Drabbles and short fics posted for various memes!
Memes 1 and 2 - 2007/2008, random song prompts
RPF - The Academy Is - Mike Carden/Michael Guy Chislett
Prompt: Empires, Warning Mark
Note: When I wrote this I had little-to-no knowledge of TAI. I mean, I did, but the last time I'd listened to them Tom had been in the band, and pretty much all I really knew about Michael Guy Chislett and Mike Carden was that they were both named Michael and at least one of them couldn't spell. So, uh, keep that in mind. /o\
So, Michael thinks after his first full month of touring with the Academy is over. That’s pretty much it, really: so is about the only reaction he can come up with right away.
Well, that, and the fact that it’s quite possible the reason Tom didn’t work out was because he didn’t speak whatever secret code the rest of the band is fond of speaking in. His very first night on the bus, he’d been awoken by a very drunk Siska, who tumbled into Michael’s bunk and landed on top of him, asked him if he was in the mood for mint chai or rooibos, and then squinted at him. “Fuck, wrong bunk. Sorry, dude.” He’d vacated the bunk and Michael fell back to sleep, thinking just as he drifted off that it was fairly impressive that someone so drunk could pronounce the word ‘rooibos’.
He didn’t think much of it - drunken cravings for tea were certainly not the weirdest thing about touring with the Academy - but a few weeks later he caught Bill nibbling at Butcher’s earlobe a few minutes before soundcheck and asking if he was up for a cup of orange pekoe.
“We don’t have time, Bill, Jesus.”
“Decaf, then,” Bill purred, and Butcher paused for a moment before nodding, grinning as Bill dragged him off.
Later, when they were back on the bus, he and Mike had been in the kitchen and Michael remembered what he’d overheard earlier, and found himself craving a cup of tea. Rummaging through the cupboards, however, proved useless; there wasn’t a tea leaf in sight.
“What are you looking for?” Mike asked, coming over to stand next to him.
“Tea. All anyone on this godforsaken bus talks about is tea, and there isn’t even any in the cupboards.” And, okay, Michael was a bit confuse, because Mike was suddenly laughing so hard he was crying. “What?”
It was a few minutes before Mike was able to speak. “Tea, dude. Tea.” He laughed again at Michael’s blank look, leaning on the counter and wiping tears from his eyes, and when he finally composed himself he leaned in a little too close. “Bringing the kettle to boil, pouring it out, letting it steep, adding sugar, drinking it down...” His voice was low, too low, and Michael got it all of a sudden.
“Oh. Oh - wait a second, what was Sisky talking about, mint chai or rooibos?”
“Different flavours,” Mike said, smirking. He was still too close - even closer at this point - and his voice was still too low. “Sisky’s got his own favorites, but they don’t really mesh well with mine. Likes his rooibos vanilla, and too much milk in his chai, if you get what I’m saying.”
Michael did. Kind of. And he was pretty sure he’d regret asking this, but. “And your favorites would be...”
“Oh, definitely chai. No milk or sugar or anything to hide how fucking spicy it is.”
He should have been finding this conversation hilarious, Michael thought, but mostly he just really, really wanted a fucking cup of tea. And then maybe a fucking cup of tea.
Mike was watching him carefully; after a moment, his smirk reappeared. “Everyone else is still out. If, y’know, you’re thirsty?”
*
Michael woke up alone, a little sore, a little sticky, and when he finally dragged himself out to the lounge, he was met by the knowing grins of all and sundry. Minus Mike, who’s nowhere in sight.
“Dude,” Butcher said. “So I hear you’re a chai fan?”
At that point, there was only one thing to do, and that was retreat to his bunk, and pretty much stay there as much as possible for the last few days of the tour.
Mike didn’t make any move to talk to him, outside of rehearsals.
*
It’s stupid, it’s stupid, it’s a stupid fucking idea, but he gets a hold of Tom’s email (not like it’s that difficult; Tom Conrad’s website is a stalker’s dream) and he can’t keep himself from sending a message.
im definietly the last person you want to hear from but im pretty sure i fucked things up
The response is fairly quick, all things considered. Welcome to the club, did beckett bitch you out for not drinking his earl grey or osmething?
