Five Acts meme

[janie_tangerine]

Okay, this is my list for toestastegood's AWESOME five acts meme.

Rules are:

- Post a list of your five favorite sexual acts/kinks. At the bottom, add what fandoms/pairings you're interested in.
- Read other people's lists.
- Post comment-fic based off of other people's lists.

My list (half kinks and half tropes I guess)

[PS: random order, not preference.]

1. crossdressing: okay, say what you want, but men dressed as women and viceversa totally makes me a satisfied reader. I'm okay with any degree of it, whether it's just underwear or full-on crossdressing.

2. amnesia: I have such a thing for amnesia fic. Either with just one character forgetting stuff or the both of them, it's awesome either way.

3. consensual d/s: okay, this is nothing I write usually because for some reason I'm crap at it, but give me some fully/entirely consensual d/s and I'll love you forever. I don't care if it's some 24/7 thing or not, as long as there's no non-con going on I'm a happy camper.

4. hurt/comfort: call me a sap. I can't resist it. Especially when combined with any of the other items in the list, but give me some nice h/c (as unconventional as you want) and I won't resist it. It doesn't really have to be sexual either.

5. music: which might not be a proper kink, but it's totally my thing. I like people playing instruments (and maybe character A gets turned on if character B plays), or people having sex with music in the background, hell, band AUs are totally a-okay. Hell, singing even!

Fandoms and pairings

Lost: Jack/Boone, Desmond/Sayid, Jack/Sawyer, Boone/Charlie, Jacob/Richard, any combination of Jack/Sawyer/Sayid/Boone really, Desmond/Penny, Jack/Juliet, Daniel/Desmond and Frank/anyone really are my favorites, but I'm of open views. As long as the pairing doesn't involve Locke or Ben and isn't Kate/Sawyer, Jack/Kate and Sawyer/Juliet? I'm all in.
Supernatural: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Sam/Castiel, Dean/Sam, Sam/Castiel (yeah, I totally have imagination), Ash/Andy (SO WHAT? Random but awesome XD), actually Ash/everyone, screw it, the world needs more Ash XD, Dean/Jimmy, Castiel/Jimmy (hell, Dean/Cas/Jimmy is totally awesome too). Oh, and Chuck/Becky? XD [hint: I prefer it if Dean bottoms if you go for a Dean pairing, but if he wants to top it's fine either way. ;)]
The Dark Tower series: Roland/Eddie, Cuthbert/Alain, Roland/Eddie/Susannah.
Good Omens: Crowley/Aziraphale, Newt/Anathema if you're feeling bold.
Chuck: Chuck/Bryce, Ellie/Awesome.
Deadwood: Jane/Joanie (this one is probably hopeless but hey, I'm trying XD), Sol/Trixie.
The Three Musketeers (same as the previous, but hey. Let's try it. XD): Athos/d'Artagnan, Porthos/Aramis, Rochefort/Richelieu (come on, OTP!). Also friendship and not-slash is awesome.
The Vampire porn Diaries: Damon/Alaric, Damon/any male character that isn't Jeremy or Tyler.
Firefly: Zoe/Wash, Mal/Simon.
Six Feet Under: David/Keith, Nate/Brenda.
Friday Night Lighs: Tim/Jason, possibly set before S2.
Watchmen: Daniel/Rorschach.

Okay, that covers it.

What I've written:

- Lucifer/Esau which is kinda Lucifer/War + implied Jacob/Esau (Lost/SPN crossover), reunion + hand holding, NC17 for toestastegood [spoilers for the first part of SPN S5 and up until 6x09 in Lost just to be sure]
- Jack/Boone + Sawyer (Lost), rimming + voyeurism, NC17 for haldoor
- Damon/Alaric (Vampire Diaries), knife-play, R for gottalovev
- Bryce/Chuck (Chuck), post-apocalypse + rainy weather + motels, R for gigglemonster
- Desmond/Sayid (Lost), breathplay + kissing + touching + h/c-ish stuff, NC17 for wandersfound [spoilers up to 6x12]
- Miles/Daniel (Lost), forced to share a bed + kissing + sort-of-cuddling, PG13 for ozmissage
- Damon/Alaric (Vampire Diaries), blood-play, NC17 for fullonswayzed
- past!Dean/future!Castiel (SPN), rimming + sort of biting, NC17 for mf_luder_xf
- Dean/Castiel (SPN), protectiveness + h/c, sorta, PG-ish for catoasapun
- Dean/Castiel (SPN), orgasm denial + established relationship, NC17 for invisiblelove
- Desmond/Sayid (Lost), fugitives + kissing, either light r or hard pg13 for aboutbunnies
- Ellie/Awesome (Chuck), food, pg for rayruz
- Sam/Castiel (SPN), AU + sort of staring + movies (grad!student!Sam + librarian!Cas), PG13 for hopelessfangirl
- Jack/Sawyer (Lost), stars + tattoos + light foreplay but just barely, light R or hard PG13 for gemjam
- Dean/Castiel (SPN), restraints + blowjobs + first times, NC17 for zelda_zee
- Dean/Castiel (SPN), coats + voices + h/c-ish + begging, NC17 for bold_seer
- Sam/Castiel/Dean (SPN), fingers + sort of double penetration + kissing for entangled_now
- Jack/Juliet (Lost), angst + quick + stockholm syndrome for lenina20
- Dean/Castiel (SPN), foot fetish, hard Pg13 for emerald_embers
- Jack/Sayid (Lost), sex against a wall + worry, hard R or light NC17 for mollivanders
- Faramir/Eòwyn (Lotr), happy endings + happiness + lightlightlight possessiveness, PG for yersi_fanel
- Dean/Castiel (SPN), crossdressing + sort of biting, NC17 for cs_whitewolf
- Dean/Castiel (SPN), orgasm denial + coming untouched, NC17 for liadan14

Comments

Lost, Boone/Charlie, D/s, NC-17

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Doing this makes him feel kind of like a knob.

Charlie feels like he should be wearing leather and wielding a whip - but Boone had said that's not what this is about. "It's not like that," he'd complained, flushing pink with embarrassment. Charlie had been willing to take him on his word at that.

And that's how he finds himself here, with Boone spread out before him without a stitch covering his body. Tan lines, still not faded from their time on the island, stripe his body, honeyed skin contrasting with the milky white of his ass. Charlie's handsmooths over the warm, firm globes: Boone shivers. Charlie's pretty sure he just heard him muffle a whimper, just from this. Bloody hell.

"Don't move," he reminds him. On his knees, hands braced against the headboard of their bed, Boone has his instructions: his hands aren't to move a single inch, and he doesn't get to do a thing without Charlie's permission. He doesn't even get to think unless Charlie says it's okay.

Power like that? It's kind of a rush. Charlie thinks Boone must be bonkers to trust him to do this.

His fingers are already slick when he pushes two straight inside of Boone's hole. They've been together for a few months now, after spends bloody ages doing the "does he like me? doesn't he?" dance. Every time, though, every single time, he feels like Boone is going to come to his senses and tell him to fuck off. He's gorgeous. He's sodding beautiful, though he'd probably give Charlie the death-stare if he ever said that to his face.

Inside of Boone, his fingers crook and slide. He makes Boone's breath shiver but it isn't enough - could never be enough.

"Speak to me," he instructs. He doesn't sound as confident as he wants to. "I want to hear your voice." Boone gasps, no words coming, and Charlie doesn't pause his movements for a single moment. "C'mon, Boone. If you don't do what I say, I'm gonna stop right now, and you'll be on the sofa for the night."

He isn't sure which threat works. He has the feeling it's probably the former.

"I don't-" Boone's breath hitches and he moans when Charlie hits it just right. "I don't know what to say. God."

"Say whatever you like. Just remember I'm in charge here: next time I tell you to do something, don't bloody hesitate."

He doesn't know if he sounds cross enough, authoritative enough, but Boone moans again and that tells Charlie that he's doing something right.

"This is good," Boone blurts after a gasping pause. He sounds desperate, like a junkie chasing a high (and Charlie knows more than enough about that to make the comparison) and Charlie speeds up the movement of his hand, just enough to make it even harder for him to concentrate. "You doing this, taking charge like this. Such a turn-on."

"Yeah?" Charlie says. "Why? Details."

It's enough to break the block, to have Boone spilling ragged filth from his lips: how he wants him, how he thinks about this when he's by himself, how he's always wanted to be able to trust someone like this. He talks about how good it's going to feel when Charlie's cock pushes inside him, and upon hearing that it's bloody difficult for Charlie to hold back. He had a plan when tonight started. He's pretty sure he did, anyway - Boone's making him lose track of everything.

"You've been good, Boone. Really good," Charlie tells him. Boone's hands haven't slipped an inch from their position, and his hips have remained solidly in place despite the wicked stimulation Charlie has been providing. "You want to come now? You've earned it."

Boone nods in a hurry, wheezing out a barely-there please. Grinning, Charlie reaches underneath his taut body to wrap his hand around his solid cock. It's red and leaking, harder than he's seen it before.

"That's it," he soothes, stroking him. "You can come now, it's allowed."

It takes no time at all before Boone's hips thrust into his hand and he comes, splattering down onto the clean sheets. His arms start to buckle with relief but Charlie raises a hand to steady him. "I didn't say you could move," he reminds him, voice low and promising.

Boone shivers again, still lost in the glow of orgasm - and Charlie doesn't mind. It's just going to be his first of the night: he's got plans.

They don't end here.

Re: Lost, Boone/Charlie, D/s, NC-17

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

OMG OMG OMG OMG I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I CAN'T EVEN, THIS IS SO PERFECT I CAN'T EVEN.

