![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
.drabbles: CSI:NY, House, LotR, SGA, WaT
Yay, drabbles!
Mass disclaimer: I own none of it.
Stuff in parentheses are additional info., warnings, whatever. And for some reason, there are several AUs this time around.
CSI:NY:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tanzy: Messer/Flack -
WHITE LAB COAT
Lab coats = Flack’s new fetish.
He likes watching Danny slipping in and out of his. In: smooth, practiced movement, difficult not knocking over tubes and equipment, but Danny makes it graceful. Out: Danny’s shirt pulls tight across his chest.
Flack will never tell Danny that.
Unless Danny grins at him, lopsided grin that makes his eyes crinkle up behind his glasses, and then maybe he’ll think about it.
“What’re you thinkin about, Flack?” Danny asks now, mind reader, and they’re in the middle of the lab, and Danny’s coat is half-on, half-off, and Danny’s grinning.
Fuck, Flack thinks. Fuck.
House:
nekosmuse: House/Wilson (post-1.18 "Babies and Bathwater" AU) -
NO SUCCESS LIKE FAILURE
“You’re still his medical proxy,” Cameron said. “You need to be here.” Anger, pleading, and sincerity: Cameron did all three very well.
It figured, it figured House hadn’t gotten around to changing his paperwork. Cameron was right: he needed to be there.
Wilson looked around his office, sleek and technological, very New York, wondered at how he’d had a whole year to find a new direction and hadn’t managed it yet. Sticking with his resignation even after Vogler’s departure hadn’t changed things.
He didn’t think about stopping to pack, and didn’t think about what that not stopping meant, either.
LotR:
cain1999: Erestor/Faramir -
MARRIAGE
The city below them celebrated under the Midsummer stars, threads of song and fire and women’s voices raised up in joy for their King and Queen.
“And so Men begin once more, while my kindred end.” Erestor turned away from the window. In his voice was sorrow, but also happiness, that of one who has seen something, or someone, long hoped-for arrive.
“Surely,” Faramir said, “this is not the end.”
“An end.” The Elf sat gracefully by the bed, eyes grey and changeable as the Sea, as old when Faramir, child of Westernesse, looked into them. “We two, though, may yet begin.”
--
ribby: Aragorn/Boromir -
A RIVER SONG
Did that aurochs, that great bull, think his horn would give voice to war, that the thunder in it would crash upon the rocks at Anduin’s banks, wash upon the feet of the Argonath, cover the water, out-roar the falls?
Last breaths for war and then confession, vows to a brother and king, and they tasted of blood.
Hornsong echoed in the hills, the dying air under the trees, between the two men on the grass.
Kiss of parting on the forehead, and Boromir was warm still; Aragorn would remember that, warm as he had always been, even after echoes died.
SGA:
twincy: McShep, the northern years - (AU; couldn't quite make it 100 words)
THE ICE
“It’s the cloak or the heat, Sheppard. The generator can’t handle both.”
“It’s handled both for a year, Rodney.”
Rodney sighs. They don’t argue in public. Keep your disagreements private, Elizabeth always said. Sheppard wishes she could say that now, but she – and Lorne, Teyla, Ronon, too many others – is gone, somewhere beneath the Ice.
They capitalize it now, Atlantis’s new surface. Starlight reflecting off it makes a second day.
“We’re dead either way,” Rodney says in the half-dark, warm but remote against John’s side.
“We’ve stayed alive for the past year, Rodney.”
“Yeah,” Rodney says. It’s not agreement.
John thinks Rodney’s right: since the Ice, this hasn’t been living at all.
--
mardia: Rodney/Lorne, w/pining!Lorne - (vaguely 3.01; unrequited McKay/Sheppard)
LOST CAUSES
For a smart guy, Rodney McKay was willing to do incredibly stupid things. Lorne told him this in the dank air of the Hive ship.
“I do them because the other option is certain death,” Rodney grunted. “Could you let me work?”
Lorne thought about asking Why do you chase around after Sheppard then? He’d never have thought McKay would devote time and energy to lost causes.
Well, what the hell are you doing? Like standing far too close to an oblivious Rodney, hard-won proximity, was any better.
He made himself step back, didn’t catch McKay looking at him curiously.
WaT:
moosesal: D/M, eggs -
BAM
“Wow. Just... Wow.”
Martin glares a shut up at Danny. Egg white oozes off the edge of a mixing bowl and plops on the floor by his shoe.
