October Drabble Dump!
Hmm, have a few crossovers this month (Dollhouse/Dr. Who and Leverage/Angel), a lot of Supernatural, some Leverage, Firefly, and Criminal Minds. I did a few unusual pairings for me: From Supernatural, Gabriel/Crowley and Bobby/Crowley, and from Criminal Minds, Prentiss/Reid and Hotchner/Reid. I also did linked stories for similar prompts, which was fun, because I got to play in the same little "world" a couple of times. And, as always, it was a lot of fun.
Leverage, Eliot (Nate/Sophie, or Parker/Hardison), It figures it would be their kid who actually asked about his scars.
Elaine - Leverage, Eliot, PG-13
"Uncle Eliot?"
Eliot looked up from his punching bag to see Elaine standing at the precise edge of his workout space. Nathan and Sophie had taught her well; even at age six she was well aware of what Eliot did on the team, and that meant you didn't go up and tap him on the shoulder while he was punching and kicking the stuffing out of something.
"What do you need, small fry?" Eliot took a step back to grab his water bottle and drink deep, feeling the sweat running down his naked back and soaking into the sweatband around his forehead.
"What're those marks from?" Elaine pointed at the myriad of scars decorating Eliot's torso and arms.
He closed his eyes for a second and let out an explosive breath. It figured that Elaine, daughter of the two best verbal tacticians on the team, would be the one to ask him straight out about something no one else had in nine years. Parker and Hardison's son was fascinated by him, but Colby hadn't worked up the courage to beard him in his lair yet. Son of a thief and hacker, he approached every situation sideways. Elaine would go straight to the source, though she didn't yet know how to ease the truth out of someone subtly.
Eliot appreciated her childish honesty more than he could say.
"A lot of people hurt me, pumpkin. That's why I have scars." Eliot sat down on a bench against the wall, and only then did Elaine breach the perimeter and come to stand in front of him.
"I know what you do. Daddy 'splained to me," Elaine said solemnly.
"What did he say?" Eliot asked warily, wondering how on earth you explained someone being a professional hitter to a six year old.
"That when you go after the bad, greedy men, and they try to hurt Mum or Daddy or Uncle Alec or Auntie Parker you make them stop. And sometimes you have to hit them, but only if they're bad men and they won't stop when you ask," she recited, hands clasped behind her back.
Eliot tried to repress a grin at her solemn delivery, and reminded himself to compliment Nate and Sophie on their parenting style.
"And sometimes they hit me back," Eliot agreed, nodding. Elaine unclasped her hands and reached out to touch an old, puckered bullet wound on his shoulder, poking it to see if it felt different than regular skin. Furrowing her brow, she moved to a jagged knife cut on his chest, and then the remains of a purpling bruise on his ribs.
"Did it hurt?" Elaine asked, looking up at him, eyes wide under her dark bangs.
"It hurt when I got them. A lot," Eliot said ruefully.
"Do they hurt now?" she persisted. In answer, Eliot rolled his shoulders and neck, and a popcorn-like series of crackles filled the room as his joints popped.
"Sometimes," Eliot said, grinning slightly.
"Ew!" Elaine said, shuddering. "Mum says cracking joints is bad for you!"
"Your Mom is a very smart lady."
Elaine went silent for a second, and touched the old bullet scar again. "What happened?"
Eliot sighed and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. "What happened to me is a lot of scary stories, and your Daddy would be really mad if I told them to you." Well, that was an understatement. Eliot might be able to twist Nate into a pretzel if he felt like it, but Nate and Sophie has his number mentally in more ways than he was comfortable with to ever think about crossing them.
"What about when I'm older?" Elaine persisted, with her jaw stubbornly set like Nate's.
"When you're old enough to go to an R-rated movie on your own, I'll tell you," Eliot said in compromise. "Our secret."
"It's a deal," Elaine said, and shook Eliot's hand like she'd seen her parents do a hundred times on the job.
Eliot shook his head slightly as Elaine took herself out of the gym. Nate and Sophie were good parents, but they knew all too well the kinds of dangers that were out there. Elaine wasn't sheltered, but she never really saw danger close up. Eliot cared as much for her as if she were his own, and he wouldn't let her step into life on her own without being armed with everything he could give her.
Leverage, Eliot (Nate/Sophie or Parker/Hardison), The day they ask Eliot to teach their kids self defense.
Coaxing Eliot - Leverage, Eliot and the kids, PG
Eliot looked down at Elaine and Colby with the barest hint of trepidation. Most thirteen year-olds wouldn't have been able to spot that expression amidst Eliot's business-like scowl, but then again, they'd been trained by the best.
Who were, of course, watching him for the same reaction and picked it up even faster than their offspring.
"Please, Eliot," Sophie coaxed. "You're the only one we trust for this."
Having the kids present for this discussion was, of course, the basest kind of emotional blackmail. Both Nate and Sophie's daughter and Hardison and Parker's son treated Eliot as their favorite uncle, and Eliot was completely vulnerable to their charms. He tolerated pranks from them that he'd sent other men to the hospital for, and laughed the entire time.
"Please, Uncle Eliot!" Colby begged. "Mom says I need to balance strength and flexibility, and you're the best strength guy she knows!"
Hardison snorted behind his hand while Parker just grinned in that offhand way of hers. Colby, with Hardison's lanky build and Parker's grace, had been working out alongside his mom since he'd been old enough to stand, and had a hell of a head start from Eliot at a similar age.
"I don't want to have to depend on anyone but myself. I'll do my very best, Uncle Eliot, please!" Elaine chimed in relentlessly. While neither of her parents was very physical, Elaine had been imitating Eliot's gym routines since she was six years old. She was going to be more of a heartbreaker as her mother, and in the outside world, knowing self-defense was going to be vital.
Over the kids' shoulders, Nate was giving him the "you owe me" face, Hardison was making with the puppy eyes, Sophie was being her most beseeching, and Parker had the kind of look that promised she'd steal Eliot's guitar and hide it on top of the Empire State Building unless he gave in.
Even so, all it took was one look at Colby and Elaine and any lingering resistance vanished.
"Please?" they chorused in unison.
"All right, all right, enough with the begging," Eliot said, all but throwing his hands up. The kids cheered, until Eliot fixed them with a serious scowl. "This isn't a game, you know that, right? I'm not going to be easy on you, not like your parents."
"Yes, Uncle Eliot," they chorused again, eyes dancing with mischief, but keeping a sober expression.
"And you, little lady, will not give him any backtalk, or we will hear about it," Sophie admonished her daughter.
"Colby, you just listen to Eliot, and he'll teach you how to kick ass, just like I've been telling you," Hardison said, and Colby gave his parents a fist-bump that seemed to be the expression of ultimate affection in their family unit.
"Now, don't you two think you should thank Eliot for agreeing to teach you?" Nate asked pointedly.
Eliot abruptly found himself under assault as his niece and nephew tackle-hugged him. He put his arms around them to show them how it was really done, and exchanged flashing smiles of gratitude from his teammates for letting him do this for them.
Empty Cupboards, Empty Refrigerators - Leverage/Angel, Eliot and Lindsey, PG'>
Leverage/Angel: the series, Eliot and Lindsey (brothers), They have many things in common, cooking isn't one of them.
Empty Cupboards, Empty Refrigerators - Leverage/Angel, Eliot and Lindsey, PG
"What the hell is this crap?" Eliot demanded.
Lindsey looked around Eliot to see him scowling at the contents of his refrigerator like they'd personally offended him.
"Grapefruit juice, mustard, soy sauce, milk, and tofu," Lindsey said with deadpan seriousness.
