeral, standing beside him as her coffin was lowered into her final resting place. That had been within a couple days of her death, days Bobby had spent alternating with rage at the whole fucking Gage family and a stillness inside himself.

Alex's appearance wasn't frightful to him, in fact, he had come so close so many times to yelling at people for talking about her like she wasn't hearing every word they said. When she followed him back to his apartment he was glad to have her to look at.

Bobby didn't begin questioning his sanity until about a week afterwards, when she first began speaking to him. Just like she's doing right now.

“Bobby... Bobby, come on, don't do this now,” she pleads as he lifts the fourth bottle of Jack Daniels to his lips. Pausing, he breaks with tradition and gazes directly at her.

As she kneels in front of him, Bobby speaks to her for the first time in months, “And why-why shouldn't I do this? Huh? It's.., it's n-not like you're here to stop.., stop me or anything.”

He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, Alex is still there, only she looks more anguished than she did just a second ago. And her tortured voice just sounds so real, more real than anything else has lately, that he can't help but doubt his own statement when she says, “But Bobby, I am here, I never left. You should know that.”

Bobby doesn't believe in ghosts, so Alex has to really be here if she can take the bottle from him with gentle hands, the skin where it brushes against his as soft and warm as it ever was.

As she sits down next to him and lays her head on his shoulder, Bobby half asks her and half wonders out loud, “Have I finally lost it?”

Rubbing away the last trace of salty tear tracks from his face, Alex says, “Doesn't matter; I love you anyways.”

It's like falling into abyss that might never end when he accepts what Alex says. But Bobby can't really care, because everything that's been weighing him down fades away with every movement as he wraps his arms around Alex.

Thinking that insanity doesn't feel nearly as bad as it's cracked up to be, Bobby whispers softly, “And I love you too, Alex.”

Law and Order: SVU: FanFic: Air Castles

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 01:28:14 GMT

Air Castles

Imagine.

Imagine...

“Imagine what?”, the woman in the shadows with the anguish racked soul asks herself.

She knows though, knows exactly what she wants to have happened the day her precious lover met with harm.

When the detective imagines what might have been, she can never quite manage to keep her lover from the situation; Melinda was not the kind of person who would shy from where she was needed, even if she had known of the danger that awaited her and anyone in the Manhattan Liberty Bank on January ninth.

So Olivia imagines ways that what happened, might not have.

Maybe if that sharpshooter had not pulled his trigger, or maybe if Daniel Hunter hadn't been high, or maybe if... There are so many 'ifs' about it, and even though Olivia knows it doesn't matter, she keeps on going over and over them, trying to make one happen just by believing that it did.

She's not good at making up fairy tales though, and even if she could believe for a while, there's always the irreversible change in her life that lets her know she was only dreaming.

Melinda is on the floor like everyone else.

She tries to think of what to say to Daniel, then she sees him reaching for Elliot, and she's worried because in this state Daniel could do anything.

“I had no choice. Come on-”

Daniel, halfway reaching for Elliot pauses, seems to rethink something, and grabs Melinda instead. 'Turn around', he says, and the pair walk to the front doors of the bank.

Melinda doesn't know anything has happened when, after pulling her in front of him for a moment, Daniel drags her back into the building. It hits her that her fellow hostages are almost panicking over something.

She feels the vibrations of Daniel's gun going off, and then she sees the people closest to Jack rush to him. He's on the floor, he must have been shot, but why isn't Elliot one of the people around him, why is he staring at her.

“Damn you, Elliot,” the doctor in her wants you yell, “You have training, do something! Don't just look at me!”

She hits the floor at some point and Elliot makes his way over to her, telling her to stay with him. Melinda tries to ask him where exactly he thinks she's going, but he's suddenly pressing with all his might at her left shoulder, and it's only then that Melinda notices blood trying to escape from beneath Elliot's palms and fingers.

The shooter thought he had a good shot for Daniel, and he must have, until that split instant where Daniel moved, or Melinda moved, and the bullet, intended for the young man, hit his hostage instead.

Olivia almost cried when Melinda, in the apartment they had begun sharing only in late November, related to her the latent shock of finding out she had been shot. That was in January, still, not even over a week since Melinda had been shot and nearly died from the wound. To Olivia though, it felt as it years had gone by just in that emergency room, waiting to hear that her lover was going to make it.

There's something tearing through Melinda. In her shoulder, close to her neck. The pain is strong, and feels as if it's growing. It was growing while she laid on that ice-cold floor, and it was growing even more as she was taken into an ambulance.

Now she's laying here, on this bed and staring up at too-bright lights and faces she thinks she may recognize. Yes, she's certain she does know some of these people. One must be a new addition to this hospital staff, because Melinda knows they used to work together. Man, what is his name? Something with a 'J'.

She can feel everything they're doing. Every instrument and every gloved hand on Melinda's skin sends rippling waves of pain. She shuts her eyes tightly to drown out the pain and light, and even the noise.

So when sensations turn dull, then non-existent entirely, Melinda feels simple relief. The cold begins to cover her like a blanket and she's not even aware of it. She doesn't know now that if she tried to open her eyes, she can't. She doesn't know that the doctors are yelling out their frustration that they're losing her.

Somehow though, they don't lose Melinda, and she slips into a deep, drug inducted sleep, not death. But the last thought that crosses Melinda's mind is that this must be the end.

Sitting, albeit restlessly, Olivia hopes and hopes that Melinda is strong enough to survive this. From what Elliot had told her during their call, Melinda had been conscious when the paramedics had pulled him away from her.

She know she should be at work right now, not here in the waiting for the emergency room, but she can't just leave Melinda alone, whether her lover gets out alive or not. Because Melinda would do the same for her. The words were never spoken, because these situations were never actually discussed, but the promise was in the way they both departed with such care.

It had been the morning after their second date and Olivia said she had to rush back to her apartment to get ready for work, when Melinda had first ordered her to be careful. She had done it by saying the words while peppering tiny kisses over Olivia's face. It became quite a ritual, and one time, after Olivia had come home from a particularity hazardous case, Melinda had made mind-blowing love to her, then held her tightly as she whispered, when she thought Olivia couldn't hear, that she didn't ever want to lose the detective.

Touched to the point of tears, that somebody cared for her so much, Olivia had to blink them back. Discreetly, of course, because she wasn't supposed to have heard those words. That whole night Olivia had lain half awake, fantasizing on how her and Melinda would share the rest of their lives, and although her heart had been screaming at her to say those three wonderful words, Olivia's mind argued back that she didn't want to scare Melinda off by professing her love so early.

Maybe she should have let her heart win that inner battle right then and there, because she never again felt courageous enough to speak those words.

Upon waking to see Olivia by her side and being informed by an exhausted looking nurse that the bullet had been removed successfully during surgery, Melinda had been silent. The nurse had left and Melinda still could not speak. Until Olivia kissed her like the prince did sleeping beauty.

Then Melinda did say something. Words which will tear at Olivia's heart forever. She had said, “Am I dead?”

At first Olivia had been thinking that Melinda must be making a joke, but that hope got quashed faster than it was made; Olivia had never heard that kind of resignation in her lover's voice before. Drawing in a strengthening breath, Olivia answers, “No baby, you are certainly not dead.”

Moving her eyes slightly to the right to stare directly into Olivia's, Melinda asks in a broken whisper, “Shouldn't I be?”

Speechless, Olivia had vigorously shaken her head as a reply. When her vocal cords decided to begin functioning again she almost screamed in horror, “No!”

Olivia did tell Melinda of her love. Just shy of twelve hours after Melinda had awoken in that hospital bed.

She had been transferred over to a room to be observed. At some point when Olivia had been at work, Melinda had managed to switch her plain saline drip with one containing a cocktail of medicines that, in these great quantities, acted as a lethal poison to her system.

Melinda had not spoken to Olivia much, but when she had she would say insane things, the most frightening of which was the statement that she should not be alive.

Olivia had written it off as shock, but when she got there just as the sun was going down, she had to admit, to herself at least, that what Melinda was feeling couldn't be just shock. Because right on that bed her lover laid with a dazed, drowsy look in her eyes, falling faster than Olivia could run to help her.

She tried though, from the doorway she had shouted for a doctor, screaming that the patient needs help NOW!

Someway, Olivia knew in her heart that when help got to them, it would be too late for Melinda. So, having taken a hold of one chilly hand, Olivia had shouted through her tears, “Melinda I'm in love with you!”