The counters are a scene from When Kitchen Terrorists Attack: exploded flour, something burning, sugar carmelized on the stovetop, and Martin wearing most of whatever he’s been trying to make.
“Cooking relaxes me,” Martin says, staring at the egg on the floor.
“There are better ways to relax, you know.” Danny tells him.
“Really?” Martin’s glare melts into a half-smile that invites a kiss, and Danny takes him up on it.
Tastes sugar, relaxation.
--
dragontatt: D/M, "laugh and the world laughs with you..." -
MEDICINE
He loves Danny’s laugh. On the field, in the office, it makes a bad case bearable. In bed, it means... it means a lot.
Martin can’t describe it, because it’s not a real laugh, more a smile and a huff of breath, but Danny’s face is alight, eyes crinkling at the corners, so infectious that Martin forgets his habitual reserve and has to laugh with him.
“You don’t smile enough,” Danny tells him, usually before kissing him, like now. “You know smiling uses fewer muscles than frowning? It’s true.”
Which surprises a laugh out of Martin, and Danny’s own laugh is victorious.
--
carrieross: D/M,"This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you" - (very dark, AU)
MERCY
The bombs have stopped. They’ll be here soon, with chains, with no mercy; Martin’s seen what They can do.
Danny can’t run with more of his blood on the floor than inside him, and so Martin’s going to have to be the one to keep their pact.
Footsteps outside the bunker, impatient shouting.
“You’re beautiful,” Martin says hoarsely. Too beautiful for this hell of a world, the way he’s about to die.
“Yeah,” Danny agrees.
The hammer clicks back, metal on flesh, and Danny closes his eyes.
Two bullets in the chamber; Martin thinks, at least we can die together.
--
mrsdtaylor: D/M, breaking something valuable - (post-S4)
BUSTED STUFF
Back then, he’d push, prod, outright shove his way into Martin’s self-possession.
Self-contained, self-sufficient, that was Martin, one of those people too good to be true, that independent. And he was good at seeming so, good enough to fool Danny for a long time.
But Danny’d gotten used to looking, and gotten used to Martin, and he started seeing the cracks, so many of them radiating out from those two scars on his left side. Startling, like seeing the flaws in something valuable.
Now he touches Martin carefully, still half-afraid he’ll break, because he can see where Martin’s been broken before.
--
smilla02: D/M, fugly ties - (bondage, nothing explicit)
TIE ME UP, TIE ME DOWN
“Martin, I have my pride.”
“Unless you’ve got a webcam stashed somewhere, no one will know.” Martin makes a show of looking. Danny sighs underneath him.
“I’d know.”
“Danny... You agreed.”
“I agreed to ties. I didn’t agree to your ties.”
Martin’s holding one pink tie with grey stripes and one dark blue with lighter dots. Danny eyes them suspiciously.
“It’s not the same as wearing them; I’m just tying you up.”
“No way.”
“Fine. If I can’t tie you up with my ties, then I won’t wear that cowboy costume you like.”
Danny scowls but offers Martin his wrists.
--
le_mot_mo: D/M, "I am not going to sit on my ass..." -
MARTIN FITZGERALD’S DAY OFF
He’s going to be Martin Fitzgerald today.
He’s not going to be his father’s son, or Jack’s hardworking agent. The rules-follower, the good cop, the model citizen... Those are out, too.
They’re sitting across from a fountain in Central Park on a Monday, lunch extended into early afternoon laziness. Danny’s hand is warm on his neck, warmer maybe because the gesture is so obvious, we’re together Danny’s hand says, and people are staring.
Martin can hear what some of them are thinking, ohmygodthey’regaySICK, and mentally tells them to fuck off.
This is his, today: the sun, their bench, Danny against his side.
--
rilestar: D/M, icon #9 - (the icon is actually from "Penitence," but the drabble is post 4.02)
BANDAGE
Cold water seeps through his trousers, rain runs down the back of his neck, concrete is hard under him.
Martin’s blood, God so much blood, all over his hands, bright, shocking against the night.
Sir, sir, there’s nothing we can do. I’m –
He wakes violently, uncomfortable from a night on the couch, still in his shirt from yesterday.
Another dream. The memory shudders through him as he gets ready for the day, braves the subway to work, rides the elevator to the twelfth floor.
“Hey,” Martin says as he walks by.
“Morning,” Danny says, and makes sure Martin’s breathing.
In other news:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
1fandom 1fandom 1fandom! I signed up for a pair of themes in WaT and SGA and it's terribly fun to write. Something different.
