Drabble-type items? Why, go on then...

[moonlettuce]

Because I commented on aesc's:

The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level. Post in your journal if it takes your fancy :)

1. tipsywitch (SGA, John/Rodney) In which DADT is repealed and John kisses Rodney...
2. beren_writes (Tremors, Tyler/El Blanco) In which there is Graboid!porn...
3. ruric (Leverage, Alec/Eliot) In which there are added vampires...
4. c00kie (SPN, Dean/Castiel) In which Dean is talking to himself and Sam's a ninja...
5. hampden (SPN, Dean/Castiel or XF, Mulder/Krycek) In which Castiel is exactly where he's meant to be...
6. realpestilence (Tremors, Tyler/El Blanco) In which Claire finds out it's strangely difficult writing from Blanco's point of view...
7. qthelights (RPS, Jensen/Misha) In which Jensen is creeping through the dark with Misha...
8. temaris (X-Men, Erik/Charles) In which there is telepathy and schmoop...
9. lassroyale (SPN/X-Men, Gambit/Castiel) In which Gambit hits on Cas and Dean gets jealous...
10. alyse (Primeval, Abby/Connor) In which Connor is Connor and Abby re-evaluates some stuff...
10.5. aithine (Primeval, Nick/Stephen) In which Abby and Stephen aren't pool hustlers...

Comments

[tipsywitch.livejournal.com]

John/Rodney pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaase? Happy smiley John/Rodney?
*hugs*

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

John stood at the entrance to the mess, looking around the filled room. He knew the contents of the latest bulletin from the SGC had filtered through the base. Even if it hadn't been obvious from the snippets of conversation he could hear, the way his XO was grinning at Zelenka, their fingers touching across the table they were sitting at, would have given it away in a heartbeat.

"Sheppard!"

Ronon's call reached him from across the room, and he headed over to the table his team had claimed, sliding into the seat next to Rodney.

Teyla nodded over to where John could hear one of Lorne's team asking Zelenka if this meant he was finally going to make an honest man out of their boss. "It's good that Evan and Radek no longer have to hide, is it not?"

Not that they'd been hiding, exactly. Everyone on Atlantis knew about them, they just didn't tell the SGC.

"Just means that the US has finally decided to join the rest of the modern world," Rodney commented. "It's about time."

"Yeah," John said, surprised when the word didn't stick in his throat. "Yeah, it is."

Rodney looked at him. "Sheppard, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Rodney frowned. "Because you sound like--"

Because he sounded like he was about to do something that he'd been thinking about since the moment he'd heard the words Think about where we are in the solar system.

"--and if you're getting ill then you really shouldn't be here. I've got a very delic--"

Rodney's words cut off as John leaned across and kissed him, a quick press of lips against lips before he pulled back, stunned blue meeting him for long seconds and making John think that he'd possibly just made the worst mistake of his life.

"Rodney, I--"

But then it was Rodney's turn to move, Rodney turn to lean closer and press their lips together, teeth nipping at John's lower lip until his mouth opened.

The room was silent when they finally broke apart, Rodney's hand reaching for his as he all but dragged John from his seat, the rest of the room looking at them with a combination of surprise and understanding and with money changing hands on at least one table.

"What?" Rodney said.

"I just don't think they've ever seen you lost for words before," John teased gently, as he tightened his grip on Rodney's hand and led him, unresisting, out of the room.

[beren-writes.livejournal.com]

Tyler/El Blanco please :)

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

The hood of the truck is cold against Tyler's chest as he presses against it, soft whuffling coming from behind him as one of Blanco's tongues curls around his leg. Spreading himself further to allow Blanco easier access to his ass, Tyler whines softly as the tongue sliding up his leg totally bypasses his ass to move across his hip and over his stomach.

"Blanco, please--" The words fall from Tyler's lips as he presses back, needing Blanco inside him.

The tongue continues to caress his stomach, light and careful, as a second moves over his ass, finally pressing inside, finally filling him and finally, finally, completing him.

[ruric.livejournal.com]

pick me \o/

Alec/Eliot - pretty please! *G*

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

It came with added vampires...

~

Hardison had always joked that when the end came it would be a zombie apocalypse, and that zombies are walking among them right now, just blending in and waiting for their time to rise. (He's even got a 200-page word document on how to survive said zombie apocalypse, but it's hidden in with his porn files so Eliot's pretty sure no one's meant to know about it.)

Which means that Eliot's kind of surprised when Hardison turns out to not be exactly wrong. It's vampires, as opposed to zombies, but they're all evil and dead, so Eliot's willing to give him a pass on that one.

