(no subject)

[nny]

Comment with two characters I write, and I'll tell you about their first kiss.

Do what you will.

XD

Comments

[agonistes]

*cheerful* I think I got possessed.

Do Kaylee and Jubal Early count?

*runs far away very fast*

[turtlespeaks.livejournal.com]

Sheppard and McKay!

[ashen_key]

Andre! And Luck!

Although, not together. Although...

nah. Up to you.

[flyakate]

Fraser and Kowalski.

*grin*

[tropes.livejournal.com]

JOHN AND RODNEY JOHN AND RODNEY!!!!!!

[skygiants]

Torquil and Lord Peter Wimsey. :D

[liz666.livejournal.com]

Kowalski and Fraiser!!

[lavvyan.livejournal.com]

Uh. Brendan and Betty? *runs away*

[soupytwist.livejournal.com]

Danny and Casey! Or Grant's first kiss with anybody ever. :)

[blueeyedtigress.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael (note spelling) and Crowley.

[flannelcat.livejournal.com]

John Dee and Albert Einstein.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

It's online already over here (http://community.livejournal.com/milliways_bar/217580.html), dear.

I don't write my Aziraphael any more. He's been passed on to another player, and my break up with Milliways really wasn't the easiest, so I'd rather not. Say sorry.

If you want Aziraphale and Crowley, that I can do.

[blueeyedtigress.livejournal.com]

My profuse apologies, dear lady. I had not intended to cause discomfort.

I would, indeed -- gleefully and gratefully -- like to hear what you have to say about Aziraphale & Crowley's first kiss, though. Say please?

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Now Kaylee knows Zoe and the Captain ain't so fond of fireworks no more, but Zoe and the Captain are tucked away inside with the foul tasting moonshine, and Jayne's tucked up elsewhere, though where exactly and who with Kaylee don't like to speculate.

Kaylee's had enough drinking; it burned down her throat and set up shop in her stomach, warmed her right through like she's tucked up safe in bed and the world is fuzzy and friendly like the threadbare cow with it's horns coming off she'd slept with all through childhood.

She's so busy looking up at the way the colours dance across the sky that she trips over her own two feet, stumbles against a surface that's more giving than you'd expect of walls around here, and she smiles up at the wall, delighted that it has a face and a big old white smile and the most dandy boots she's ever seen.

Somewhere a clock is striking, batteries must be down low 'cos the sound is all twisted, and her wall cocks his head to one side, looks like he's forgotten how the world is supposed to work. She stretches up, right on tiptoes, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth to remind him.

"Now why would you go doing a thing like that?"

"For the sake of Auld Lang Syne," she says, whimsical, even though she never heard nobody but her nanna sing it.

"Well don't you go forgetting me now, little one," he tells her, and she laughs and nods and pushes away from the wall, goes off to find Wash and see if he'll come watch the fireworks compete with the stars.

(It's dark enough she never even saw the huddled shape at his feet, the slow-spreading pool of darkness around it.

He makes sure to remember her face, though.)

[villainny.livejournal.com]

PEE ESS OH MY GOD YOU SUCK

XD

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Ray did a bizarre dance on the spot, flailing his arms, his face turning red.

"Look, I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear it! I don't understand, I don't want to hear it!"

Fraser held out his hands, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible despite any amount of provocation.

"Ray, would you just listen to me?" He just got a glare in return - although 'glare' really didn't do it justice, didn't describe near accurately enough the amount of anger Ray's expression contained.

"Look - I swear - I swear to God," and Ray was holding his own hands out, reflecting Fraser's body language, which had to be some sort of sign, "I will punch you right in the face. Fair warning." Or perhaps not.

"Well what does that mean, you're going to punch me?"

"Just look, I'm going to punch you in the face! Why don't you listen to me?"

This was just - this was getting ridiculous. When did he not listen?

"Just think calmly - "

Except that was apparently the last straw, because Ray took two aggressive steps forward, directly into Fraser's personal space, only the hands that Fraser raised to fend him off ended up clutching helplessly at his jacket when Ray leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Fraser's, hard enough almost to be an assault, hard enough to knock him entirely off balance. That might have been something else entirely, though. The way Ray kissed him, impossible to refuse or resist, determined and frustrated and -

- and he pulled away. His chest was heaving, blue eyes wide and scared and strangely defeated.

This was one of those pivotal moments. One of those choices that affect a lifetime. He could turn and he could walk away, or he could fight back. Except the truth was that the choice had been taken out of his hands, that Ray had decided it for him the moment he'd kissed him.

