Sunday is for procrastination
Jul. 3rd, 2011 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lairI have managed to get dressed though. This should be celebrated with a meme, as seen on
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trialia's journal...• Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.
• Upon request, post a random line or two from any of these you choose.
Oh god, this was a thoroughly depressing exercise. I’m pretty sure some of these will never be finished... However, feel free to ask for extracts or any questions about them...
acceptance.docx
adam-tommy breathplay.docx
alex-ryland mr floppy.doc
Almost Always.doc
Almost Never.doc
And Sometimes You Cross It Twice.doc
Bandom airlines.doc
BR - continuation.docx
Care In Holding.doc
Cobra GSF.doc
craig-bruno oh god my morals – part trois.docx
dex-sheppard.docx
fairydust.doc
fruitsalad.doc
george is a rentboy, mitchell is not amused.docx
Happy Birthday pushkin666.doc (for the record, I’m deeply ashamed that this is still on the wip list /o\)
In which Rodney and Radek are witches.doc
it’s not a story, we just made it (up and away).doc
j2.doc
Lost Boys fic.doc
mcbeckfic-picexchange.doc
Nate-Victoria puppyplay.docx
no heaven.docx
no oceans left for scavengers like me.docx
otr fic.doc
Patrick-Pete wrist kink ficlet.doc
Primeval ficlet.doc
sa-drabbles.doc
Taste of maybe - the missing sex scene.doc
The Hour I First Believed.doc
the one where alex and ryland roast gabe.doc
To Cast A Hundred Stones .doc
Totum tibi subdo me.doc
untitled House.doc
Year Abroad.doc
Velvet Revolution.doc
waycest ficlet for laura.docx
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no subject
on 2011-07-03 01:43 pm (UTC)...wait, can I see the wrist kink one too?
Bandom Airlines
on 2011-07-03 02:17 pm (UTC)Patrick designs planes for the Wentz Airlines. But he's not one of those snobby designers who never leave their air-conditioned office. In fact, Patrick's not entirely sure he has an air-conditioned office... The pay package was pretty good so he assumes he does, somewhere, but he's just never gotten around to finding it because the first day of work, he went straight to the hangars and started talking to the head engineer (this affable guy called Joe, who looks a little spaced out most of the time but who can build a jet engine with two screws and a fork) and, well, he hasn't really left since. So yeah, Patrick draws out his designs (carefully, meticulously, his glasses greasy with finger marks) in the corner of the breakroom. Someone's brought in a huge drawing table and high voltage light and a couple of screens so the din of the dishes barely even registers. Tell you the truth, Patrick quite likes the quiet murmur of mechanics and engineers and ground staff, likes that he can wander out of his corner, blueprints rolled under his arm, and walk straight into the building area and watch his vision become reality. Joe trusts him with the practical side of things no problem so some days Patrick spends waist deep in the black guts of the plane, surrounded by metal and wires and things that can make a man fly.
Patrick/Pete wrist kink ficlet
on 2011-07-03 02:22 pm (UTC)“Do you find it difficult?” the interviewer asks.
“What’s that?” Pete looks wary but keeps smiling. Patrick can see it's fake, but he doubts anyone else can.
“Writing. I just wondered if now that you’re flying unsupported so to speak,” the guy laughs a little, tilting his head, “it’s harder to write. Without the meds, I mean.”
Beside him Patrick can feel Pete tense up, the muscles of his arm literally twitching against Patrick’s where they’re pressed close together on the sofa. Any second now Pete is going to punch the interviewer’s lights out and it’s not like Patrick disapproves or that the guy doesn’t deserve it (because wow, Patrick really kind of wants to ram his own fist into they guy’s face and judging by the way Joe and Andy have gone still on either side of them, he’s not the only one), but all in all it’s not a good idea and they could really do without a lawsuit.
So without thinking about it too hard, Patrick leans forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. His sudden movement pushes Pete back and under the guise of their tangled legs and crossed arms Patrick slips the fingers of his one hand under his other arm, tapping them gently against Pete’s wrist. Just a quick chill, I got this.
Re: Patrick/Pete wrist kink ficlet
on 2011-07-10 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-03 02:21 pm (UTC)*is a little sad that nobody seems interested in any of hers yet, but!*
no subject
on 2011-07-03 02:51 pm (UTC)Here's Rodney and Radek as witches (I started writing if for one Halloween and just never finished):
Rodney had a familiar, as all self-respecting witches should. His name was Albert. To call Albert a cat was technically correct, but only in a same way one might describe a knuckle iron as a piece of jewellery. Albert had a face like an angry troll and a personality to match. His fur was a curious mixture of ginger and mud brown, his eyes yellow and unblinking and he had balls the size of duck eggs.
Radek also had a familiar. It wasn’t a cat or a frog or an owl though. Not even a hairy tarantula (Rodney was secretly quite relieved by this).
Radek’s familiar was a tiny bat called Leopold.
no subject
on 2011-07-03 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-03 05:25 pm (UTC)It took three months for Mitchell to catch on, which was frankly more than a little embarrassing. Especially, since it seemed he was the last one to do so.
“You knew! You knew George’s been…” Mitchell waved his arms around agitatedly, trying, and failing, to come up with a word that didn’t make the situation sound as bad as it actually was. “whoring himself on the streets and you didn’t tell me?!”