And that’s imagery that Michael could have done without. not that, i dont know. but there was - he pauses, not sure how to word it - a tea incident w/ carden and its been five days since tour ended and noones even called me or txted or anything
when are you back on tour?
next week
they’ll call, dont worry, your not me.
He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just replies with thx, to which Tom replies p.s. Say no if Butcher asks to read yr tea leaves, and yeah, definitely imagery Michael doesn’t need.
*
Two days later, Mike calls. They don’t talk about anything much, but before they hang up, Mike casually mentions that he’s jonesing for a cup of green tea, and exactly how long is it going to be before they see each other again, and Michael does his best not to smile.
He fails miserably.
RPF - Canadian Idol - Shane Wiebe/Jacob Hoggard
Prompt: Chris Pureka, 'Burning Bridges'
Shane’s neighbours are fond of blasting the radio while they barbecue in their yard, which doesn’t usually bother him, even though it’s loud and sometimes the Top 40 garbage can be a little obnoxious. He’s not bothered this time, either, even though he’s passing an open window and hearing a too-familiar voice singing about apologizing for the nights he can’t remember.
He thinks about it later, when he’s channel-surfing and catches Hedley accepting their award at the MMVAs. This would’ve bothered him a year ago, a month ago, even.
Tonight he just keeps channel-surfing.
*
It’s not too late to start again, he hears on the radio as he passes through the mall food court three days later, and he wants to laugh, because that’s not what Jacob told him three fucking years ago.
*
It’s been well over a year since they’ve had any kind of contact, but given the way that Hedley seems to be everywhere he turns these days, Shane’s unsurprised when he opens his email to read miss you. jwh
He hits delete.
*
In the future, they will run into each other and have awkward conversations, or run into each other and hook up, or studiously ignore each other from across a room, or perhaps they will never see each other again.
Summer’s over, been over for a long time, and Shane’s old enough now to know the difference between that summer and every other; old enough to know the difference between chemistry and belonging, and that love doesn’t always mean happy endings.
He is happy, though, most of the time, and that in itself is enough for him.
Boondock Saints - Connor/Murphy
Prompt: The Smiths, There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
Warning: contains incest.
to die by your side
well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine
oh, there is a light and it never goes out
There is music in the club, loud and pounding, and Murphy would have enjoyed this not so long ago. But he is exhausted, and their father is dead, and Connor’s hand at the small of his back is his only anchor right now.
“C’mon,” Connor whispers in his ear, and they move, slipping into the office to find the man they’re after, and this is the easy part: tracking, killing, praying. This is routine. This is a ritual. And we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and they have, and Murphy is so, so tired.
They fall asleep that night on the same mattress, foreheads touching, fingers loosely entwined. It’s been like this every night since their father passed; no tears, no sex, no shared memories, because this is the way they put themselves back together: quiet whispers in the dark and soft touches, their usual fire burned out.
They go through the motions, continue their mission, not because it’s what their father would have done but because it is what he did. The next night begins the same as the rest; they find the criminal they’re looking for without difficulty.
This one, however, has been expecting them. The McManus brothers are surrounded, seven versus two, and Connor is reminded of the fight against their dad, before they’d known who he was. They win, but they don’t emerge unscathed; there’s a bullet embedded in Murphy’s shoulder, and Connor’s side is bleeding - just a graze, he’s pretty sure; he can’t focus on it, not now, with Murphy in worse trouble.
Connor fixes his brother up, and when the bullet lands on the table with a hollow thump, Murphy laughs, his breathing shallow, but doesn’t say anything.
This is almost a ritual of its own, cleaning and cauterizing their wounds, fixing each other. But it’s not quite routine; it’s hardly ever this close, and after it’s finished, Connor’s fingers trail down to the uninjured skin a few inches beneath the bandage, where the bullet didn’t hit (but might have). “Close,” he murmurs.
Murphy brings his hand up to still his brother’s fingers. “Let me take a look at your side,” he says, and Connor’s almost forgotten about it. It’s not a hard one to patch up, but Murphy can see how close it was for Connor, too, and he says as much.