*has had a good number of kinks hit* *fans self* OMG I LOVE IT. All the d/s I've ever read in Lost (and sadly there isn't enough around) never had Boone in the pairing and OMG YES THIS. I just love that you had Charlie being the top because of course he'd feel weird but then would totally be into it. And omg yes Boone being the one wanting it makes so fucking sense that I can just bow. ;) And GUH. SCORCHING HOT MUCH? *fans self again* Also you totally hit my fingering kink, among the rest. God, Charlie thinking he doesn't sound authoritative enough is so IC really. And damn, I think you totally fried my brain because I want to comment on the whole bit after Charlie asks for details and the only thing I can say is OMG SCORCHING. And exactly everything I could have wanted so THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! And that ending. That totally was perfect. Guh. I'm in a total happy place now, thank you!! *goes to re-read* <333333333333333333

Re: Lost, Boone/Charlie, D/s, NC-17

[haldoor.livejournal.com]

OMG, that's hot! ;-)

Re: Lost, Boone/Charlie, D/s, NC-17

[blackwolf1480.livejournal.com]

Wow, that was stamingly hot! D/s is one of my favorite kinks. I wish the fic didn't end there! :P

Desmond/Sayid, hurt/comfort, pg-13ish

[gemjam.livejournal.com]

They don’t talk. It’s not about that. They have other ways to fight their demons.

Sayid could spill every secret he had and none of it would make him feel any less alone. He knows that Desmond feels the same. Saying it out loud is like condemning himself and burdening another person in the same breath. So they don’t talk, or very rarely, and never about anything important. Instead, they touch, fingertips grazing flesh, warmth captured between them. Instead of confessing, they forget.

It’s never really gone though, the things that they’ve done, the consequences they’re hiding from and calling towards them. Instead, Sayid apologises for his sins by kissing Desmond’s collarbone in a way that makes him sigh, while Desmond pushes the darkness back by sucking on Sayid’s pulse point and feeling the life flow beneath.

They writhe and moan like they deserve it, push each other to the brink and then allow themselves to fall over. And then, it’s okay, in the moments while they breathe together and their hearts beat too fast. Because they’re not alone and they realise that fact and life isn’t simply against them. It’s all still worth fighting for. They can fight it together.

Re: Desmond/Sayid, hurt/comfort, pg-13ish

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

OOOH WOW THIS IS SO GOOD. It was so short but it packed so much, I just love how everything comes through so clearly even with no dialogue. And duh, it might be PG13 but some bits were indeed sexy (IE, the last line of paragraph two. God. Yes. THAT). And that last paragraph was just fantastic, as the whole thing is but the conclusion just hits the spot. H/C like this, I totally approve of. <333 Thank you so much, I absolutely loved it!!!!!!! <3333 *re-reads*

Re: Desmond/Sayid, hurt/comfort, pg-13ish

[bold-seer.livejournal.com]

Butts in to say that this -

And then, it’s okay, in the moments while they breathe together and their hearts beat too fast.

- is absolutely beautiful.

Dean/Castiel; Cross-dressing; NC-17; 1183 Words (1/2)

[wandersfound.livejournal.com]

Are you surprised I didn't go for the hurt/comfort? ;)
----

“Tell me, Dean,” Castiel begins.

“Tell you what?” Dean says. He’s just barely awake, not even caring that his hand is sticky from resting in the come that is pooling on Castiel’s bare stomach, or that he’s undoubtedly going to wake up with a cramp from the way he’s wrapped around the angel.

“Tell me something you have never told anyone.” Castiel looks at him sleepily, eyelids only half-open, heavy over his blue eyes.

“I don’t usually sleep with guys who get their best lines from Lifetime movies,” Dean answers, raising an eyebrow, but Castiel only continues to stare at him in earnest. “Fine,” he relents. He searches through his brain for something suitable and comes up with the story he told his future self as proof of his identity. He explains to Castiel about Rhonda Hurley and her pink panties and when he’s finished he looks at Cas with a grin, expecting a tilted head and an expression of confusion. Maybe that squinty-eyed, scrunched nose thing he does when he thinks Dean’s being stupid (which is fairly often).

What he gets is neither of the above. Castiel’s eyes are no longer half-closed, but wide and intense, his cheeks tinged with red blooming out across his pale skin. Cas swallows hard and breaks eye contact, turning his head to look at the wall. Dean gets a hand (the one that hasn’t got come all over the palm, thank you very much) on the angel’s jaw and twists his face back to look at him.

“You like that?” Dean asks in a low voice. His mouth quirks upward, but it’s not quite enough of a smile to cover the seriousness of his tone. “Like thinking about me in women’s underwear?” Castiel chews on his lower lip, eyes impossibly wide. “Want me dressed up like a girl for you? You wanna fuck me like that, Cas?” Castiel swallows again, nods. Dean chuckles, brushes a hand through Castiel’s hair (this time it is the one with the come on it, which he doesn’t realize until he sees the white smear on Castiel’s forehead). “You’re a freak, dude,” he says, “You know that?”

There is no further discussion of Castiel’s apparent desire to see Dean in a skirt. Dean doesn’t mention it and of course it isn’t something that Castiel would ever bring up, even if Dean has had some success in convincing the angel to talk about sex without getting embarrassed and fluttering off.

About a week later they have some time to themselves, time for more than just hurried handjobs or a quick shared shower. Sam's at the library researching and he says that he won't be back until evening. Dean tells him to bring back dinner. As soon as they hear the Impala pulling out of the parking lot of their latest motel, Castiel has Dean up against the closest wall, one hand against his hip and one over his chest. They kiss, fast and rough, their mouths fitting together messily because neither one is willing to take the time to make sure that their noses don't bump, that their teeth don't bruise against their lips.

Castiel trails softer kisses down Dean's jaw and neck, unbuttoning the man's shirt with long, nimble fingers, then bites down hard on Dean's shoulder. The man cries out softly and Castiel looks up for reassurance that Dean is okay. Dean is breathing hard, every few breaths turning into groans at Castiel's actions, and he nods at the angel. Cas uses one hand to undo the button on Dean's jeans, pulling down the zipper. He pushes at the denim, sliding it out of the way so he can press his palm against Dean's dick, and then suddenly he stops.

Re: Dean/Castiel; Cross-dressing; NC-17; 1183 Words (2/2)

[wandersfound.livejournal.com]

Dean presses his hips forward into Castiel's hand, muttering for the angel to continue, but Cas is unmoving, staring down at the pink fabric framed by the denim of Dean's jeans and partially covered by his own hand. He glances up at Dean, who shrugs with a small smirk, trying to keep his breathing steady as Castiel applies a bit more pressure with his palm.

"You seemed interested," Dean says. Castiel's hand twitches, squeezing Dean's cock gently, and Dean thrusts forward against him. "Told the lady at the store they were for my girlfriend." Castiel tightens his hand again, running it over Dean's length through the underwear.

Then he drops to his knees, pulling Dean's pants down with him and Dean moans when he feels Castiel's mouth through the thin fabric of the panties.

"Fuck, Cas," he says, looking down at Castiel, who is looking back up at him with blue irises thin around large, dark pupils, blown wide with arousal. He presses his mouth over Dean's dick again, and this time he sucks gently. Dean groans, spreading his legs wider so Castiel can take more of his cock into his mouth. The wet patch on the fabric grows larger from saliva and pre-come as Castiel licks and sucks over Dean's cock and down to his balls. He even runs his tongue briefly over Dean's hole through the panties, but that action makes Dean jerk forward so hard that Castiel quickly returns to his cock.

"Fuck," Dean says again, "just-- fuck, fuckin’ blow me, Cas," he pants, but Castiel only continues his ministrations against the fabric. It actually is enough that Dean thinks he can get off, but he wants to feel Cas's mouth on him, not his mouth by way of pink silk.

Finally, just as Dean’s sure he’s not going to last any longer whether he’s still wearing the goddamn panties or not, Castiel wrenches the fabric down just enough to free Dean’s cock and slide his mouth over it.

Dean comes almost instantly, not even trying to stop his hips from jerking forward, just letting Castiel press a hand to his stomach to hold him still. He moans Castiel’s name as Cas swallows around him and then pulls back, tongue flicking out to lick at the head of Dean’s cock and at the come that dribbles out of the corner of his mouth.

Dean slides to the floor, his head falling back against the wall. Then he tilts it forward and gestures with one hand in the direction of Castiel’s crotch. “You need some help with that?” he asks. Castiel looks slightly embarrassed and then Dean notices the wetness on the front of Cas’s pants. Dean raises an eyebrow. Castiel leans forward and presses a soft, sweet kiss on his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Dean shrugs, smiles. “Hey, if I knew you’d be that into it-- we should get cleaned up before Sam gets back.” He stands up and manages to pull Castiel to his feet. He leans in and they kiss again, and it’s so gentle and so quiet and so different from the rough, hot, chaos of just a few minutes before, but secretly Dean thinks he might like it just as much. He pulls back, barely, only enough so their lips aren’t touching. “So,” he murmurs, “tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”

Lost, Jack/Boone, hurt/comfort, PG-13 (826 words) , part one

[haldoor.livejournal.com]

Jack's never seen this kid before but he feels a sense of responsibility that he doesn't quite understand when he's called down for a spinal consult in the ER. They haven't cleaned all of the blood off the kid—no, young man, Jack realises as he gives the patient a once-over—and it makes him look vulnerable; more vulnerable than Jack thinks… he looks at the chart for a name… Boone should. He asks the resident what happened and nods as she explains how Boone fell several feet from a balcony of an apartment block—only a couple of storeys—and onto a car in the street below, but enough for him to have been serious injured. He landed on his back, hence Jack's involvement.

