Flash Fiction (Take 19 - Part 2)
Sep. 13th, 2011 07:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: More Flash Fiction for your reading pleasure!
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Kieran/Azriel, skin
Universe: Infinity's End, The Break of Day. Warning for nudity, slash
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Kieran/Azriel, skin
Universe: Infinity's End, The Break of Day. Warning for nudity, slash
“Did you know that you have a freckle right here?” Kieran asks and his fingers stroke over Azriel's skin, right on his side where he's particularly sensitive.
“How would I?” Azriel asks, a touch of amusement in his tone. He slides his arm from over his eyes, looking down the length of his body where Kieran is straddling him.
“Hmm. Good point.” Kieran tips his head to the side, palms stroking a bit firmer, losing the ticklish edge. His hands seem to be determined to map every inch of Azriel's exposed skin. “Then you probably don't know about this one either.” His left hand skates downward, thumb sweeping over a hipbone, pointing out yet another freckle.
“No, I didn't,” Azriel replies, and relaxes back into the mattress, letting Kieran continue his exploration. “I don't imagine it's much of a discovery for you either.”
Kieran makes a noise in his throat. “You'd be surprised what I don't notice when I'm just trying to eat you up all at once.”
Azriel chuckles. “Is that how it is?”
“Yes.” Kieran's hands sweep upward, fingers splaying over Azriel's chest and abdomen, not quite ticklish, but soothing instead. Like a light massage. “What about this?”
Azriel folds his arms behind his head. “What is it?”
Kieran traces a long path across Azriel's ribs, curving out from his chest to his side. “Looks like a scar. An old one.”
“Not that old,” Azriel replies quietly, one arm unfolding to drag his own fingers over the scar. His mother had not been happy patching this particular injury up. “I was in the Conservatory. Holmes thought it would be interesting to check the reflexes of his newest class. He aimed for me first. I didn't dodge in time.”
Kieran's hand warmly covers Azriel's. “On purpose.” Anger vibrates through his aether.
“I can only guess.” Azriel looks up at his lover. “After Mother patched me up, I went back and he never took me by surprise again.”
Kieran's anger softens and he leans over, their lips in tantalizing proximity. “And later you would prove to be the best in your class.”
“Naturally.” Azriel manages a smile. “He never quite got over that insult.”
For tmelange
Prompt: Superman/Batman, I'll wait for you
Fandom: Justice League/The Dark Knight/Smallville crossover like whoa. Warnings: Angst, implied slash, canon mix-and-match
For rionarch
Prompt: Sokka and Tom Tom, hero worship
Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender. Warnings: sheer and utter crack
“How would I?” Azriel asks, a touch of amusement in his tone. He slides his arm from over his eyes, looking down the length of his body where Kieran is straddling him.
“Hmm. Good point.” Kieran tips his head to the side, palms stroking a bit firmer, losing the ticklish edge. His hands seem to be determined to map every inch of Azriel's exposed skin. “Then you probably don't know about this one either.” His left hand skates downward, thumb sweeping over a hipbone, pointing out yet another freckle.
“No, I didn't,” Azriel replies, and relaxes back into the mattress, letting Kieran continue his exploration. “I don't imagine it's much of a discovery for you either.”
Kieran makes a noise in his throat. “You'd be surprised what I don't notice when I'm just trying to eat you up all at once.”
Azriel chuckles. “Is that how it is?”
“Yes.” Kieran's hands sweep upward, fingers splaying over Azriel's chest and abdomen, not quite ticklish, but soothing instead. Like a light massage. “What about this?”
Azriel folds his arms behind his head. “What is it?”
Kieran traces a long path across Azriel's ribs, curving out from his chest to his side. “Looks like a scar. An old one.”
“Not that old,” Azriel replies quietly, one arm unfolding to drag his own fingers over the scar. His mother had not been happy patching this particular injury up. “I was in the Conservatory. Holmes thought it would be interesting to check the reflexes of his newest class. He aimed for me first. I didn't dodge in time.”
Kieran's hand warmly covers Azriel's. “On purpose.” Anger vibrates through his aether.
“I can only guess.” Azriel looks up at his lover. “After Mother patched me up, I went back and he never took me by surprise again.”
Kieran's anger softens and he leans over, their lips in tantalizing proximity. “And later you would prove to be the best in your class.”
“Naturally.” Azriel manages a smile. “He never quite got over that insult.”
Kieran snorts. “I'm sure he didn't.”