Murphy barely has time to blink before Connor is smashing their mouths together, fiercely, painfully. It’s been twenty-two days since they’ve had anything remotely like this, and Murphy grins into the kiss before biting down on his brother’s lip.
Connor groans and breaks the kiss, just long enough to look into Murphy’s eyes and see the fire there, and then he is leaning back in.
Meme 3, 2006 - the original request was Give me 2 characters--ANY 2 characters--and I will write a scene wherein the two of them have coffee. My friends took me up on the challenge and the prompts started out strange and progressed into serious WTF territory. :D:
RPF - Canadian Idol - Shane Wiebe/Jason Greeley
Jason understands that St. John's has colder winters than Abbotsford. It's hard to be sympathetic, though, when someone is standing in front of you wearing a bright orange parka with a hood lined with green faux fur.
"It was the only thing I could find in my size!" Shane protests, but that only makes Jason laugh harder.
"You look like a pumpkin. Take that ugly thing off before I beat you with it," Jason says when he can finally speak.
"Jason."
"Yeah?"
"That wouldn't hurt."
Jason rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Here, you wear my coat."
"What are you going to wear, then?"
"Jesus, b'y, what do you think I am, a friggin' mainlander? We're only going to the Tim Hortons down the street, it's not like I'm going to freeze."
"It's your funeral," Shane says with a shrug, pulling Jason's jacket over his sweater.
Jason confidently opens the door. A swirl of snow hits him in the face, and he steps back. They stare outside for a minute - rather, they stare at the wall of snow that's blocking the outside world from view. After a moment, Jason shuts the door. "I'll put the kettle on," he offers.
Jason's only got enough coffee for one cup; they mix it with powdered milk and instant hot chocolate, and it doesn't taste half bad. They sit on the couch in his kitchen - why he has a couch in his kitchen Shane will never understand, but it's comfortable and warm so he isn't about to question it - and sip their drinks in relative silence for awhile.
"Do you ever think about that summer?" Shane eventually asks, and Jason shoots him a look.
"Of course," Jason replies. "Don't you?"
"Well, yeah, but... do you ever try not to?"
He thinks about that for a moment, then shakes his head no. "Can't say I do. Do you?"
"Sometimes. It's just that - I mean, where did it get us?"
"It got us here," says Jason. "Where we are right now. Can't tell me you've got regrets when we're snowed in and stuck in my shitty apartment with instant coffee and instant hot chocolate and powdered milk."
Shane finishes his coffee, but the cup is still warm in his hands. "Well, when you put it like that..." He pauses. "Yeah, I regret everything."
He's rewarded with a punch in the arm, and he laughs. "Kidding." Jason's hand lingers on Shane's arm, and he laughs again. "You're cold."
"So?"
"Want to borrow my parka?"
RPF/The Vampire Chronicles crossover - William Beckett/Lestat
He catches William's eye during the show. Well, of course he does - the guy's practically glowing, for crying out loud. It's pretty distracting, trying to rock out while there's some guy glowing at you from the second row, but hey, no one said being a rock star was easy, right?
The guy leaves halfway through 'Check Marks', and William doesn't know whether to be relieved or offended. A few songs later, they finish and go backstage, where he's immediately met with an armful of Gabe Saporta, which (understandably) kind of makes him forget about the glowing guy. That is, until he's heading back to the tour bus, and feels a hand on his arm. William nearly jumps out of his skin; he hadn't heard a sound.
"Uh, hey," he says to the man, who's still glowing. Even more so, actually, what with the moonlight and all.
The man just smiles. What the fuck. It's not like William isn't used to being approached by freaky men, but usually they're a bit more strange (a lot less pretty, though) than this guy. "Uh, did you like the show?" he tries.
"It was wonderful," he says.
"Cool. So." He's not usually this stuck for words, but the guy is shiny. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like what Tom Cruise would look like if someone exposed him to radioactive material?" The guy looks kind of confused for a minute. He's still really pretty, William notes. Really, really pretty, Tom-Cruise-ness aside. That observation leads him to an obvious conclusion. "We should get coffee."
*
There's a Starbucks within walking distance. On the way there, William learns that Mysterious Glowing Man's name is Lestat. Lestat. Who the fuck is named Lestat, anyway? His parents might as well have just kicked his ass when he was born, just to save the bullies the trouble.