Eliot shut the refrigerator door and opened up the freezer, only to be greeted by stacks of Lean Cuisine and a frost-burned pork chop in a ziploc baggie. Nostrils flaring, Eliot slammed the freezer shut and turned his attention to the rest of Lindsey's tiny kitchen.
Further exploration of the cupboards turned up a few cans of green beans and one of peas, an ancient box of dried spaghetti, a half-full box of Grape Nuts, two packages of Ramen noodles, and some very expensive coffee next to the equally expensive coffee machine. There were two plates, three glasses, five coffee mugs, two sets of silverware and one knife that could charitably be called sharp. Aside from the coffee machine, an indifferent electric range and a well-used microwave rounded out the appliances.
"How have you not starved to death?" Eliot asked, his voice full of deadly menace.
Lindsey shrugged, perversely enjoying watching his brother's temper begin to fray. "I get my breakfast at the coffee shop on the way to work, and we order out lunch at the office."
"This is unacceptable. I can't work in an environment like this," Eliot groused.
"You always bring all your own pots and pans. And food. And spices. And if you could manage a gas range, I'm sure you'd try." Lindsey crossed his arms and smirked.
Eliot reached into his duffle bag to pull out a roll of black fabric, which he opened to reveal an impressive collection of chef's knives. One of which he drew and made an impressive show of sharpening.
"When I come all the way to L.A. to visit you and make sure my brother isn't working himself into an early grave, you can at least have the common courtesy to have butter on hand!"
Lindsey's smile broadened. "Good to see you too, E."
Supernatural, Dean, Every time he plays, Dean talks out-loud to his Lemmings.
LEMMINGS! SPN, Dean, PG-13
(Author’s Note: LEMMINGS! OMG, one of the two video games I was good at as a child!)
---
"Come on you little bastards, let's get going."
"Dig. Dig. Dig faster you dumbass!"
"What the hell? You're supposed to tell me when you're out of steps, not just wander off the edge!"
"'The Beast.' I fucking hate this level. I'd get all these little shits out alive if you gave me more than five minutes!"
"How the hell am I supposed to get over that?"
"Screw you, you have five seconds to detonate, so detonate in front of the damn wall instead of just making a crater!"
"Sorry blockers, but the level doesn't end until you're all dead or gone, so... BAM! Heh, I love that."
Sam finally pulled his head out from under his pillow, and shot Dean a blood-freezing glance of interrupted sleep.
Dean tapped to begin the next level, and turned up the music as high as it would go.
Sam got up and stormed out of the room, wearing nothing but blue boxers and a navy t-shirt.
"All he needs is a green mop and he'd make a great bomer," Dean muttered to himself as the door in the ceiling opened. "Ok, you little mindless twits. Let's try not to die so much this time..."
Firefly, Simon, At the height of his game
A Good Day - Firefly, Simon, PG
This day Dr. Simon Tam had performed three coronary bypasses, two knee ligament replacements, and repaired three bulging vertebral disks. Before lunch. A heavy workload, to be certain, but none of the surgeries had been particularly difficult or time-consuming, not with the facilities available on Osiris. One of the medical residents had commented that it was odd to see a single surgeon operate on the heart, joints, and spine in a single day.
Simon hadn't found it odd at all. Hyperspecialization in a single surgical field held no interest for him. Why confine himself to a single area of the human body when he could help the entirety of it thrive? He'd become a surgeon to fix everything.
Afternoon saw him on-call in the emergency ward, consulting with other doctors, and occasionally making split-second decisions when severely traumatized patients came in. By the end of the day, he was aching, tired, but triumphant. A girl would walk, a man would be able to use his hand, and a child had been born healthy and whole. It had been a day full of triumphs, smiles, relieved laughter.
"Thank you Dr. Tam."
"I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you Dr. Tam."
"You saved my life Dr. Tam."
"I wouldn't be who I was today without your help Dr. Tam."
He was making a difference; he was impacting people's lives.
He couldn't wait to get home and tell River about his day.
Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss, kevlar
On and Off - Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss, PG-13
It doesn't take much effort to strap on a kevlar vest. They're designed to be easy to get on in a hurry. When you have less than five minutes to surround a house and get inside before an unsub escapes, you can't be struggling with elaborate straps and buckles.
But sometimes Reid wishes they were. He wants to able to help Emily with hers, putting her into a shell of protection like a medieval knight. He wants to be able to know he did something to help protect her when she goes running in the door right after Morgan and Hotch. He's always the last in, worst shot on the team, the desperation back-up. And knowing that he could help make her safe would make up for it, at least a little.
Other times, he's very, very glad the kevlar is easy to take off. Because Emily's made a fine science of being able to shrug out of hers and have his off before the door to the hotel room is even fully closed. Those times, he's glad the heavy, hardened shell can hit the carpet in less than five seconds. And that makes up for a lot.
Grip You Tight - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, PG'>
SPN AU, Dean/Cas, I don't care if it's cheesy, I want lifeguard!Cas gripping Dean tight and pulling him from the riptide.
Grip You Tight - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, PG
Castiel scanned the edges of the waves for any errant swimmers. Despite the prolific signs, despite the verbal warnings, despite the barrier strung across the point-past-which riptides would carry you out to sea to be part of the food chain, every day some hot dogger had to cross the line and try to swim to the buoy.
He sighed. As one guy was doing right this instant. Castiel didn't even wait for the man to show signs of distress; he'd already be deep into trouble by the time Cas could get there.
---
Dean knew he was in trouble. The water got colder just past the floating barrier and suddenly was yanking him sideways and then out, jerking him further and further down with every yard. It took everything he had just to keep his head above water. And after an eternity, the struggle became too much. His limbs ached like they were being stretched out of shape, his muscles burned all over with fatigue, and his eyes stung, blinded by the salt spray. Dean was too far from shore to even think of shouting for help.
I'm dead, Dean decided, and stopped fighting as the pain became too great.
The tide dragged him under and held him there, sunlight dimming as he was pulled into the cold blackness of the sea. Just before Dean was about to take in a breath of water, arms reached down and circled him, pulling him back up into the light. Something in him made Dean keep fighting, and he gasped and coughed for air as he broke the surface.
"I've got you!" a voice rasped in his ear. "Hold on, I'll take you to safety."
Dean clutched at the red foam float and strong forearm holding him up until they reached the rescue boat. As he was pulled aboard, he got a good look at his savior.
I'm dead and he's hot, Dean managed to think, as the sun shone into his eyes.
"I'm Castiel," the man said, leaning over Dean, one hand still gripped around his shoulder as if to keep him from slipping underwater even now. "You're alive."
Dean coughed weakly and managed a smile. "Hey, not a total loss for me then."
Castiel expression remained solemn, but there was a hint of humor around his eyes. "A great gain for the world."
Wonderful Summer (sequel to the above) - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, NC-17
"Hey, Cas! Castiel!"
Castiel turned around, shielding his eyes from the glare of the setting sun as someone ran across the sand to meet him. Once in the shadow of the lifeguard stand, he could see it was Dean, the man he'd pulled from the ocean today.
"Dean, are you all right? You should still be at the hospital," Castiel said.
"I'm fine, I'm good. Docs gave me a clean bill of health, so..." Dean spread his arms out and put on a winning smile. "Here I am. I, uh, didn't want you to go home before I had a chance to thank you."
"No thanks needed. It's my job, I would have done it for anyone," Castiel said automatically. But his eyes were wandering more than they should. Dean hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt, and the sun bronzed him, hiding any paleness from his earlier near-death experience.