Of course, the vast swathes of Bela Lugosi wannabes now swarming the earth means that the team's had to re-prioritise recently, and Mrs Montgomery's issue with the insurance company who wouldn't pay out after her husband's death had to take a back-seat to bloodsuckers trying to exsanguinate downtown Boston. But Eliot's nothing if not versatile, and it just means that he's swinging stakes now instead of his fists, just means that's he's learned to add garlic to all of his cooking and to carry a crucifix with him just in case.

Between them and some others, they've got Boston locked down tight, and no 'sucker gets out of the city alive. Or undead, anyway. Hardison's already set up an underground network for people to share information online (even through a vampire apocalypse the internet keeps on running. And keeps sending Eliot offers for 73% off Viagra, not that he needs it), and they're good. They're organised and they're careful and they're slowly making Boston safe again.

When they clear another nest, there's a celebration. There should be, everyone who went in came back out again, and that doesn't always happen. So, there's laughing and music and Hardison referring to them as the Scoobies and gleefully claiming that if he's Willow then Parker's Buffy. Not that Eliot couldn't be Buffy, Hardison explains, if he was short and blonde and a girl. Well, if he was blonde and a girl, that is, because he's already got the short bit down. And Eliot can tell when Hardison's brain registers what he's just said because he turns to Eliot and starts trying to stammer out words about how Eliot's height doesn't make him any less dangerous. But Eliot just kisses him and tells him he'd rather be Faith anyway.

[c00kie.livejournal.com]

Happy Dean/Castiel pretty please?

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

"So, Sam, this thing with me and Cas--"

Sam doesn't say anything. Not that he would, since it's not actually Sam and only Dean's reflection in the bathroom mirror. The stupid thing is, it's Sam, he's always had Dean's back, and Dean's sure that's not going to change, even with the addition of Cas into the mix. Only, he's still nervous about telling Sam. Nervous to the extent that he's been putting off saying this for weeks. Fuck, he hasn't been this bad about letting someone know something since he'd had to admit to Dad that it'd been him who broke the back window of the Impala that time. He hadn't told him it had been while he and Danny Carter had been fucking in the back seat, but he'd at least told him, which had to count for something, right.

Also, this thing with me and Cas could mean anything. Hell, he starts with that and Sam'll probably think he's talking about the run to Burger King they did earlier.

How about--

"Sam, I'm in a relationship with Cas."

No, that makes him sound like a chick.

"Sam, Cas is my boyfriend."

A fifteen year old chick.

"Sam, I'm sleeping with Cas."

Even though it's so much more than that.

"Sam, I'm in love with Cas."

Hell, no. He hasn't even said the words to Cas, even though he does, so he's not going to say them to Sam first.

Fuck it--

"Sam, I'm having sex with Cas."

Although it's more like,

"Sam, I'm having really great sex with Cas. In fact, we're the reason the bed in Bobby's spare room broke that time. You should see how flexible he is. Seriously. And this thing he does with with his tongue, when he kind of-- But anyway, it's more than that, Sam, even though it's great sex. Fuck, Sam, even though it's really fucking good sex, it's more than that. He's-- mine. He's mine, Sam. And I'm not letting him go--"

"I know."

"Sam!" Dean yelps (it's a very manful yelp, though) as he whirls around to point a finger at the sneaky little shit that Sam's apparently become. And how the hell can he creep up on Dean without Dean hearing him when he's a freakin' gigantor?

But Sam's not answering any questions about his recently acquired ninja skills. He's just looking at Dean and grinning.

"Dude, I know, okay."

"How? How do you know?" Because they were sneaky and careful and absolutely didn't start groping each other when Sam was there. Except for that one time in Denny's, but Cas had been making sex noises over the pancakes and it totally wasn't Dean's fault.

"Dean, you guys aren't quiet, okay. Believe me, I never want to walk up to a motel room to hear Cas yelling out Harder, Dean-- ever again. And let's not even start on what me and Bobby heard that night the bed broke." Sam shudders theatrically. "That was way more information than I ever needed to know about you."

"Bitch," Dean mutters and it's thank you and I love you all wrapped up in one word.

"Jerk," Sam replies, even if Dean hears it as And if he hurts you I'll kick his ass.

Dean just smirks at him, skirting past him to get out of the bathroom and stopping as Sam grabs his arm.

"Just answer me this, Dean. Are you happy?"

Dean's about to tell Sam to stop acting like a girl, because he's pretty sure their chick flick quota's already been exceeded, but the look on Sam's face stops him, hopeful and concerned.