Melinda didn't get killed at that bank, and she survived through the operating procedure to remove the bullet.., but on that day, she left Olivia alone forever.

So now the detective only dreams of what may have been, while dying inside just a little more each day.

Fairly OddParents FanFic: Rues

Tue, 07 Aug 2007 23:55:57 GMT

Rues

What if I never find love?

When I asked myself that question at age sixteen, my answer to myself was a scoff and the knowledge that everyone loves me, except for that twerp Timmy Turner, but it's not as if he matters or anything. I honestly thought that when I'd found the perfect one for me, all it would take would be a something as simple as a snap of my fingers and he'd be mine.

I mean, Winston Dunnsworth was just a passing crush. Even if my heart did burn red hot every time i saw him with that bitch he dumped me for, it was only because he disgusted me. Yeah, that's it. And Ricky? Really, he was okay, but he kind of struck me as too much of a jerk. Who in real life is that mean? No one else, and I consider myself blessed for the fact that he never called me after he ran out of the Turners' house. When I think of them, they're about as bad for me as that worthless brat Timmy could have been.

...Not that I ever thought of him as an option.., no, truly not. He's just a point I will never sink to. Hmm, see, I think nothing of him, he's scum. And if on his sixteenth birthday he reminded me of that hot Norwegian supermodel Gah!, well, I didn't really want to be all pathetic and hand around him.., he just happened to be where I was that day; at his home.

But Gah!, he really does bring back memories... I think I was as smitten.., I mean I had a stupid teenage crush on him. Anyways, it was the same kind of crush I had on Chip Skylark. Ugh, both of those turned me off from anyone in the entertainment industry. Their popularity just makes them conceited.

Mark Chang was not conceited, but he was pretty ugly looking. He did adore me though, and that I found attractive. Not attractive enough to keep him around though. He was plain weird too, and to top that off even, he was always hanging around Timmy Fucking Turner.

All these guys mean nothing to me. They never did. Because they weren't the right ones, I mean if they were, would they have left- Would I have left them?

What if I had found it?

If I had, If I could have, I would have... loved so greatly.

I never did though. Not anywhere outside of my imagination.

What if I could have kept it?

I had love. I didn't find it, instead it came up and smacked me in the head. When I realized what I held, a wonderful gift from the most beautiful boy, I had to destroy it and him. Well, it's all that twerps fault! He should have known better than to think I deserved that. Or wanted it. Maybe it's what i needed though.

How I wish I could go back and.., but it doesn't matter, does it?

FanFic: Battlestar Galactica: Frost

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 17:44:55 GMT

Frost

-- Lee's breath was knocked from his lungs, and the shadows around this vision only grew stronger as a warm, sugary sweet tongue caressed his, but his lips still pulled into a smile upon hearing Sam's delicious groan as he cupped the other man's rapidly hardening cock. Using the arm not currently occupied, Lee reaches up to get a good grip on the back of Sam's neck, pulling his downwards for better access, and even closer just cause he can. When Sam growls and tightens his grip in Lee's hair while grinding himself against Lee's palm, Lee decides it's time to get some control back, so he bites down hard enough on Sam's lower lip to earn a rough, almost hurt whimper before shoving the other man to the floor and straddling his waist.

A moment before their lips connect again, Lee checks Sam's eyes for the umpteenth time in the last hour for that look of wanton desire that sparked his own, and feels a bolt of heat straight to his groin when he finds it again. Then he's alternating between sucking and nipping at Sam's already bruised lips and peppering small kisses randomly on Sam's face, unconsciously slapping away Sam's hands away from his crotch as the other man tries to speed things along, because this teasing mood just isn't working for Sam. So the ex-pyramid player sighs in relief when Lee's lips stay a bit too long on his jaw and then trail downward 'cause Sam's urgency is taking it's toll on Lee and he decides he has to taste more more more of Sam. But Sam's shirt is in the way and as punishment for this, Lee doesn't care when the top two buttons pop right off, and the rest follow after only a half seconds hesitation.

Put off, just a little, by Lee's handling of one of his favorite shirts, Sam roughly moves Lee to the floor next to him, hoping to spare his pants the same fate. As Sam shrugs out of his abused shirt, he smirks in satisfaction at seeing Lee working himself out of his own clothing with enthusiasm. So caught up with the newly revealed flesh that has his mouth waters a bit, Sam doesn't even realize he's staring until Lee, down to boxers, asks in a tight voice is he wants to continue or not. The tensing of muscles that accompanies the question doesn't slip by Sam and almost too late he thinks that his little brain freeze could be taken as hesitation on his part. Thankfully, Lee doesn't begin pulling his clothes back on, so it can't be too late when Sam kicks off his boots and rids himself of his pants. Flipping over to cover Lee's body with his own Sam whispers fiercely that there's no way he's going to stop this.

Lee nearly chokes, both with relief at Sam's words, and with the unexpected wave of unease as Sam's considerable size immobilizes him. Before Lee can even begin to contemplate what those feelings mean, Sam is gone, leaving Lee so frustrated and empty he takes no notice of his boxers being yanked off. And then the only thought in Lee's mind is what a new sensation the back of Sam's throat is to the head of his cock. The humid warmth along his shaft and the tightly closed lips around his base also help to scatter Lee's thoughts. Grabbing Sam's hair, Lee tries to move his head and buck his hips at the same time, letting out a wordless cry when Sam refuses to move. Sam's eyes look up into Lee's, lust filled and searching. Lee can't guess what for, but Sam must have found it because with a momentary sting of teeth scraping tender skin, Sam begins to move his head, hard and fast, but he still has to claw Lee's hips down to stop the other man from thrusting.

Sam stops with Lee's cock half in and half out of his mouth to clamp down none too gently with his teeth, and then Lee finally stops gyrating and instead hisses in pain. But now Sam's arms are free to do more useful things, and as a reward for not ripping his hair out, Sam loosens his mouth so that soft lips can caress the tiny marks left behind by his teeth. The soft gasps that break through Lee's cracking desire to be silent are music to Sam's ears, and making his still trapped erection hurt in about a thousand different ways.

Knowing he can't wait much longer, Sam pulls away so that the tip of Lee's engorged cock is barely encased between his lips. While his tongue darts out to lick teasingly, Sam's fingers run along the cooling saliva and pre-ejaculate covering Lee's cock, gathering as much as he can before sliding the hand to grab Lee's ass. Spreading the cheeks apart with the same hand, Sam's finger quickly finds the hole and glides a couple of centimeters before encountering resistance. Silently, Lee moves both legs up to rest on Sam's shoulders, groaning in approval as the finger moves slowly while Sam's mouth is fast on Lee's cock. By the time Lee's balls tense and he thinks he'll come in Sam's mouth there are three fingers working in him, leaving behind only a faint sting. Sam must realize how close Lee is because his mouth leaves Lee's cock and kisses upward to his jaw, making a tiny stop to lick a sensitized nipple.

The absence of fingers register only when Lee feels the thick tip of Sam's cock pushing in.. too fast and with no real amount of lube and Lee wants to protest, but Sam is suddenly distant but closer and plundering Lee's mouth, not allowing any sounds to escape. Sam fills Lee with every inch, all the while enduring Lee's fists and heels pounding at his back and chest. When at last Sam halts his driving motion and comes back to himself he realizes with a sick clench and roll of his stomach why it had suddenly become easy to push into Lee's body when the finger he traces at the point where the two men fuse together comes back bloodied.

Sam's surprised when his head lowers and his lips touch Lee's, now in a thin, tight line, wondering when exactly they had stopped kissing. Looking at his face and feeling Lee's body like he's really there is a stone around him, dragging him back to reality when Sam wasn't even sure how he had left it to begin with. Lee's eyes are clenched tight, and Sam thinks that maybe it's to hold back tears because Lee wouldn't cry over anything and that thought makes Sam want to cry for him but that can't happen because Lee's fists are beating at him, pushing away, saying better than words that Lee doesn't want this anymore. When Sam feels Lee's erection going soft, he wants his own to follow, because he's not a monster or anything and Lee's pounding punches shouldn't make him want to pound into Lee in a completely different way.

Suddenly Lee's punches cease and his hands go to cover his eyes, somehow withdrawing into himself before Sam's eyes. That's when horror truly overtakes Sam and he withdraws his finally softening cock. He's not sure how he puts the distance between himself and his.. between himself and Lee, but Sam's sitting with his back pressed to the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. The only motion in the room is when Lee draws to the opposite wall, nearing the same pose as Sam, but on his side instead.