"But someone doesn't save me every day. I was a moron for swimming all the way out there; let me make it up to you," Dean said. His hands were on top of his head, showing off nearly every muscle honed from a lifetime of swimming, and his hips were cocked ever-so-slightly forward.
"I rescued you, and I know you're grateful. But you don't have to do anything," Castiel said gently. This happened at least a dozen times a summer per lifeguard. Some of his co-workers kept score, and said rescue sex was the best they'd ever had. Castiel had always tried to be the good guy amongst his hornier colleagues.
Dean nodded slightly, looking thoughtful as he eyed Castiel up and down.
"Hey, I have some beer stashed behind the surf shop. You know, if you want some." Dean took a few steps forward, close enough for Cas to feel his body heat. "But, if you don't, no biggie." And he took a step back, half turning away, offering an out.
Castiel reached out as Dean turned and took his shoulder in the implacable grip he'd used to pull Dean from death.
"Do you really want beer?" Castiel asked softly.
Goosebumps had sprung up along Dean's arms, and his board shorts did nothing to hide his powerful sudden arousal. Dean shook his head, and let Cas shove him back against the painted boards of the lifeguard stand. The beach was mostly deserted, but there was still a few determined sunbathers about. Hopefully they'd enjoy the free show, because Castiel's suit was too confining and Dean was hot and hard under his hands, and pausing to make it behind the surf shop wouldn't do it for him. At all.
"Tell me no," Castiel warned, hands wrapping around Dean's shoulders and pressing him into the salty wood.
"Yes!" Dean reached back to grab a board as Castiel ground them together, his own hips shoving up hard and leaving no doubt at to what he wanted. "God, yes. Nearly jerked off in the hospital, thinking about you. So hot, when you saved me. Saw you here, wanted you so bad." Dean's words were coming out around stole gasps of air as Castiel took possession of his mouth.
How could he not? Castiel liked to be the good guy, the responsible guy, but when someone was pouring that kind of fire into his ear and melting under his touch while simultaneously offering himself up on a sandy, sun-filled platter... Castiel wasn't a saint.
"Don't move," Castiel warned, one hand letting go to trail down Dean's chest.
"Won't move, won't move, just touch me, please! Need you so bad, Cas, fucking want you-!" Dean gasped as Castiel's hand slid under the band of his shorts and gripped him, stroking a few times to reduce him to incoherent moans. He spasmed, white spunk spurting onto Castiel's fingers, but remained hard, too drunk on endorphins and hormones to stop now.
"God, Cas..." Dean moaned, head lolling back, exposing the line of his throat. "So good."
Castiel took a look down Dean's body, red with more than the flush of the setting sun, open to anything, pressing into Castiel's touch wherever they met. Cool sand covered their feet, giving them the stability of earth to counteract the swell of the sea behind them. The waves surged and crashed on the shore as Cas pulled Dean to him, hips churning as he pressed their cocks together through the thin barriers of material.
The slick white on Castiel's hand was pressed into Dean's skin as Cas got better purchase on him, lifting him back almost on his toes so the friction was powerful, intense, almost painful, the orgasm that followed in the next minute flooring them and making Dean swear in at least three languages as Castiel's cock pulsed and throbbed right next to his. The intimacy of that, with Dean moaning appreciation in his ear and pressing into Castiel so tightly neither wanted to let go, left Castiel supporting Dean with one hand, and himself with the other against the lifeguard tower.
"Jesus, that was amazing," Dean moaned as he reluctantly pulled back, gently rubbing the damp front of his shorts gingerly.
Castiel was almost at a loss for words, and was looking at Dean through half-lidded eyes as the final rays of sunlight touched him with fire and bronze. He made a mental note to not chide his co-workers so much about the virtues of rescue sex.
"Dean, would you care to pick up that beer on the way back to my place?" Cas asked, his hand sliding up and down Dean's arm slowly, not wanting to let go.
"Yeah, love to," Dean said, finally letting go of the boards to walk where Cas was pulling him.
"I'm right on the water. Maybe you'd like to go swimming again?"
Dean laughed, and pulled closer to Cas. "With you? Anytime."
It was, Castiel reflected, going to be a wonderful summer.
Dessert - Supernatural, Gabriel/Crowley, PG-13'>
Supernatural, Gabriel/Crowley, it's not a real date until everyone else is fleeing the scene as quickly as possible, shrieking in terror
Dessert - Supernatural, Gabriel/Crowley, PG-13
Transforming the restaurant's decor into ludicrous hearts and flowers had been Gabriel's response to Crowley's audible sniff of distain at his choice in eatery. Their phlegmatic waiter had tried to soldier on, pale as milk, as Crowley had glared at their bread basket until it caught on fire.
By the time their appetizer had arrived, Crowley had sickened of the decor so much he called in three hellhounds to rip the place to shreds. The screams of the fleeing patrons were very soothing as the two of them demolished a shrimp cocktail between them.
"Well, that was great, but I'm still hungry," Gabriel said, licking the last of the shrimp sauce from his fingers.
"The night is still young," Crowley pointed out, steepling his fingers and smiling slightly as the hellhounds panted at his heels.
Gabriel smirked and snapped his fingers, transporting them down the street and into the middle of a packed biker bar.
"Ah, you do love me," Crowley said with satisfaction.
Fifteen minutes later, as a few hundred bikers ran shrieking in all directions from the burning, writhing, growling bar, some of them sporting pink hair or clown outfits as Gabriel got into the act, Crowley leaned back against the wall in satisfaction.
"Now, it's a real date," he said.
When Gabriel snapped his fingers again to move them to a higher vantage point (one that was, of course, mysteriously sporting a luxurious heart-shaped bed), Crowley was more than ready to indulge in tonight's dessert.
SPN, Bobby/Crowley, Bobby runs some not-so-nice errands for Crowley.
Errand Boy - Supernatural, Bobby/Crowley, R
"You do want your soul back, don't you?"
"Do I have a choice?" Bobby growled.
Crowley smiled nastily, and reached out to touch one finger to the very faint marks on Bobby's skin. "Well, technically you do, but the cancellation clause penalties are awfully harsh."
"Stop your damn jawing and just tell me."
Crowley's smile became a full-on smirk that made Bobby's face hurt just to look at it. "As you wish."
----
Bobby pulled the corpse from the bed of his truck, unwrapping the canvas so Crowley could see the young man's face.
"Awfully intact. You kill him yourself?"
"No." Bobby's voice was tight. "He ODed." Might have lived too, if Bobby had taken the kid to the hospital instead of anywhere else. But not likely, not with the track marks on the kid's arm.
"So socially responsible of you, bringing society's trash to my door." Crowley gestured, muttering something under his breath, and the kid sat up, his eyes black as pitch, glowing red in the center.
-----
The church's locks were from somewhere around the turn of the century, rusted and in poor condition. Ten seconds with a crowbar and Bobby was in the sanctuary, rifling through the cupboards to find the chalice Crowley wanted so damn badly. He finally found it, behind a concealed panel, under an elaborate seal, and pulled the heavy silver vessel from its hiding place.
"Lovely."
Bobby whirled around to find Crowley standing right behind him, holding out a hand for the chalice. Scowling, Bobby handed it over, lips thinning with satisfaction as Crowley skin steamed just to touch it. Grimacing, Crowley reached into his coat and pulled out a small bottle of something thick and red, which he poured into the chalice. The steaming stopped immediately.
"Baby's blood, sacrificed by witches to gain Lucifer's favor," Crowley explained with a smile, taking a sip with evident relish. "Brides of Satan, or, since he's gone, me. Damned useful for deconsecrating artifacts."