"Yeah, Sammy," he answers finally. "Yeah, I am."

[hampden.livejournal.com]

I'm either an excuse to write another Dearn/Castiel or will go for Krycek/Mulder.

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

You didn't think it would be this way when you were first ordered to save Dean Winchester from Hell. Your entire garrison fought through blood and fire for the sake of one man. And you wondered if it was worth it when you finally reached him, wondered if he was worth it. Wondered if he was worth the pain and loss and the taint of corruption you can still feel, even now, at the edge of your being, trying so desperately to hold onto you.

Never before had you had to ignore the souls screaming out for release in favour of the one holding them there. Never before had you had someone fight you so mercilessly as you pulled them from Hell. Dean Winchester, the so-called saviour, kicking and cursing like a petulant child with his favourite toy taken away from him. He fought you all the way out of Hell, fought you with every fetid and tainted breath still left in him. And you nearly lost him. You'd been so close when he'd almost slipped from your grasp, causing your hand to grip him tighter, searing part of yourself into his soul.

You'd restored his body, rebuilding him through bone and muscle and flesh, and set him back into the world. And you'd followed him, as you were told to. Dean Winchester is the Saviour. Dean Winchester must be watched. Dean Winchester must be protected. They'd told you that. But not one of them had told you Dean Winchester was going to turn out to be so infuriating.

It's hard at first, to understand how someone the Cherubim hail as Saviour could be so crass. What sort of saviour takes the Lord's name in vain, or carries so much anger within him, or willingly lays with those who would have him at every opportunity.

It takes you a long time to realise that he's not being crass, he's being human. That's about the time you stop thinking of him as the Saviour, and start just thinking of him as Dean. Start thinking of him as flawed and broken and beautiful in his humanity. You start seeing the fear behind the anger, the loneliness behind the meaningless nights. You start thinking that maybe, just maybe, this is the perfection they talk in your Father's plan.

So when he asks you to follow him, to believe in him, to turn your back on everything you've ever known, you do. Because part of you is already willing to follow him blindly, so it's nothing for the rest of you to do so, as well.

If you think about it you'll realise how this would look to anyone who saw you right now, kneeling before a human, before one of your Father's creations. But you're not kneeling before humanity (even though He decreed that you should). You're kneeling before Dean. It's a distinction you're acutely aware of. And as he reaches out, fingers running through your hair and soft words falling from his lips you know that here, on your knees and in his hands, is exactly where you're meant to be.

[realpestilence.livejournal.com]

Well, since you're offering! How about another Tyler/El Blanco, and this time...I'd like to see it from Blanco's pov, please. I want to know what he gets out of it! :D

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

He can smell Mate as he comes out from the ground, the warmth hitting his skin. Mate is close but not close enough, so the dirt parts before him and carries him through the desert. The rumbling of metal is permeating the soil and when he comes back up he can hear the sound of food, their calls overlapping with Mate's voice.

He hears the words, even understands some of them. Graboid is what they call him, Blanco is what they've named him. It's not his name, not his real one, but it is the name that comes from Mate's lips as Mate's hands run over his hide, the name Blanco has accepted for himself.

He can hear Mate talking to the food, telling them about him and about how lucky they are that Blanco's decided to make an appearance today. The food sounds excited, chittering and loud, and he thinks that, even if they didn't move, he could pinpoint where they were just from that. But he won't. Mate is there, and Mate is never happy when Blanco eats the food that Mate brings into the desert in his metal mover. And Blanco likes it when Mate is happy. Because Mate is Blanco's, and that's the way it should be.

[xandutch.livejournal.com]

Oh, great idea!

[qthelights.livejournal.com]

Ooooh, Jensen/Misha? *lick*

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

It's going great until Jensen trips over a box someone's left lying on set. "Shit, fuck--" he hisses, his grip tightening on Misha's hand and almost yanking him to the floor until Misha pulls him back up again.

"So much for stealthy," Misha comments, the whisper still loud on the empty set.

"Oh, fuck you, Collins." Jensen knows the retort is childish, just as childish as giving in to the urge to kick the box that had nearly sent him flying, but he doesn't care. His foot's hurting (what the fuck's in that box, anyway) and he's creeping around the set when he should be at the wrap party getting slammed on the free tequila Kripke managed to con out of the CW.

He's about to tell Misha that they're going back right the fuck now when Misha's there, blue eyes still bright, even in the low lighting illuminating them. "That's the point, yes," Misha says, so close to Jensen's face that his breath, soft and sweet and probably flammable considering how much whiskey Jensen saw him down before Misha dragged him here, is ghosting across his lips.

