Touch Drabbles

[killerweasel.livejournal.com]

Five 100 word touch drabbles.



Angel/Lindsey, though it could be someone else
He always touches me. Ever since the first day we’ve met, he’s put his hands somewhere on my body. Most of the time it’s done in anger, or maybe he just needs take his frustration out on something and I’m the closest available target. Usually it involves pain, but you can block hurt out, or with enough thought, turn it into something enjoyable.

Touch me, stroke me, hold me, and put your hands on my skin so I know you care. Maybe the next time around it’ll be more than just pain. Let me touch you back. Please, let me.


This could be anyone.
You often wonder how it began. Everything begins somewhere, even if it’s so small you hardly notice. A touch here, a smile there, until it slowly begins to build into something more. At first you don’t know you’re even doing it. Maybe it just slips out accidentally. But once you see his reaction, you can’t stop yourself.

Suddenly you’re going out of your way to make sure he sees you, acknowledges the effort you’ve put into doing something just for him. It’s only for him. You bask in the praise, in the love, the warmth and hope it’ll never end.


Lindsey/Angel
The sound cuts through the silence. Sledgehammer on flesh is a very unique sound. You pick it up and do it again, smiling at the noise it makes. You’re not sure who it is that you’re really angry at, but he’s going to pay for it. He’ll pay in blood.

He’s done this to you. He’s the reason you’ve had to suffer humiliation time and time again in front of the woman you care for, your peers, even your mentor. No matter what you do, where you go, he’s always on your mind and in your thoughts. He’s your obsession.


Lindsey/Lee
It feels warmer than you thought it would. Even though you started to turn away, you couldn’t move faster than a bullet. The gunshot was louder than any you’d heard before. Blood is slowly dripping down the side of your face, but you don’t dare wipe it off. Not now.

Glancing down, you look at what used to be your friend. He was more than a friend. Things that should have stayed in his body are now on the floor, on your clothes, on your skin. Why didn’t you take him up on that offer for a drink last night?


Lindsey/Lorne
Falling backwards, I can barely feel my back hitting the wall. The holes look small in the front. Two crimson circles the size of quarters, slowly allowing my life to slip away. But, what I feel on the other side is much worse.

I don’t want to die alone. He’s here with me, but I’ve been abandoned. I want him to hold my hand, make this all go away. He wasn’t just a friend; he was the only one who ever gave a damn about me. Please, just hold me until the hurting stops. Show me that you still care.