Flash Fiction (Take 16 Pt 2)
Jul. 19th, 2011 10:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Good morning! I return to you with three more flash fiction. Huzzah!
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
azardarkstar
Prompt: “Set Fire to the Rain”, ProwlxMirage (past) and Prowl+Jazz bromance
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse with a splash of G1. No warnings.
Jazz's quarters are an eclectic mix of order and chaos, something that Prowl only notices in passing as he sits on Jazz's over-sized berth, leaning against the wall. The soft music spilling from the speakers is not helping his mood any, but Prowl had vetoed the idea of angry, heavy metal. It grates on his sensors, even if it better matches his mood.
“Here ya go.”
Prowl takes the cube of high-grade that Jazz offers him. “Let me offer a guess,” he says, holding up the cube and examining the color of it, nearly translucent. “Wheeljack?”
“Close. Siders.” Jazz manages a grin.
“Hmm. I'll overlook it this time.” Prowl takes a sip, the clear, bright taste pouring over his glossa smoothly, much better than the nearly low-grade they've been subsisting on.
Jazz hops up on the berth beside him, holding a cube of his own. “Only because it benefits ya, right?” he says, but his cheer is obviously forced.
Prowl doesn't answer, taking a longer sip of the energon. It's good, but it's not enough to wipe his memory core of the things he'd rather forget. Sometimes, there are downsides to near-perfect recollection and long lifespans. This situation right here is one of them.
“Right,” Jazz murmurs, and leans toward Prowl, their energy fields overlapping. Jazz's concern blends with Prowl's sorrow and self-recrimination. “Want ta talk about it?”
His doorwings slump, slipping out of their usual high configuration. “You are aware of the circumstances, Jazz. Is it necessary to reiterate them?”
“Helps sometimes.”
Prowl shutters his optics. He is not entirely sure talking about the mess that his relationship with Mirage had become is going to help matters. Break-ups, to borrow the human term, are rare among Cybertronians, and this is Prowl's first. Then again, this is also his first relationship. Or was, rather, as it's now over, by Prowl's choice, and the realization that Mirage has been lying to him this entire time. Lying so smoothly it must have come as a second nature to him, as Prowl had never suspected the deception.
Guilt flickers through Jazz's energy field. “I'm sorry, Prowler. I honestly thought this was a good thing.” He'd been one of their larger supporters, encouraging Prowl to let Mirage in, convinced that they were a good match.
“Yes,” Prowl says, and takes another sip of the high-grade, letting the tingle burn through his circuits. “As did I.” For ancientlybroken
Prompt: any pairing (Sirius+Remus with a splash of Snape), “don't you dare”
Fortheablackthorn
For
azardarkstar Prompt: “Set Fire to the Rain”, ProwlxMirage (past) and Prowl+Jazz bromance
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse with a splash of G1. No warnings.
Jazz's quarters are an eclectic mix of order and chaos, something that Prowl only notices in passing as he sits on Jazz's over-sized berth, leaning against the wall. The soft music spilling from the speakers is not helping his mood any, but Prowl had vetoed the idea of angry, heavy metal. It grates on his sensors, even if it better matches his mood.
“Here ya go.”
Prowl takes the cube of high-grade that Jazz offers him. “Let me offer a guess,” he says, holding up the cube and examining the color of it, nearly translucent. “Wheeljack?”
“Close. Siders.” Jazz manages a grin.
“Hmm. I'll overlook it this time.” Prowl takes a sip, the clear, bright taste pouring over his glossa smoothly, much better than the nearly low-grade they've been subsisting on.
Jazz hops up on the berth beside him, holding a cube of his own. “Only because it benefits ya, right?” he says, but his cheer is obviously forced.
Prowl doesn't answer, taking a longer sip of the energon. It's good, but it's not enough to wipe his memory core of the things he'd rather forget. Sometimes, there are downsides to near-perfect recollection and long lifespans. This situation right here is one of them.
“Right,” Jazz murmurs, and leans toward Prowl, their energy fields overlapping. Jazz's concern blends with Prowl's sorrow and self-recrimination. “Want ta talk about it?”
His doorwings slump, slipping out of their usual high configuration. “You are aware of the circumstances, Jazz. Is it necessary to reiterate them?”
“Helps sometimes.”
Prowl shutters his optics. He is not entirely sure talking about the mess that his relationship with Mirage had become is going to help matters. Break-ups, to borrow the human term, are rare among Cybertronians, and this is Prowl's first. Then again, this is also his first relationship. Or was, rather, as it's now over, by Prowl's choice, and the realization that Mirage has been lying to him this entire time. Lying so smoothly it must have come as a second nature to him, as Prowl had never suspected the deception.