Fraser reached out, curved a palm around the nape of Ray's neck, pulled him back. He made sure there was time enough for Ray to refuse; it just meant he got to see the heart-stopping smile Ray was wearing, just before it was pressed against his mouth.

Later, after the Henry Allen, after everything, he inched forward so he could curve himself around Ray entirely, press a kiss to his pale shoulder.

"You know," Ray told him lazily, voice warm in the darkness, "in some universe I actually hit you. You know you deserved it."

"I know," he said. "I was listening."

[villainny.livejournal.com]

...you are possibly the best ever.

I mean, I have NO IDEA how I'm going to write it, but god.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

I apologise for inevitable timeline screwing.

*laughs*



André slunk along the alleyway, keeping an ear open for off-key singing; the officers coming weren't much to do with him, not really, but you watch out for your own, see? The Shades weren't the place for the Night Watch, weren't even the place for the Irregulars, just the Irregulars were harder to spot.

(Harder to kill, is it? Maybe. He'd heard about Vimes, though.)

The men he was following - the men he was following were following the men he was following, see. Sort of a preemptive body guarding. Only, however hard to kill, however irregular, he's only human. And no human - forget sex, forget orientation - could have resisted her.

She was leaning against a wall in that particular lean that somehow suggested that she was open to offers, that you couldn't afford her, that maybe, though, maybe tonight she might be good to you. You might be in -

(It was best not to look at her eyes. There were plenty of other parts to look at, parts that were less subtly wrong.)

He heard the singing stop, but it was from another galaxy, one he had no interest in 'cos the grass couldn't be greener than this. Her thumb brushed against his lips and brushed against the stubble along the line of his jaw, and his throat was too dry for the small noise that wanted to slip out - even though this was the Shades, even though noises'd get you killed eleven times out of ten.

And when she leaned forward to press her lips against his he saw fireworks, conflagrations behind his eyelids.

(Only he found out later it wasn't behind his eyelids, see. Saw the eerie silhouette against the wall which would've had another dimension to it if he'd kept following as close as he was. He'd never trusted it, thought only fools believed in it, but it looked like he'd been in - )

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Brendan pressed himself harder against the wall, lifting his arm carefully slowly to scrub at his mouth - Emmett had said he didn't have to worry about making sudden movements but since he was playing with his life here he thought caution was the better part of valour.

"What the hell," he hissed, his voice squeaking more than he'd like, "seriously, Emmett, what the hell?"

"Snakes use their tongues to sample odours in the air -" and seriously, Brendan thought, did he have to sound so damned amused? "and you have to admit it's a little less invasive than a dog sticking its nose in your crotch..."

"It just kissed me, I'm not admitting anything."

Betty came in for another pass and Brendan visibly flinched, then scowled horribly when Emmett snorted.

"It could be a sign of affection," Emmett said bracingly.

"Or what?"

"Or a prelude to lunch."

Brendan's head whipped around, almost fast enough to strain it, and he seriously considered reaching for his sidearm when he saw the laughter in Emmett's eyes.

"Oh, you are going down."

"If you like," Emmett answered casually, and Brendan's jaw dropped open. The doctor winked at him. "They do say that pets come to resemble their owners..."

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Dan imagined a crazed fan breaking into the studio and shooting him and it being the last thing he did. Or he imagined fighting over Dana or the show or anything more important than sports and finding a way to steal the last word.

Sometimes he imagined it context-less. Just heat and mouths and the way Casey would taste almost exactly like he smelled, spicy and sweet. (He saved those imaginings for when he was alone. Had to.)

One time he imagined it without anger or dire circumstance, without the framing of a porn film he'd seen once which'd always lent it a faint air of unreality. Once he imagined Casey smiling after. Only once, though, 'cos that one stung a little.

Casey? Casey never imagined it at all. He just leaned over one day when they were watching basketball on Dan's ridiculously big TV - when Danny's tie was tugged off-centre and his mouth was curled up at the corners and his cheeks were flushed - and tasted the beer on his tongue. As soon as it occurred to him it was so obviously the right thing to do that he didn't need to think.

[soupytwist.livejournal.com]

Oh, the love the love the love the LOVE.

Thankyou - to Danny for being a sweetheart who overthinks things and to Casey for having the best instincts in the world (sometimes), and to you for writing it. That is gorgeous.

[unravels.livejournal.com]

Stephen & Jack. It's not fun if it's not together. *snicker*

Hey, last week was a blur, okay? I need to back the flist up more often. :] Yes, still reading. This book... there is not enough giggling in the WORLD.