Annie put a third mug of tea on the table and sat down, quite calm like Mitchell’s whole world view hadn’t just turned on its head. “One, the term is ‘self-employed sex worker’ and two,” she pursed her lips primly, “it’s none of your business. Just like it’s none of my business.”
Mitchell didn’t flail, because he was a vampire, and vampires didn’t do that, at least not where anyone could see them, but it was a near thing. “How can you say that?” he demanded. “Of course it’s our business! He’s our housemate, for goodness sake! Our friend! He’s… He’s my… He’s George!”
no subject
on 2011-07-03 04:52 pm (UTC)waycest for Laura? or alex and ryland roast Gabe *________________*
no subject
on 2011-07-03 06:02 pm (UTC)waycest ficlet for Laura:
In a bar somewhere outside Philadelphia Gerard is watching his brother lick spilled vodka from his own hands. One by one his pale sticky fingers are sucked in, only to be pulled out wet and glistening, though not much cleaner, a moment later.
They are both hard and they both know it. Mikey spreads his legs wider, straddling the rickety barstool like a one night stand, making no effort to hide his erection either from Gerard or anyone else.
alex and ryland roast Gabe:
"Aleexxxx," Gabe gasps, the x at the end eroding into a sharp hiss as Alex twists his fingers deeper. He bites his name off Gabe's lips, nothing but hard consonants and long spit-slick vowels between their mouths.
no subject
on 2011-07-04 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-03 10:48 pm (UTC)Cobra GSF
on 2011-07-04 07:47 am (UTC)Ryland’s hand travels down from Alex’s face; a long casual caress along his side, following the path of Alex’s arm which is still curved around Nate’s waist. He grabs a fistful of Nate’s hoodie and hauls him closer, switching from kissing Alex to kissing Nate so smoothly that Nate doesn’t realise what’s going on until he’s already clutching Ryland’s shoulders for balance, his tongue curling around the sharp taste of something stronger than beer.
Kissing Ryland – no, being kissed by Ryland – is not what Nate would have expected if he’d ever thought about it. This Ryland isn’t easy-going or sarcastic or even friendly. This Ryland licks his way inside Nate’s mouth with single-minded determination, firm and unrelenting and in control. This Ryland takes what he wants.
And Nate. Nate gives it.
He’s surrounded. Overwhelmed. Drowning in sensation. There are hands, more than two, flat against the small of his back, under the clothes, damp stickiness of palms on bare skin, fingertips dipping just below the waist of his jeans, trailing the sensitive skin over ribs, around his bellybutton. Nate presses back, rocks forward, caught between Alex and Ryland, hard muscle and long limbs, clean sweat and faint peppermint of someone’s cologne.
He’s too warm, flushed from head to toe, twisting between the two bodies bracketing him. Ryland’s teeth nick the corner of his lip, deliberate and non-too-gentle, Alex’s mouth sliding over his jaw and cheek, wet and open and close enough that Nate wouldn’t even have to break the kiss with Ryland to be able to—
Ryland does it instead, unwinding Nate’s arms from around his neck, telling Alex to let go, let go, and Nate has five seconds of blind panic, thinking he did something wrong, went too far, stupid, stupid, it was just a joke, before he realises he’s not being pushed away so much as passed on to Gabe.
Patrick/Pete wrist kink ficlet
on 2011-07-04 07:50 am (UTC)The first time it happens, Pete is being an ass. This of course is nothing out of the ordinary, but Patrick’s working and Pete’s poking him in the face and that is just not on.
“For fuck’s sake, Pete!” he snaps. “Knock it off!”
“But I’m bored.” Pete grins unrepentantly, his finger already poised over the soft flesh of Patrick’s cheek.
Patrick reaches out without looking, grabs Pete’s hand by the wrist and slams it onto the table top. “Well, go be bored somewhere else,” he says, attention still on the computer screen.
It takes a few seconds for Patrick to realise that he’s still holding Pete’s hand trapped and that Pete’s fallen suspiciously silent. He uncurls his grip slowly, glancing over his shoulder.
Pete is rubbing at his wrist, eyes downcast. “Yeah,” he says, voice surprisingly low. “Yeah, okay.” He gets up and leaves the room.
Patrick blinks, but doesn’t think too much about it.
no subject
on 2011-07-04 08:02 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-04 11:16 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-04 07:32 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-04 09:16 pm (UTC)The entrance was hidden away in the alley behind a general store. There was no sign, just a badly flickering bulb and a grimy metallic number above the doorway.
“Lucky number 7,” Marko giggled.
Michael hunched further into his jacket. “Why are we here?”
“Dance, drink, and be merry. Emphasis on the… Well. You know.” Marko winked, slowly and with great exaggeration, and Michael felt an answering grin spread across his face, because yeah, fuck, it was funny.
A guy the size of a barn stepped out of the shadows without a warning and regarded them silently.
Michael breathed in slowly, going to the balls of his feet. The adrenaline flooding his body was hot and familiar but whereas before it would have told him to flee, now everything inside him was screaming for a fight.
The bouncer didn’t seem inclined to give him one. He waved them in, arms bulging obscenely under the tight tee.
“Down the rabbit hole, Mikey-boy!”
no subject
on 2011-07-04 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-05 11:00 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-05 01:59 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-05 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-05 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-05 05:59 pm (UTC)Michael was led by his dick. Like all teenage boys.
no subject
on 2011-07-05 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 12:45 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 05:10 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 05:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 08:20 pm (UTC)