Both men's minds are swirls of rushing images and shock, but through the storm similar words stand out. Both Lee and Sam wonder how this got twisted and know it wasn't what they had intended on when they had come here, in an alone and deserted corner away from friends and prying eyes. Both wonder what they did wrong this time, and why why WHY?!

FanFic: Psych&Monk: Instant Allure

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 16:40:15 GMT

Instant Allure

“Oh, the joys of visiting you here in Santa Barbara, Great-Aunt Kimmi,” muttered a very bored Randy Disher to the dashboard of his Crown Victoria.

Randy thinks of how he could be doing more important things, like going out with the Captain to a crime scene, or taking notes for the Captain, or making calls for the Captain, or ogling the Captain. But he can't, and it's because of his mother. Well, his mother and his guilty conscience working in tandem really, but when he thinks back on this day years later, he'll tell himself that it was all his mom, and not his own desire to see one of their few surviving relatives.

The desire, small as it was when he started driving, died an utterly silent death when his Aunt had greeted Randy with the hated cheek-pinching of his youth and wet kisses to the face, along with an exclamation of surprise at the absence of acne marking that very face.

It's been a while since he's visited.

While Randy had re-arranged Aunt Kimmi's furniture to her liking, he had also filled her in on his career. When he had finished telling her about the Captain, Monk, Natalie, and Little Natalie, she had asked him about his personal life, to which Randy had ceased shoving the heavy couch and stared at her blankly.

A moment had passed, then another, then another..., until finally, Randy was going to tell her that that was his life, professional, personal, or otherwise, when Aunt Kimmi informed Randy that there's this friend that she hasn't seen in ages since the other woman moved across town, and would her sweet great-nephew mind driving her over if she gives him the address?

With a smile, Randy had agreed, and here he sits now, with a slight frown, wondering what's taking Aunt Kimmi so long. The address ended up being the friends' work address, since that was the only one his Aunt had had in her purse when they were already four miles from her condo.

It's a balmy day, and the windows rolled down all the way aren't as cooling as the nice air-conditioner, but Randy has a thing about leaving that on while the car isn't in motion, so to remove himself from temptation he decides to go into the building and make sure his Aunt didn't get lost at some point.

Strolling in past the entrance, Randy sighs in relief as cool air washes over him, then shivers a bit as he spots the most beautiful man he has ever seen talking to the lady at the front desk, whom, Randy guesses by the dreamy look in her eyes, must share his opinion of the man.

So focused on the broad shoulders leading to narrowed hips, Randy doesn't even think of what a betrayal this is to his Captain, or would be if the Captain was even aware of Randy's feelings. The Lieutenants' eyes go down further and the words 'cute ass' are noted in huge block letters on the mental list Randy is making of everything he finds attractive about this stranger, following sinewy arms and before muscled thighs.

Moving forward and slightly to his left, Randy doesn't even bother on aiming for discreet while he tries to get a better view of the man's face. Finally he has the angle just right, and Randy's heart races upon getting a wonderful view of luscious lips that he imagines must be softer than the finest silk and richly dark eyes, the whites of which are set off by milk chocolaty skin.

Randy's tongue is poking out from between his lips and wishing it could trace the outline of that ear when, with a light laugh, the man finishes his conversation, of which Randy had heard not a word, what with being a whole eight feet away. That's okay though, it's happened a couple of times with the Captain too, when Randy had fallen too deep in admiring mode.

But the Captain is far from his Randy's thoughts now, and it's in a trance that Randy follows the stranger down the hall, much like a love-stricken puppy would after a cherished master.

The Lieutenant's mind races so fast he doesn't catch a single thought to hold onto, but he follows as his body commands him to, making sure he never loses sight of his wet-dream come true. After a few twists and turns that the man navigates with an easy familiarity, he walks into a cozy sized office, not even realizing that he's been followed.

Randy's braincells, the ones not already melted into a growing puddle of lovey-dovey goo, take control of the legs, stopping Randy an instant before he would have turned into the office. Instead, he hesitates a beat before walking to stand by a corner at the juncture of another hallway. From there Randy has a good view of the room, especially since the door is left open, and he can even see the name plate that reads 'Burton Guster'.

Randy's first thought is: “What a name...”

His second thought is: “Who cares, he's hot enough to pull it off.”

Gazing about the neatly ordered desk and bookshelves, both clutter-free, Randy passes right over the man sitting in the seat behind the desk three times before his eyes finally settle on him. He's a good looking guy, but his outfit screams that he can't possibly work here.

A flash of hope hits Randy; maybe this is an intruder in Burton's office and he can rescue the man. Edging closer to the entrance of the office, he really listens to the man's voice for the first time- the smooth baritone sends a thrill down his spine, but Burton drowns Randy's bit of hope as he says, “Shawn, get out of my seat.”

The tone of the words is very telling, and the the first thing they tell Randy is that these two men have to be friends. Those are the only people who can hear that much exasperation in someone's voice and move onto a different subject, as the new man does. Burton leaning down to plant a kiss on the moving lips of the other man also says something to Randy.

Shawn speaks excitedly, but Randy pays no attention as he walks aimlessly away, shoulders slumped. Somehow he ends up back in the reception area, and right there is his Aunt, bidding farewell to a grinning lady that insists Kimmi call her more often.

The lady walks back in what Randy assumes is the direction of her office as Aunt Kimmi grabs his arm and walks him out of the building, apologizing all the way to the car for making him wait over an hour.

Randy tells her it's okay, and pulling on his seatbelt, he tells himself that Burton probably wouldn't have liked him anyways.

Kachina, Psych FanFic

Thu, 19 Jul 2007 00:10:49 GMT

Kachina

“Oh my sweet little dolly, my little-widdle lassie-wassie, let me count the ways you arose me; One, drawing me in with those bright, bright bluey eyes, Two, laying your softie-woftie (but strong) hands on me as you shove me out of the way, but we both know it's 'cause my delicious baby is unleashing semi-repressed homosexual tendencies, Three, those suits that you make look sexy-wexy, Fou--”, hearing the tell-tale footsteps on his best friend making his way to his own bedroom, Shawn sits up, making sure to hide the Lassie doll in the inside pocket he sewed into his most favorite shirts just so that the treasured possession would always be close to his heart.

“Shawn! There you are!”, his best friend says, somehow letting out an exasperated and long-suffering sigh at the same time.

Face light up, Shawn jumps off of Gus's very comfortable bed, sure that something must have finally happened to break the month long stretch of nothingness. Before Shawn can try to figure out what, Gus tells him with a big grin, “I have a date with Jules. Tonight.”

Witnessing the smile staying on Shawn's face, but leaving his eyes would bring Gus down a little too, knowing that Shawn was relying on the idea of the two of them watching the latest horror flick to fill up his evening, but he knows something Shawn doesn't. Finally.

“That's great Gus, I know how much you've been wanting this.”

As Shawn drops back down on the bed, Gus can't help but roll his eyes before he adds, “It's a double date. It's gonna be me and Jules, and you and a certain Head Detec--”

That's all Gus gets out before he's pushed up against the wall and air becomes a thing of the past while Shawn crushes him with a vise-like hug. When Shawn finally lets Gus go, and stops squealing like a thirteen year old girl who heard the star of the football team likes her, all Gus can say in a hoarse whisper is, “Maybe now you can get rid of the creepy doll.”

Obelisk

Fri, 25 May 2007 02:11:58 GMT

“Y -You're kidding, right?”

she's gotta be kidding.., Dee reasons with herself, shamed that she not only stuttered on her last words, but that she stuttered on her last words in front of her living nightmare, Kara Thrace.

Dee tries to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat, but it's just a little hard to do with the dry mouth. But she's Anastasia Dualla for crying out loud! She's composed and concise, and she will NOT let Starbuck throw her off balance like this. as if she hasn't in every other way..

In a tone sounding almost normal, Dee asks again, “You're kidding, right?”

For her part, Kara walks to the bed Dee shares with Lee and sprawls on it as if she belongs there. And in a flash, Dee's nervousness is replaced by fury. Stalking over to the bed where she wishes she could have had better memories, she stares down at Kara, willing the other woman to just get out of her life.

To her horror however, Kara's hands drift to her own pants and nimble fingers undo the top button.

That's it. Dee yells. “Get out of here Starbuck! I am not going to go down on you just because you can't find Lee!”