For tmelange
Prompt: Superman/Batman, I'll wait for you
Fandom: Justice League/The Dark Knight/Smallville crossover like whoa. Warnings: Angst, implied slash, canon mix-and-match
His strange abilities are manifesting with greater urgency nowadays, but Clark's inability to control them pales in comparison to his attempts to restrain his anger. He always reacts irrationally at first, saying such things that can't be easily taken back. Storming out when he knows good and well how Bruce will take such a thing.
It's just like him though, Clark realizes, as he comes home to find their apartment half empty. Clark's belongings are still here, and anything that can't be packed into a couple of bags, but Clark can feel the absence anyway. There was always a lingering sense of his lover in these rooms, but now, even that is gone.
The drawers are empty. Hangers are lopsided in the closet. The bathroom misses a pair of toothbrushes and razor blades and different soaps because Clark's just fine with a bar of Lever but Bruce prefers something with a more exotic scent.
The bed has been meticulously made, as though Bruce is trying to say, see, I have even left that behind. Clark honestly can't remember the last time they bothered to smooth down the sheets and blanket, since they are always so quick to rumple both again.
Clark sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, and sits on the end of the bed, sheets carefully creased beneath him. He has only himself to blame. He's the one who told Bruce to figure out what he really wanted. Clark's the one who told him to leave if he was so intent on going through with something so foolish.
By all appearances, Bruce has not changed his mind. Why Clark thought someone as stubborn as Bruce Wayne would, he doesn't know.
But Bruce will be back. Clark does believe this. If anything, just to retrieve the rest of his belongings Or because he hates admitting defeat. By then, Clark will have calmed and they can talk about this like two rational adults.
In fact, Clark's quite certain that they can get over this little hiccup and move on with their lives. Bruce can finish his program at the university; Clark can see if his internship at the Daily Planet will take hold. And when things settle, Clark can finally tell him why he keeps accidentally breaking things around their apartment.
After all, they've argued before, what should make this any different? All Clark has to do is wait. Be patient. It's one of the few areas where he outpaces Bruce.
When the news breaks out a week later, that Bruce Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune and prince of Gotham, has vanished, Clark realizes that he might be mistaken. When Alfred calls him to reassure that Master Bruce is alive, not kidnapped, but gone for a purpose, Clark knows that Bruce's disappearance is partially his fault. He, like Alfred, can only sit and wait for Bruce's return.
It's just like him though, Clark realizes, as he comes home to find their apartment half empty. Clark's belongings are still here, and anything that can't be packed into a couple of bags, but Clark can feel the absence anyway. There was always a lingering sense of his lover in these rooms, but now, even that is gone.
The drawers are empty. Hangers are lopsided in the closet. The bathroom misses a pair of toothbrushes and razor blades and different soaps because Clark's just fine with a bar of Lever but Bruce prefers something with a more exotic scent.
The bed has been meticulously made, as though Bruce is trying to say, see, I have even left that behind. Clark honestly can't remember the last time they bothered to smooth down the sheets and blanket, since they are always so quick to rumple both again.
Clark sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, and sits on the end of the bed, sheets carefully creased beneath him. He has only himself to blame. He's the one who told Bruce to figure out what he really wanted. Clark's the one who told him to leave if he was so intent on going through with something so foolish.
By all appearances, Bruce has not changed his mind. Why Clark thought someone as stubborn as Bruce Wayne would, he doesn't know.
But Bruce will be back. Clark does believe this. If anything, just to retrieve the rest of his belongings Or because he hates admitting defeat. By then, Clark will have calmed and they can talk about this like two rational adults.
In fact, Clark's quite certain that they can get over this little hiccup and move on with their lives. Bruce can finish his program at the university; Clark can see if his internship at the Daily Planet will take hold. And when things settle, Clark can finally tell him why he keeps accidentally breaking things around their apartment.
After all, they've argued before, what should make this any different? All Clark has to do is wait. Be patient. It's one of the few areas where he outpaces Bruce.
When the news breaks out a week later, that Bruce Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune and prince of Gotham, has vanished, Clark realizes that he might be mistaken. When Alfred calls him to reassure that Master Bruce is alive, not kidnapped, but gone for a purpose, Clark knows that Bruce's disappearance is partially his fault. He, like Alfred, can only sit and wait for Bruce's return.