"You said you wanted this," Misha continues, one hand on Jensen's chest and either unaware or uncaring of how the touch is making Jensen's cock sit up and beg. "Kripke should end the show with Dean fucking Cas in the back of the Impala, that's what you said. So--"

And maybe Jensen's had a little too much to drink himself because it takes him long seconds to understand exactly what Misha's saying. Long seconds to understand that Misha telling Jensen he'd managed to palm the set keys off Dave and then dragging him out of the wrap party has been leading to them naked in the back of one of the Impalas. But now he does, now he gets exactly what they're doing here, then he's all fucking for it. Because even if he got Misha naked every fucking day it still wouldn't be enough.

"Come on, then--" Jensen wraps his fingers around Misha's wrist and tugs, pulse beating against his thumb as Misha laughs and follows Jensen to the car waiting on the other side of the set.

[temaris.livejournal.com]

Hmmm... Erik/Charles, s'il te plait :)

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

He knows it's a cause for much speculation around the School, even knows that some of his children have been taking bets on exactly who it is that the Professor goes out to meet three times a week.

Moira had been head of the list for many of them until Jean had finally telephoned Muir Island to ask her. It made sense, Jean had said. The ex-lovers re-finding each other, Scott had added. Moira had soon put them straight on that issue. Ororo had just smiled and let him eavesdrop via her mind.

"Are you ever going to tell them?" Ororo asks, legs crossed as she perches on his desk.

"Eventually," Charles replies. It's not that he's purposefully deceiving them, he's just having too much fun watching them try to work it out.

Ororo laughs as she pushes herself off the desk. "Just promise me one thing, Charles. That I am at least there when you tell them."

Charles nods, meeting her smile with one of his own. "I was actually thinking of telling them tomorrow."

"Then I'll be here, my friend." Ororo's hand rests on his for a moment before she moves towards the door, leaving him alone in the office.

Yes, tomorrow sounds like the perfect day to final put to rest the rumours about his love life and tell everyone exactly who he's been seeing recently. After all, it gives them a good 24 hours to come to terms with it before Erik moves back into the Mansion.

A soft laugh resonates in his head. Teasing your X-Men isn't nice, you know.

You love me for it, really.

Always, Charles. The reply comes instantly, as Erik's voice weaves around him. Always.

[lassroyale.livejournal.com]

Crossover! Gambit/Castiel with jealous, frustrated Dean! Can be Gambit trying to put the smooth ragin' Cajun moves on Cas with Dean trying to intervene.

::cough::

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

It'll just be a quick drink, Dean, Sam had said.

I think we deserve it, Dean, Sam had said.

We should take Cas with us, Dean, Sam had said.

And Dean, stupid fucking Dean, had actually listened to him.

Not that it hadn't been fun at first. Dean had ended up playing pool with a guy who may as well have been drinking water for the amount he was knocking back, while Sam had been at a table trying to put the moves on a woman who should have been way out of his league. (And Dean can appreciate that his brother's a good looking guy, but seriously? If Sammy gets to go home with the white haired, dark-skinned goddess with legs that go on for fucking years, while Dean gets stuck with the short, Canadian dude then he's fucking quittin', right here, right now.)

But what topped it off. What topped off the night of being thrown through the air and nearly fucking eaten by an emo goth wannabe who'd managed to get himself bitten by a vamp, is the slick-ass fucking slimeball who'd sidled up to Cas at the bar about an hour ago and hadn't fucking moved since.

"Hey, kid, you playin' or you tryin' to work out how to stop the Cajun from gettin' naked with your friend?"

Dean can't help but twitch at the thought, watching as the cue ball totally bypasses the ball he'd been aiming for, instead knocking the 8 into the corner pocket.

"Fuck--" Which, as a sentiment, Dean feels pretty much sums up the entire night.

The other guy grins, picking up the money from pool table and shoving it into his back pocket. "Shit, kid," he says quietly, pulling a cigar from his jeans and lighting it, "get over there before ya bust an aneurysm."

It's good advice, especially considering what Dean gets there in time to hear.

"--an y' should see what Remy c'n do wit' his tongue."

No. No, Cas should do no such fucking thing. In fact, if anyone's going to be showing Cas what they can do with their tongue, it's going to be Dean, thank you very fucking much.

Stepping up, Dean moves between Cas and the horndog next to him. "Cas, we need to leave."

"I t'ink Castiel want to stay, homme--"

But Cas isn't looking at Slimeball, isn't looking anywhere but right at Dean.

"Dean?"