He studies the x-ray and tells the resident that although there's some swelling, he doesn't think surgery is needed. As he's about to suggest she call him if there's no reaction to stimuli in Boone's legs when he wakes, he stirs, mumbling something that Jack thinks he should hear. He moves away from the door, closer to the bed and leans down. He doesn't catch Boone's words. A nurse in the doorway asks the resident if she can see another patient for a moment and Jack lifts his head enough to nod that he'll stay here for now.

Boone is blinking awake and Jack's breath catches. He's never seen such blue eyes, and they're fixed on him like he's some kind of saviour.

"Don't let me die. I'm not ready," Boone rasps.

Jack smiles a little, taking the hand that's reaching uncertainly for something. "You're not going to die. You're going to be fine." He reaches out with his spare hand and shifts a stray hair back from Boone's face. He should be checking Boone's feet; looking for responses there, but he can't shift yet. Boone's looking into his eyes like they know each other—like he means something to him—and Jack simply can't move from that.

"I…" Boone starts, then seems to be stuck. Jack frowns, wondering if there's something the other doctor's missed, but Boone swallows and finally goes on, "I didn't jump. I wasn't… trying to hurt myself." His eyes fill with tears and Jack's heart clenches at his anguish, wondering why Boone would think he—or anyone else for that matter—would believe he did this to himself. "I fell."

Lost, Jack/Boone, hurt/comfort, PG-13 (826 words) , part two

[haldoor.livejournal.com]

"Ssh, it's okay," Jack soothes, stroking around Boone's jawline—it's more intimate than he usually is with a patient, but it seems right somehow—and smiles again when Boone seems to respond like it's a good thing. "No one thinks you jumped."

Boone tries to blink the tears away, but one rolls across his cheek and down into the pillow. "John will think I did. Like he cares. I dumped him; why would I hurt myself because of him?"

"John's your…ex?" Jack asks hesitantly. "Was he there when this happened? Is he here?" He looks around like he expects to see another young man nearby looking guilty, but it's eerily quiet in the corridor outside the glass window of the room.

"Yes," Boone manages, shifting restlessly, "He's an asshole though; he won't be here. Especially if a better prospect passed by while I was falling."

"I'm sure that's not true," Jack tells him, "but I'll check for you, if you want?"

"No, don't leave, please?"

Jack glances around again, then nods back at Boone. "No, okay. I should look at your legs though. Can I let go of your hand?" Boone's been clutching it pretty hard through the last part of the exchange and although Jack winces now when Boone lets him go and apologises, he didn't really mind; in fact, he kind of liked it.

He gives Boone another reassuring look, trying to keep in mind what he's here for and not the way Boone's blue eyes make him feel. He does what he needs to do, exchanging looks with Boone that seem hotter than they should be in the circumstances, but he's happy with Boone's reactions; the swelling isn't as bad as the resident had feared.

He's about to sit down next to Boone when the resident returns. He wishes they could have had longer alone and wonders how to organise things so he has to see Boone again. Telling the resident about Boone's condition, he glances at him over her shoulder. Boone knows, he thinks to himself, sure the expression in those vivid blue eyes means he's completely onto Jack.

Taking a breath, Jack moves back to Boone's side. Hoping the resident doesn't understand what he's really doing, he finds his card from inside a coat pocket—thank God he put a few in there yesterday—and hands it to Boone. "If you have any problems with your back or your legs after you're discharged, give me a call."

He doubts there will be any problems, but he's pretty sure Boone will call.

SPN, Dean/Castiel, h/c, PG (5x18 coda)

[bold-seer.livejournal.com]

Scratching at the Surface

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Castiel says and traces the little cut to Dean’s mouth. Lets his finger rest there, between Dean’s half-open lips, and watches him intently. “I should’ve done everything for you, but not that.” There’s a sorry in there, somewhere.

Dean looks away, shakes off Castiel’s hand, because he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t dare look at him, because then he’ll wonder –

“Did they give everything for you? Did they look at you like this, before you, ah, got laid?” Cas’ voice is low, very controlled, and Dean would call him a fucking tease, but with Castiel you never know. You never know whether he is genuinely curious – lips two inches from Dean’s – or something else. “Did you send them away? Tell them to blow you, because you –”

“Cas. I do shit, you know that.” But some things need to be said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mea–”

He did –

Some things need to be said, but now is not really the time for that. Not when Dean’s afraid of what he might find on Castiel’s chest, if he looked. His skin could still be uncarved, smooth, it could. Or ruined with a brutally beautiful mark, something that seems a lot weaker than it is, a little like Castiel himself. Dean takes a deep breath. “Your wound.”

Castiel lets him open his shirt buttons, and Dean does so with shaking fingers. He holds his breath, there’s –

Nothing there, like nothing ever happened.

end.

Re: SPN, Dean/Castiel, h/c, PG (5x18 coda)

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

OMG *KEYMASHES* THIS = PERFECT.

No, seriously, it's totally one of the best 5x18 codas I read until now if not the best. Wow. Really. The dialogue is perfect, the characterization is spot on and just, the writing is sparse but it packs so much, ohgod. Castiel's lines were positively perfect. And DEAN WANTING TO LOOK AT THE WOUND AND IT NOT BEING THERE OH GOD MY HEAR. ;___;

. Or ruined with a brutally beautiful mark, something that seems a lot weaker than it is, a little like Castiel himself.

This was beautiful. Seriously. It-so-was. And that ending = perfect. And YOU MENTIONED GETTING LAID AND BLOWING AND THIS GAINS YOU A BONUS SEAL OF AWESOME. Even if this was totally awesome on its own. I LOVED IT, thank you!!!!!!!!! :D <33333333333333333333333333333

Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, PG13; PART 1

[catoasapun.livejournal.com]

The thing bothering Crowley the most is not, exactly, that he was caught completely off-guard. It’s not even that he barely escaped being wiped out of existence by a particularly overzealous young demon out to make a name for himself by killing off anyone on Hell’s list of Potential Concerns*. It’s the way the bloody angel is cooing over him like some tartan-clad mother hen, bandaging wounds, cleaning dried blood, preening damaged wings as though Crowley needs him to.

Death, Crowley decides, would have been preferable to this humiliation.

“Angel, if you don’t release me immediately I will be forced to—”

“Forced to do what, my dear?” Aziraphale looks up from where he’s been mending an especially nasty gash in Crowley’s side, one unimpressed eyebrow raised.

Crowley hesitates, and tries to think of something really terrible.

“…something really terrible. Just you wait.”

“You may have noticed that you’re not in much of a position to threaten anyone with anything at the moment. Now hold still and let me finish stitching you up.”

Crowley stops struggling enough to allow Aziraphale to finish, glowering down as plump hands expertly weave a thin strand of thread through his skin, cinching it up and, finally, knotting it off at the end.

It stings a bit at first, but Crowley imagines that it no longer does, so it no longer does. His head is thrumming a bit, a dull sort of pain, but he ignores it.

“I must say,” Aziraphale starts, before using his teeth to cut the needle from the thread. Crowley swallows. “You’re acting rather childish right now. Don’t you think?”

“I think I’ve almost been killed, that’s what I think!”

Attempting to stand, Crowley pushes Aziraphale’s hands aside and manages to take a single step before falling forward, flailing wildly as his legs give out beneath him.

Aziraphale catches him before he hits the ground, arms securing themselves about his middle and steadying him. Aziraphale’s supernatural strength may be hidden beneath a soft, rounded body, but it’s there nonetheless.

Crowley forgets that sometimes.

“I don’t think you’re well enough to move quite yet.”

“Er. Right. Thanks. Whatever.”

Aziraphale deposits Crowley back into the musty armchair in which he’d been sitting, before stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes and looking vaguely like a school teacher considering whether or not being fired and imprisoned would be worth striking one child just this once*.

“Tell me again what it was you were doing before you were nearly vanquished?”

“I told you, I was working. The bugger tracked me down just as I was about to close a deal that would have disrupted air traffic for all of Europe. You should have seen it: it would’ve been brilliant. We’re talking global-scale, angel. Every human in the Western world would’ve been affected; and bloody pissed off at that.”

Aziraphale just stares at him for a moment, clearly not awed by the image of millions of humans simultaneously flying into rages and abusing each other verbally, emotionally, and possibly even physically (road rage would have skyrocketed, at least,) that Crowley has just painted. He sniffs.

“Well, then. I guess this is what you deserve – trying to tempt some poor souls into helping you—”

“Oh, shut up, Aziraphale—oh, fuck!”

The harsh expression on Aziraphale’s face drops away as Crowley doubles over, clutching his head and wincing. The pain in his skull explodes then, searing through him in all directs like an atom bomb went off inside him. It tears through him with force he’s not experienced since… since before he’d been assigned to Earth, anyway. His Will has always been enough to shield him from any unpleasant sensations he doesn’t wish to experience, but now it’s not helping. Not at all. It’s like every inch of him is on fire, and he can feel it, all of it.

He feels like he’s burning from the inside out.

Then, hands are on him.

One cradles his face, the other grips one of his own so tight, he knows it should hurt. But it doesn’t.

Instead, a cooling sort of relief washes over him. It starts at the point where his skin meets Aziraphale’s hands and works its way outward – soft, subtle, and abating.

It isn’t much, but it’s enough.

Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, PG13; PART 2

[catoasapun.livejournal.com]

“Crowley,” Aziraphale begs, and Crowley wonders why he sounds so damn worried. Everything is wonderful. Doesn’t he know that? It’s wonderful. “Crowley, dear, stay with me. You’ll be all right. You will. Just stay with me.”

He nuzzles against the hand on his cheek, trying to leech from it every last iota of comfort it has to offer.

He’s feeling sort of light now, like he’s floating. Like he’s flying. He hasn’t flown in a long time, a very long time, and he wonders why…

“Don’t leave that body, Crowley. Do you hear me? Don’t you do it!”