"Are we done?" Bobby asked tightly.
Crowley held the chalice out to him in a mocking salute. "Not quite." The marks on Bobby's skin burned as Crowley twisted his fingers in a complicated gesture.
"One last thing. Then we can seal the deal."
"I'm not drinking-."
"Oh, so now you're too good to have a drink with me?" Crowley cut in. "If that's the case, then I have a few more things you can do. One's at an orphanage; you should love it."
Skin burning, Bobby swallowed hard. Then he reached for the cup, seeing the red sheen on Crowley's lips. He'd be tasting them again all too soon.
Supernatural, any, angels can only use cats as vessels
Tiger - Supernatural, Dean and Castiel, PG
When Castiel had returned from his apparent "death," Dean knew he'd gotten an upgrade. Big time. The first time he'd seen Castiel, he'd been using a tiger as a vessel. Later it had been a cougar. Then a lynx. Then an ocelot. By the time Dean had tangled with Lucifer at the cemetery, Castiel was using a big Maine Coon housecat.
But when Castiel padded up to him and laid his paw on Dean's forehead to heal him in the aftermath of opening the Cage, the paw had taken up most of Dean's face.
When Dean could see again, he'd gaped in shock. Even standing up to his full height, Castiel could look him in the eye. In blatant disregard for the whole extinction thing, Castiel stood tall and proud in the body of a saber-tooth tiger.
"Cas..." Dean protested instinctually, and looked over his shoulder at where the gaping hole in the earth had sealed over.
Castiel growled softly and rubbed his cheek against Dean's, his huge whiskers tickling his face. One massive paw slung around Dean and pulled him against his massive, furry body. Feeling that strength all around him, Dean clutched Castiel's fur and sobbed nearly soundlessly, his tears soaking into the warmth. A rumbling purr filled his ears and vibrated through his body as Castiel comforted him with all his returned Grace.
Ambassador - Dollhouse/Doctor Who, Adelle, PG'>
Dollhouse/Doctor Who, Adelle (/any), She has a pocketwatch that she doesn't like to look at
Ambassador - Dollhouse/Doctor Who, Adelle, PG
The dreams were something that should have come as a client request. Vivid and beautiful dreams of travel across the cosmos, meeting all kinds of people, impossible people. Intelligent colors and walking cats, floating heads, and people that seemed much like her, but weren't. She would speak with them, sternly or sweetly, harshly or kindly, and they would listen to what she had to say. They did not fight in her presence...
Then Adelle would wake up, the faint voices of dreams fading, and found herself staring at the huge painting in her office. The abstract squares looked almost like a door from some angles, and before she came fully awake, sometimes she fancied that she could walk right inside it. But such things were nonsense.
"Ms. DeWitt?" Her secretary's voice over the intercom broke the last vestige of sleep from her and brought her back solidly into the here and now.
"Go ahead."
"Ambassador Joseph is here for his appointment."
Ambassador, Ambassador... the title echoed in her head for a long minute, and Adelle caught herself rubbing the surface of her old pocket watch like a talisman.
"Send him in, please."
The intercom clicked, and Adelle put the pocketwatch in her desk drawer. She certainly wouldn't need that old broken thing to do her job. Pouring two glasses of fine scotch, Adelle took her seat by the table, stealing a final glance at the painting on the wall.
Doorway to Elsewhere was its title. Adelle relentlessly schooled her expression into one of polite interest in her client as he entered her office. She'd be able to give him what he thought he needed. After all, she'd done it dozens (hundreds of millions) of times before.
Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, One of them has always been able to read minds, but never told anybody
Keeping Up - Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, PG-13
It was the only way Hotchner could keep up with him. Reid's mind moved at light speed at simultaneous levels, contemplating a math equation here, a novel there, a case in the front of his mind and personal troubles in the back. And by ten minutes sooner than whenever it was needed, he would have an answer to whatever was put in front of him.
That was the mind of a genius, beautiful and complex. Keeping up with him on a case could be exhausting, and Hotchner had ten more years of experience to fall back on. He could pace himself, and use that borrowed knowledge to keep atop of Reid. And at work, where cases were new to both of them, it was all right. They both had to scramble to get ahead of the unsub, and neither Reid's genius or Hotchner's experience could completely compensate.
Hotchner had even more than that to fall back on, if necessary, but he rarely needed to use it. Peering into someone else's head was not as easy as it sounded from movies or TV shows. You had to want it, and the majority of the unsubs Hotchner did not wish to empathize with. And even if he had, his team spent more time finding the unsub through records searches, geographical profiling, and victimology than questioning them face to face. What earthly good would it do to bring himself close enough to these human monsters to get the last bit of information out of them?
No. The greatest good Aaron ever got from his gift was reading Spencer's mind. He knew when to back off, when to wake him up from nightmares, when to get close. He could follow the twisted tangles of logic that Spencer used to come to some obscure conclusion, so they could laugh together. He knew just what to say, and what to stringently avoid. He knew the pitfalls and the places that hurt. He used his ability to thread through the minefield of Spencer Reid's heart far better than he ever had with Haley. And every time they smiled together, Aaron felt less and less guilty about having never told him the truth. Because this time he was keeping up. This time they would stay together.
Criminal Minds, any, this is not my idea of vacation
Not My Vacation - Criminal Minds, team, PG
"This is not my idea of vacation," Reid protested weakly.
"You could have said that before you let Morgan drag you down to the beach," Prentiss pointed out. She closed her bottle of suntan lotion and lay down on her lounger.
"Don't blame this on me," Morgan protested. "J.J., tell him."
"I know I'm pretty, but I'm still not J.J.," Will said, laughing softly as J.J. carefully dangled Henry's feet in the water.
Morgan mumbled an apology as Reid tried to hunch up under his umbrella, a satchel of books at his side.
"I burn very easily," Reid said.
"You grew up in Las Vegas. Which last time I checked is in the desert," Prentiss said.
"I spent all my time indoors!"
"So he can tell us all the symptoms of heat stroke as he suffers them," Morgan pointed out.
"Why didn't we invite Rossi again?" Reid asked, thinking then he'd at least have one ally that didn't want to spend all his time outdoors.
"Because he has another book tour in the works and he complains more than you about getting sand in everything," Morgan said.
"Hotch is coming back," Prentiss warned. Everyone quickly put on their sunglasses as Jack and his father raced each other down the beach. While it was nice to see a smile on their unit chief's face, the sunglasses were absolutely necessary because-.
"That man is pale," Will said, squinting against the glare.
"Fifteen years in a suit will do that to you," Prentiss said.
Wincing against sun, sand, heat, and the severe lack of a base tan, Reid pulled his hat further down on his head.
"This is really not my idea of vacation."
Gorgeous - Supernatural, Pamela/Jo, NC-17
She's brilliant. She shines right up through Pamela's non-existant eyes, bright and warm to all her other senses.
"Okay?" Jo's voice is only a little uncertain, because her fingers sure as hell know what they're doing. Calloused, hunter fingers, smoothed with berry lotion, one hand smoothing its way down Pamela's body, the other ceaselessly stroking inside her.
"So okay, sweetie," Pamela managed, and tangled one hand in Jo's fine hair to bring her down within kissing range. Jo's thumb drifted upward to firmly touch on Pamela's clit, and the kiss became a gasp, sucking Jo's breath right into her mouth.
"You're so pretty," Jo murmured. Pamela reached up to pull Jo closer, kissing her without reservation, eagerly touching every inch of that hot and brilliant skin. "Pretty" didn't begin to describe her. Pretty didn't touch Jo at all. She was underselling herself, big time.