It's a sign of just how affected Kara is by Dee's words when she shifts to make herself more comfortable on the bed, uses one hand to unzip, and pats the space next to her with the other. Dee stares at that space, telling herself to breathe before she passes out, and then even that remaining ability to process information shuts down as she feels a pull downwards.

Upon landing, Dee is surprised to feel beneath her not the chilly floor she had been expecting, but a fiery warmth. When said warmth shifts, all Dee can think is that she should have just stayed in CIC, with the hope that no one would step on her dozing form, instead of imagining a pillow with her name on it.

After discreetly sniffing the breath coming Kara's mouth, Dee's eyes open in suspicious slits when there isn't even a trace of the sharp scent so common to the chief's moonshine. Yet she has to be on something if she doesn't see how very very wrong this is and how quickly she should stop. Or maybe, Dee thinks when silky lips land just atop her eyebrow, that Kara isn't drunk, she does know what she's doing, but just doesn't really give a damn about all the laws of the universe that are breaking and bending into themselves because, oh gods, Kara Thrace and Anastasia Dualla are in the same room and not starting, in the middle of, or ending a fight.

Dee is drawn from going any deeper into introspection when the lips that had simply been laying there for the longest time shift and it hits Dee like a thousand fine needles that she's been kissed. By Kara. Kissed. By Kara Thrace.

“I promise to return the favor...”

The words make something in Dee clench in what she tells herself can't possibly be anticipation. Before the declaration is even half said in her mind, Dee tracks the subtly sensual movement of a pink tongue on lips she never noticed before as highly kissable. When she looks into half lidded eyes this.., whatever Kara started when she came into the room becomes intimate. So intimate that it's just them in this universe, so maybe this is allowed.

This time when something tightens and her blood becomes lava-hot, Dee knows it can only be anticipation. The words 'this is allowed and this is good' become a mantra in Dee's mind as she orders herself to cease any other thought. And when their second kiss takes pace, it's Dee who initiates it.

Law and Order: FanFic: Iniquity

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 21:22:06 GMT

“No! Elliot, no! Please don't...”, Olivia cries, shoving hard against her partners' chest, struggling to push him off of her, but he's too far gone to pay any mind to her protests and he adds another fist sized mark to the growing collection on her face. The weight of him disappears for a moment and Olivia dares to hope that maybe he's come to his senses, but her horror grows as she hears the distinctive sound of a zipper sliding open and feels more than sees his hands moving aside the tattered remains of her nightgown before he's right there between her legs pushing in and she's clawing at him now, but it hurts so much, especially when he leans down again and his blood-sweat-alcohol soaked shirt is rubbing against raw bruises and this feels like it'll never end and it's no use but she's still digging her nails into his sides his arms his neck, tries to reach his face but he bites her...

And the only sounds are broken and every thrust from Elliot is shattering all they ever had and Olivia's never wanted to die as much as she wants now.

Her favorite comforter, which brings no comfort at all, drawn over her like when she was a nine year old and wanted to hide from the monsters in her closet, Olivia sees the events on the night in her mind, not a tangible thought in her head, and all the while, she stares at Elliot's prone form lying less than a foot away from her. Elliot, whom she had felt she could fight with and laugh with and confide in and even trust... Elliot, the one person she would have swore could never, ever, not in a million thousand years held a gun point ever hurt her.

The pounding on her draws her from the much-desired sleep she had just been slipping into, makes her get up and it's kind of eerie how she knows it's Elliot before she even looks through the peep hole just to be sure, but it's just past two in the morning and Olivia's too exhausted to mull over what it means that she can identify the man from the rhythm of his knocking at her door. Unlocking and pulling it open, Olivia barely has time to get aside as Elliot barges in. At first he sits on the couch, but then he gets up and paces and circles it, an emotion radiating from him that all at once is familiar, but so alien. A bit more awake and falling into confusion, Olivia shuts the door and goes to her partner, standing so that when he turns around and walks, he ends up right in front of her. And he pauses. Olivia asks him what's wrong, why does he look like he's been crying, and why won't he just give her that bottle and they can sit down and he can tell her everything. Elliot stares. Olivia finally places the expression on his face: the ugly, white hot fury he directs at suspects during interrogation.

Her left hand holds the edge of the blanket high enough that her tearful gaze never leaves Elliot, while the right one holds her gun in a vise-like grip. Her gun. The one that was laying on the table right next to her when Elliot had begun to yell about how everything was going wrong, how everyone he loved betrayed him, abandoned him without so much as a goodbye. The gun that was still laying there, perfectly within reach when Elliot's powerful fists had begun slamming into her, even closer when she had fallen to the floor. But through it all, the weapon had stayed put. There, but not there for her because she would never use it on the man she loves. Now she holds the gun carefully in her lap, caressing its ice cold body like it might be her body and she needs to warm it before she can use it.

Her pleas for mercy never leave his ears, and her blood lives in him, gone from his skin long ago, but buried in his bones, a stain he hates because of the constant reminder of how he lost himself and did the unforgivable to his best friend, but he won't try to remove the ruby liquid no one else sees because he can't, he shouldn't forget. And how he would love to say he doesn't recall his sin, but he wasn't that drunk, and it's all crystal clear. Nothing else, not before nor after, has quite the same ring of realism.

The shot is deafening, but only until it echoes back and rings and rings and chokes him because Elliot knows what he'll see when he opens eyes that had been shut in emptiness or rage, but not in sleep. But if he was thinking the emptiness of his heart couldn't grow, or that it couldn't have filled with the blinding self hatred that took root the instant he took in the sight before him, he was mistaken. Because right there across from him, so close he could feel the human warmth leaving her , was Olivia, with tears tracks on her face and a hole in her chest, right above her heart, where blood was spilling out at the speed of light, or maybe faster. Sobbing hard, Elliot moves to hold the woman he has come to love more than any other, and tells her he's sorry and he's wrong and a monster, and he begs her to not leave and tells her he would give anything to be able to go back and undo what he did to her.

The dead can't hear the living.

Think (Psych FanFic)

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 12:34:02 GMT

Summary: Just a teeny tiny drabble. This would be right at the end, a minute or so before Lassie shows up.

“What if I was suddenly Gus-less?”

The thought has been pressing into his mind like a thousand pound weight ever since his conversation with the college student.

“She's hurting, I understand, but did she really have to make me think so much?”

Not that he's thinking of the chance so much, but his head is pulsing all kinds of aches because he's thinking of everything but that.

“...It's like an unwritten rule anyways: without Gus, there is no Shawn.”

With those words, and the sight of Gus sharing some Chinese with O'Hara, Shawn relaxes and goes to grab a carton that's gotta be for him.

“Maybe I should take a moment once in a while and tell Gus how important he is to me.... Nah, he already knows.”

How could Gus possibly think Shawn doesn't value him? It just isn't possible, so Shawn doesn't give it a chance to get to him, he just tells a favorite story about his dad (mostly 'cause it's embarrassing to the older man.)

Keep Me Unbroken (Law and Order: SVU FanFic)

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 09:03:02 GMT

“Somebody once told me that I was destined to die with a broken heart...”

“Who?”, Casey asks, finally looking across the table to meet her companions' eyes.

At the question, Alex's expression become that of one who is miles away. Slowly, reluctantly, she says with confusion seeping into every syllable, “Who? Who what?”

Casey only shakes her head, returning her attention to the two woman at the other end of the brightly light cafe, more than a little hurt that she and Alex haven't been noticed by them yet. And remembering how she had the chance to be that person, the one Olivia Benson would devote herself to, she feels more than a little envious of the woman who does hold her passion.

Out of the peripheral of her vision, she notices Alex's hand reaching again for the whiskey saturated coffee. It is bad, so she slaps the blonds hand away. It made them both half drunk in the middle of the day, and it meant that the empty little bottle in her purse wouldn't be there in its customary spot in her desk to do its job when she truly needed it.

But when Alex had come to her an hour ago with red-rimmed eyes, Casey had decided she would need the courage to face the woman that mirrored her affections for a certain detective so much. A sting on her wrist forces Casey away from her introspection.

Gazing at the offended area of skin, her hazy mind lets her know she's in some pain only when she actually sees Alex's finger nails digging into her flesh. As authoritatively as she can, Casey tells her sometimes-friend, sometimes-lover, “You're too plastered to think straight. And so am I, so get up, we're going to my apartment.”