Aziraphale sounds distant, his voice is echoing.

Crowley’s glasses slip from his face and then Aziraphale is there, right there, his eyes as blue and pale as ever. Crowley has never been able to find anything on Earth that matches that colour, and not for lack of trying. He doesn’t think Aziraphale knows that.

“Do you know, angel,” he says, and the sound of his own voice surprises him. It sounds wrong, somehow, like it’s not really his, “do you know, you’ve got the most beautiful eyes?”

Feeling proud of himself for saying something so kind, he grins, at least he thinks he does, and his eyes slip shut.

Then, he’s being shaken. Violently.

His eyes snap back open. He shuts them again.

He’s seeing double. At least, in a manner of speaking. He’s seeing Aziraphale, the Aziraphale he’s known for six millennia: the dowdy, soft around the edges, bibliophile he’s come to consider a friend. But he’s also seeing Aziraphale, Angel of the Lord: all light and brilliance and divinity and fuck if it doesn’t burn. Fuck if it isn’t more than a bit terrifying.

“Stay awake, you! You can’t—you can’t do back Down There. You—I may never see you again.”

“But. It. Hurts.”

And it does. His head feels like it’s about to burst, and he feels hot, too hot.*

“I know it does, darling, I know,” Aziraphale is closer now, his arms are snaking around Crowley and pulling him in, holding him, “but you need to stay here. With me. Please.”

He feels Aziraphale’s forehead rest against his own, feels soft curls tickling his nose, and opens his eyes. Aziraphale’s eyes are clasped shut and he looks pained, almost.

“Angel…”

“Shh! Just stay here. Stay.”

The edges of Crowley’s vision are swimming now, the world looks like an old television set, waving and blinking in and out of focus. He nods, weakly.

Soft lips find his and then Aziraphale is kissing him. Any other time, Crowley may have feigned surprise, perhaps even disgust, but not now. Now he kisses back, now he indulges in it. Because it feels good, it feels good, and he wants to. Has wanted to.

He opens his mouth and Aziraphale’s tongue slides inside, caressing his own, soft and curious and Aziraphale.

Aziraphale.

Crowley passes out.

* *

When he wakes, it’s morning. At least, he can assume it’s morning: the fucking birds are making a ruckus outside his window like it’s morning. He blesses loudly and rolls over, pressing his face into a pillow and covering his ears.

A rustling behind him and a sharp intake of breath alert him to someone’s presence. Aziraphale’s presence, if he isn’t mistaken.

“You’re awake…” he hears.

He looks up and realizes he isn’t in his own bed, no. That’s not his bedside table, the dusty lace doily confirms as much.

“Angel?” he asks, looking up to see Aziraphale gazing down at him like he’s announced the Second Coming or something. He is positively glowing. It’s nauseating.

“You’re awake!” Aziraphale repeats, kneeling beside Crowley to clutch his hand. Crowley flinches.

“Yes, I believe we’ve established that.”

“Well, no need to be rude, my dear. I’ve been waiting three days for you to wake up, you know.”

Sitting up abruptly, Crowley rubs his eyes.

“Three days?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale moves to sit beside Crowley on the mattress, eyeing him with his patent concern, looking like he’s wondering whether or not Crowley has finally lost the last of his marbles, “don’t you remember what—?”

He trails off, but the light switches on in Crowley’s mind nonetheless. Attacked. Almost died. Kissed. Yes. Right.

SPN, Dean and Castiel, H/C, Gen

[gottalovev.livejournal.com]

Dean is lying still, eye closed and breathing deeply, feigning unconsciousness. It's avoidance, but they let him get away with it, for now. The blood from the cuts on his face is vivid against his skin. Blood and cuts that Castiel put there with his fists earlier, in the alley. He had been taken over by a force so strong, hot and burning in his chest, that it had made him lose any remnants of detachment he hoped he still had. And God help him, it had felt good, even for an instant, to hit Dean again and again.

Wrath, a little voice keeps whispering, look how far you've fallen.

Castiel's hands don't even hurt or show any marks and he wonders if he would feel better if they were. He's tempted to heal the cuts on Dean's skin, too, fix him with the brush of a finger so he's unmarred, perfect, like when Castiel raised him from perdition.

But this insufferable, infuriating man needs to understand the lesson, the despair that made Castiel do this. He has learned that actions are way more effective than words with the Winchesters; Castiel knows he should regret what he did, but he doesn't. Dean is now handcuffed to the bed in the panic room and Castiel insists to a hovering Sam that he's got everything under control until he leaves them alone.

Castiel uses a damp washcloth to clean Dean's injuries, making his touch as soft as he can in the only apology he can give.



***

I see I am not the only one who chose the aftermath of the beating scene for some H/C! ;) (it called for it!)

sorry this turned out gen. wtf, muse??? *hands*

Re: SPN, Dean and Castiel, H/C, Gen

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

THAT SCENE IS ALWAYS A-OKAY WITH ME. ;)

And oooh this was so good! And who cares if it's gen! Gen is awesome! And this was so precious ohmy. <333 I just loved you Cas insight here, and it makes so much sense. His little voice totally hit the spot and duh, it's totally canon imo. You got his train of thought absolutely right I think. And awww Castiel wanting to heal him the angelic way but doing it the human way = PERFECT. I just, yes to all of this. I love it, thank you so much!!!!!!!!!! :D

I've Always Had a Thing for Music Men, Jack/Boone, PG-13, music

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Boone bought a guitar once. He used to slip the strap over his shoulder and let his fingers strum the strings making noise instead of music. He never learned to play, it’s probably still in the back of his closet somewhere gathering dust.

He has a thing for musicians though. And he has a thing for Jack.

These two feelings collide when he watches Jack sit down at the piano.

“You play?” Boone asks surprised.

Jack chuckles, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkle. Boone fights the urge to touch them, to touch him.

“A little,” Jack replies.

So he plays, his fingers racing across the keys, something classical and melancholy---Mozart maybe, or Chopin, Boone isn’t sure. It doesn’t matter. It’s good, it’s beautiful.

He watches Jack’s face as he plays; he looks so earnest, so lost in thought. His head is tilted to the right just a tiny bit, and Boone knows he’s thinking, remembering what note comes next.

Boone’s breathing a little harder than he should be. Jack stops mid song and Boone knows he’s been caught, but he can’t stop staring at Jack’s lips, at his hands, at all of him really.

Fuck it, Boone thinks. There’s a guitar in his closet he never learned to play and a mother a thousand miles away he never learned how to say no to, and a man sitting across from him he doesn’t want to say he never kissed.

So he does.

It’s hesitant, like he thinks better of it halfway there and tries to pullback but Jack places a hand on the back of Boone’s neck and forces him to close the gap. Then he’s kissing Jack Shephard. Jack’s lips are soft, but the stubble on his chin stings when it scrapes across Boone’s skin. He tastes nice and clean somehow, like mint.

Boone moves forward, trying to get closer and his hand slaps down on the keys. The sound is loud and unexpected and Jack breaks their kiss with a laugh.

“You play too?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

Boone grins, hopes he’s not blushing, knows he probably is.

“You have any requests?” Boone asks.

Jack reaches down and catches Boone’s hand tugging him to his feet. He leans in and whispers, “Just one.”

Boone hopes he knows the song.

Re: I've Always Had a Thing for Music Men, Jack/Boone, PG-13, music

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

.... OH MY GOD YES THIS.

*flails*

Music kink: hit tenfold. Between Boone + guitar (which should have happened on the show as my icon proves, sadly it's from a movie) and Jack + piano which is totally bulletproof for me you totally hit every possible visual I could wish for, lol. And Jack playing either Mozart or Chopin = win because I love both *cough* and BOONE GOING FOR IT, YES? I just loved how you described everything here, including Jack's face as he plays. *dies* and

There’s a guitar in his closet he never learned to play and a mother a thousand miles away he never learned how to say no to, and a man sitting across from him he doesn’t want to say he never kissed.

This totally turned me into mush for some reason. And it's in the good sense. And THE END IS SO PERFECT I CAN'T EVEN. PERFECTION. I love this so much, SO MUCH. Thank you!! :DDD

[invisiblelove.livejournal.com]

OOOOH this meme looks fun :) I'll probably have to come out of my LJ posting stupor to join in. Not that I actually have any time to write...but still *facepalm*

And you should link to the ones you write here! I won't have time to read all of them, but I want to try and get to yours if possible. Especially any D/C ;)

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

Oh, I totally will! I'm trying to see if I can come up with a couple more prompts before I crash, but I'll totally update the list in half an hour or so. I'm planning on D/C, so keep your eyes open. ;)

i remember hearts that beat; chuck/bryce; amnesia + music

[gigglemonster.livejournal.com]

Bryce has always felt responsible for Chuck. Why, he’s not sure. They’re the same age and Chuck is probably the smartest guy he’s ever met.

Hell, it’s the reason he’s gotten Chuck into this mess in the first place.

The intersect backfired. It uploaded wrong, too fast, there were files missing. The reason doesn’t matter. It didn’t work and it cost Chuck his mind and his freedom.

Because of Bryce, Chuck ends up in a CIA hospital with no memories of his past. (No memories of Bryce Larkin being his greatest nemesis)

In the end, it's just one more mistake in a long line of things Bryce thought he was doing for Chuck’s own good.

+++

The first week Bryce can’t even bring himself to see Chuck, let alone talk to him.

He paces outside Chuck’s room while he sleeps and tries to think of a way to ask for Chuck’s forgiveness that won’t make him hate Bryce before he even gets to know him.

+++

Bryce introduces himself under the guise of being one of Chuck’s doctors. (Hi, we were best friends at Stanford for three years before I got you kicked out for cheating probably wouldn’t get him very far)

Chuck doesn’t talk much those first few days.