Jo squeaked in surprise when Pamela suddenly trapped her hand between her thighs, her head arching back and mouth opening soundlessly as her climax broke over her.
"You," Pamela panted, out of breath, "are amazing." Jo's unseen smile was nova-bright.
Gorgeous.
Leverage, Eliot (Nate/Sophie, or Parker/Hardison), It figures it would be their kid who actually asked about his scars.
Elaine - Leverage, Eliot, PG-13
"Uncle Eliot?"
Eliot looked up from his punching bag to see Elaine standing at the precise edge of his workout space. Nathan and Sophie had taught her well; even at age six she was well aware of what Eliot did on the team, and that meant you didn't go up and tap him on the shoulder while he was punching and kicking the stuffing out of something.
"What do you need, small fry?" Eliot took a step back to grab his water bottle and drink deep, feeling the sweat running down his naked back and soaking into the sweatband around his forehead.
"What're those marks from?" Elaine pointed at the myriad of scars decorating Eliot's torso and arms.
He closed his eyes for a second and let out an explosive breath. It figured that Elaine, daughter of the two best verbal tacticians on the team, would be the one to ask him straight out about something no one else had in nine years. Parker and Hardison's son was fascinated by him, but Colby hadn't worked up the courage to beard him in his lair yet. Son of a thief and hacker, he approached every situation sideways. Elaine would go straight to the source, though she didn't yet know how to ease the truth out of someone subtly.
Eliot appreciated her childish honesty more than he could say.
"A lot of people hurt me, pumpkin. That's why I have scars." Eliot sat down on a bench against the wall, and only then did Elaine breach the perimeter and come to stand in front of him.
"I know what you do. Daddy 'splained to me," Elaine said solemnly.
"What did he say?" Eliot asked warily, wondering how on earth you explained someone being a professional hitter to a six year old.
"That when you go after the bad, greedy men, and they try to hurt Mum or Daddy or Uncle Alec or Auntie Parker you make them stop. And sometimes you have to hit them, but only if they're bad men and they won't stop when you ask," she recited, hands clasped behind her back.
Eliot tried to repress a grin at her solemn delivery, and reminded himself to compliment Nate and Sophie on their parenting style.
"And sometimes they hit me back," Eliot agreed, nodding. Elaine unclasped her hands and reached out to touch an old, puckered bullet wound on his shoulder, poking it to see if it felt different than regular skin. Furrowing her brow, she moved to a jagged knife cut on his chest, and then the remains of a purpling bruise on his ribs.
"Did it hurt?" Elaine asked, looking up at him, eyes wide under her dark bangs.
"It hurt when I got them. A lot," Eliot said ruefully.
"Do they hurt now?" she persisted. In answer, Eliot rolled his shoulders and neck, and a popcorn-like series of crackles filled the room as his joints popped.
"Sometimes," Eliot said, grinning slightly.
"Ew!" Elaine said, shuddering. "Mum says cracking joints is bad for you!"
"Your Mom is a very smart lady."
Elaine went silent for a second, and touched the old bullet scar again. "What happened?"
Eliot sighed and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. "What happened to me is a lot of scary stories, and your Daddy would be really mad if I told them to you." Well, that was an understatement. Eliot might be able to twist Nate into a pretzel if he felt like it, but Nate and Sophie has his number mentally in more ways than he was comfortable with to ever think about crossing them.
"What about when I'm older?" Elaine persisted, with her jaw stubbornly set like Nate's.
"When you're old enough to go to an R-rated movie on your own, I'll tell you," Eliot said in compromise. "Our secret."
"It's a deal," Elaine said, and shook Eliot's hand like she'd seen her parents do a hundred times on the job.
Eliot shook his head slightly as Elaine took herself out of the gym. Nate and Sophie were good parents, but they knew all too well the kinds of dangers that were out there. Elaine wasn't sheltered, but she never really saw danger close up. Eliot cared as much for her as if she were his own, and he wouldn't let her step into life on her own without being armed with everything he could give her.
Leverage, Eliot (Nate/Sophie or Parker/Hardison), The day they ask Eliot to teach their kids self defense.
Coaxing Eliot - Leverage, Eliot and the kids, PG
Eliot looked down at Elaine and Colby with the barest hint of trepidation. Most thirteen year-olds wouldn't have been able to spot that expression amidst Eliot's business-like scowl, but then again, they'd been trained by the best.
Who were, of course, watching him for the same reaction and picked it up even faster than their offspring.
"Please, Eliot," Sophie coaxed. "You're the only one we trust for this."
Having the kids present for this discussion was, of course, the basest kind of emotional blackmail. Both Nate and Sophie's daughter and Hardison and Parker's son treated Eliot as their favorite uncle, and Eliot was completely vulnerable to their charms. He tolerated pranks from them that he'd sent other men to the hospital for, and laughed the entire time.
"Please, Uncle Eliot!" Colby begged. "Mom says I need to balance strength and flexibility, and you're the best strength guy she knows!"
Hardison snorted behind his hand while Parker just grinned in that offhand way of hers. Colby, with Hardison's lanky build and Parker's grace, had been working out alongside his mom since he'd been old enough to stand, and had a hell of a head start from Eliot at a similar age.
"I don't want to have to depend on anyone but myself. I'll do my very best, Uncle Eliot, please!" Elaine chimed in relentlessly. While neither of her parents was very physical, Elaine had been imitating Eliot's gym routines since she was six years old. She was going to be more of a heartbreaker as her mother, and in the outside world, knowing self-defense was going to be vital.
Over the kids' shoulders, Nate was giving him the "you owe me" face, Hardison was making with the puppy eyes, Sophie was being her most beseeching, and Parker had the kind of look that promised she'd steal Eliot's guitar and hide it on top of the Empire State Building unless he gave in.
Even so, all it took was one look at Colby and Elaine and any lingering resistance vanished.
"Please?" they chorused in unison.
"All right, all right, enough with the begging," Eliot said, all but throwing his hands up. The kids cheered, until Eliot fixed them with a serious scowl. "This isn't a game, you know that, right? I'm not going to be easy on you, not like your parents."
"Yes, Uncle Eliot," they chorused again, eyes dancing with mischief, but keeping a sober expression.
"And you, little lady, will not give him any backtalk, or we will hear about it," Sophie admonished her daughter.
"Colby, you just listen to Eliot, and he'll teach you how to kick ass, just like I've been telling you," Hardison said, and Colby gave his parents a fist-bump that seemed to be the expression of ultimate affection in their family unit.
"Now, don't you two think you should thank Eliot for agreeing to teach you?" Nate asked pointedly.
Eliot abruptly found himself under assault as his niece and nephew tackle-hugged him. He put his arms around them to show them how it was really done, and exchanged flashing smiles of gratitude from his teammates for letting him do this for them.
Empty Cupboards, Empty Refrigerators - Leverage/Angel, Eliot and Lindsey, PG'>
Leverage/Angel: the series, Eliot and Lindsey (brothers), They have many things in common, cooking isn't one of them.
Empty Cupboards, Empty Refrigerators - Leverage/Angel, Eliot and Lindsey, PG
"What the hell is this crap?" Eliot demanded.
Lindsey looked around Eliot to see him scowling at the contents of his refrigerator like they'd personally offended him.
"Grapefruit juice, mustard, soy sauce, milk, and tofu," Lindsey said with deadpan seriousness.
Eliot shut the refrigerator door and opened up the freezer, only to be greeted by stacks of Lean Cuisine and a frost-burned pork chop in a ziploc baggie. Nostrils flaring, Eliot slammed the freezer shut and turned his attention to the rest of Lindsey's tiny kitchen.