William asks for a grande latté; Lestat orders a frappuccino and pays for both. There aren't any tables, so they leave and start to head back in the direction they came. William is very much aware that they've barely said anything to each other. Which is weird. Tonight is weird. Going for coffee with iridescent Tom Cruise lookalikes with really gay names is weird.
They pass through a park and end up sitting on a bench by a fountain. William's drink is cold by now. He takes a sip and grimaces. "This coffee tastes like shit," he says, tossing his cup on the ground.
Lestat smiles and somehow, he suddenly looks a lot less pretty. "I know where to find something better."
Batman/Wolverine, + cameos from Sam and Dean Winchester and Jareth the Goblin King
Logan doesn't like coffee. Logan doesn't like tea. Logan doesn't like much that wouldn't make him fail a breathalyzer, and there isn't exactly anything in Starbucks that fits that description. Still, Rogue wanted coffee - why she couldn't send her little boyfriend out for it, he didn't know - and she, as it turns out, is pretty good with the blackmail.
The guy serving the coffee has a nametag that reads 'Jareth', and Logan hates him on sight solely because of his fucked-up hair. He hates him even more at his condescending look when Logan mispronounces 'grande' and 'latté', like it's his fault they have to put the stupid names on shit, and who died and made this guy king, anyway? He snatches the cup and turns to leave, when he overhears two guys (one has pretty bad hair, but it's nothing compared to Jareth the Starbucks King's, so he doesn't hate him immediately) talking about some secret school for mutants.
Well, shit.
The table next to theirs is occupied by a man with perfectly acceptable hair, and Logan strides over. "Mind if I sit here?" he asks, sitting before the guy can answer. He sits there for a moment, waiting for the guys at the next table to start talking again, when he notices that the guy across from him is giving him a funny look. Logan realizes that he's just been sitting there holding a Starbucks cup, not drinking it, and if he has to drink Rogue's disgusting coffee thing to be believable, then so be it, but he's pretty sure he's going to die.
He takes a sip. He survives, but only barely.
The man is still looking at him. "I'm Bruce," he says.
Well, shit.
He'd better not goddamn think that Logan's sitting here because he's interested in him. Logan's not surprised; he can smell the chai tea that Bruce is drinking.
"Logan," he grunts, and he overhears the guy at the next table - the one with bad hair - mention something about electromagnetic waves being emitted from some island, and maybe that's what was causing all the recent paranormal activity lately, and maybe it had nothing to do with mutants after all.
The better-haired one shakes his head. "I don't know, Sammy -" but the rest of his sentence is drowned out by Bruce asking him if he wants to try some of his biscotti. Logan doesn't even know what that is, but his answer is a resounding 'no' nonetheless.
He focuses his attention back on the men at the next table. "Either way, these kids aren't doing anything wrong, Dean," Bad Hair is saying. "Even if they're causing it, the only thing we can do is clean up the damage."
Logan's pretty satisfied that these two aren't about to do something stupid like try to break into the school, and even if they were, he's not worried. What he is worried about is the look on Bruce's face, and he stands up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. He leaves without a word, but halfway back to the school he realizes that he forgot to take Marie's stupid fucking coffee, and he heads back to the coffee shop.
Well, shit.
As he walks back in, he bangs smack into Bruce, who gives him that look again, and Logan quickly steps to the side. Bruce doesn't say anything, just leaves and walks across the parking lot to his car, and - wow. They have some pretty pimped-out rides at the school, but Bruce's car is something else. As Bruce starts to get in, the light catches something on his belt; Logan peers intently and sees grappling hooks, and he's pretty sure he just dodged a proverbial bullet. Or maybe a literal one.
Those two guys are still sitting there, Bad Hair clicking away on his laptop and ranting on and on about electromagnetism, while Good Hair looks bored as hell. Logan doesn't blame him.
This time, he pronounces all his words right, and Jareth limits himself to a slight sneer. He grabs the coffee and leaves, ready to get the hell back home.