[skygiants]

I have confidence in you! *beams*

[lavvyan.livejournal.com]

Bwahahahaha! Oh, this is so wrong, I love it dearly! :D

Thank you for writing this! *bounces*

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Sheppard's sanity is built out of excuses.

Sheppard's sanity is built out of excuses because if he thinks about the reasons that it wouldn't work things would start falling apart and he couldn't get by on casual touches and the genuine and unrepentant excitement on Rodney's face at ZPMs or classic Batman.

After the energy-sucking darkness monster - which Rodney decided later would make the best comic book villain ever for sheer lack of artist time required - it was just in case the shield hadn't been entirely depleted. Wouldn't want to get stuck, 'cos half the time he thinks he's more scared than every other person on Atlantis.

(It's not because all indications point towards Rodney being straight.)

After the ten thousand year old wraith, after Rodney firing right on target, shot after shot, putting himself on the line for John, it's because Ford's arriving in a second or two and traumatising his marines is kind of counterproductive.

(It's not because of the number of times Rodney mentions Major Carter.)

After Doranda...

No. Doranda's a reason.

And after Rodney almost dies again, after 'clear blue skies' and the way John can't get words out around the lump in his throat, it's 'cos Elizabeth's there.

(It's 'cos he's scared he wouldn't be able to let go.)

He never expected this, though. Never expected McKay to follow him into his quarters and fold his arms exasperatedly, to just lean forward and claim his mouth pushily like he has a right to be there. There's a moment when John considers pushing him away, considers denying this, but in the end he just kisses Rodney back.

He's got no excuse not to.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

He's old enough to know that one doesn't conduct along to the music - sitting bolt upright with his head tilted to one side and pale blue eyes intent until the climax, at which he closes them and lets a small smile settle on his thin lips - but he's young enough to be exasperated, outraged, at the actions of others. Were this still the age of duels he'd likely have demands of satisfaction for his poisonous looks and open hostility; instead he has a corner of the room entirely to himself, a glass of champagne dangling loosely from long, elegant fingers.

He ought to be a musician himself. He's certainly not beautiful but has a touch of the fey about him - not romanticised or in any way welcoming like fairy tales and children's stories, but pale blue eyes that are a little too cold and a little too sharp, as though he can see a dimension to the room and the people within it that goes beyond the poor and threadbare human concept of 'sight'. It's details, too: he is dressed like a gentleman but insouciantly so. Given time and experience (and an able manservant) he'll be immaculate, no doubt, but just now he has hair a little too long and coat sleeves a fraction too short as though they were designed with someone else entirely in mind. It's just different enough to be interesting, to set the mind whirling with stories, and a musician is only half songs. The remaining is the legend that grows up around him.

Torquil likes him immediately.

"You look bored stiff," he says cheerfully, his own filched glass ringing to the rhythmic tap of his fingers.

"The music was divine."

It's a more diplomatic response than he was expecting, and his mouth twists a little in disappointment. Humans never quite live up to his hopes.

"The music always is," he says, without a trace of irony, "but the company -"

The man - barely more than a boy, really - smiles, a flicker of darkness to the edges of it that has Torquil leaning against the wall beside him, not quite ready to give up just yet.

"They do lack a certain something." He takes a sip of his champagne and shoots Torquil a sidelong smirk. "Brains, possibly?"

"Exactly!" He's delighted, wishing his brother was in earshot. "Archer does like sheep, so."

[villainny.livejournal.com]

"Archer?"

"It's his little shindig. He made me come because he hates me."

He gets another of those sidelong looks for that, which he suspects is more a reaction to his tone than his words; he and Archer have been at loggerheads for long enough that there's no longer any self-pity in what he says. In fact it's developed more into a kind of mischievous delight, enhanced by the memory of quite what he's being punished for, this time. Archer had been angry enough that he'd obeyed orders and let this concert run smoothly. He'd worked very hard at inspiring the second violinist, in fact, since even Handel didn't deserve what the fellow was doing.

"You'd rather be at cards?"

Torquil makes a face ugly enough to set the other chap laughing.

"Saints preserve us, no. They're Shine's, and last time I sniffed around her business she threatened to set fire to my wardrobe."

"A dire threat."

"It works so much better than castration."

He gets an entirely different flavour of glance for that, one that lingers just long enough to be intriguing without edging over into dangerous territory. This fellow gets more interesting all the time.

"I can't say I've a mind to try it," is the eventual response, and he laughs and places a hand around the man's wrist where the coat doesn't cover it, leaning far closer than is necessary or suitable.