A flash of anger briefly turns Alex's eyes midnight blue at Casey's controlling fashion, but like the rest of the day will be, it is locked away with no consideration. Instead Alex thinks only of the promise Casey's words held, letting them sway her to her feet and link arms with the redhead.

The pair have not yet moved a step when a surprised Olivia calls out, “Alex? Casey?”

Turning around, they see that Olivia is not a foot away from them, looking thoughtfully at their entwined limbs. A flush that makes both womans hearts' melt comes over Olivia's face, and what's visible of her neck, as she shyly says, “I- I had no idea either of you...”

Olivia trails off, unreasonably embarrassed, but only because of the crushes she had nursed to for both lawyers at one time or another. Looking away, she doesn't see the bittersweet smile on Alex's lips, and the regretful expression on Casey's face.

Before either Alex or Casey can find their respective voices, Olivia spots her lover finally leaving the rest room, and rapidly makes her way to Melinda's side. The doctor feels no surprise at the familiar kiss on the corner of her lips, indeed, she'd be shocked of Olivia hadn't shown some sign of tenderness.

Leaning in when Olivia places a possessive arms about her waist, she finally has the chance to see their friends. “Hi Casey, Alex. Are you guys also taking a long lunch break?”

They nod, and Olivia begins pulling Melinda away, saying over her shoulder, “Well, ours is almost over, and Elliot will probably be wondering where I've gone off to, so we'll catch you later.”

At the end of the block, Melinda pulls Olivia to a stop, curious as to why they had to practically fly out of there, knowing that Elliot isn't expecting her back for a good two hours. “What was that?”

Olivia avoids looking at her, so Melinda adds, “And don't even try to play dumb.”

Momentarily Olivia curses the way Melinda has of making her face what's bothering her, but them amends her thought; she's thankful for the fact, it's one of the reasons she fell for the doctor.

Stepping closer, to make sure the million pedestrians strolling, or running, along the sidewalk don't hear her, Olivia confesses, “It's just seeing them together, it kind of threw me off. I mean, all those years, I stopped myself from going up to either of them because I thought they'd laugh in my face that I'd even think they like other women...”

“And now that you know they wouldn't do you plan on following your instincts?”, Melinda asks, knowing full well what Olivia's answer will be, but she has to be sure Olivia knows.

The detectives eyes snap up to pierce sharply into Melinda's, and she says one word with a conviction she has rarely felt concerning personal matters, “Never.”

Olivia's reward is a deep kiss, and a silent vow of a chance to prove her statement later tonight.

Phantasms (Law and Order: SVU FanFic)

Thu, 01 Mar 2007 07:32:12 GMT

“Hey Livia! Anytime you feel like, come on back down to earth with the rest of us,” Munch leans against Olivia's desk, waving a fresh cup of coffee in front of her enticingly.

“Oh, thanks John,” Is all the older detective hears before Olivia grabs his coffee and takes a long gulp.

Grimacing mildly, Olivia looks up at John accusingly, “I take my coffee with sugar. A lot of it.”

“I know you do, that was mine,” Munch mumbles. Olivia can't help it, with his arms folded and the you-just-took-advantage-of-me tone coloring his voice, she bursts out laughing, the melodious sound putting a smile on John's lips.

Setting the mug down her energy filled laughter turns to breathless giggles and then to strangled sobs and she holds her head in her hands. She's not crying for long before two pairs of strong arms encircle her from either side. Even as John and Fin stroke her back and whisper soothing nothings, Olivia won't look up; because she can't stand to see what's been lost to her for years.

“Captain Benson? Is something wrong?”, the concerned voice of her newest detective is enough to force Olivia to dry her eyes and turn her gaze straight to the young man.

“I'm just fine Saunders. Here's your new case, go find your partner and visit some of these suspects today,” Olivia orders curtly, glad when the detective takes the file from her and rushes out at her nod of dismissal.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Elliot laughs from his seat, the once right across from her, “Oh Olivia, bet ya never thought you'd be confined to a desk...”

The man next to him punches Elliot in the shoulder just a bit too hard to be truly teasing as he defends the position, “Hey, it took a lot of work for her to get here.”

Olivia almost thanks Cragen, but them she's reminded of all the rumors that fly around the precinct, the ones no one thinks she can hear, about how the captain likes to talk to thin air. If it weren't for her reputation as a detective, she doubts she'd get any respect from these people that are so different than who her friends were, but are so similar it's painful.

With a slight shake of her head, she gets back to reviewing possible case files and thinking of who she can assign them to, after taking a sip of cooling, unsweetened coffee.

___

“So, was she crying? Did you see anybody?”

“I don't know, she just threw the case file at me and pointed to the door... And if there was somebody in there they were hiding awfully well. Maybe you guys were just imagining hearing her voice.”

“Oh no, we're not. Our captain does talk with somebody. You're new here, just wait a few more weeks, and you'll see what I mean.”

Dangerous Fauna (Law and Order: CI FanFic)

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 10:55:26 GMT

“I'm telling you, I don't see anything!”, Alex's frustrated voice rings across the nearly deserted office.

“And I'm telling you, it's here!”, Bobby Goren insists, while crawling on his hands and knees between the desks, hoping to catch a glimpse of the suspect.

In silence, the two detectives continue their search for the violent young menace. Goren covers the bottom, and Eames covers the top, which Bobby thinks is somewhat odd, but after and hour or so, his knees hurt so much that asking Eames to switch tasks with him just takes too much of an effort.

So poor Bobby continues crawling in spaces he never thought he would ever see up close, until he comes upon a curious sight, namely his partners' legs. Now, that would not bother him usually, he very rarely gets to see Alex's legs, or the shoes that hold her dainty feet, but what does bother him at the moment is that those dainty feet seem to have been relaxing for a while.

As he slowly lets his eyes travel upwards, he's very proud of himself that his gaze only stalls a couple of times, for only a couple extra seconds. Resting at last on her face, he prepares for her to make some biting comment, only to find her forearm slung over her eyes.

“Eames is obviously exhausted,” Bobby thinks, finding a small amount of sympathy for the partner who left him to do all the work. Then the moment passes and he lets the tiny pitchfork holding man on his shoulder steer his hand to Alex's knee and pinch mildly, just to let her know he's there.

The sharp kick to his abdomen, and some areas beyond, has him gasping for air. Mentally cursing Alex's ancestors to the tenth degree, Bobby slowly rotates around to lay on his back. Meanwhile, Alex flails around in Bobby's chair, shaking sleep from her eyes as she wonders where the pained groaning is coming from. It takes a couple minutes longer than it should for the detective to turn her gaze to the floor beside her and see her fallen comrade.

All desire to rest is pushed aside as Alex, lightening fast, slips to the floor and grabs a hold of her partners hand, asking with concern, “Bobby, what the hell happened to you?!”

His groans now tiny whimpers, Bobby faces Alex with an incredulous expression. In frustration, he almost yells, but the genuine caring in her eyes quickly wears him down to the point where all he can say is, “I walked into a desk.”

“Are you hurt?”, Alex asks as she reaches for a point below Bobby's belt, not even knowing it until her fingers brush Bobby's hand, the one still covering stinging flesh, and her parters eyes grow wide.

Noticing at last where her hand is resting, Alex flushes bright scarlet. Jumping up, she's already walking away before it occurs to her to let Bobby know where she's headed, “I'm going to get you some ice.”

Embarrassed with herself, Alex sends up a silent thanks that, for whatever reason, their colleagues saw fit to clear the room. Reaching the freezer, she yanks it open, intending to also look for a snack, but decides to forget that and just grabs a handful of ice cubes when she sees a couple of officers making tracks in her direction, no doubt more geniuses that want to poke fun at her and Bobby.

Escaping back to her partner, she makes sure to wrap the ice in a thick layer of tissues before handing it to her partner. At his mumbled thanks, she only holds up her pinky, the one with the bright colored band-aid on it and says as cutely as she can, “You helped with my boo-boo, now we're even.”

Bobby's light laugh brings a small smile to her lips, but then he grows quite, a contemplative gleam in his eyes that makes Alex's stomach flutter for some odd reason. He always turns her on with that look, and only the fact that their careers could be ruined irreparably stops her from ripping off his form-fitting clothes, climbing on him, for easier access to... everything and fucking his good sense into oblivion.