LOOK, SOMETIMES YOUR FRIENDS GIVE YOU DARES AND YOU ACCEPT THOSE DARES. Bob Barker and Puff the Magic Dragon: Tragic BFFs! :(
Bob has seen some pretty crazy things in his lifetime, so he's surprisingly not bothered when a giant dragon asks him to come frolic in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee.
Thing is, he's Bob Barker. He doesn't do frolicking. He's much too old, really; a man his age could break something. So he suggests coffee, instead.
Puff wants gourmet coffee, but that's ridiculously expensive. Bob buys him coffee from a gas station instead, because the price is right.
They make it a regular thing, the outings for coffee. Puff doesn't have any friends, and while Bob has plenty of people in his life, he doesn't have a best friend. Someone who he trusts completely. But Puff proves to be loyal, and Bob is good company, and both are quite content.
The thing is, dragons live forever, and not little boys. And Bob is certainly no little boy, and Puff knows that someday all too soon, Bob will be gone forever, just like every friend Puff ever had.
RPF - The Academy Is - Mike Carden/Michael Guy Chislett
Prompt: Empires, Warning Mark
Note: When I wrote this I had little-to-no knowledge of TAI. I mean, I did, but the last time I'd listened to them Tom had been in the band, and pretty much all I really knew about Michael Guy Chislett and Mike Carden was that they were both named Michael and at least one of them couldn't spell. So, uh, keep that in mind. /o\
So, Michael thinks after his first full month of touring with the Academy is over. That’s pretty much it, really: so is about the only reaction he can come up with right away.
Well, that, and the fact that it’s quite possible the reason Tom didn’t work out was because he didn’t speak whatever secret code the rest of the band is fond of speaking in. His very first night on the bus, he’d been awoken by a very drunk Siska, who tumbled into Michael’s bunk and landed on top of him, asked him if he was in the mood for mint chai or rooibos, and then squinted at him. “Fuck, wrong bunk. Sorry, dude.” He’d vacated the bunk and Michael fell back to sleep, thinking just as he drifted off that it was fairly impressive that someone so drunk could pronounce the word ‘rooibos’.
He didn’t think much of it - drunken cravings for tea were certainly not the weirdest thing about touring with the Academy - but a few weeks later he caught Bill nibbling at Butcher’s earlobe a few minutes before soundcheck and asking if he was up for a cup of orange pekoe.
“We don’t have time, Bill, Jesus.”
“Decaf, then,” Bill purred, and Butcher paused for a moment before nodding, grinning as Bill dragged him off.
Later, when they were back on the bus, he and Mike had been in the kitchen and Michael remembered what he’d overheard earlier, and found himself craving a cup of tea. Rummaging through the cupboards, however, proved useless; there wasn’t a tea leaf in sight.
“What are you looking for?” Mike asked, coming over to stand next to him.
“Tea. All anyone on this godforsaken bus talks about is tea, and there isn’t even any in the cupboards.” And, okay, Michael was a bit confuse, because Mike was suddenly laughing so hard he was crying. “What?”
It was a few minutes before Mike was able to speak. “Tea, dude. Tea.” He laughed again at Michael’s blank look, leaning on the counter and wiping tears from his eyes, and when he finally composed himself he leaned in a little too close. “Bringing the kettle to boil, pouring it out, letting it steep, adding sugar, drinking it down...” His voice was low, too low, and Michael got it all of a sudden.
“Oh. Oh - wait a second, what was Sisky talking about, mint chai or rooibos?”
“Different flavours,” Mike said, smirking. He was still too close - even closer at this point - and his voice was still too low. “Sisky’s got his own favorites, but they don’t really mesh well with mine. Likes his rooibos vanilla, and too much milk in his chai, if you get what I’m saying.”
Michael did. Kind of. And he was pretty sure he’d regret asking this, but. “And your favorites would be...”
“Oh, definitely chai. No milk or sugar or anything to hide how fucking spicy it is.”
He should have been finding this conversation hilarious, Michael thought, but mostly he just really, really wanted a fucking cup of tea. And then maybe a fucking cup of tea.
Mike was watching him carefully; after a moment, his smirk reappeared. “Everyone else is still out. If, y’know, you’re thirsty?”