Mass disclaimer: I own none of it.
Stuff in parentheses are additional info., warnings, whatever. And for some reason, there are several AUs this time around.
CSI:NY:
tanzy: Messer/Flack - WHITE LAB COAT
Lab coats = Flack’s new fetish.
He likes watching Danny slipping in and out of his. In: smooth, practiced movement, difficult not knocking over tubes and equipment, but Danny makes it graceful. Out: Danny’s shirt pulls tight across his chest.
Flack will never tell Danny that.
Unless Danny grins at him, lopsided grin that makes his eyes crinkle up behind his glasses, and then maybe he’ll think about it.
“What’re you thinkin about, Flack?” Danny asks now, mind reader, and they’re in the middle of the lab, and Danny’s coat is half-on, half-off, and Danny’s grinning.
Fuck, Flack thinks. Fuck.
House:
nekosmuse: House/Wilson (post-1.18 "Babies and Bathwater" AU) - NO SUCCESS LIKE FAILURE
“You’re still his medical proxy,” Cameron said. “You need to be here.” Anger, pleading, and sincerity: Cameron did all three very well.
It figured, it figured House hadn’t gotten around to changing his paperwork. Cameron was right: he needed to be there.
Wilson looked around his office, sleek and technological, very New York, wondered at how he’d had a whole year to find a new direction and hadn’t managed it yet. Sticking with his resignation even after Vogler’s departure hadn’t changed things.
He didn’t think about stopping to pack, and didn’t think about what that not stopping meant, either.
LotR:
cain1999: Erestor/Faramir - MARRIAGE
The city below them celebrated under the Midsummer stars, threads of song and fire and women’s voices raised up in joy for their King and Queen.
“And so Men begin once more, while my kindred end.” Erestor turned away from the window. In his voice was sorrow, but also happiness, that of one who has seen something, or someone, long hoped-for arrive.
“Surely,” Faramir said, “this is not the end.”
“An end.” The Elf sat gracefully by the bed, eyes grey and changeable as the Sea, as old when Faramir, child of Westernesse, looked into them. “We two, though, may yet begin.”
--
ribby: Aragorn/Boromir - A RIVER SONG
Did that aurochs, that great bull, think his horn would give voice to war, that the thunder in it would crash upon the rocks at Anduin’s banks, wash upon the feet of the Argonath, cover the water, out-roar the falls?
Last breaths for war and then confession, vows to a brother and king, and they tasted of blood.
Hornsong echoed in the hills, the dying air under the trees, between the two men on the grass.
Kiss of parting on the forehead, and Boromir was warm still; Aragorn would remember that, warm as he had always been, even after echoes died.
SGA:
twincy: McShep, the northern years - (AU; couldn't quite make it 100 words) THE ICE
“It’s the cloak or the heat, Sheppard. The generator can’t handle both.”
“It’s handled both for a year, Rodney.”
Rodney sighs. They don’t argue in public. Keep your disagreements private, Elizabeth always said. Sheppard wishes she could say that now, but she – and Lorne, Teyla, Ronon, too many others – is gone, somewhere beneath the Ice.
They capitalize it now, Atlantis’s new surface. Starlight reflecting off it makes a second day.
“We’re dead either way,” Rodney says in the half-dark, warm but remote against John’s side.
“We’ve stayed alive for the past year, Rodney.”
“Yeah,” Rodney says. It’s not agreement.
John thinks Rodney’s right: since the Ice, this hasn’t been living at all.
--
mardia: Rodney/Lorne, w/pining!Lorne - (vaguely 3.01; unrequited McKay/Sheppard) LOST CAUSES
For a smart guy, Rodney McKay was willing to do incredibly stupid things. Lorne told him this in the dank air of the Hive ship.
“I do them because the other option is certain death,” Rodney grunted. “Could you let me work?”
Lorne thought about asking Why do you chase around after Sheppard then? He’d never have thought McKay would devote time and energy to lost causes.
Well, what the hell are you doing? Like standing far too close to an oblivious Rodney, hard-won proximity, was any better.
He made himself step back, didn’t catch McKay looking at him curiously.
WaT:
moosesal: D/M, eggs - BAM
“Wow. Just... Wow.”
Martin glares a shut up at Danny. Egg white oozes off the edge of a mixing bowl and plops on the floor by his shoe.