What is there to say?

Chuck doesn’t remember his family, his friends or his job. He doesn’t even remember his favorite song. He tells Bryce as much and buries his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Chuck sighs. “It’s not your fault. Hey, I guess this is as good a time as any to just pick a new favorite song, right?” he laughs, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Bryce’s chest aches.

+++

Chuck wants to be pissed, but mostly he’s just confused. He feels like all his thoughts are on the tip of his tongue and the whole world is just out of his reach.

The feeling is worse when Bryce is there.

Chuck can tell Bryce wants him to remember. He can see it in his eyes and hear the desperation in his voice.

Every once in a while Chuck considers making memories up, but something stops him.

Somehow he knows Bryce would be able to tell if he was lying.

+++

Bryce spends weeks trying to jog Chuck’s memory. He tries recalling Chuck’s memories to him as if they’re his own.

He even tells Chuck about the best friend he had in college. They’d fooled around a few times and it was probably the first time Bryce was in love but he’d never had the stones to actually do something about it.

“Too late now,” Bryce shrugs.

+++

Chuck is pretty sure that the stories Bryce tells him are things he’s never told anyone else. It’s moments like those that Chuck wishes, more than anything, that he could remember. Just so he could return the favor.

He kisses Bryce instead. Chuck expects Bryce to push him away but instead feels Bryce’s hands twist through is hair, tugging him closer.

Chuck leans back, pulling Bryce on top of him. He feels stubble scratch his lip.

Bryce’s mouth and solid warm weight on top of him are the first things in months that feel even remotely familiar.

+++

Bryce buys Chuck a copy of Arcade Fire’s first album.

“42 minutes and 15 seconds of awesome,” he says tossing the case on Chuck’s bed.

An auditory aphrodisiac. Chuck’s words from what might as well be another life.

“You’ll have to let me know which track is your favorite,” Bryce says and kisses Chuck’s smile.

Whatever his life was before this, Chuck hopes Bryce was in it.

-fin

Re: i remember hearts that beat; chuck/bryce; amnesia + music

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

OMGOMGOMG I LOVE YOU FOREVER THIS IS PERFECT.

I just, YES to all of this? I loved that the amnesia was the intersect's fault, one never thinks about what could go wrong with that and instead... duuh THIS WAS HEARTBREAKING. ;__; And you got them down so well. I could hear the both of them perfectly and I seriously didn't know who I wanted to hug most.

He paces outside Chuck’s room while he sleeps and tries to think of a way to ask for Chuck’s forgiveness that won’t make him hate Bryce before he even gets to know him.

THIS POSITIVELY KILLED ME. ;__; It packed such a punch. The favorite song bit totally packed another. And I loved that despite it they still have a connection here. Also the kiss totally made me melt or something very close to it.

Whatever his life was before this, Chuck hopes Bryce was in it.

THIS THIS THIS. <33333333333333333 Okay, best thing I could read first in the morning, really. I absolutely loved it, thank you!!!!!!!!!!!! <33333333333333333 :D

Chuck/Bryce Crossdressing PG

[rayruz.livejournal.com]

"You planning on coming out any time soon?"

"Nope."

"Chuck, you can't stay in there forever."

"Just watch me."

Chuck leaned heavily against the door, wriggling. The black pantyhose were riding up on him. Why would women put themselves through this kind of torture?

Chuck had done group Halloween costumes with Morgan ever since they were kids. He’d been more than excited when Bryce took him up on a group costume. Looking down at the red lieutenant’s uniform, he wondered how the hell he’d let himself get talked into this.

“I have a key, you know,” Bryce teased from the hallway.

Chuck sighed, shook his head, and stood. He took a deep breath, planning to take it like a man. When he opened the door, the expression on Bryce’s face quickly morphed from amusement to…something else entirely, his eyes sweeping down his body.

A silent moment hung between them before Bryce forced out a laugh, completely incongruous with his pointy-eared costume.

“Nice legs,” he said, before gesturing down the hall. “Party’s already started. Come on, Uhura.”

Re: Chuck/Bryce Crossdressing PG

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

... THIS. THIS. THIS.

Thank you. There's not enough crossdressing in this world which makes this already awesome, BUT IT'S CHUCK/BRYCE. <33333333333333 OMG I LOVE IT. And oh God Chuck dressed as Uhura would be ace. I can't shake the visual out of my head and I totally love this. And Bryce's reaction = A++++++ or something. Thank you so much, this was wonderful!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dan/Rorschach; Crossdressing, H/C; PG-13; 1/2

[steals-thyme.livejournal.com]

They're disgusting, all frothy lace and sleek black satin that is difficult to stitch, slips the needle and snarls around the workings of his machine no matter how he holds it. These frilled things are designed for men, not the women who wear them—furtive, sweaty men who pay to see the shining fabric filled out with fat curves, elastic biting into fleshy skin. It's galling that he has to construct them, knowing all that, but even more so because he has to admit to himself: he prefers them to the brassieres. At least the satin is—

Walter pulls the fabric taut and drives it through his sewing machine, deliberately passing over the same spot again and again until the thread bulges in ugly ridges and the satin buckles and snags, begins to shear. Until it doesn't feel quite as smooth against his rough fingertips, doesn't feel quite so like—

"Kovacs!" his boss barks, far too close to his ear, and Walter jerks the panties away in alarm. Long trails of thread reel out in their wake and lie in spidery tangles against his arm. He apologizes, subservience gritted out from between clenched teeth; he never reduces himself to the groveling that would save him from compulsory overtime.

Later, in his rathole apartment, he relaxes his bunched fist and the underwear unfurls over his hand. No ribbon or lace on this pair he has made, no trim to distract from the warmed luster of the dark satin. He sits, drapes them over one bony knee and rubs them with the heel of his hand, drags idle circles with his fingers.

It's fine like this; hard planes beneath the sleekness, not the give of doughy, feminine flesh. Pulled over muscle and sinew, it becomes something else, nothing more deviant than the inside of his jacket or the soft lining of his gloves. It is reclaimed as something honest, baptized in the pursuit of justice. This makes it more bearable to touch them all day.

The sun is setting. It will be time soon.

-

"No," Rorschach says, and bats Nite Owl's hand away, hauls himself up from the asphalt. He digs his fingers into the alley brickwork and tries not to give away how much pain he is in.

"Don't be an idiot," Nite Owl says, his mouth bowed unhappily, pulling down and pressing worry-lines into his face. His hand is straying again, gripping the hem of Rorschach's trench, lifting. "He got you, I can see the blood. Come on, man. Let me take a look."

Stupid mistake, stepping over the kid without being certain he was out cold, without kicking the knife away first. Stupid, rookie mistake and he's glad he'll have a scar to remind him of his foolishness. "No," he says again, pushing away emphatically.

There is a lot of blood, warm and damp against his inner thigh, sticky against leather when he presses his gloved hand to the wound. He's starting to feel dizzy, nauseous, and that's the only reason he lets Nite Owl pulls his arm over his shoulders and guide him to the Owlship.

He's pushed in the co-pilot seat before he knows where he is, and Nite Owl is pulling his trench coat aside, clumsily fumbling open the buttons of his suit jacket, still with his gauntlets on. He is still frowning, but there's an edge to his expression now. Rorschach doesn't like it.

Rorschach freezes up when Nite Owl starts on the fly of his pinstripes, tugging frustratedly, and there's a reason he shouldn't let him do this, something about standards of appropriateness mixed up with ideas of his self-image and the boundaries that their partnership should observe, but it's nebulous, drifting out of his grasp like so much smoke.

His vision is graying, sharpening and dulling in turn. Sensation is narrowed to the dull throb of his leg in time with his breathing and Nite Owl's breathing, and the small agitated noise Nite Owl makes when he finds the suspenders, thumbs them free.

A sharp intake of air, and it's hard to focus but he thinks it was Nite Owl who made the noise, and not himself. Nite Owl is hovering, hand poised over Rorschach, suddenly apprehensive. Beneath the unreadable dark glass of his goggles, his mouth opens wordlessly.

Rorschach thinks, disconnectedly, that he must be hurt pretty badly.

Nite Owl's tongue darts over his lower lip. It's arresting and obscene, and it's the last thing he remembers.

-

Dan/Rorschach; Crossdressing, H/C; PG-13; 2/2

[steals-thyme.livejournal.com]

He has never been here during the day. He only visits Daniel when he is Rorschach, and he is usually only Rorschach after dark, so it's disorienting, sets his reality at a slant when the morning sun plays across his masked face. It is increasingly unnerving when he shifts and feels the slide of bedclothes against bare skin. He cracks his eyes open, and sees his uniform folded neatly at the end of the bed.

He swallows thickly, shifts again. There's the telltale pull of sutures in his left thigh, and a towel beneath him, stiff and rasping against his legs. He grunts, slides a hand down to check the damage. His chest and torso are still covered by his undershirt. Daniel spared him the indignity of being stripped naked, but he is unhappy with the unnecessary revelation of freckles and red hair.

His fingers travel further down, glide over the fabric at his hips. He stops short, and the breath rushes out of him.

He is too hot suddenly, face and neck prickling with it, and when he heaves himself into a sitting position, he can't shake his lightheadedness. He curls his fingers into the hem of his mask, pulls it over his nose to sip at the air. He is too horrified to make a sound.

Daniel appears in the doorway, dowdy in a knitted cardigan and shapeless slacks, a glass of water in one hand. "Hey." A relieved smile spreads across his face.

He moves over to the bed, offers the water. Rorschach takes it cautiously, holds it between both hands as he drinks. Daniel crouches by the bed and takes off his glasses to clean them on his sleeve. Rorschach is familiar with most of Daniel's nervous habits through long association, but this one would be obvious even to a stranger.