Further exploration of the cupboards turned up a few cans of green beans and one of peas, an ancient box of dried spaghetti, a half-full box of Grape Nuts, two packages of Ramen noodles, and some very expensive coffee next to the equally expensive coffee machine. There were two plates, three glasses, five coffee mugs, two sets of silverware and one knife that could charitably be called sharp. Aside from the coffee machine, an indifferent electric range and a well-used microwave rounded out the appliances.
"How have you not starved to death?" Eliot asked, his voice full of deadly menace.
Lindsey shrugged, perversely enjoying watching his brother's temper begin to fray. "I get my breakfast at the coffee shop on the way to work, and we order out lunch at the office."
"This is unacceptable. I can't work in an environment like this," Eliot groused.
"You always bring all your own pots and pans. And food. And spices. And if you could manage a gas range, I'm sure you'd try." Lindsey crossed his arms and smirked.
Eliot reached into his duffle bag to pull out a roll of black fabric, which he opened to reveal an impressive collection of chef's knives. One of which he drew and made an impressive show of sharpening.
"When I come all the way to L.A. to visit you and make sure my brother isn't working himself into an early grave, you can at least have the common courtesy to have butter on hand!"
Lindsey's smile broadened. "Good to see you too, E."
Supernatural, Dean, Every time he plays, Dean talks out-loud to his Lemmings.
LEMMINGS! SPN, Dean, PG-13
(Author’s Note: LEMMINGS! OMG, one of the two video games I was good at as a child!)
---
"Come on you little bastards, let's get going."
"Dig. Dig. Dig faster you dumbass!"
"What the hell? You're supposed to tell me when you're out of steps, not just wander off the edge!"
"'The Beast.' I fucking hate this level. I'd get all these little shits out alive if you gave me more than five minutes!"
"How the hell am I supposed to get over that?"
"Screw you, you have five seconds to detonate, so detonate in front of the damn wall instead of just making a crater!"
"Sorry blockers, but the level doesn't end until you're all dead or gone, so... BAM! Heh, I love that."
Sam finally pulled his head out from under his pillow, and shot Dean a blood-freezing glance of interrupted sleep.
Dean tapped to begin the next level, and turned up the music as high as it would go.
Sam got up and stormed out of the room, wearing nothing but blue boxers and a navy t-shirt.
"All he needs is a green mop and he'd make a great bomer," Dean muttered to himself as the door in the ceiling opened. "Ok, you little mindless twits. Let's try not to die so much this time..."
Firefly, Simon, At the height of his game
A Good Day - Firefly, Simon, PG
This day Dr. Simon Tam had performed three coronary bypasses, two knee ligament replacements, and repaired three bulging vertebral disks. Before lunch. A heavy workload, to be certain, but none of the surgeries had been particularly difficult or time-consuming, not with the facilities available on Osiris. One of the medical residents had commented that it was odd to see a single surgeon operate on the heart, joints, and spine in a single day.
Simon hadn't found it odd at all. Hyperspecialization in a single surgical field held no interest for him. Why confine himself to a single area of the human body when he could help the entirety of it thrive? He'd become a surgeon to fix everything.
Afternoon saw him on-call in the emergency ward, consulting with other doctors, and occasionally making split-second decisions when severely traumatized patients came in. By the end of the day, he was aching, tired, but triumphant. A girl would walk, a man would be able to use his hand, and a child had been born healthy and whole. It had been a day full of triumphs, smiles, relieved laughter.
"Thank you Dr. Tam."
"I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you Dr. Tam."
"You saved my life Dr. Tam."
"I wouldn't be who I was today without your help Dr. Tam."
He was making a difference; he was impacting people's lives.
He couldn't wait to get home and tell River about his day.
Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss, kevlar
On and Off - Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss, PG-13
It doesn't take much effort to strap on a kevlar vest. They're designed to be easy to get on in a hurry. When you have less than five minutes to surround a house and get inside before an unsub escapes, you can't be struggling with elaborate straps and buckles.
But sometimes Reid wishes they were. He wants to able to help Emily with hers, putting her into a shell of protection like a medieval knight. He wants to be able to know he did something to help protect her when she goes running in the door right after Morgan and Hotch. He's always the last in, worst shot on the team, the desperation back-up. And knowing that he could help make her safe would make up for it, at least a little.
Other times, he's very, very glad the kevlar is easy to take off. Because Emily's made a fine science of being able to shrug out of hers and have his off before the door to the hotel room is even fully closed. Those times, he's glad the heavy, hardened shell can hit the carpet in less than five seconds. And that makes up for a lot.
Grip You Tight - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, PG'>
SPN AU, Dean/Cas, I don't care if it's cheesy, I want lifeguard!Cas gripping Dean tight and pulling him from the riptide.
Grip You Tight - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, PG
Castiel scanned the edges of the waves for any errant swimmers. Despite the prolific signs, despite the verbal warnings, despite the barrier strung across the point-past-which riptides would carry you out to sea to be part of the food chain, every day some hot dogger had to cross the line and try to swim to the buoy.
He sighed. As one guy was doing right this instant. Castiel didn't even wait for the man to show signs of distress; he'd already be deep into trouble by the time Cas could get there.
---
Dean knew he was in trouble. The water got colder just past the floating barrier and suddenly was yanking him sideways and then out, jerking him further and further down with every yard. It took everything he had just to keep his head above water. And after an eternity, the struggle became too much. His limbs ached like they were being stretched out of shape, his muscles burned all over with fatigue, and his eyes stung, blinded by the salt spray. Dean was too far from shore to even think of shouting for help.
I'm dead, Dean decided, and stopped fighting as the pain became too great.
The tide dragged him under and held him there, sunlight dimming as he was pulled into the cold blackness of the sea. Just before Dean was about to take in a breath of water, arms reached down and circled him, pulling him back up into the light. Something in him made Dean keep fighting, and he gasped and coughed for air as he broke the surface.
"I've got you!" a voice rasped in his ear. "Hold on, I'll take you to safety."
Dean clutched at the red foam float and strong forearm holding him up until they reached the rescue boat. As he was pulled aboard, he got a good look at his savior.
I'm dead and he's hot, Dean managed to think, as the sun shone into his eyes.
"I'm Castiel," the man said, leaning over Dean, one hand still gripped around his shoulder as if to keep him from slipping underwater even now. "You're alive."
Dean coughed weakly and managed a smile. "Hey, not a total loss for me then."
Castiel expression remained solemn, but there was a hint of humor around his eyes. "A great gain for the world."
Wonderful Summer (sequel to the above) - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, NC-17
"Hey, Cas! Castiel!"
Castiel turned around, shielding his eyes from the glare of the setting sun as someone ran across the sand to meet him. Once in the shadow of the lifeguard stand, he could see it was Dean, the man he'd pulled from the ocean today.
"Dean, are you all right? You should still be at the hospital," Castiel said.
"I'm fine, I'm good. Docs gave me a clean bill of health, so..." Dean spread his arms out and put on a winning smile. "Here I am. I, uh, didn't want you to go home before I had a chance to thank you."
"No thanks needed. It's my job, I would have done it for anyone," Castiel said automatically. But his eyes were wandering more than they should. Dean hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt, and the sun bronzed him, hiding any paleness from his earlier near-death experience.
"But someone doesn't save me every day. I was a moron for swimming all the way out there; let me make it up to you," Dean said. His hands were on top of his head, showing off nearly every muscle honed from a lifetime of swimming, and his hips were cocked ever-so-slightly forward.