Guilt flickers through Jazz's energy field. “I'm sorry, Prowler. I honestly thought this was a good thing.” He'd been one of their larger supporters, encouraging Prowl to let Mirage in, convinced that they were a good match.
“Yes,” Prowl says, and takes another sip of the high-grade, letting the tingle burn through his circuits. “As did I.”
ancientlybroken Prompt: any pairing (Sirius+Remus with a splash of Snape), “don't you dare”
Fandom: Harry Potter. Warnings for a slashy kiss, a prank, and the fact I didn't use a bit of British English.
Remus' back hits the wall with a solid thump, not enough to hurt, but enough to call attention to him from their various classmates. He narrows his eyes, puts a warning note in his voice.
“Sirius,” he says.
His best friend chuckles, hands planted firmly on Remus' shoulders, laughter dancing in his grey eyes. The fact that everyone is stopping to stare, whispering amongst themselves, only adds fuel to Sirius' mischief. He hadn't picked the most populated section of the hallway for no reason.
A knee works its way between Remus' legs and his fingers twitch for his wand, but he doesn't want to hex Sirius. Not really. “Don't you dare,” Remus hisses in a low voice.
Sirius grins cheekily. “But isn't that the point?” he asks saucily. “The dare?”
Remus' mouth opens to object, but isn't given time to form words. Sirius swoops in and kisses him on the lips, there in front of all and sundry, to the startled gasps of their peers. To Snape's disgusted sneer and Lily's gasp of shock and James' cackle of amusement.
Sirius' lips are warm and sweet, and Remus stiffens like a rigid board against the wall. This is a dare, not something to be enjoyed, something for Sirius to get a laugh out of. Which he does, when Sirius ends the brief kiss and steps back with a triumphant look on his face, tossing his head.
Somewhere behind him, a cheer erupts in the crowd.
“Told you I'd do it,” Sirius says with a celebratory grin and a huff of pride.
Remus is too speechless to say anything. To hex Sirius or take away points or break out into an angered tirade. In fact, he doesn't do much of anything at all as James claps Sirius on the back, congratulating him on his bravery and the rest of their peers continue on to class, observing that the show is now over.
His lips are tingling, but Remus resists the urge to reach up and touch them. Instead, he licks his lips, swearing he can still taste Sirius, that his best friend's cologne lingers in the air. Pretending that it might have meant something more than just following through with a dare, more than a prank.
When he lifts his eyes, he catches Snape's gaze, but instead of derision and mockery, there's something else. Something Remus isn't sure he can define. But in a blink of an eye, that emotion and Snape are both gone, leaving Remus alone in the hallway, late to class for the first time this year.
“Sirius,” he says.
His best friend chuckles, hands planted firmly on Remus' shoulders, laughter dancing in his grey eyes. The fact that everyone is stopping to stare, whispering amongst themselves, only adds fuel to Sirius' mischief. He hadn't picked the most populated section of the hallway for no reason.
A knee works its way between Remus' legs and his fingers twitch for his wand, but he doesn't want to hex Sirius. Not really. “Don't you dare,” Remus hisses in a low voice.
Sirius grins cheekily. “But isn't that the point?” he asks saucily. “The dare?”
Remus' mouth opens to object, but isn't given time to form words. Sirius swoops in and kisses him on the lips, there in front of all and sundry, to the startled gasps of their peers. To Snape's disgusted sneer and Lily's gasp of shock and James' cackle of amusement.
Sirius' lips are warm and sweet, and Remus stiffens like a rigid board against the wall. This is a dare, not something to be enjoyed, something for Sirius to get a laugh out of. Which he does, when Sirius ends the brief kiss and steps back with a triumphant look on his face, tossing his head.
Somewhere behind him, a cheer erupts in the crowd.
“Told you I'd do it,” Sirius says with a celebratory grin and a huff of pride.
Remus is too speechless to say anything. To hex Sirius or take away points or break out into an angered tirade. In fact, he doesn't do much of anything at all as James claps Sirius on the back, congratulating him on his bravery and the rest of their peers continue on to class, observing that the show is now over.
His lips are tingling, but Remus resists the urge to reach up and touch them. Instead, he licks his lips, swearing he can still taste Sirius, that his best friend's cologne lingers in the air. Pretending that it might have meant something more than just following through with a dare, more than a prank.