"So, uh. How are you feeling?" He's blinking at the middle distance, glasses hovering halfway to his face. "You gave me a bit of a scare."

Rorschach ignores the overture as best he can. Conversation is not something he is inclined to at present. He slurps the last drops of water from the glass, deliberately uncouth.

A sigh, more exasperated than weary. "Listen," Daniel says, and Rorschach can tell he's trying to infuse his words with Nite Owl's confidence. He isn't particularly successful.

"No."

"No...? Oh. Well, okay. I, uh, just wanted to say..."

It occurs to Rorschach that Daniel can be poor about picking up certain cues. He tries not to listen.

"I'm not going to judge you for...uh. I'm not going to judge. I admit it's not what I was expecting—I thought you'd be a tighty whiteys kind of guy, if I'm honest with you—but hell, I wear mine on the outside of my pants, so I'm hardly in a position..."

Reality tilts a little too far to the left, and Rorschach finds himself wondering why Daniel would have occasion to consider the kind of underwear he favors. He fixes his partner with a withering stare, lets the ink speak for him.

Daniel licks his lips, and Rorschach finds his mouth is dry.

"...I'll get you more water."

-

Dean/Cas, amnesia [R]

[invisiblelove.livejournal.com]

HOLY CRAP THIS GOT REALLY LONG AND REALLY SAD. I HOPE YOU STILL LIKE IT *IS NERVOUS*


The apocalypse was averted: good had prevailed, it turned out God really did give a damn, and the angels and demons were all back where they belonged. The powers that be in Heaven had decided it would be for the best if no humans had any recollection of the angels who had walked among them.

Of course, that meant that one human was left with a strange scar on his shoulder and no memories of the one who had put it there.

It turns out Castiel had been playing for the right team all along. And when all was said and done, he was welcomed home with open arms. His grace was restored, and he was once again in good standing with the heavenly host.

Which is why it made absolutely no sense that he felt a vast, empty ache pulsing throughout his entire being.

One day after months of antagonizing, Castiel finally approached Gabriel. “I wish to return to earth for one night in the visage of my former vessel.”

“Little Brother, you and I both know that’s a terrible idea.”

“Gabriel, please.”

The archangel stared at his younger brother, finally free to exist in his true form – shining and bright and so painfully beautiful that one mere glimpse would burn the eyes from that Winchester boy’s skull. But even amidst all his radiance, Gabriel knew Castiel was not at peace.

“He won’t even recognize you,” he said, making one last effort to save his brother additional pain.

“Don’t you think I know that? I don’t care. Please. Please, Gabriel. Please do this for me. I will not ask it of you again.”

Gabriel sighed. “If you say so. The carriage turns back into a pumpkin at midnight, though.”
And with that, he pressed a hand to Castiel’s forehead.

**

Re: Dean/Cas, amnesia [R] [Part 2]

[invisiblelove.livejournal.com]

One moment he was in heaven and the next he was back in a human body again. He appeared to be in some dive bar, the kind that he had frequented countless times while on the road with Sam and Dean. He looked down at himself; Gabriel had put him in something less conspicuous than Jimmy’s trench coat. He was instead wearing blue jeans and a soft cotton shirt with the sleeves cuffed up around his forearms.

Castiel could feel Dean’s presence in this place and it only took him one sweep of his eyes across the room to land on his former charge. He was sitting at the bar with a bottle of beer, mind clearly miles away but unburdened in a way Castiel had never really seen him while he had been on earth. He looked good. He felt something in his human chest constrict and his vision begin to cloud, but he took a few deep breaths and managed to steady himself. If he was going to do this, he would have to appear entirely natural.

Taking a look at his borrowed face in one of the mirrors on the wall, Castiel steeled himself for what he was about to do before turning and making his way to the bar. He thought he had prepared himself for the lack of recognition on Dean’s face when he saw him, but nothing could have made him ready for the wary glance Dean gave him when he sidled up next to him at the bar. He very nearly scrapped the whole idea. Gabriel was right; this was going to do nothing to help ease the gaping emptiness that had followed him back to heaven. But now that he was next to Dean again, he knew he would only be kidding himself if he thought he had the strength to turn away.

“Hey,” he said, the sound of Jimmy’s voice strange to him after not hearing it for so long.

“Ugh, hi.”

Castiel wracked his brain for the pick up lines he had heard Dean use. He had never had to learn to be flirtatious while on earth. His relationship with Dean had grown from something so infinitely deeper than any clever phrases and wit ever could.

Realizing that directness was his only hope for getting what he needed, he positioned himself into Dean’s personal space and made sure no one was looking before dropping his hand between Dean’s splayed legs and squeezing him through the worn denim of his jeans. He pitched his voice low and whispered, “Could you find somewhere private so I can get this in my mouth?”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. He managed to swallow and then locked eyes with Castiel. “Hell yeah,” he breathed. Eyes hooded and pupils blown, it was the same look he used to elicit on Dean’s face – only there was none of the underlying affection, and maybe even love, that was there before. He tried to push the thought out of his head; if he was going to go through with this, he was going to try and enjoy it as much as possible.

Dean stood up and Castiel followed him as he made his way to the bar’s bathroom. They entered and the pale, sickly light brought on a fresh wave of pain over the fact that Dean would remember nothing more than maybe an orgasm from tonight.

lost - jack/juliet - music

[mollivanders.livejournal.com]

http://community.livejournal.com/prefer_my_life/23499.html?#cutid1

Six Feet Under, David/Keith, music (with a hint of d/s), R

[hopelessfangirl.livejournal.com]

Basically this is the pornier version of this. ALSO, I'M LOSING MY PORN-WRITING VIRGINITY HERE, SO BE GENTLE. ♥

_________________

Fa la la LA la la la!

David was singing his scales again.

Fa la la LA la la la!

At 7 o'clock in the morning.

Fa la la LA la la la!

"David." Keith gritted his teeth.

"What?" David asked, a hint of defensiveness already in his voice.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Singing at me. This early in the morning." Keith stirred creamer into his coffee and took a gulp of it as if it was a shot of whiskey.

"Well, I'm sorry,” David said curtly. “The Chorus is having a show in two weeks, I have a chance to get one of the solos, and I have to practice."
David hated when Keith added "at me" to the end of that sentence. At present David was just singing to himself, but he only ever sang to Keith, not "at him." Now he had two choices: stop singing and feel bad for the rest of the day (the usual option), or keep singing in hopes that it will annoy the fuck out of Keith.

Today he was going with the latter.

Good mornin' / Good mornin'! / We've talked the whole night through / Good mornin' / Good mornin' to you!

Keith sighed heavily and took his toast out of the toaster.

If you're blue and you don't know where to go to / Why don't you go where fashion sits / Puttin' on the Ritz!

Keith buttered his toast with fervor, pieces of bread flicking off every which way.

Don't know why / There's no sun up in the sky / Stormy weather--

"Alright, you know what--?" Keith fumed, letting the butter knife drop with a clang onto his plate. Before David knew it, Keith strode across the kitchen and covered his mouth with his own, walking him backwards and pinning him against the cupboard. Keith's tongue invaded David's mouth, licking and swirling and dancing around David's. He reached a hand down David's pyjama pants and cupped his balls over his underwear, eliciting a gasp from him that broke their kiss.

"What does it take to shut you up, huh?" Keith asked, running his hand once down David's length before letting go of him. David breathed heavily and smirked at him, beginning to hum another tune. Keith quickly replaced his hand around David's cock, beneath the underwear this time, and started to stoke him slow and hard. The only sounds that came from David's mouth now were moans and pants. Keith watched David as he pumped him faster; David always bit his lip when he was close, and Keith was waiting for that as his cue. He rhythmically tightened and loosened his fist around David as he worked him harder, David’s head lolling back and forth against the cupboard door. When David's bottom lip finally twitched upward towards his front teeth, Keith leaned in so that his lips barely caressed David's ear. He hovered there for a second before whispering melodically:

Oh, can't you see? / You belong to me.

With that, David let out a long, drawn-out moan and spilled into Keith's hand. He slumped forward and rested his forehead on Keith's shoulder, his body heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

With his free hand, Keith grabbed a paper towel off the counter and cleaned the mess off his other hand. "Don't get any ideas," Keith said. "I'm not giving you a hand job every time you start singing at the fucking crack of dawn." He pulled up a chair for David, sat him down, and walked away.

David was still too blissful to retort, but he resolved to see if Keith was a man of his word the next morning.

Re: Six Feet Under, David/Keith, music (with a hint of d/s), R

[janie-tangerine.livejournal.com]

OMG OMG OMG I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS AND THIS WAS FIRST CLASS PORN. Seriously it was. PLEASE EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO FAN MYSELF.

LOL, that bit in canon was hilarious BUT I LIKE YOUR PORNY VERSION BETTER. ;) ;) LOL, poor Keith, I sort of can get him there. I wouldn't be wanting to hear scales at the crack of dawn either. *cough*

Also I just LOVED David here. He was so IC with the continuing on singing deal, and aww that bit about feeling bad for the rest of the day if he stopped = ;_;, but then I stopped being ;_; and started being like OMG OMG *FANS* because DUUUUH. That was one hot kiss. AND THAT WAS SOME HOT PORN. The singing turning into moans = UNF. And David coming when Keith said that OMG YES PERFECTION. Yes YES AND YES ALL OVER. Damn, I can't shut the capslock off.