"I rescued you, and I know you're grateful. But you don't have to do anything," Castiel said gently. This happened at least a dozen times a summer per lifeguard. Some of his co-workers kept score, and said rescue sex was the best they'd ever had. Castiel had always tried to be the good guy amongst his hornier colleagues.
Dean nodded slightly, looking thoughtful as he eyed Castiel up and down.
"Hey, I have some beer stashed behind the surf shop. You know, if you want some." Dean took a few steps forward, close enough for Cas to feel his body heat. "But, if you don't, no biggie." And he took a step back, half turning away, offering an out.
Castiel reached out as Dean turned and took his shoulder in the implacable grip he'd used to pull Dean from death.
"Do you really want beer?" Castiel asked softly.
Goosebumps had sprung up along Dean's arms, and his board shorts did nothing to hide his powerful sudden arousal. Dean shook his head, and let Cas shove him back against the painted boards of the lifeguard stand. The beach was mostly deserted, but there was still a few determined sunbathers about. Hopefully they'd enjoy the free show, because Castiel's suit was too confining and Dean was hot and hard under his hands, and pausing to make it behind the surf shop wouldn't do it for him. At all.
"Tell me no," Castiel warned, hands wrapping around Dean's shoulders and pressing him into the salty wood.
"Yes!" Dean reached back to grab a board as Castiel ground them together, his own hips shoving up hard and leaving no doubt at to what he wanted. "God, yes. Nearly jerked off in the hospital, thinking about you. So hot, when you saved me. Saw you here, wanted you so bad." Dean's words were coming out around stole gasps of air as Castiel took possession of his mouth.
How could he not? Castiel liked to be the good guy, the responsible guy, but when someone was pouring that kind of fire into his ear and melting under his touch while simultaneously offering himself up on a sandy, sun-filled platter... Castiel wasn't a saint.
"Don't move," Castiel warned, one hand letting go to trail down Dean's chest.
"Won't move, won't move, just touch me, please! Need you so bad, Cas, fucking want you-!" Dean gasped as Castiel's hand slid under the band of his shorts and gripped him, stroking a few times to reduce him to incoherent moans. He spasmed, white spunk spurting onto Castiel's fingers, but remained hard, too drunk on endorphins and hormones to stop now.
"God, Cas..." Dean moaned, head lolling back, exposing the line of his throat. "So good."
Castiel took a look down Dean's body, red with more than the flush of the setting sun, open to anything, pressing into Castiel's touch wherever they met. Cool sand covered their feet, giving them the stability of earth to counteract the swell of the sea behind them. The waves surged and crashed on the shore as Cas pulled Dean to him, hips churning as he pressed their cocks together through the thin barriers of material.
The slick white on Castiel's hand was pressed into Dean's skin as Cas got better purchase on him, lifting him back almost on his toes so the friction was powerful, intense, almost painful, the orgasm that followed in the next minute flooring them and making Dean swear in at least three languages as Castiel's cock pulsed and throbbed right next to his. The intimacy of that, with Dean moaning appreciation in his ear and pressing into Castiel so tightly neither wanted to let go, left Castiel supporting Dean with one hand, and himself with the other against the lifeguard tower.
"Jesus, that was amazing," Dean moaned as he reluctantly pulled back, gently rubbing the damp front of his shorts gingerly.
Castiel was almost at a loss for words, and was looking at Dean through half-lidded eyes as the final rays of sunlight touched him with fire and bronze. He made a mental note to not chide his co-workers so much about the virtues of rescue sex.
"Dean, would you care to pick up that beer on the way back to my place?" Cas asked, his hand sliding up and down Dean's arm slowly, not wanting to let go.
"Yeah, love to," Dean said, finally letting go of the boards to walk where Cas was pulling him.
"I'm right on the water. Maybe you'd like to go swimming again?"
Dean laughed, and pulled closer to Cas. "With you? Anytime."
It was, Castiel reflected, going to be a wonderful summer.
Dessert - Supernatural, Gabriel/Crowley, PG-13'>
Supernatural, Gabriel/Crowley, it's not a real date until everyone else is fleeing the scene as quickly as possible, shrieking in terror
Dessert - Supernatural, Gabriel/Crowley, PG-13
Transforming the restaurant's decor into ludicrous hearts and flowers had been Gabriel's response to Crowley's audible sniff of distain at his choice in eatery. Their phlegmatic waiter had tried to soldier on, pale as milk, as Crowley had glared at their bread basket until it caught on fire.
By the time their appetizer had arrived, Crowley had sickened of the decor so much he called in three hellhounds to rip the place to shreds. The screams of the fleeing patrons were very soothing as the two of them demolished a shrimp cocktail between them.
"Well, that was great, but I'm still hungry," Gabriel said, licking the last of the shrimp sauce from his fingers.
"The night is still young," Crowley pointed out, steepling his fingers and smiling slightly as the hellhounds panted at his heels.
Gabriel smirked and snapped his fingers, transporting them down the street and into the middle of a packed biker bar.
"Ah, you do love me," Crowley said with satisfaction.
Fifteen minutes later, as a few hundred bikers ran shrieking in all directions from the burning, writhing, growling bar, some of them sporting pink hair or clown outfits as Gabriel got into the act, Crowley leaned back against the wall in satisfaction.
"Now, it's a real date," he said.
When Gabriel snapped his fingers again to move them to a higher vantage point (one that was, of course, mysteriously sporting a luxurious heart-shaped bed), Crowley was more than ready to indulge in tonight's dessert.
SPN, Bobby/Crowley, Bobby runs some not-so-nice errands for Crowley.
Errand Boy - Supernatural, Bobby/Crowley, R
"You do want your soul back, don't you?"
"Do I have a choice?" Bobby growled.
Crowley smiled nastily, and reached out to touch one finger to the very faint marks on Bobby's skin. "Well, technically you do, but the cancellation clause penalties are awfully harsh."
"Stop your damn jawing and just tell me."
Crowley's smile became a full-on smirk that made Bobby's face hurt just to look at it. "As you wish."
----
Bobby pulled the corpse from the bed of his truck, unwrapping the canvas so Crowley could see the young man's face.
"Awfully intact. You kill him yourself?"
"No." Bobby's voice was tight. "He ODed." Might have lived too, if Bobby had taken the kid to the hospital instead of anywhere else. But not likely, not with the track marks on the kid's arm.
"So socially responsible of you, bringing society's trash to my door." Crowley gestured, muttering something under his breath, and the kid sat up, his eyes black as pitch, glowing red in the center.
-----
The church's locks were from somewhere around the turn of the century, rusted and in poor condition. Ten seconds with a crowbar and Bobby was in the sanctuary, rifling through the cupboards to find the chalice Crowley wanted so damn badly. He finally found it, behind a concealed panel, under an elaborate seal, and pulled the heavy silver vessel from its hiding place.
"Lovely."
Bobby whirled around to find Crowley standing right behind him, holding out a hand for the chalice. Scowling, Bobby handed it over, lips thinning with satisfaction as Crowley skin steamed just to touch it. Grimacing, Crowley reached into his coat and pulled out a small bottle of something thick and red, which he poured into the chalice. The steaming stopped immediately.
"Baby's blood, sacrificed by witches to gain Lucifer's favor," Crowley explained with a smile, taking a sip with evident relish. "Brides of Satan, or, since he's gone, me. Damned useful for deconsecrating artifacts."
"Are we done?" Bobby asked tightly.
Crowley held the chalice out to him in a mocking salute. "Not quite." The marks on Bobby's skin burned as Crowley twisted his fingers in a complicated gesture.
"One last thing. Then we can seal the deal."