Alex is pulled away from her wet dream when the feel of the room shifts. Back in reality, she curses herself for her weakness when she realizes that she's staring at said dream..., who is staring with something akin to mortification in the direction of his feet. Shaking away the last tendrils of her fantasy, Alex also looks to where Bobby's gaze is directed, letting out a shriek when she notes the focus of his attention.

Backing away from her partner and The Thing From The Travel Cage, Alex orders Bobby in a whisper, “Get it!”

As the ball of light tan fur reaches Bobby's knee, the detective swiftly picks up the hamster with a ring of his thumb and pointer finger. Staring at the squirming creature, Bobby wonders how this tiny thing could have caused him and his partner so much pain. Briefly the idea strikes him to take Alex's nephew's new pet into an interrogation room, but Alex appearing in front of him with the plastic cage has him abandoning that train of thought.

Bobby deposits the hamster in and Alex quickly snaps on the lid. Alex stands holding the clear box, examining the animal for evidence of where he's been for the last six hours. Finding nothing, she sighs, “You better be worth all this trouble...”

With a tap on her shoulder, Bobby hands Alex her jacket, which Alex accepts and pulls on after tossing the cage to her partner. As they walk out silently to their cars, Bobby sneaks a glance at Alex every now and then, with (if she didn't know better), a self satisfied smirk on his lips. Positive that he's thinking about how she's going to explain the nippy hamster to her sister, Alex just ignores him.

Opening the door to her car, she settles in and places the cage snuggly between the case files and miscellaneous items on the floor of the passenger seat. She starts the ignition, and just before she can close the door, Bobby pulls on it, leaving about three inches open. Leaning in, he says slyly, “I don't think we're even about the ice..., as I recall, I kissed your boo boo after putting the band-aid on it.”

With those words, he shuts the door, leaving an open-mouthed Eames in his wake.

Pretty Encounter (Law and Order: SVU FanFic)

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 10:28:50 GMT

“Oh Casey! Casey, Casey, Casey...”

No matter how much she tries to justify it to herself, Casey knows that the second she heard Olivia's throaty moans combined with the hum of falling water, she should have thrown away the spare key her friend had given her and just walked out of the apartment, forgetting the whole situation. But she didn't leave. Instead, her body began functioning without consulting her brain. First it was her hands, they locked and dead bolted the door. Feet quickly followed the rebellion by moving her closer to the partially open entrance leading to the shower.

The scent of lavender intoxicates Casey in ways it shouldn't, forcing from her mind the million or so good reasons why she shouldn't push the door wider. Stepping into the misty room, she can just make out Olivia's form through the frosted glass, thankfully facing away from her.

“She hasn't noticed you yet, there's still time to turn back...”

Thoughts of past regrets rush through her head. Thoughts of how this treasured relationship can be damaged, perhaps irreparably, if she lets her libido keep control. Yes, Olivia's whimpering is suggestive, and her hands are certainly more busy than they need to be, and yes, she does occasionally sigh Casey's name, “...but what right do I have to intrude on this very private moment?”

It's finally those words, and the powerful self-disgust they bring about, that trigger the rational part of Casey's mind into action. Backtracking too quickly, she slams her body into the door, effectively shutting it. Gasping at her own clumsiness and idiocy, Casey mentally groans, knowing that there is no easy way out of this situation now.

Lightening fast, Olivia spins to face the door. Her hands pause in their search for a weapon as she screams in shock, “Casey!”

“It's over. Perhaps the most meaningful relationship you've ever had with another woman is over, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Seeing only the awkward times she will have working closely with SVU, Casey almost cries. Almost, but not quite; she still has to keep some amount of dignity about her. Looking at the floor, Casey speaks to a very alarmed, and curious, detective, “I came here to ask if you wanted to grab a couple of drinks, and when I saw your mail wasn't in the box downstairs, I figured you were home, so I came up. I don't know why I didn't just try your cell phone, I know you never turn it off...

After knocking on the door for a minute and getting no answer, I decided to use the key you gave me to get in. I swear I never meant to walk in on you, but I heard the water running and I-, I, umm, I... I'm sorry.”

Continuing her staring contest with the small blue and white tiles, Casey's grows more and more fearful of what Olivia will do her with every second the other woman doesn't respond. Finally, Olivia makes a move; getting a firm grip on Casey's arm to pull her into the thankfully still warm spray of the shower. Casey's eyes close tight, anticipating fists flying at her, or at the very least a well deserved tongue lashing.

“Hmmm, not exactly what I was expecting, but Olivia's tongue sure is doing a lot of work...”

If a wet, incendiary mouth is her punishment for walking in on Olivia, Casey hopes the detective will be through in exacting her revenge. And her hopes are met, for a whole five minutes of clashing lips and eager hands caressing silky skin in places Casey never imagined she'd be allowed to touch, but then Olivia pulls away, and with the distraction of their kiss out of the way, Casey's lungs take the opportunity to scream about their deprivation of oxygen.

A few gasps of breath later finds Olivia's mouth descended on hers again, but this time more gentle to allow for soft groans that sound suspiciously like Casey's name. With a wicked gleam in her eyes (which luckily Casey doesn't catch; she may have run screaming if that was the case), Olivia tears off Casey's jacket, shirt and bra, tossing them where they're not in her way anymore.

Sliding to her knees, Olivia only has the will power to undo the button and zipper of jeans she would really like on Casey if they weren't impeding the path her mouth was tracing downward. A growl of frustration emerges from behind clenched teeth as the detective succeeds in pooling the bothersome pants to the redhead's ankles only to look up and see the thinnest most laciest pair of underwear in the world that seem as if they've been painted on.

“Painted on...”

The words give Olivia an idea she feels she should have come up with sooner. Ceasing her attempts to peel off the small piece of cloth, Olivia instead wraps her hands possessively around Casey's hips as she gets her first taste of the sexy ADA. From the first stroke of Olivia's tongue, Casey bucks forward, grabbing Olivia's hair in both fists. Ceasing her movements for a moment, Olivia looks upward to meet darkened eyes, knowing the other woman could have said no at anytime, but sill needing an assurance that she should continue.

Casey's lips wordlessly plead Olivia to continue her ministrations, and smirking, Olivia does just that, grinning even wider when Casey beings to pant her release...

“Oh God! Oh oh oh my... My OLIVIA!”

Hurting Hearts (BSG FanFic)

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 03:29:07 GMT

Space is lonely. Even more lonely when the person you love with all your being, who holds your fragile heart in a death grip, won't dare help you fight off the loneliness. Who is too self-absorbed to help you fight off your demons.

You know I worship the ground the you walk on, so why won't you even spare me a smile. I could settle for a smile. That's all I need to stay sane. But you won't! When I confronted you about my feelings you said you were flattered, but you aren't into other women that way. And really, you couldn't stand you ruin what I have with Tyrol.

Bullshit! You think I don't see the way you undress Roslin with your eyes every time she visits? Or when you step a little too close to Cally? Frak! You don't need to whisper the problems with your viper to her, all while your busy hands are “accidentally” brushing against her body! And Galen? He's just a poor substitute for you.

Well Starbuck, I've decided that if I can't have you, no one will. This is the mantra that runs through my head, occasionally punctuated by a sinister voice: “She doesn't love you, she never will, because you are a CYLON!”, as I stand just outside of the pilots bunk room.

Everyone is in the rec room, but this particular night, I know you are in your bunk, trying to catch up on sleep. You really do overwork yourself, my love. “Don't worry Kara, you'll never be tired again...”

And with that last coherent thought I open the hatch and step into the bunk room. It's dark, but I think I hear low moans coming from the the direction of your bunk. The curtain is drawn, so I pull it back and I think my heart stops-breaks-shatters at what I see. You and Dee, limbs tangled, gasping against each other. You don't notice me at first, and by the time you finally open your eyes, I've pushed down the hurt, and all you see if my infinite rage.

Dee turns around to see what you're looking at, and upon seeing me she instantly jumps away trying to cover herself. Doesn't matter, I only have eyes for you.

“Shar-” is all you get out before I fire a shot right into your heart, and I think it's great that you are dying with my name on your lips. Now you know how I have been dying slowly since you first rejected me. Dee starts sobbing and running for the exist, but she doesn't need to fear me. See, there are only two bullets in this gun, one for you, and one for me.

Change of State (BSG FanFic)

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 03:28:03 GMT

Irony. Above all the bitterness, the losses, and the tragedies, irony is what I feel the most as I stagger along the corridors of the Galactica. Irony that the three hundred and sixteen of us that survived the three decades it took to reach earth will be dead or dying before we can land on the frakking planet.