"I'd not recommend it, it's really grossly overrated," and he turns his head enough that his lips barely brush the skin below the man's ear. It's ridiculously tempting to seek more, but the scandal and Archer's anger - which is always enjoyable - isn't quite worth breaking his plaything for.

Then:

"Oh blast it," he says, scrubbing at his lips and looking accusing, for which he gets a look of confusion which is emphasised becomingly by the high flush on pale cheeks. "You're Dillion's." He can feel his lips curving downwards into an unbecoming pout, and that just makes him even more cross. "She always gets what I want."

[villainny.livejournal.com]

The chap looks entirely lost, now, but his pulse is racing under Torquil's palm and long fingers have hooked into his sleeve.

"What -"

"Just promise me you'll go to music halls," Torquil demands, all in a rush. "Promise you'll ignore the right thing to do in favour of your piano, on occasion, and you'll - you'll fall in love with an Italian dancer and you'll patronise the opera and you'll misbehave for me, every now and again."

"I think I can promise that," he says, and Torquil smiles brilliantly, lifting the man's hand to press a kiss to the back with a quite ridiculous flourish.

"Good," he says, "good."

He likes to make investments for the future; Dillion will be furious.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

*FLAILS*

That I write, that I write!

XD

[villainny.livejournal.com]

"For fuck's sake, Rodney, will you just -"

John loses patience and shoves Rodney hard between the shoulders so he stumbles through the doorway, almost falling onto a pile of crates but catching himself in time. The door slams shut behind them, abruptly cutting off the noise from the main workspace so that the only sound is Rodney's angry breathing, his breath misting between them. John runs his hands through his hair, frustrated beyond words.

"It wasn't - Jesus, McKay, you know it wasn't like that, it couldn't be like that, like - like this."

"What this?" Rodney folds his arms across his bright orange chest, the fleece clashing with his angry flush. "As you have taken great pains to inform me, Major, there is and never can be a 'this'. And to think I thought you were concerned about your career."

"I was. I am. I can't just -"

"Can't what? Engage in sexual acts with a person of the same gender? Because that was what I was thinking you meant, but apparently your monosyllabic protests were along entirely different lines."

John takes two quick steps forward, gratified that although Rodney's blue eyes widen he stays exactly where he is, stance firm, refusing to back away from this. John lowers his voice, dark and intent, hands tightly fisted by his sides.

"I can't go into this, into Atlantis, expecting anything. Marshall Sumner would do any damn thing in his power to get rid of me and I can't risk -" he's the one who looks away. "I can't let it matter to me."

Rodney snorts, opens his mouth to unleash some scathing comment, and John sways forward and presses his mouth against Rodney's. Just for a second, just this once. Something to remember.

It makes Rodney step back, pull away, rub the back of his hand across his mouth.

"You taste like latex," he says, blue eyes as cold as the ice that surrounds them. He slams the door shut behind him.

[tropes.livejournal.com]

...






OH MY GOD. WHO WHAT. WHEN WHERE. I WANT MORE OF THIS STORY RIGHT HERE.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

When Fraser blinks awake it's to see Ray's worried face above him.

"What happened?" he croaks it, throat quite stupendously sore.

"You did your superhero act, we got the bad guys, you stopped breathing there for a second. Buddy breathing, right?" Ray jerks a thumb at his own chest, his forehead still creased even as he ventures a smile. "Never say I can't be taught."

Fraser starts to struggle upright, but Ray's hand in the middle of his chest prevents him.

"Just - just stay there, okay?" His voice breaks a fraction, and he looks away and clears his throat. His head turns from side to side, blue eyes intent, and Fraser is quite at a loss for what he is doing until Ray leans down to press his mouth against his.

"This counts, okay? This - this changes things. Don't you say nothing's changed this time, okay?"

Fraser clears his throat, wincing at the action but knowing that it's important to get this out.

"As you wish, Ray."

This time, he'll tell the truth.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale folds his arms tightly, the motion unforgivably creasing the lines of his jacket, and frowns at the sound of raindrops pattering on the top of his silk top hat. It really is the last straw, and quite the last time he lets Crowley convince him that the jaunty tartan umbrella he'd been so proud of doesn't fit in with the style of his suit.

There's still a crowd over by the stage door, and really there's no tugging Crowley away when there's such disreputable company to be had, so Aziraphale turns smartly on his heel and starts walking, mouth pursing even tighter as one of those newfangled motorcars sweeps past and drenches the bottom of his trouser legs.