"I'm not drinking-."
"Oh, so now you're too good to have a drink with me?" Crowley cut in. "If that's the case, then I have a few more things you can do. One's at an orphanage; you should love it."
Skin burning, Bobby swallowed hard. Then he reached for the cup, seeing the red sheen on Crowley's lips. He'd be tasting them again all too soon.
Supernatural, any, angels can only use cats as vessels
Tiger - Supernatural, Dean and Castiel, PG
When Castiel had returned from his apparent "death," Dean knew he'd gotten an upgrade. Big time. The first time he'd seen Castiel, he'd been using a tiger as a vessel. Later it had been a cougar. Then a lynx. Then an ocelot. By the time Dean had tangled with Lucifer at the cemetery, Castiel was using a big Maine Coon housecat.
But when Castiel padded up to him and laid his paw on Dean's forehead to heal him in the aftermath of opening the Cage, the paw had taken up most of Dean's face.
When Dean could see again, he'd gaped in shock. Even standing up to his full height, Castiel could look him in the eye. In blatant disregard for the whole extinction thing, Castiel stood tall and proud in the body of a saber-tooth tiger.
"Cas..." Dean protested instinctually, and looked over his shoulder at where the gaping hole in the earth had sealed over.
Castiel growled softly and rubbed his cheek against Dean's, his huge whiskers tickling his face. One massive paw slung around Dean and pulled him against his massive, furry body. Feeling that strength all around him, Dean clutched Castiel's fur and sobbed nearly soundlessly, his tears soaking into the warmth. A rumbling purr filled his ears and vibrated through his body as Castiel comforted him with all his returned Grace.
Ambassador - Dollhouse/Doctor Who, Adelle, PG'>
Dollhouse/Doctor Who, Adelle (/any), She has a pocketwatch that she doesn't like to look at
Ambassador - Dollhouse/Doctor Who, Adelle, PG
The dreams were something that should have come as a client request. Vivid and beautiful dreams of travel across the cosmos, meeting all kinds of people, impossible people. Intelligent colors and walking cats, floating heads, and people that seemed much like her, but weren't. She would speak with them, sternly or sweetly, harshly or kindly, and they would listen to what she had to say. They did not fight in her presence...
Then Adelle would wake up, the faint voices of dreams fading, and found herself staring at the huge painting in her office. The abstract squares looked almost like a door from some angles, and before she came fully awake, sometimes she fancied that she could walk right inside it. But such things were nonsense.
"Ms. DeWitt?" Her secretary's voice over the intercom broke the last vestige of sleep from her and brought her back solidly into the here and now.
"Go ahead."
"Ambassador Joseph is here for his appointment."
Ambassador, Ambassador... the title echoed in her head for a long minute, and Adelle caught herself rubbing the surface of her old pocket watch like a talisman.
"Send him in, please."
The intercom clicked, and Adelle put the pocketwatch in her desk drawer. She certainly wouldn't need that old broken thing to do her job. Pouring two glasses of fine scotch, Adelle took her seat by the table, stealing a final glance at the painting on the wall.
Doorway to Elsewhere was its title. Adelle relentlessly schooled her expression into one of polite interest in her client as he entered her office. She'd be able to give him what he thought he needed. After all, she'd done it dozens (hundreds of millions) of times before.
Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, One of them has always been able to read minds, but never told anybody
Keeping Up - Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, PG-13
It was the only way Hotchner could keep up with him. Reid's mind moved at light speed at simultaneous levels, contemplating a math equation here, a novel there, a case in the front of his mind and personal troubles in the back. And by ten minutes sooner than whenever it was needed, he would have an answer to whatever was put in front of him.
That was the mind of a genius, beautiful and complex. Keeping up with him on a case could be exhausting, and Hotchner had ten more years of experience to fall back on. He could pace himself, and use that borrowed knowledge to keep atop of Reid. And at work, where cases were new to both of them, it was all right. They both had to scramble to get ahead of the unsub, and neither Reid's genius or Hotchner's experience could completely compensate.
Hotchner had even more than that to fall back on, if necessary, but he rarely needed to use it. Peering into someone else's head was not as easy as it sounded from movies or TV shows. You had to want it, and the majority of the unsubs Hotchner did not wish to empathize with. And even if he had, his team spent more time finding the unsub through records searches, geographical profiling, and victimology than questioning them face to face. What earthly good would it do to bring himself close enough to these human monsters to get the last bit of information out of them?
No. The greatest good Aaron ever got from his gift was reading Spencer's mind. He knew when to back off, when to wake him up from nightmares, when to get close. He could follow the twisted tangles of logic that Spencer used to come to some obscure conclusion, so they could laugh together. He knew just what to say, and what to stringently avoid. He knew the pitfalls and the places that hurt. He used his ability to thread through the minefield of Spencer Reid's heart far better than he ever had with Haley. And every time they smiled together, Aaron felt less and less guilty about having never told him the truth. Because this time he was keeping up. This time they would stay together.
Criminal Minds, any, this is not my idea of vacation
Not My Vacation - Criminal Minds, team, PG
"This is not my idea of vacation," Reid protested weakly.
"You could have said that before you let Morgan drag you down to the beach," Prentiss pointed out. She closed her bottle of suntan lotion and lay down on her lounger.
"Don't blame this on me," Morgan protested. "J.J., tell him."
"I know I'm pretty, but I'm still not J.J.," Will said, laughing softly as J.J. carefully dangled Henry's feet in the water.
Morgan mumbled an apology as Reid tried to hunch up under his umbrella, a satchel of books at his side.
"I burn very easily," Reid said.
"You grew up in Las Vegas. Which last time I checked is in the desert," Prentiss said.
"I spent all my time indoors!"
"So he can tell us all the symptoms of heat stroke as he suffers them," Morgan pointed out.
"Why didn't we invite Rossi again?" Reid asked, thinking then he'd at least have one ally that didn't want to spend all his time outdoors.
"Because he has another book tour in the works and he complains more than you about getting sand in everything," Morgan said.
"Hotch is coming back," Prentiss warned. Everyone quickly put on their sunglasses as Jack and his father raced each other down the beach. While it was nice to see a smile on their unit chief's face, the sunglasses were absolutely necessary because-.
"That man is pale," Will said, squinting against the glare.
"Fifteen years in a suit will do that to you," Prentiss said.
Wincing against sun, sand, heat, and the severe lack of a base tan, Reid pulled his hat further down on his head.
"This is really not my idea of vacation."
Gorgeous - Supernatural, Pamela/Jo, NC-17
She's brilliant. She shines right up through Pamela's non-existant eyes, bright and warm to all her other senses.
"Okay?" Jo's voice is only a little uncertain, because her fingers sure as hell know what they're doing. Calloused, hunter fingers, smoothed with berry lotion, one hand smoothing its way down Pamela's body, the other ceaselessly stroking inside her.
"So okay, sweetie," Pamela managed, and tangled one hand in Jo's fine hair to bring her down within kissing range. Jo's thumb drifted upward to firmly touch on Pamela's clit, and the kiss became a gasp, sucking Jo's breath right into her mouth.
"You're so pretty," Jo murmured. Pamela reached up to pull Jo closer, kissing her without reservation, eagerly touching every inch of that hot and brilliant skin. "Pretty" didn't begin to describe her. Pretty didn't touch Jo at all. She was underselling herself, big time.
Jo squeaked in surprise when Pamela suddenly trapped her hand between her thighs, her head arching back and mouth opening soundlessly as her climax broke over her.
"You," Pamela panted, out of breath, "are amazing." Jo's unseen smile was nova-bright.
Gorgeous.