For rionarch
Prompt: Sokka and Tom Tom, hero worship
Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender. Warnings: sheer and utter crack
It's twelve years later when the dark-haired, gold-eyed child shows up in the middle of the Water Tribe's village. When a distinctly Fire Nation ship pulls up to the shore, waving a proud banner that no longer provokes an intense surge of fear and hatred. There's still wariness, a touch of lingering doubt, but the immediate urge to flee is gone.
The young man who steps off said ship is really just a child. A bit older than Toph had been all those years ago. There's an innocence in his eyes, however, a certain naivete that Toph had never carried, which always made her seem older. Aang had that same older, wiser look in his eyes. This child, flanked by two stern-faced men who are obviously protectors of some kind, does not have a single wary glint to his gaze.
He asks for Sokka.
No one is surprised. Sokka, after all, is one of the Water Tribe's great heroes. He is known and beloved by all. Many a well-wisher and fan have come to the south just to meet him, or shake his hand, or hear his stories about the battle against the dreaded Phoenix King.
He is pointed in the proper direction, to the second biggest hut in their village. The first being reserved for Chieftain Hakoda with enough space to host council meetings.
The young boy, obviously of Fire Nation heritage, arrives at the hut and tells his bodyguards to remain outside. They obey with much scowling. Some curiosity is born from this exchange, and slowly, a crowd of Water Tribe residents begin to form outside the famous Sokka's tent.
This, of course, is when the boy chooses to speak. “Sokka!” he calls out, hands cupped around his lips, voice a bit shrill. Poor thing. It doesn't appear puberty has struck yet.
A moment of anticipatory silence sweeps through the village. Then, the heavy fur over the doorway sweeps aside, revealing their hero Sokka and his ever-present, equally heroic wife Suki. They blink in stunned confusion.
“Uhh... do I know you?” Sokka asks, scratching at his bearded chin. (The beard had been a late addition and an absolute must as he never lost his fondness for the fake face hair he'd donned while undercover in the Fire Nation.)
The kid's eyes light up upon sight of Sokka and he lurches forward, managing to startle both Sokka and Suki in the process, causing them to shift into defensive stances. Instead of an attack, however, Sokka finds himself embraced heartily.
“I'm Tom-Tom!” the boy gushes. “Don't you remember? I want you to be my teacher!”
Sokka's jaw drops and Suki laughs herself silly.
a/n: Yeah... I have no excuse for my muses some time. A little bit of angst. A little bit of crack. Where does it come from? lol
I hope you liked!
The young man who steps off said ship is really just a child. A bit older than Toph had been all those years ago. There's an innocence in his eyes, however, a certain naivete that Toph had never carried, which always made her seem older. Aang had that same older, wiser look in his eyes. This child, flanked by two stern-faced men who are obviously protectors of some kind, does not have a single wary glint to his gaze.
He asks for Sokka.
No one is surprised. Sokka, after all, is one of the Water Tribe's great heroes. He is known and beloved by all. Many a well-wisher and fan have come to the south just to meet him, or shake his hand, or hear his stories about the battle against the dreaded Phoenix King.
He is pointed in the proper direction, to the second biggest hut in their village. The first being reserved for Chieftain Hakoda with enough space to host council meetings.
The young boy, obviously of Fire Nation heritage, arrives at the hut and tells his bodyguards to remain outside. They obey with much scowling. Some curiosity is born from this exchange, and slowly, a crowd of Water Tribe residents begin to form outside the famous Sokka's tent.
This, of course, is when the boy chooses to speak. “Sokka!” he calls out, hands cupped around his lips, voice a bit shrill. Poor thing. It doesn't appear puberty has struck yet.
A moment of anticipatory silence sweeps through the village. Then, the heavy fur over the doorway sweeps aside, revealing their hero Sokka and his ever-present, equally heroic wife Suki. They blink in stunned confusion.
“Uhh... do I know you?” Sokka asks, scratching at his bearded chin. (The beard had been a late addition and an absolute must as he never lost his fondness for the fake face hair he'd donned while undercover in the Fire Nation.)
The kid's eyes light up upon sight of Sokka and he lurches forward, managing to startle both Sokka and Suki in the process, causing them to shift into defensive stances. Instead of an attack, however, Sokka finds himself embraced heartily.
“I'm Tom-Tom!” the boy gushes. “Don't you remember? I want you to be my teacher!”
Sokka's jaw drops and Suki laughs herself silly.
a/n: Yeah... I have no excuse for my muses some time. A little bit of angst. A little bit of crack. Where does it come from? lol
I hope you liked!