AND PLEASE DAVID DO RESOLVE TO SEE IF KEITH KEEPS HIS WORD. The d/s hint was just delicious. AS THIS WHOLE THING WAS AND I TOTALLY LOVE IT AND THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!! <3333333333333333333333

Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, PG

[ladymacbeth77.livejournal.com]

"Mio padre mi ha abbandonato..."
Dean alzò gli occhi sull'angelo che per lui era caduto, vide la sua espressione triste e sentì una parte di lui morire davanti a quello sguardo. Perché per lui Castiel era la roccia alla quale attaccarsi, l'angelo dalla fede incrollabile che lo spronava a resistere, ad avere una speranza.
Ora quegli occhi azzurri, spenti dalla delusione, gli mostravano come uno specchio il suo fallimento. Non c'era niente che potessero fare contro Lucifero, se non cedere a Michele e lasciare che sia lui a fermare l'Apocalisse.
Una lacrima attraversò correndo veloce la guancia di Castiel. Dean distolse lo sguardo, incapace di resistere. Quella delusione aveva ucciso le loro speranze, ma li aveva anche avvicinati, uniti adesso da un destino crudele. Entrambi avevano creduto nei loro padri, entrambi erano stati delusi.
Fu questa vicinanza a spingere Dean verso l'angelo, a stringerselo al petto in un attimo di tenerezza che non gli era proprio. La mano afferrò saldamente l'impermeabile liso di Jimmy mentre l'uomo affondava il volto nell'incavo del collo di Castiel, assaporando l'odore della sua pelle.
Quello che successe dopo fu un evento improvviso che li lasciò confusi e sconvolti, ma fu anche così naturale da non farli pentire. Le loro labbra si unirono in un bacio timido che si fece pian piano sempre più appassionato. Cominciarono a piangere senza rendersene conto, ma non era lacrime di dolore. Erano lacrime di gioia perché le loro anime avevano finalmente trovato una gemella da amare per l'eternità. E per la prima volta si sentirono completi.

(perdona la sintassi, ma mi è uscita di getto. Per te, tresor, una Dean/Castiel dolce ♥)

PS: mi dispiace averla scritta in italiano, ma si sa che io con l'inglese non son capace. Mi scuso ♥

Lost: Boone/Charlie - Amnesia - PG (1/3)

[yersi-fanel.livejournal.com]

(Longer than I expected. I hope you like it)

Locke made him go back to camp after all, and all Boone could do was wait.

When Charlie was brought back by Jack and Kate he was very silent and behind the blank stare he was giving everyone, Boone could see the fear in his eyes.

Jack was asking him about his well being in order to treat him with the closest thing to proper medical attention he could achieve at the moment. Kate was asking him to talk, say anything that could help them to figure out what had happened to him and a clue of Claire's location, but Charlie just closed his eyes, shaking his head in denial.

A few hours later, Charlie was trembling hard as if he was not besides the fire and a mantle was not covering him. Everyone had left him by himself, everyone but Boone, who was watching him, trying to figure out what the rock star was hiding. He finally decided to get closer, sitting beside him by the fire.

"You should drink some water." He told him, offering him his own bottle, Charlie shock his head and stare into the fire again, "Charlie," The other man moved his eyes, looking at him for a fraction of a second, "Come on man, we need you to talk, we need to know what happened and were to start looking for Claire."

"I..." He began, "I don't remember."

"Please Charlie, try harder." he asked, trying to keep his tone calm and soft, but ultimately annoyed by Charlie's lack of cooperation, he knew better than get mad at him, for he had been through a lot, but then again, Claire was still missing.

"I-I'm sorry," He choked, "I don't remember anything." Charlie retracted his knees against his chest, for Boone it looked as if he was trying to make himself smaller.

"Not at all?" Boone asked, "Where were you before Ethan got you and Claire, something he said, anything?"

"I don't remember anything." he pointed out again and glared at Boone, who was able to see a light glow of unshed tears in the corner of his eyes. "Nothing at all."

Charlie curled up in himself and started to nib at his ring, biting his lip while doing so. Boone sighed softly but remained besides him.

"Maybe later then." Said the brunette and was about to stand up and leave when Charlie reached for his hand, "Yeah?"

"Can I... Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, I guess."

"Who's Claire?"

-------------------------------------------

Boone was sitting beside him, it looked like he was the only person Charlie felt comfortable with at the moment, and the brunette was not about to leave, the nagging voice in the back of his head was telling him to help the Brit and for the first time in a long time Boone felt like listening to it.

"So," Jack began, "Nothing before the crash?"

"Sorry." Charlie shrugged.

At first, Jack was talking in private with Charlie, Boone stayed close by and was questioned by Shannon, but he didn't feel like explaining, so he just toll her that he was going to help because he wanted, and that was it. When Jack allowed the rest of the camp to come close, he confirmed that Charlie had some sort of amnesia and was not able to remember a thing before the crash and it looked like even some previous from it.

He's not quite sure why, maybe the need to not feel useless or they have something to do, whatever the reason may be, Boone decided to tag along Charlie. Maybe he was not a hunter like Locke or a doctor like Jack and his actions were most likely not going to make benefic for the whole camp... but at least, he could help Charlie.

-------------------------------------------

Shannon is spending a lot of time with Sayid and Boone doesn't like it. He feels rejected and treated like a lesser being by his own sister and he told this to Charlie, using the safety zone he had there, meaning the fact that Charlie had no idea what he was talking about, to do it freely.

"...But," Charlie finally dared to speak, even thinking that he dislike to see Boone angry, it made him feel uncomfortable, "She seems happy, is that a bad thing?"

Lost: Boone/Charlie - Amnesia - PG (2/3)

[yersi-fanel.livejournal.com]

"My sister is like that, she's just going to use him and get what he want and then toss him away and, and, shit, I don't know!"

Charlie frowned and softly touched Boone's arm, making him glare at the Brit. Charlie licked his lips, look visible nervous.

"She," He swallowed, "She did that to you, didn't she?"

"What?" Boone stared at him, not sure if feel angry and shout at him - thing that apparently worked a lot because Charlie seemed to hate people fighting - or actually think about it. "What makes you think that?"

Charlie casted his eyes onto the floor, "You have a lot of pain in your voice," he said, "Like when you care a lot about someone, but that person rejects you or makes you hurt one way or another, that is something you cannot easily forget and you carry that feeling in your voice when you talk about your sister... like she hurt you a lot."

"What do you know?!" He said in anger, not really thinking about it and lifted his arms. Charlie raised his arms, protecting his face, making Boone back off, realizing what he was about to do, so he stopped. Charlie remained like that for a moment, before daring to speak again.

"I have a brother," He began "I remembered some more things about him last night. I remember that I care a lot about him, but I also remember that he hurt me a lot too, because at some point in time he abandoned me." Charlie let his arms fall to his sides and looked at Boone with an equal sympathy. "I understand how you feel."

Boone's expression changed, questioning himself of his own emotions, not noticing when Charlie reached for his hand, taking it on his own. Boone stared at his hand and after a moment of hesitation he squeezed it back, giving Charlie a sad smile.

"Thanks..."

-------------------------------------------

Charlie doesn't remember Locke, but he still felt dejected when he came to ask Boone to go hunt with him but order Charlie to stay. Boone was about to go but changed his mind, saying that he didn't want to leave Charlie on his own, so against his better judgment, Locke allowed Charlie to tag along with them.

Locke later than night pointed out that Boone was spending a lot of time with Charlie and not fussing over Shannon as before.

"I let it go," he said, "Shannon's fine now, and so am I."

"And now you are fussing over Charlie?"

"Not really,"

"Then why you spend so much time with him now?"

Things were more or less fine and Boone realized that he was feeling a lot better spending time with Charlie.

The conclusion was not something he required help to figure out. It was pretty simple.

"Because I like Him."

-------------------------------------------

Charlie was with them when they found Claire. He seemed concern for the girl in question, but no memory rose from seeing here. Secretly, Boone was thankful for that, for he liked how the things were between him and the Brit now.

It might be selfish, but he couldn't help it.

Claire, like Charlie, was not able to remember anything, but contrary of his friend, Claire was loud and difficult to deal with, they immediately realized she didn't recognized because of that, while with Charlie took a chat from Boone to do it.

Now Boone and Charlie were walking in the jungle, and Boone couldn't help but wonder about Charlie's memory and not Claire's.

"So... She doesn't ring a bell?"

"Not at all, mate." He said "Like I told you, many things here don't, but you helped me a lot, maybe someone could help her too."

"I don't know about that."

#1 (crossdressing) and #4 (hurt/comfort), Dean/Sam [1/2]

[emerald-embers.livejournal.com]

This is the very least I owe you for that gorgeous fic you did for me <3. Set somewhere around mid season one, roughly.

- - -

Dean didn't go in for words much, tended to stumble over them and make a mess of things if he actually meant them. It was easier to be sarcastic and drop witty one-liners than to say anything about what he felt; besides, he'd been taught to push that down and out of the way. Emotions were messy.

He couldn't say he understood without it coming out wrong, so Dean chose to tell Sam with kisses, with his fingers tracing the cotton panties and only pressing them against Sam's cock once he felt it harden against his thigh. He could do this much at least, and if Sam's eyes had been distant at first, and Sam still didn't want to talk any more, he didn't mind. When Sam pulled him into a hug, Dean still didn't make fun of the tears - not then, not when this was still too raw and too painful and this was as close as Sam ever got to opening up to him.


He'd been such a dick about it at the start, ignored Sam begging him to go away and broken the bedroom door's lock to check Sam was okay. He'd grinned at the panties as soon as he saw them, the strawberry and cherry design plus the fact they were way, way too low at the front making it pretty obvious they weren't just tighty-whities, and instead of Sam swearing at him or calling him an asshole, Sam had just choked and covered his face.

