Flash Fiction (Take 21 - Part 1)
Oct. 10th, 2011 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Watching TF: Prime. Figured now was a good time to post two of the flash fiction. Hooah!
For anciently broken
Prompt: Roy/Hughes, “I should go”
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist. Warnings: Angst, hints of slash, intended het
For azardarkstar
Prompt: “these aren't the bots you're looking for”
Fandom: Transformers (G1). Warnings: None
a/n: Such a contrast of pieces. lol. I do hope that you enjoyed! Five more to come!
For anciently broken
Prompt: Roy/Hughes, “I should go”
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist. Warnings: Angst, hints of slash, intended het
Maes is shaking a bit, completely belying his outward display of calm. Roy wisely pretends not to notice. He does, however, notice on fact that Maes is having difficulty knotting his tie. Frustration is painting red across his cheeks.
Roy rises to his feet with a huff. “Turn around. Let me do it,” he says.
“You'd think after doing it a thousand times, I'd have it down to an art,” Maes says with a sigh as he turns. One hand rakes through his hair, the other dropping down to his side.
Roy keeps his comment to himself, though a smile tugs at his lips. He reaches for the strip of fabric, expertly knotting the expensive tie into place and then smoothing it down with his fingers. His hand lingers, his palm pressing on the lapel of Maes' tux, feeling the warmt beneath and if he concentrates, almost Maes' heartbeat.
“Roy?”
“I haven't told you how handsome you look, have I?” Roy murmurs, something inside of him clenching with pain, as much as it also flips with joy. Such conflicting feelings.
He can feel Maes eyes on him, even if Roy is staring pointedly at Maes' throat. “You just did. You're handsome, too, though I'm sure military dress doesn't suit all occasions.”
A snort of laughter bubbles up within Roy, but it's quickly chased away by the enormity of the moment. He pats Maes a couple times before reluctantly removing his hand and taking a step back, and along with it, a deep breath.
His eyes scan Maes from top to bottom, finally settling on his best friend's face, whose watching him with hazel eyes equally filled with emotion. He does look quite handsome in his tuxedo, but his expression reveals the same push-pull of Roy's own emotions – utter giddiness clashing with sad reluctance.
“Are you sure?” Maes asks quietly.
Roy nods, no hesitation, he's already made up his mind. “One of us has to live a normal life,” he says, half-joke, half-all that he can say. “You love her after all.”
“Yes but...”
I love you, too. It goes unsaid. But Roy hears it nonetheless.
Roy turns sharply. “Then lets get this wedding on the way. Gracia's waiting.” He hears more than sees Maes following him, the sound of his footsteps the countdown cadence to the end of their relationship as lovers, and the beginning of mere friendship.
Roy rises to his feet with a huff. “Turn around. Let me do it,” he says.
“You'd think after doing it a thousand times, I'd have it down to an art,” Maes says with a sigh as he turns. One hand rakes through his hair, the other dropping down to his side.
Roy keeps his comment to himself, though a smile tugs at his lips. He reaches for the strip of fabric, expertly knotting the expensive tie into place and then smoothing it down with his fingers. His hand lingers, his palm pressing on the lapel of Maes' tux, feeling the warmt beneath and if he concentrates, almost Maes' heartbeat.
“Roy?”
“I haven't told you how handsome you look, have I?” Roy murmurs, something inside of him clenching with pain, as much as it also flips with joy. Such conflicting feelings.
He can feel Maes eyes on him, even if Roy is staring pointedly at Maes' throat. “You just did. You're handsome, too, though I'm sure military dress doesn't suit all occasions.”
A snort of laughter bubbles up within Roy, but it's quickly chased away by the enormity of the moment. He pats Maes a couple times before reluctantly removing his hand and taking a step back, and along with it, a deep breath.
His eyes scan Maes from top to bottom, finally settling on his best friend's face, whose watching him with hazel eyes equally filled with emotion. He does look quite handsome in his tuxedo, but his expression reveals the same push-pull of Roy's own emotions – utter giddiness clashing with sad reluctance.
“Are you sure?” Maes asks quietly.
Roy nods, no hesitation, he's already made up his mind. “One of us has to live a normal life,” he says, half-joke, half-all that he can say. “You love her after all.”
“Yes but...”
I love you, too. It goes unsaid. But Roy hears it nonetheless.
Roy turns sharply. “Then lets get this wedding on the way. Gracia's waiting.” He hears more than sees Maes following him, the sound of his footsteps the countdown cadence to the end of their relationship as lovers, and the beginning of mere friendship.