Dean knows he's told Cas to stay out of his head, but he also knows the angel still listens in at times, so he hopes like fuck he's listening to this. Hopes Cas is listening to every thing that Dean wants to do to him, hopes he's listening to thoughts of Dean on his knees before him, of him lying on a bed as Dean slides into him. Hopes Cas is seeing images of Dean's fingers wrapped around his cock, and of him spread beneath Dean as Dean's tongue works him open.

And Dean knows he's got him, knows it from the hitched breath and the flush that comes to Cas's face.

"I'm sorry, Remy," Cas says, voice controlled and careful and, if Dean's become any sort of expert at reading Cas, about to break any fucking second now, "but I'm afraid we need to leave."

"Dat's a shame, Castiel--" But Dean can hear in the guy's voice that he knows he's beaten. "Will y' be comin' 'round dese parts again?"

"No," Cas replies, his gaze not breaking from Dean's, "I very much doubt if I will."

Damn right, skippy, Dean thinks as he wraps fingers around Cas's wrist. Damn fucking right.

[alyse]

Oh, okay then.

Abby/Connor, first time, for I am a predictable individual :)

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

It wasn't that she didn't want to date Connor, it was just that he was, well, Connor. Connor, with his atrocious dress sense and his terrible taste in music and his utter and total inability to do anything with a stove except burn water.

She looked over to where he was helping Stephen pack up the equipment they didn't need any more, voice ringing out as he laughed at something Stephen said.

"Abby, how's the ankle?"

She turned to face Nick, as he sat down next to her on the back of the truck. "Not too bad," she answered. "Could have been a lot worse if--" the words trailed off. If Connor hadn't been there.

Connor, who threw himself in front of a raptor when Abby's ankle had twisted. Connor, who'd been terrified but did it anyway. Connor, who always had her back.

"You okay?"

She started slightly as she realised that Nick had gone, off to help Stephen and replaced by Connor, who was looking at her with concern.

"Yeah, Conn, I'm good."

"Really?"

Glancing down at hand he had resting on his thigh, she slowly reached out, tangling her fingers with his. "Yeah, really."

[aithine]

Nick/Stephen! *vbg*

[aithine]

Whoops, didn't see Al's prompt, nevermind. *sniff* ;)

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

"I call Nick!" The words were out of Connor's mouth before Abby had even finished asking if the others fancied a game of pool.

"I guess that leaves me with you, then." Abby smirked at Stephen, as she nicked a quid off him for the table.

"Connor, I'm not so sure about this." Nick hesitated before picking up his pint and following Connor towards the back of the bar where Abby was busy racking up the balls on the slightly grotty pool table.

"Are you kidding? I saw you how you played against Ryan last week. You totally kicked his arse." Connor grinned. "Seriously, Professor, they won't know what hit them."

~

Abby leaned over the pool table, her shirt riding up slightly to reveal a patch of skin across her back. Slowly sliding the cue across her hand, she carefully nudged the cue ball.

"Game to us, I think," Stephen grinned as the eight ball rolled smoothly into the corner pocket.

Connor just stared at them. "You-- you hustlers."

Stephen glanced over to where Abby was putting her cue back on the stand. "I think Connor's just cast aspersions on us."

"It's not aspersions if it's true!" Connor exclaimed.

"Conn, did either of us say we couldn't play pool?" Abby asked.

"Well, no," Connor replied.

"Therefore, not hustlers," Abby declared. "Now, I believe the comment before you broke was losers have to do whatever the winners want, yes?"

Connor's eyes were wide. "That was just a joke."

Abby grinned as she advanced on him. "No, it wasn't. Now, come on, the flat needs tidying, there's a sink full of dishes and and I've got some stuff that needs ironing. And since I was one of the winners and you were one of the losers, guess who gets to do it."

Nick looked over at Stephen as Abby dragged Connor out of the pub. "And what were you thinking of making me do? Is there a pile of ironing at yours, as well? Or maybe you want me to scrub your floors?"

Stephen just smiled and Nick felt his face flush as Stephen's gaze travelled up and down his body. "Oh, no, Nick, no floor scrubbing of any sort," Stephen said, as he walked closer, leaning in to Nick's space as he put his cue back. "You'll still be on your knees, though, if you want to be," he murmured, leaving Nick standing there as he walked out of the pub, glancing back over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow in question.

And Nick put the cue he was still holding on the pool table, grabbed his jacket and followed him out.

[xandutch.livejournal.com]

Looks like you don't need any more, and that's a good thing because how could I pick between Alec/Eliot, Tyler/El Blanco or Dean/Cas? ;)

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

Orgy? ::grin::