Deep down, I'm grateful for that. It means the end of my responsibility, and if all those stories we heard at religious services are true, I'll soon see my friends and family. It's been so long there faces are mostly shadowed in my memory, but the longing in my soul to be with them has only strengthened with each passing year.

I would hate to tell Adama and Roslin, and all the leaders that followed them, what has become of us. How through the years we lost people to the cylons, but how we lost more to miniature civil wars that erupted over shortages of various necessities. Entire ships grew disillusioned and opted to settle on habitable planets, rather than continue on our seemingly never-ending journey. Maybe the cylons found them, like they found us at New Caprica, or maybe, I tell myself, against all odds they still survive today. Perhaps if the people of Earth go exploring along the route we took, they'll find the last of the Colonials.

The wound on my leg is really starting to hurt, and for a moment I fear I won't make it to my destination: The pilot rec room. It's where I can sense my friends the most. There are ghosts every where, but that's where sometimes, if I was really concentrating, I can see Starbuck at the triad table, grinning while she cleans her opponents out. Finally, I can see the entrance. I sent a silent thanks to the universe for small favors; unlike most of the hatches on the ship, this one isn't blocked by debris. Opening it, I take two steps in and slide down on the floor. Now I just wait for all the pain of the past years to fade away, so I can be with my family again.

Dreamless Remnant (BSG FanFic)

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 03:26:27 GMT

To anyone taking the time to observe, they would think it was gradual, that I cultivated this resentment towards my husband, it didn't; It happened the moment I stepped onto New Caprica. I held his hand as we stepped off of the raptor and onto the cold, unforgiving dirt of this wretched world, sensing right then and there that I would never again fly freely in the skies that are still your home.

If rumors ever say that I fell in love with Sam on sight, then know that on that desolate day, I plummeted into hatred for him, when it finally hit me that he was right where I've always dreamt you'd be; bound for eternity in the eyes of the gods. Did you ever dream of me?

Based on the last words you ever said to me, I would think not. And yet, now that I see the tears gently falling from your beautiful eyes, I know you also wondered what could have been, if we hadn't thought we were immortal, untouchable, and that somehow, no matter what happened, we would always have tomorrow to make up for what we didn't say today.

Well, Lee, we were wrong, and there will be no more tomorrows for us to work things out, and I wish so much that you can hear me now as you stand at my final resting place. It's kinda funny, now that there's no chance of you hearing me, I can let go of my pride, and I whisper, “I'm sorry.”

You look up sharply, and because it seems you may hear me after all, I say in a rush, “Lee, I'm sorry for not having the courage to admit my love for you when you needed me to, and I hope one day you can forgive me for not having the strength to hold on.”

Your co-pilot calls to you, “Sir, we have the last of the survivors.”

You signal him with a nod of your head that you're on your way. As you step away, I try to grab onto your arm but I can't, and just when it looks like you'll step onto the raptor and leave forever, you come running back and softly kiss your fingertips and touch my grave marker, whispering, “I love you Kara, and there are never any take-backs.”

Before you can run back, I swiftly plant a last kiss on your trembling lips, and hope you at least felt a flicker of the love packed into that one action.

Green Eyed Monster (Fairly Oddparents FanFic)

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 03:24:48 GMT

“So, Laurie, tell me why you want to baby sit my son.” Interrogated Timmy's mom.

“Well, Mrs. Turner, I'm looking to enhance your son's intelligence and sensitivity.” Laurie replied in a smooth, genuine voice.

Frowning, Timmy's mom asked “And how will you go about doing this?”

“Providing him with a loving and nurturing environment. I don't believe in yelling at young children, or depriving them of anything.”

“She's off the list.” “That'll be all for now Laurie, if I've selected you for the position, I'll give you a call.” Said Timmy's mom, shoving Laurie out the door.

“What about Mr. Turner? Shouldn't I meet him too?” inquired Laurie just a Timmy's mom was shutting the door.

Leaving it open a crack, Mrs. Turner screeched “He doesn't get a say in it!”

“I'll never find a suitable baby sitter.” Mrs. Turner thought gloomily as she walked into the mall. A few years ago her husband would be with her, offering to hold her purse, or buying her whatever she hinted she liked, but not anymore. Now all he does is give into the little brat's every whim... and tapes everything! She's sure the man she married is in there some where, begging her to rid him of the hindrance to their fun (said hindrance being their son).

She had no idea how to get her husband back, until a couple weeks ago, on a dark rainy night her car stalled on the way back from work. As she waited in the dingy phone booth for her husband to come and get her she saw an ad for Stephanie's baby sitting service. It hit her like a ton bricks. Why hadn't she thought of this before? She needed a baby sitter. Just as she was about to dial the last digit to get Stephanie, she saw the rest of the ad: “You'll have the happiest child in all of Dimmsdale.” Below that statement was picture. With a rainbow a blue skies background, with a laughing child of about eight years.

No! Her body, soul and mind had screamed. Timmy had wasted years of her life! Years she could have spent enjoying herself. He didn't deserve to be laughing for no reason on a bright, sunny day.

Just thinking about that picture now made her seethe. A little girl noticed, and tugging at her mothers' skirt, she asked “Mommy, what's wrong with that woman? Her face is all red.” The young girls mother looked see Mrs. Turner's angry expression and hastily answered her daughter “Nothing, she's just fine.”, while she pulled her daughter closer.

As Mrs. Turner was about to begin stalking toward the pair, an explosion of sound caught her attention. At the entrance to the arcade a red-head was pelting trash at a frightened looking raven haired girl. Mostly everyone else was looking on in disapproval, wondering when the little girls mother was going to come save her, but Mrs. Turner was viewing the scene with a joy in her eyes.

There she was, the perfect babysitter for her spoiled rotten little imp.

___

On the day that evil cow, Mrs. Turner, approached me at the mall, I knew that this one meeting would decide weather or not I would go to the good place, or the bad place, when it came my time to leave this existence. She sat across from me, at the table made for two, in the most popular fast food restaurant in the mall, her fake smile not nearly enough to hide the malice in her eyes. She said in a too-sweet-to-be-true voice, “I'm Mrs. Turner, and forgive me for intruding, but I simply must have a word with you.”

Nodding cautiously, I introduced myself simply by my first name, “Vicky”

My relatively violent sixteen years had taught me a few skills necessary to survive. Chief among them, the ability to see people for who they really are, not the persona they present to an unsuspecting family, or an ignorant co-worker, or to any god above.

I've seen people who are at their very core superficial beings, who will in the end cause more harm than they are worth, people who are so caring and idealistic, they can physically hurt with every wrong thing that happens in this life, and every personality in between those two. Instantly, in regards to Mrs. Turner, I ruled out the latter.

She proved me correct in suspecting she was the figurative poster child for the former type, when she spoke, “I saw the way you were handling that little twit that was with you earlier. Wherever did you cultivate such skill, my dear?”

Her tone was eager, and immediately I was filled with disgust for this lady, and felt an even deeper revulsion for myself than usual, just because a woman like her thought she could speak to me so candidly. And really, when I thought it over, why wouldn't she speak to me this way, if she indeed had witnessed me blowing up at Tootie, then there was likely no doubt in her mind that I was as evil as her.

At the sight of a frown fighting it's way into her expression, I realized I'd been silent for almost a minute. You have to be careful with strangers, and sometimes even more with an acquaintance, not to anger then unnecessarily. So, in answer to her oh-so-lovely inquiry, I replied with a knowing, indulgent smirk, “Well, my dear, I baby-sit occasionally, and believe me, she's the worst of the bunch.”

No need to let this woman know that I've baby-sat only one time, or that Tootie was my sister. After all, I justified to myself for this little white lie, there's no reason for her to insult my little sister, or to ask me how I learned to have a foul temper, as if it's a good thing. Thinking of my sister, I discreetly look over the woman's shoulder, into the arcade, and check to see that Tootie is still playing that racing game she's so avid to get on every time I bring her with me to the mall.

Looking back at Mrs. Turner's face, I see, this time, a wide, genuine smile. “You're a baby-sitter?”

This question, asked with so much hope packed into it, gave me pause. I had been taking care of my little sister for as long as she can remember, but I rarely looked after other children. Most parents seeking baby-sitters would hardly come to a girl who scowled at anyone within ten yards. It's my defense mechanism, so that I don't make fragile connections with fake people, who can later shatter my heart into tiny shards. With these consuming thoughts in my mind, I did not realize I was nodding an affirmative to Mrs. Turner's question, until she asked, “Would you like to baby-sit my son? His name is Timmy, and he's a really bad little twerp.”