*
Michael woke up alone, a little sore, a little sticky, and when he finally dragged himself out to the lounge, he was met by the knowing grins of all and sundry. Minus Mike, who’s nowhere in sight.
“Dude,” Butcher said. “So I hear you’re a chai fan?”
At that point, there was only one thing to do, and that was retreat to his bunk, and pretty much stay there as much as possible for the last few days of the tour.
Mike didn’t make any move to talk to him, outside of rehearsals.
*
It’s stupid, it’s stupid, it’s a stupid fucking idea, but he gets a hold of Tom’s email (not like it’s that difficult; Tom Conrad’s website is a stalker’s dream) and he can’t keep himself from sending a message.
im definietly the last person you want to hear from but im pretty sure i fucked things up
The response is fairly quick, all things considered. Welcome to the club, did beckett bitch you out for not drinking his earl grey or osmething?
And that’s imagery that Michael could have done without. not that, i dont know. but there was - he pauses, not sure how to word it - a tea incident w/ carden and its been five days since tour ended and noones even called me or txted or anything
when are you back on tour?
next week
they’ll call, dont worry, your not me.
He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just replies with thx, to which Tom replies p.s. Say no if Butcher asks to read yr tea leaves, and yeah, definitely imagery Michael doesn’t need.
*
Two days later, Mike calls. They don’t talk about anything much, but before they hang up, Mike casually mentions that he’s jonesing for a cup of green tea, and exactly how long is it going to be before they see each other again, and Michael does his best not to smile.
He fails miserably.
RPF - Canadian Idol - Shane Wiebe/Jacob Hoggard
Prompt: Chris Pureka, 'Burning Bridges'
Shane’s neighbours are fond of blasting the radio while they barbecue in their yard, which doesn’t usually bother him, even though it’s loud and sometimes the Top 40 garbage can be a little obnoxious. He’s not bothered this time, either, even though he’s passing an open window and hearing a too-familiar voice singing about apologizing for the nights he can’t remember.
He thinks about it later, when he’s channel-surfing and catches Hedley accepting their award at the MMVAs. This would’ve bothered him a year ago, a month ago, even.
Tonight he just keeps channel-surfing.
*
It’s not too late to start again, he hears on the radio as he passes through the mall food court three days later, and he wants to laugh, because that’s not what Jacob told him three fucking years ago.
*
It’s been well over a year since they’ve had any kind of contact, but given the way that Hedley seems to be everywhere he turns these days, Shane’s unsurprised when he opens his email to read miss you. jwh
He hits delete.
*
In the future, they will run into each other and have awkward conversations, or run into each other and hook up, or studiously ignore each other from across a room, or perhaps they will never see each other again.
Summer’s over, been over for a long time, and Shane’s old enough now to know the difference between that summer and every other; old enough to know the difference between chemistry and belonging, and that love doesn’t always mean happy endings.
He is happy, though, most of the time, and that in itself is enough for him.
Boondock Saints - Connor/Murphy
Prompt: The Smiths, There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
Warning: contains incest.
to die by your side
well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine
oh, there is a light and it never goes out
There is music in the club, loud and pounding, and Murphy would have enjoyed this not so long ago. But he is exhausted, and their father is dead, and Connor’s hand at the small of his back is his only anchor right now.
“C’mon,” Connor whispers in his ear, and they move, slipping into the office to find the man they’re after, and this is the easy part: tracking, killing, praying. This is routine. This is a ritual. And we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and they have, and Murphy is so, so tired.
They fall asleep that night on the same mattress, foreheads touching, fingers loosely entwined. It’s been like this every night since their father passed; no tears, no sex, no shared memories, because this is the way they put themselves back together: quiet whispers in the dark and soft touches, their usual fire burned out.
They go through the motions, continue their mission, not because it’s what their father would have done but because it is what he did. The next night begins the same as the rest; they find the criminal they’re looking for without difficulty.
This one, however, has been expecting them. The McManus brothers are surrounded, seven versus two, and Connor is reminded of the fight against their dad, before they’d known who he was. They win, but they don’t emerge unscathed; there’s a bullet embedded in Murphy’s shoulder, and Connor’s side is bleeding - just a graze, he’s pretty sure; he can’t focus on it, not now, with Murphy in worse trouble.