For azardarkstar
Prompt: “these aren't the bots you're looking for”
Fandom: Transformers (G1). Warnings: None
Vorns of serving under Optimus Prime and dealing with the various personalities of the Autobots have left Prowl with the realization that no matter how much he wishes otherwise, there are still times his fellow 'bots can surprise him. There are few more guilty of this than Jazz and Sideswipe.
Which is why when Prowl (and a very irritated Red Alert) discover that someone has somehow reprogrammed Teletraan I to play irritating jingles instead of answering a professional query... Prowl knows who to blame. In fact, he finds the usual suspects laughing it up in the Rec Room with their usual co-conspirators: Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, and a new addition to their ranks, Blaster.
Red Alert on his heels, Prowl approaches their table with intentions to demand that they fix whatever they managed to reprogram before both he and Red Alert fritz out. And preferably long before Prime returns from his diplomatic meeting.
“Prowler!” Jazz, of course, notices him first. He greets their arrival with a friendly salute of his Energon cube. “How's it goin'?”
Prowl inclines his head tightly. “Today would have gone a lot better if the Oscar Mayer jingle wasn't playing on an infinite loop in the Command Center.” Behind him, he senses more than sees Red Alert twitch. Also, he's quite certain the Security Director is glaring at every bot seated at the table.
“Whoa. Someone really did that?” Sideswipe asks, all innocent.
Prowl stares at the red twin. “Yes. Someone did.”
The usual suspects trade glances across the board until Sideswipe stands (and Jazz leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table like he has no manners). “Well, it wasn't me.”
Jazz makes a coughing noise into his palm.
“Or Jazz,” Sideswipe amends. More coughing noises erupt around the table. “Or any of us,” he corrects again and spreads his hands out in front of him. “We're not the bots you're looking for.”
Beside the red twin, Bluestreak starts to giggle. Jazz looks immensely pleased with himself. Prowl is even more suspicious. He leans forward, prepared to state his terms, when Wheeljack noisily enters the Rec Room, drawing everyone's attention, especially Prowl's and Red Alert's, the latter of whom whirls around, startled.
“Have no fear,” Wheeljack announces, vocal indicators flashing merrily. “I'll fix Teletraan. Somehow. Eventually. This is only a minor setback.”
Silence sweeps through the Rec Room. Bluestreak devolves into all-out laughter. His prankster companions join his humor.
Sideswipe smirks, folding his arms behind his head. “See? I told ya. I think we deserve an apology. All of us.”
Prowl twitches.
Which is why when Prowl (and a very irritated Red Alert) discover that someone has somehow reprogrammed Teletraan I to play irritating jingles instead of answering a professional query... Prowl knows who to blame. In fact, he finds the usual suspects laughing it up in the Rec Room with their usual co-conspirators: Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, and a new addition to their ranks, Blaster.
Red Alert on his heels, Prowl approaches their table with intentions to demand that they fix whatever they managed to reprogram before both he and Red Alert fritz out. And preferably long before Prime returns from his diplomatic meeting.
“Prowler!” Jazz, of course, notices him first. He greets their arrival with a friendly salute of his Energon cube. “How's it goin'?”
Prowl inclines his head tightly. “Today would have gone a lot better if the Oscar Mayer jingle wasn't playing on an infinite loop in the Command Center.” Behind him, he senses more than sees Red Alert twitch. Also, he's quite certain the Security Director is glaring at every bot seated at the table.
“Whoa. Someone really did that?” Sideswipe asks, all innocent.
Prowl stares at the red twin. “Yes. Someone did.”
The usual suspects trade glances across the board until Sideswipe stands (and Jazz leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table like he has no manners). “Well, it wasn't me.”
Jazz makes a coughing noise into his palm.
“Or Jazz,” Sideswipe amends. More coughing noises erupt around the table. “Or any of us,” he corrects again and spreads his hands out in front of him. “We're not the bots you're looking for.”
Beside the red twin, Bluestreak starts to giggle. Jazz looks immensely pleased with himself. Prowl is even more suspicious. He leans forward, prepared to state his terms, when Wheeljack noisily enters the Rec Room, drawing everyone's attention, especially Prowl's and Red Alert's, the latter of whom whirls around, startled.
“Have no fear,” Wheeljack announces, vocal indicators flashing merrily. “I'll fix Teletraan. Somehow. Eventually. This is only a minor setback.”
Silence sweeps through the Rec Room. Bluestreak devolves into all-out laughter. His prankster companions join his humor.
Sideswipe smirks, folding his arms behind his head. “See? I told ya. I think we deserve an apology. All of us.”
Prowl twitches.
a/n: Such a contrast of pieces. lol. I do hope that you enjoyed! Five more to come!