I was about to say no, and just walk away, this woman reminded me so much of my cruel, sinister mother, that I was about to just get up and walk rapidly away, until she said, “Did I mention I'll be paying you three hundred dollars a week?”

The first thought I had was that I could use that money to buy myself everything my parents wouldn't get for me, which was, well, anything excluding clothes and food. Then I looked at the woman in front of me, and thought that there's no way three hundred dollars can be enough to justify for working for her.

As I got up she said desperately, “Did I say three hundred, I meant five hundred.”

All I can say is that my ethics aren't that strong. I sat back down, having no way of knowing I was selling my soul to the devil when I said, “Of course I can baby-sit your little twerp.”

___

“Timmy! Hurry up! If you miss your flight you won't be able to catch another one until next Sunday! I already have the car started!” His father hollered up the stairs.

“Just two more minutes, Dad!” Timmy called out. He had already loaded down their now-ancient station wagon with all of his important stuff, but he needed a moment to sit on his bed and just let the memories of his eighteen years play around him. His relationship with his parents wasn't good enough to justify him coming home for any of the breaks the school year allows, so this will probably be the last time he'll ever be in his room, probably the last time he'll ever be in Dimmsdale.

Sighing, Timmy thought of his relationship with his parents. They had never abused him, but they hadn't exactly been showering him with love. He supposes the best way to describe the relationship was to say that they were just there, or rather that he was just there. He had always had the suspicion that he was just a third wheel for them, when they could already ride a two-wheeler, but were keeping the training wheels on just for the heck of it. Yeah, that's it; it was there home, their life, and he was just the quiet guest, whom they didn't really want or need, but were willing to tolerate because they were kind people. That's what Timmy hypothesized, though in truth, they would always be an enigma to him.

He wasn't sad about leaving this place, there was nothing special in it for him. Sure, he was reasonably popular, and had a few good friends in Chester and A.J., but he's confident he will make the same type of connection with any of his future class mates in college. He'd had a girlfriend in high school, whom he liked a lot, but it wasn't like he was ready to propose or anything.

Timmy smiles, thinking how eight years ago he would have proposed to a girl named Trixie Tang, if there'd been any chance he wouldn't be laughed out of school for doing so. She was his greatest crush, the greatest crush of every boy, and some girls, actually. He frowns as he tries to remember what it was he liked about her, but can't come up with anything. God, was it just for her looks? Yeah, it probably was, but he brushes off the slight feeling of revulsion at himself, thinking that looks are usually the basis for a lot of crushes, and the most likely reason as to why they don't work out if the couple actually does manage get together.

Any further musings are interrupted when his dad yells again, “Timmy, have you decided to live up there?”

“No dad, I'm coming down now.” Timmy says, not really caring if he's loud enough for his dad to hear him, as he takes one last glance around the room as he walks out. Just as he reaches the doorway, he spots the it. Deciding that his dad can wait a few more seconds, he walks over the the end table and picks up the empty fishbowl. He can't remember ever having fish, but his mom and dad, and even Vicky, his former baby-sitter, insist that he had two goldfish from age ten on, they had only died in the last couple of years. When he first heard it, he had thought they were all playing a huge prank on him, but there were photos of him with the same fishbowl, and, surprise, it had two odd looking goldfish inside it.

Every sleepless night he stared at the bowl, he felt something in the back of his mind, struggling to get out, it never did, but he made a secret wish every night; that one day he would wake up with memories of these alleged fish. He didn't know why, but he felt that if he could just remember those fish, somehow, someway, his life wouldn't seem so empty. In the morning his rational mind tells him he's going insane, because sometimes, he swears, that just as he's nodding off, he can see lights coming from the castle ornament Giving into his impulse, Timmy grabs the fishbowl before running out of the room and to the waiting car.

Taking the last step he will ever take out of the house, Timmy sees why his dad didn't yell out once again after he said he was coming down; he was talking with his mom and Vicky. It was odd, but Timmy had sort of expected her to be here, and indeed, would have been disappointed had she not shown. After all, it was mostly her tutelage that made him into the person he is today. And since he doesn't hate who he is, he can admit to himself, at least, that he doesn't hate Vicky.

By no means his favorite person, she had in past years become somewhat bearable in her cruelty. Of course that could have something to do with the fact that she had ceased her role as his baby-sitter, so they didn't see each other that much anymore.

Timmy's mom, the first of the small group to spot him, announced his presence to his Dad and Vicky, “Oh, Timmy's here.”

“Better go see him now, Vicky.” She added as she dragged her husband into the car.

Wondering what exactly she was going to say, Timmy met her halfway. For a moment they just stood there, on the front lawn, looking into each other's eyes, searching, for what, neither of them knew. Timmy finally broke the silence, “So, I guess this is good-bye.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Vicky answered, uncharacteristically shuffling her feet. With a start, Timmy suddenly realized that twenty-six year old Vicky wasn't very threatening, certainly not as much as she had seemed to him at sixteen. Maybe it was because he now towered over her, not the other way around? He was halted from thinking about what this new information could mean when Vicky abruptly hugged him. Hesitating only a second, Timmy hugged back. When she let go of him, she paused to look thoughtfully at him, before pulling something out of her pocket and handing it to him. “This is for you.”

Taking it, Timmy looked down at the thin, bright white envelope. All it said was to: Timmy, from: Vicky, in black ink. Looking up to say thanks, he saw that Vicky had already left. When his mom hit the horn he stopped trying to look where Vicky may have run off to so quickly, and instead ran over to get in the backseat of the car.

He barely had his feet in before the car took off. Timmy noted his parents talking animately amongst themselves, and as he had always done, tuned them out. Looking at the envelope clutched in his hand, he sloppily ripped it open, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Out fell four one hundred dollar bills. Pocketing the money, he read what little was written on the paper.

Hey Twerp,

Hope you like my going away gift, and good luck on higher education.

Your friend, Vicky.

P.S.: If you ever want to talk to someone, you know my phone number.

Folding away the letter and putting it in his pocket, along with the money, Timmy considered what Vicky might have meant with that last line. Looking at the fishbowl that he still hadn't put down, he thought, “Maybe there is a reason to come back to Dimmsdale...”

Precluded Stardust (Law and Order: CI FanFic)

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 03:22:23 GMT

“Ea- Eames, I don't... don't understand. Why?' Bobby Goren stuttered, pulling discreetly at the ropes tying him to a very comfortable, yet still imprisoning chair in Alex's living room.

“Bobby, I'm doing this because you didn't catch any of my more subtle hints.” Alex said. In the darkened room, Bobby could just barely make out the form of his partner sauntering towards him, getting clearer with each step.

His partner..., whom before tonight had never exhibited the psychotic tendencies needed to drug and hold someone hostage. “Wait, hold me hostage from who? She's one of the few people who would be out looking for me if I went missing.”

“Umm... What hints, Eames?” He asked slowly when Alex stopped a few centimeters from him and leaned down a little so that she was at eye level with Bobby, resting her hands just above his massive shoulders. She wonders if being this close has the same affect on him as it does on her, or if she really has been misinterpreting the longing glances he's been sending her way the past few months.

Every time she tried calling him on them, he found a reason to get away from her for the rest of the day. “Well, this night can lead to a new level in our relationship, or it can lead to me getting charged with detective-nabbing.”

Bobby resists the urge to look away from her eyes when, after a few moments, Alex still didn't seem as if she was going to answer his question. He has to resist because he can sense that if he lowers his head just a couple of inches, he'll take advantage of the view that the flimsy red excuse of a dress she's wearing offers him; and that just can't ever happen if they are to remain partners.

He can see Alex's tongue smoothly dart over her lips before she leans even closer to his ear and, letting her jaw rest slightly on his shoulder, whispers in the most sultry voice she can manage, “You already know what hints, Bobby.”

“Oh, yeah, I know...” Bobby thinks as he lets out a resigned sigh, knowing that now there is no chance of his partner missing what even memories of her “hints” do to him With her this close, all the seemingly casual touches, every word spoken in that voice, every fragmented memory of every moment that was saturated with a come-and-get-me aura washed over Bobby. Even if he wanted to now, he never could have stopped his head from turning ever so slightly and capturing her mouth in a kiss that had been waiting years to happen.