Connor fixes his brother up, and when the bullet lands on the table with a hollow thump, Murphy laughs, his breathing shallow, but doesn’t say anything.
This is almost a ritual of its own, cleaning and cauterizing their wounds, fixing each other. But it’s not quite routine; it’s hardly ever this close, and after it’s finished, Connor’s fingers trail down to the uninjured skin a few inches beneath the bandage, where the bullet didn’t hit (but might have). “Close,” he murmurs.
Murphy brings his hand up to still his brother’s fingers. “Let me take a look at your side,” he says, and Connor’s almost forgotten about it. It’s not a hard one to patch up, but Murphy can see how close it was for Connor, too, and he says as much.
Murphy barely has time to blink before Connor is smashing their mouths together, fiercely, painfully. It’s been twenty-two days since they’ve had anything remotely like this, and Murphy grins into the kiss before biting down on his brother’s lip.
Connor groans and breaks the kiss, just long enough to look into Murphy’s eyes and see the fire there, and then he is leaning back in.
Meme 3, 2006 - the original request was Give me 2 characters--ANY 2 characters--and I will write a scene wherein the two of them have coffee. My friends took me up on the challenge and the prompts started out strange and progressed into serious WTF territory. :D:
RPF - Canadian Idol - Shane Wiebe/Jason Greeley
Jason understands that St. John's has colder winters than Abbotsford. It's hard to be sympathetic, though, when someone is standing in front of you wearing a bright orange parka with a hood lined with green faux fur.
"It was the only thing I could find in my size!" Shane protests, but that only makes Jason laugh harder.
"You look like a pumpkin. Take that ugly thing off before I beat you with it," Jason says when he can finally speak.
"Jason."
"Yeah?"
"That wouldn't hurt."
Jason rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Here, you wear my coat."
"What are you going to wear, then?"
"Jesus, b'y, what do you think I am, a friggin' mainlander? We're only going to the Tim Hortons down the street, it's not like I'm going to freeze."
"It's your funeral," Shane says with a shrug, pulling Jason's jacket over his sweater.
Jason confidently opens the door. A swirl of snow hits him in the face, and he steps back. They stare outside for a minute - rather, they stare at the wall of snow that's blocking the outside world from view. After a moment, Jason shuts the door. "I'll put the kettle on," he offers.
Jason's only got enough coffee for one cup; they mix it with powdered milk and instant hot chocolate, and it doesn't taste half bad. They sit on the couch in his kitchen - why he has a couch in his kitchen Shane will never understand, but it's comfortable and warm so he isn't about to question it - and sip their drinks in relative silence for awhile.
"Do you ever think about that summer?" Shane eventually asks, and Jason shoots him a look.
"Of course," Jason replies. "Don't you?"
"Well, yeah, but... do you ever try not to?"
He thinks about that for a moment, then shakes his head no. "Can't say I do. Do you?"
"Sometimes. It's just that - I mean, where did it get us?"
"It got us here," says Jason. "Where we are right now. Can't tell me you've got regrets when we're snowed in and stuck in my shitty apartment with instant coffee and instant hot chocolate and powdered milk."
Shane finishes his coffee, but the cup is still warm in his hands. "Well, when you put it like that..." He pauses. "Yeah, I regret everything."
He's rewarded with a punch in the arm, and he laughs. "Kidding." Jason's hand lingers on Shane's arm, and he laughs again. "You're cold."
"So?"
"Want to borrow my parka?"
RPF/The Vampire Chronicles crossover - William Beckett/Lestat
He catches William's eye during the show. Well, of course he does - the guy's practically glowing, for crying out loud. It's pretty distracting, trying to rock out while there's some guy glowing at you from the second row, but hey, no one said being a rock star was easy, right?
The guy leaves halfway through 'Check Marks', and William doesn't know whether to be relieved or offended. A few songs later, they finish and go backstage, where he's immediately met with an armful of Gabe Saporta, which (understandably) kind of makes him forget about the glowing guy. That is, until he's heading back to the tour bus, and feels a hand on his arm. William nearly jumps out of his skin; he hadn't heard a sound.