When he lifts his eyes, he catches Snape's gaze, but instead of derision and mockery, there's something else. Something Remus isn't sure he can define. But in a blink of an eye, that emotion and Snape are both gone, leaving Remus alone in the hallway, late to class for the first time this year.
For
theablackthorn Prompt: Mori/Kyouya, Kyouya catches Mori napping
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club. Warnings for some slashy action.
Kyouya frowns, doing an inner head count. Most of the club is here – even Haruhi with her homemade bento that Tamaki keeps trying to trade for her – except for Mori-senpai. He lowers his chopsticks, and slipping in a query between moments of Hunny-senpai's chatter, manages to inquire about Mori-senpai's whereabouts.
“Takashi's in the club room.”
Kyouya couldn't fathom why. Curious, he finishes his lunch as quickly as possible and excuses himself from the table, not that anyone notices.
The halls are quiet, as all of the students are currently chattering away in the lunch room. Kyouya arrives at the third music room, which isn't locked, and invites himself inside.
At first, there's no sign of the older student. Until Kyouya sees a blur of white and light blue out of the corner of his eye, near a window that has been opened to let in the nice spring breeze. He turns, feet quiet over the carpet, and sees Mori-senpai stretched out across the same carpet, one arm curled under his head and his jacket serving as a pillow.
He's sleeping, of all things, stretched out in the sunlight like a cat, the faint breeze tugging at his hair. His face soft in repose, lips parted for every exhale. Kyouya blinks in surprise. Mori-senpai? Sleeping? And apparently, he does this often because Hunny-senpai hadn't seemed the least bit surprised.
Getting closer, Kyouya crouches beside Mori-senpai, surprised the older student hasn't woken yet. Usually, he has more animal-like senses. No one's ever been able to sneak up on him. Except maybe Hunny-senpai.
Curiosity compels him. Kyouya lifts a hand, feeling sunlight warm his skin, reaching--
All at once, Mori-senpai's moves, fast like a striking snake, but altogether fluid as well. Kyouya's hand is snatched and he's yanked forward, even as Mori-senpai rolls, pulling Kyouya into his embrace. Within moments, he's tucked into Mori-senpai's arms, curled up on the floor, the sunlight slanting against his back and the sound of his erratic heartbeat pulsing in his ears.
“I thought you were asleep,” Kyouya murmurs.
“I heard you open the door.” His arms tighten around Kyouya. “Join me?”
This is undignified. The carpet is scratchy and it's too warm right here. Kyouya huffs a quiet sigh. “Only for a minute,” he concedes.
Mori-senpai rumbles pleased approval.
“Takashi's in the club room.”
Kyouya couldn't fathom why. Curious, he finishes his lunch as quickly as possible and excuses himself from the table, not that anyone notices.
The halls are quiet, as all of the students are currently chattering away in the lunch room. Kyouya arrives at the third music room, which isn't locked, and invites himself inside.
At first, there's no sign of the older student. Until Kyouya sees a blur of white and light blue out of the corner of his eye, near a window that has been opened to let in the nice spring breeze. He turns, feet quiet over the carpet, and sees Mori-senpai stretched out across the same carpet, one arm curled under his head and his jacket serving as a pillow.
He's sleeping, of all things, stretched out in the sunlight like a cat, the faint breeze tugging at his hair. His face soft in repose, lips parted for every exhale. Kyouya blinks in surprise. Mori-senpai? Sleeping? And apparently, he does this often because Hunny-senpai hadn't seemed the least bit surprised.
Getting closer, Kyouya crouches beside Mori-senpai, surprised the older student hasn't woken yet. Usually, he has more animal-like senses. No one's ever been able to sneak up on him. Except maybe Hunny-senpai.
Curiosity compels him. Kyouya lifts a hand, feeling sunlight warm his skin, reaching--
All at once, Mori-senpai's moves, fast like a striking snake, but altogether fluid as well. Kyouya's hand is snatched and he's yanked forward, even as Mori-senpai rolls, pulling Kyouya into his embrace. Within moments, he's tucked into Mori-senpai's arms, curled up on the floor, the sunlight slanting against his back and the sound of his erratic heartbeat pulsing in his ears.
“I thought you were asleep,” Kyouya murmurs.
“I heard you open the door.” His arms tighten around Kyouya. “Join me?”
This is undignified. The carpet is scratchy and it's too warm right here. Kyouya huffs a quiet sigh. “Only for a minute,” he concedes.
Mori-senpai rumbles pleased approval.
a/n: Three more flash fic to come! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