The counters are a scene from When Kitchen Terrorists Attack: exploded flour, something burning, sugar carmelized on the stovetop, and Martin wearing most of whatever he’s been trying to make.
“Cooking relaxes me,” Martin says, staring at the egg on the floor.
“There are better ways to relax, you know.” Danny tells him.
“Really?” Martin’s glare melts into a half-smile that invites a kiss, and Danny takes him up on it.
Tastes sugar, relaxation.
--
dragontatt: D/M, "laugh and the world laughs with you..." - MEDICINE
He loves Danny’s laugh. On the field, in the office, it makes a bad case bearable. In bed, it means... it means a lot.
Martin can’t describe it, because it’s not a real laugh, more a smile and a huff of breath, but Danny’s face is alight, eyes crinkling at the corners, so infectious that Martin forgets his habitual reserve and has to laugh with him.
“You don’t smile enough,” Danny tells him, usually before kissing him, like now. “You know smiling uses fewer muscles than frowning? It’s true.”
Which surprises a laugh out of Martin, and Danny’s own laugh is victorious.
--
carrieross: D/M,"This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you" - (very dark, AU) MERCY
The bombs have stopped. They’ll be here soon, with chains, with no mercy; Martin’s seen what They can do.
Danny can’t run with more of his blood on the floor than inside him, and so Martin’s going to have to be the one to keep their pact.
Footsteps outside the bunker, impatient shouting.
“You’re beautiful,” Martin says hoarsely. Too beautiful for this hell of a world, the way he’s about to die.
“Yeah,” Danny agrees.
The hammer clicks back, metal on flesh, and Danny closes his eyes.
Two bullets in the chamber; Martin thinks, at least we can die together.
--
mrsdtaylor: D/M, breaking something valuable - (post-S4) BUSTED STUFF
Back then, he’d push, prod, outright shove his way into Martin’s self-possession.
Self-contained, self-sufficient, that was Martin, one of those people too good to be true, that independent. And he was good at seeming so, good enough to fool Danny for a long time.
But Danny’d gotten used to looking, and gotten used to Martin, and he started seeing the cracks, so many of them radiating out from those two scars on his left side. Startling, like seeing the flaws in something valuable.
Now he touches Martin carefully, still half-afraid he’ll break, because he can see where Martin’s been broken before.
--
smilla02: D/M, fugly ties - (bondage, nothing explicit) TIE ME UP, TIE ME DOWN
“Martin, I have my pride.”
“Unless you’ve got a webcam stashed somewhere, no one will know.” Martin makes a show of looking. Danny sighs underneath him.
“I’d know.”
“Danny... You agreed.”
“I agreed to ties. I didn’t agree to your ties.”
Martin’s holding one pink tie with grey stripes and one dark blue with lighter dots. Danny eyes them suspiciously.
“It’s not the same as wearing them; I’m just tying you up.”
“No way.”
“Fine. If I can’t tie you up with my ties, then I won’t wear that cowboy costume you like.”
Danny scowls but offers Martin his wrists.
--
le_mot_mo: D/M, "I am not going to sit on my ass..." - MARTIN FITZGERALD’S DAY OFF
He’s going to be Martin Fitzgerald today.
He’s not going to be his father’s son, or Jack’s hardworking agent. The rules-follower, the good cop, the model citizen... Those are out, too.
They’re sitting across from a fountain in Central Park on a Monday, lunch extended into early afternoon laziness. Danny’s hand is warm on his neck, warmer maybe because the gesture is so obvious, we’re together Danny’s hand says, and people are staring.
Martin can hear what some of them are thinking, ohmygodthey’regaySICK, and mentally tells them to fuck off.
This is his, today: the sun, their bench, Danny against his side.
--
rilestar: D/M, icon #9 - (the icon is actually from "Penitence," but the drabble is post 4.02) BANDAGE
Cold water seeps through his trousers, rain runs down the back of his neck, concrete is hard under him.
Martin’s blood, God so much blood, all over his hands, bright, shocking against the night.
Sir, sir, there’s nothing we can do. I’m –
He wakes violently, uncomfortable from a night on the couch, still in his shirt from yesterday.
Another dream. The memory shudders through him as he gets ready for the day, braves the subway to work, rides the elevator to the twelfth floor.
“Hey,” Martin says as he walks by.
“Morning,” Danny says, and makes sure Martin’s breathing.
In other news:
1fandom 1fandom 1fandom! I signed up for a pair of themes in WaT and SGA and it's terribly fun to write. Something different.
no subject