"Uh, hey," he says to the man, who's still glowing. Even more so, actually, what with the moonlight and all.
The man just smiles. What the fuck. It's not like William isn't used to being approached by freaky men, but usually they're a bit more strange (a lot less pretty, though) than this guy. "Uh, did you like the show?" he tries.
"It was wonderful," he says.
"Cool. So." He's not usually this stuck for words, but the guy is shiny. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like what Tom Cruise would look like if someone exposed him to radioactive material?" The guy looks kind of confused for a minute. He's still really pretty, William notes. Really, really pretty, Tom-Cruise-ness aside. That observation leads him to an obvious conclusion. "We should get coffee."
*
There's a Starbucks within walking distance. On the way there, William learns that Mysterious Glowing Man's name is Lestat. Lestat. Who the fuck is named Lestat, anyway? His parents might as well have just kicked his ass when he was born, just to save the bullies the trouble.
William asks for a grande latté; Lestat orders a frappuccino and pays for both. There aren't any tables, so they leave and start to head back in the direction they came. William is very much aware that they've barely said anything to each other. Which is weird. Tonight is weird. Going for coffee with iridescent Tom Cruise lookalikes with really gay names is weird.
They pass through a park and end up sitting on a bench by a fountain. William's drink is cold by now. He takes a sip and grimaces. "This coffee tastes like shit," he says, tossing his cup on the ground.
Lestat smiles and somehow, he suddenly looks a lot less pretty. "I know where to find something better."
Batman/Wolverine, + cameos from Sam and Dean Winchester and Jareth the Goblin King
Logan doesn't like coffee. Logan doesn't like tea. Logan doesn't like much that wouldn't make him fail a breathalyzer, and there isn't exactly anything in Starbucks that fits that description. Still, Rogue wanted coffee - why she couldn't send her little boyfriend out for it, he didn't know - and she, as it turns out, is pretty good with the blackmail.
The guy serving the coffee has a nametag that reads 'Jareth', and Logan hates him on sight solely because of his fucked-up hair. He hates him even more at his condescending look when Logan mispronounces 'grande' and 'latté', like it's his fault they have to put the stupid names on shit, and who died and made this guy king, anyway? He snatches the cup and turns to leave, when he overhears two guys (one has pretty bad hair, but it's nothing compared to Jareth the Starbucks King's, so he doesn't hate him immediately) talking about some secret school for mutants.
Well, shit.
The table next to theirs is occupied by a man with perfectly acceptable hair, and Logan strides over. "Mind if I sit here?" he asks, sitting before the guy can answer. He sits there for a moment, waiting for the guys at the next table to start talking again, when he notices that the guy across from him is giving him a funny look. Logan realizes that he's just been sitting there holding a Starbucks cup, not drinking it, and if he has to drink Rogue's disgusting coffee thing to be believable, then so be it, but he's pretty sure he's going to die.
He takes a sip. He survives, but only barely.
The man is still looking at him. "I'm Bruce," he says.
Well, shit.
He'd better not goddamn think that Logan's sitting here because he's interested in him. Logan's not surprised; he can smell the chai tea that Bruce is drinking.
"Logan," he grunts, and he overhears the guy at the next table - the one with bad hair - mention something about electromagnetic waves being emitted from some island, and maybe that's what was causing all the recent paranormal activity lately, and maybe it had nothing to do with mutants after all.
The better-haired one shakes his head. "I don't know, Sammy -" but the rest of his sentence is drowned out by Bruce asking him if he wants to try some of his biscotti. Logan doesn't even know what that is, but his answer is a resounding 'no' nonetheless.
He focuses his attention back on the men at the next table. "Either way, these kids aren't doing anything wrong, Dean," Bad Hair is saying. "Even if they're causing it, the only thing we can do is clean up the damage."
Logan's pretty satisfied that these two aren't about to do something stupid like try to break into the school, and even if they were, he's not worried. What he is worried about is the look on Bruce's face, and he stands up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. He leaves without a word, but halfway back to the school he realizes that he forgot to take Marie's stupid fucking coffee, and he heads back to the coffee shop.
Well, shit.
As he walks back in, he bangs smack into Bruce, who gives him that look again, and Logan quickly steps to the side. