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slashthedrabble Nov. 5th, 2005 04:09 pm)
a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Nov. 5th, 2005 04:09 pm)It's that time again - and me barely squeaking it in there, as usual! Lemme know what you think, guys - believe it or not, this time the subject was a struggle - hence the lateness...
Lemme know what you think!
Fandom: Angel
Title: And What Happens Next
Pairing(s): Wes/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Surprise at the end, Angst, Horror
Wordcount: 300
Rough.
The color, texture and taste, of whiskey as it lay in the tumbler,
as it sent trails of fire down my throat –
the shivery shake of my head, as I denied it’s passage.
It’s sweet misery as I took another sip of the mysterious emptiness that it held –
the promise of a dreamless night.
Rough.
The endless long nights and the time that ticked away under their coats of silvery blackness.
The hushed chop-chop of the clock, as it whiled away the seconds, the minutes –
the hours.
The heaviness of my mind, as it trembled with the dreams it could not share –
ones that would likely be best forgotten.
Rough.
In the satisfactory feeling of weapons in my hands.
the heavy stock of light walnut of my sawed-off Smith and Wesson,
the sleek mother-of-pearl in my Desert Eagles
the icy white, sharp planes of my executioner’s axe, my favorite dagger –
the splintered, not quite smoothed finish of the ashwood stake I carried in my backpocket – like a child with his favorite toy – like a gunslinger experiencing the loss of his polished holster.
It was the gritty graininess of dust that sifted through my fingers, only to be teased and scattered – melting away by a sudden hiss of wind.
It sighed of long years past – and cried mournfully of many more long years lost – the sound of it’s grieving eerie and rough – but strangely harmonious.
And whomever you were – Angel, Angelus – know that I am sorry, that I loved you – that I had no choice.
Rough.
Was the burst of gliding lead that ate my life –
The long two seconds before I faded to black courtesy of a bullet from my own beloved guns – the taste of it sang of rage, hatred and bitter loss –
Like the taste of whiskey from the bottom of the glass.
Fandom: MacGyver
Title: Flashes
Pairing(s): Mac/Murdoc
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Horror, Non-Con
Wordcount: 300
It was all in flashes – dismembered corpses of memory, dreams and half-imaginings.
The rough coolness of concrete under the flesh of his cheek, the lines of his neck, as he struggled with the duct tape that bound his arms behind him; that man on the ground, the man that he had been, unaware of what lay ahead of him within the next few hours, few days, few months.
The rough grit of a boot on that self-same floor that registered as a sour terror, bringing about a cold sweat that drenched him in the blackness of future pain.
The feel of fingernails/claws on his hips, his back, in the tangles of his hair – a rough yank, then fierce tearing burning as he was impaled – as he was lifted off the skin of the world with sheer agony again and again.
The rough laughter of the demons that lived deep within his mind –
the insanely hot puddles of light, as his eyes were forced to see the world he now lived in -
the rough crack of a gun in a powdery winter night, the slick greasy hot feel of blood as it poured through his fingers to stain the hungry ground in bright red screams of betrayal –
the rough burn of tears when he finally realized it was all over, it was finally over.
The rush of rough, crazy joy in the near-weeping eyes of Pete and Dalton; their endless pleasure at finding him whole –
not knowing that what they had found was indeed, broken.
The silent screams that yanked him so roughly out of his sleep every night, until now.
Tonight there would be no screams, no waking – the nightmare was not over.
And as those rough-soft fingers so well remembered and feared, clamped down over the vulnerable flesh of his throat –
he realized that he was just now beginning to wake up.
Fandom: Stargate
Title: Rememberance
Pairing(s): Jack/Daniel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Death
Wordcount: 200
A stubble-covered cheek, scratching against his own, the feel of it under his fingers a joy and a sorrow.
The feel of his robes, so heavy, so airless – yet soft and flowing, against his skin, the fibers of it catching and sliding against him.
Calloused, work-roughened fingers gliding against that same skin, soft silences in the long nights.
Those fingers catching tears that he had known he had cried, until the burn distracted him from the burn of that hard body against his.
The hollow scream of those brown eyes, as he lifted away from them, the light from within shutting down, shutting out, turning away.
The agony of watching, watching (never touching, never contacting) and he was still shut down, still turned away.
The agony, the ecstasy, the joy, the pain of reawakening in a world he could touch; but the ache of not knowing what he needed.
Then he was found.
And through the struggles, through the pain, through the endless months of pushing, pulling fear.
Calloused, work-roughened fingers slid against his skin, prickling him, shivering him – soft silences in the long nights –
And the only tears that were shed were those of joy. Through all the rough, strange years, they found what they needed – in each other.
Hope you liked! Catch you guys on the flip-side!
Lemme know what you think!
Fandom: Angel
Title: And What Happens Next
Pairing(s): Wes/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Surprise at the end, Angst, Horror
Wordcount: 300
Rough.
The color, texture and taste, of whiskey as it lay in the tumbler,
as it sent trails of fire down my throat –
the shivery shake of my head, as I denied it’s passage.
It’s sweet misery as I took another sip of the mysterious emptiness that it held –
the promise of a dreamless night.
Rough.
The endless long nights and the time that ticked away under their coats of silvery blackness.
The hushed chop-chop of the clock, as it whiled away the seconds, the minutes –
the hours.
The heaviness of my mind, as it trembled with the dreams it could not share –
ones that would likely be best forgotten.
Rough.
In the satisfactory feeling of weapons in my hands.
the heavy stock of light walnut of my sawed-off Smith and Wesson,
the sleek mother-of-pearl in my Desert Eagles
the icy white, sharp planes of my executioner’s axe, my favorite dagger –
the splintered, not quite smoothed finish of the ashwood stake I carried in my backpocket – like a child with his favorite toy – like a gunslinger experiencing the loss of his polished holster.
It was the gritty graininess of dust that sifted through my fingers, only to be teased and scattered – melting away by a sudden hiss of wind.
It sighed of long years past – and cried mournfully of many more long years lost – the sound of it’s grieving eerie and rough – but strangely harmonious.
And whomever you were – Angel, Angelus – know that I am sorry, that I loved you – that I had no choice.
Rough.
Was the burst of gliding lead that ate my life –
The long two seconds before I faded to black courtesy of a bullet from my own beloved guns – the taste of it sang of rage, hatred and bitter loss –
Like the taste of whiskey from the bottom of the glass.
Fandom: MacGyver
Title: Flashes
Pairing(s): Mac/Murdoc
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Horror, Non-Con
Wordcount: 300
It was all in flashes – dismembered corpses of memory, dreams and half-imaginings.
The rough coolness of concrete under the flesh of his cheek, the lines of his neck, as he struggled with the duct tape that bound his arms behind him; that man on the ground, the man that he had been, unaware of what lay ahead of him within the next few hours, few days, few months.
The rough grit of a boot on that self-same floor that registered as a sour terror, bringing about a cold sweat that drenched him in the blackness of future pain.
The feel of fingernails/claws on his hips, his back, in the tangles of his hair – a rough yank, then fierce tearing burning as he was impaled – as he was lifted off the skin of the world with sheer agony again and again.
The rough laughter of the demons that lived deep within his mind –
the insanely hot puddles of light, as his eyes were forced to see the world he now lived in -
the rough crack of a gun in a powdery winter night, the slick greasy hot feel of blood as it poured through his fingers to stain the hungry ground in bright red screams of betrayal –
the rough burn of tears when he finally realized it was all over, it was finally over.
The rush of rough, crazy joy in the near-weeping eyes of Pete and Dalton; their endless pleasure at finding him whole –
not knowing that what they had found was indeed, broken.
The silent screams that yanked him so roughly out of his sleep every night, until now.
Tonight there would be no screams, no waking – the nightmare was not over.
And as those rough-soft fingers so well remembered and feared, clamped down over the vulnerable flesh of his throat –
he realized that he was just now beginning to wake up.
Fandom: Stargate
Title: Rememberance
Pairing(s): Jack/Daniel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Death
Wordcount: 200
A stubble-covered cheek, scratching against his own, the feel of it under his fingers a joy and a sorrow.
The feel of his robes, so heavy, so airless – yet soft and flowing, against his skin, the fibers of it catching and sliding against him.
Calloused, work-roughened fingers gliding against that same skin, soft silences in the long nights.
Those fingers catching tears that he had known he had cried, until the burn distracted him from the burn of that hard body against his.
The hollow scream of those brown eyes, as he lifted away from them, the light from within shutting down, shutting out, turning away.
The agony of watching, watching (never touching, never contacting) and he was still shut down, still turned away.
The agony, the ecstasy, the joy, the pain of reawakening in a world he could touch; but the ache of not knowing what he needed.
Then he was found.
And through the struggles, through the pain, through the endless months of pushing, pulling fear.
Calloused, work-roughened fingers slid against his skin, prickling him, shivering him – soft silences in the long nights –
And the only tears that were shed were those of joy. Through all the rough, strange years, they found what they needed – in each other.
Hope you liked! Catch you guys on the flip-side!
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Sniff.
I especially loved the first one--Angel/Wes. Wow, how beatifully written and tied together with the whiskey, and the pain, holy moses. It's probably because I'm most familiar with that fandom, that it hit me so hard. OMG, I could cry.
The hushed chop-chop of the clock, as it whiled away the seconds, the minutes –
Very poetic...
Was the burst of gliding lead that ate my life –
The long two seconds before I faded to black courtesy of a bullet from my own beloved guns – the taste of it sang of rage, hatred and bitter loss –
Broke my heart...
Amazing.
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I can't decide which is my fav - though the 'Gate one was one the fly, literally! Kisses to you honey! Glad you liked!
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Oh, thank you honey! I really hafta strain for drabbles, and I always try to aim to please...
And that is the biggest compliment! Thank you, thank you honey! *Squishes you with enthusiasm* - I will try to keep 'em comin' in a good way!
*Blows you messy kisses!*
Catch ya on the flip!
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Gotta keep ya interested, don't I?! *Winks in a naughty way* - I like to keep you on your toes!
*Kisses!*