Dean wouldn't have any of that, walked over to Sam and grabbed his hands, pulling them away and showing that Sam hadn't just started crying then, he'd been crying for a while, his eyes and the skin under his nose red and damp, and Dean had still cocked up, saying, "Hey, it's okay if you're, you know. I mean, it's weird with you being a million foor tall but -"

"These aren't mine," Sam spat. "These aren't fucking mine, why would -"

"Then whose panties have you been stealing? 'Cause those aren't mine," Dean said, smiling for a second, trying to alleviate the situation.

And completely failing. "Jessica's," Sam said, and Dean felt his chest go stiff, adrenaline rush following swiftly after; his body's way of warning him danger, Dean Winchester, you really fucked up this time.

Dean let go of Sam's hands in an instant, taking a step back. "Jesus, Sam, I'm sorry -"

"I know," Sam said, not looking at him. "It's not - I just found them. Clearing out my bag. She'd left them in the," and he'd cut himself off, not saying anything, biting his lip and shaking, and fuck if Dean was going to leave after seeing that.

"Sorry" didn't cut it but Dean was sorry anyway, and he gave in, wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders and held him tight, let him press his face into Dean's neck, any tears smeared and hidden, any sound muffled. For a stupid moment he'd considered telling Sam that it wasn't as if Dean had never worn women's underwear before, but he figured quickly enough that the circumstances were seriously different and it wasn't the sort of story Sam needed to hear right now. What Sam needed was Dean trying to be there for him, as best as he could; and though Dean had thought this part of their relationship was over for good with Sam having gone to college, hung out with normal people and all, he nearly found himself breathless when Sam pulled back from the hug a little so he could kiss Dean hard.

#1 (crossdressing) and #4 (hurt/comfort), Dean/Sam [2/2]

[emerald-embers.livejournal.com]

Normally Dean would have been happy for Sam to return the favour but he had no intentions of letting anyone other than himself deal with his own erection, rubbed it idly through his jeans whenever the pressure felt like too much before returning all his attention to Sam. It was easy to ignore what he wanted if it gave Sam some sort of foothold, and he knew those quiet grunts off by heart; knew the moment Sam was ready to come, knew the sharp intake of breath when he did, and he wiped his hand down on his own t-shirt before pulling it off and using it to clean Sam up.

Dean was determined if he could get anything put on his epitaph it would include the words 'awesome brother', and if it meant clean-up duties and having to jerk himself off, he could handle that.

Sam had stared at him afterwards for a long, weird moment, before saying, "You know we're crazy, right?"

"Everyone mourns differently, I guess," Dean replied with a shrug, stretching out next to Sam on the bed, keeping a little distance between them so he could watch Sam's reactions more comfortably.

Sam snorted, wet and gross but a relief compared with the tears and silence. "Sure," he agreed.

It never occurred to Dean that there might have been anything wrong with Sam's way of dealing, once he knew that Sam actually was dealing. Sam was his little brother; he'd be damned if he let anyone else call him a freak.

Desmond/Sayid, amnesia, PG-13, (1/2)

[zelda-zee.livejournal.com]

(Clearly I suck at amnesia fic, which is probably why I’ve never written it. I hope you can just enjoy this as an odd little story, since it’s not porny or romantic at all. Sorry!)

“Good morning, brother,” Desmond says, leaning up on an elbow. Sayid smiles and watches Desmond smile in return. There are lines at the corners of Desmond’s eyes. Sayid likes to see them, physical proof that Desmond had a life before the one they have now, before Sayid ever came to this island. Before Desmond saved him, befriended him, taught him all that he knows.

Before the island, Desmond had a life in which his body could be altered by happiness and woe and the ravages of time, by accidents and misfortune. He wasn’t always as he is now, a static, unchanging feature of Sayid’s life, year after year, decade after decade, until, Sayid supposes, the end of time. Desmond has told him of this life – about his wife Penny and his son Charlie and about the evil forces that he fought in order to attain what he has now. In order to save the island.

Of course, Sayid knows of these things only from Desmond’s stories, but he can picture them in his mind – Penny standing at the railing of her boat, her smile radiant; Charlie with his mop of blond curls. He knows Desmond misses them, but it was so long ago, forgotten by everyone, except Desmond and Sayid.

“What shall we do today?” Sayid asks.

“What do we do every day?” Desmond replies.

“You weave and I fish.”

“Then that is what we shall do today.”

*

They lay at night beneath the stars, Sayid’s head on Desmond’s chest, Desmond’s fingers slipping through his hair. Desmond’s voice is quiet and a little sad as he tells Sayid his stories of life before the island.

“I wish I had stories to tell you,” Sayid says. It saddens him that he has nothing to offer Desmond in return.

“That’s all right, mate,” Desmond says. “This is story enough for me, right here, right now, with you. I don’t need anything more.”

Sayid shifts around so that he can kiss Desmond. His lips are warm and pliant; his mouth tastes of mango and coconut. Desmond opens for him so easily and there’s an electric charge as their tongues touch that makes Sayid moan. Miraculous, after all this time, that kissing Desmond can still affect him so strongly.

“Tell me,” Sayid says, drawing back, not willing to give in to it yet, “about when you brought me here.”

“Well,” Desmond starts, caressing Sayid’s face as he talks. “I had been here for a long time, you see. And it was lonely, all by myself. I wanted a companion, someone to brighten my days. And you were out there, alone. I could feel you. You had a small boat, a sailboat.”

“The Elizabeth,” Sayid supplies. Desmond has told this story many times before. It is one of Sayid’s favorites.

“That’s right,” Desmond says. “The Elizabeth. You were on a long sailing trip, all alone.”

Sayid tries to imagine it, what he might have been doing alone on that boat. He does not remember it – not the boat or the trip or even how to sail.

“And so I brought you to me, to be my friend.” Desmond smiles. “It was the smartest thing I ever did.”

Warmth fills Sayid at Desmond’s words. Receiving praise from Desmond is one of his greatest pleasures.

“There was a storm though and your little boat was not strong enough to withstand it. It was crushed to pieces on the rocks, and you nearly drowned. If I had not found you in time…” Sayid experiences a little frisson of fear to think that he came so close to dying, to never knowing Desmond or being able to live forever at his side.

“But I did,” Desmond continues. “I found you just in time, and I cared for you until you recovered. But you had lost your memory in the trauma of the storm and the crash and it has never returned.” Desmond looks at him sadly, his hands gentle on Sayid’s face. “I’m sorry for that, my love. I only wanted to bring you here, to keep you safe with me and protect you always, and instead I robbed you of your past.”

“My past is not important,” Sayid says firmly. “Whatever I once was doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is what I am now.” He kisses Desmond. “I am glad you brought me here, regardless of the cost.”

Re: Desmond/Sayid, amnesia, PG-13, (2/2)

[zelda-zee.livejournal.com]

Sometimes Sayid catches Desmond watching him with a strange expression on his face. It only happens when Desmond believes himself to be unobserved, and then he’ll watch Sayid, a frown marring his handsome features and a troubled look in his eyes. It makes Sayid uneasy because he doesn’t know what Desmond is thinking. Whatever it is, it disturbs Desmond and Sayid does not know what he could have done to cause that look. All he does is with the aim of pleasing Desmond. That he may have somehow failed in this is his worries him.

*

One day Sayid comes across a ruin in the jungle, one he has never seen before. Great blocks of stone form some kind of ancient building. It’s terribly old, possibly as old as the base of the great statue, beneath which he and Desmond live. There are vines growing over everything, obscuring the shapes of the walls.

Sayid walks through the courtyard, feeling the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Inside the building it is dark, but his eyes adjust easily. Stone walls, carved with symbols, like the ones on the statue. The remains of columns and, in the floor, a large pool, full of water.

He kneels at the edge and peers into it. His own reflection startles him. He has seen it so rarely, only in other pools out in the jungle. He is dark – skin, hair, eyes. His appearance means nothing to him. Desmond tells him he is beautiful; that he thinks so is all that matters.

An odd feeling comes over him, one that he is completely unfamiliar with, as if he has been here before, at the edge of this very pool. Something falls into place in his mind and he gasps, suddenly certain that his feeling is warranted. He has been here before, but how is that possible?

He leans down farther, reaches out a hand and touches the water and immediately it slams into him – memory, images, faces.

Heat, always the heat. Grit of sand on his tongue.

Screams and cries. Dead bodies and blood everywhere.

A woman’s face, sweet and sad. Nadia.

Blood on his hands, under his hands. The feel of flesh parting, bones breaking. The screams of his victims.

The scream of airplane engines, the roar of a plane tearing itself apart.

The island. He was here before.

Heat, always the heat. Grit of sand on his tongue.

Screams and cries. Dead bodies and blood everywhere.

A temple, a pool. This is the place he dies and is reborn.

They leave him behind. Him and Desmond. But he makes them pay. He makes them all pay.

He comes back to himself with a gasp, knocked onto the floor by the force of remembrance, heart hammering. He remembers it all, and nothing, is as Desmond said it was. He lied and he took Sayid’s memories and Sayid knows why. He is a prisoner here and Desmond thought he could keep him better with sweet words and stories and the pleasures of the flesh than he could with threats and acts of violence. He meant to trap Sayid here forever, lost in a happy fairytale of love that was all built on lies. And it worked. For a hundred years and more, it worked.

Sayid thinks of Desmond’s caresses and his words of love and he seethes with a cold, implacable anger.

Desmond is old and powerful, but Sayid is old and powerful too.

This island cannot hold him. Sooner or later, he will find a way off of it, and there is only one way that he will be able to do that. He cannot kill Desmond, but that does not deter him. He can wait. He was always a patient man. Sooner or later he will find a loophole.

provides access

[(Anonymous)]

This is a good,common sense article.Very helpful to one who is just finding the resouces about this part.It will certainly help educate me.