It's a moment or two before he registers the change in tenor of the raindrops, notices the black arch of an umbrella overhead. He looks to his left and his frown deepens at the smirk on Crowley's face, eyes unreadable as ever behind smoked glass.

"I suppose you're proud of yourself?" he asks primly, even though he really hasn't the foggiest idea what Crowley's been up to. Crowley doesn't respond, just switches the umbrella from right hand to left and hooks his free hand around Aziraphale's arm, tugging him into an alley.

"What -"

His voice cuts off abruptly as Crowley's fingers smooth gently over his forehead, then trace a startlingly hot line across his cheek to his mouth, pushing it up a very little at the corner.

"Frowns aren't becoming, angel," the demon tells him seriously, and then Aziraphale is caught quite off balance when Crowley leans forward to press a kiss just precisely to the corner of his mouth. "There," he says, a tone of some satisfaction in his voice, "that's better."

Aziraphale doesn't stop smiling for quite some time.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Stephen is sat in the only comfortable chair in Jack's cramped parlour; Jack will insist that he's far more at home on the old sea chest under the window, even though a man of his bulk really strains it almost past endurance. He's reading busily through a letter he's received, mentally composing a reply as he goes. Carter may very well be the foremost repository of knowledge on mantises, but his knowledge of bees is patchy at best and frequently entirely misguided.

"Thank you, joy," he murmurs absently as Jack places a cup of tea at his side, and he turns without thinking, a natural movement, not called to his senses until he registers the feeling of Jack's unevenly stubbled skin against his lips.

The both of them jerk immediately backward, Jack nearly taking a tumble over a wooden horse Bonden had carved for the delight of his daughters, and Stephen's face pales to a quite unhealthy shade.

The silence remains unbroken until Sophie's voice calls cheerfully from the hall.

[soupytwist.livejournal.com]

How do you do that?

Seriously. I like them all, but this one kind of made me gasp, because yes, of course that happened, only it wasn't obvious to me until just that second. Wow.

[blueeyedtigress.livejournal.com]

BTW, I should have comment long since -- the "online already over here" was BLOODY AMAZING. Long before my time on LJ, so I hadn't yet found it on my own. Brava. ;]

[blueeyedtigress.livejournal.com]

Aaaahh! Wonderful! Thank you!

My brother makes silk top hats, so I was cringing along with Azi at getting his wet! The alleyway! The casual naturalness of it all! Oooh, that's just completely lovely!!! 8D

[turtlespeaks.livejournal.com]

Wooo! Ficlit! *blinks* That's a lot of levels! whoa. . .

Love the end though!

[skygiants]

YOU ARE. MY FAVORITE PERSON EVER.

*IS LITERALLY BEAMING AT THE SCREEN* DUDE I THOUGHT IT WAS A COOL CONCEPT BUT I HAD NO IDEA IT COULD BE THAT AWESOME

"PROMISE ME YOU'LL GO TO MUSIC HALLS"

[unravels.livejournal.com]

:O

*flails*

Dude. I don't know whether to squeal with delight or distress. Currently alternating, with lots of sputtering between. :O

[liz666.livejournal.com]

*Happy face*

[flannelcat.livejournal.com]

Pft. Coward. :P

[apiphile.livejournal.com]

BILLY AND JOE.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

It lasted maybe two, three seconds, closed mouths pressed together, Billy's heart racing like he was gonna die of it, then Joe's mouth opened a little bit which was whole new levels of weird. Mostly he tried to keep up, eyes screwed tight shut, then Joe hissed and pulled away, thumped him hard on the arm.

"You bit my fucking lip, you faggot!"

Billy went hot and prickly all over, his eyes stinging a little 'cos Joe was changeable as the weather and he'd stopped speaking to him for a month for less.

"Fuck you, bitch," and his voice squeaked like rusted hinges, still growing into him. He scrambled to his feet, all elbows and knees, scrubbed his face with a dusty sleeve and glared at Joe, half daring him to start something (half scared shitless that he would).

Joe just sprawled back on his elbows, effortlessly endlessly cool. He jerked his head a little and that was all it took, Billy stumbling over to him again. Still prickly, still awkward and defiant, but there.

"Bitch," he muttered again, into the badly-dyed spikes of his hair, and Joe's laughter rumbled against his chest.

"Not fucking likely."

(It didn't sound quite like the truth.)

[genarti]

...Oh my sweet heavens.

It even works, and works well, which is not something I ever thought I could say about this particular match-up.

Very, very well done. (also, augh! But that we knew.)

[apiphile.livejournal.com]

*squeak*

Fuck you, bitch, indeed. (You so know that's how he says "ILU").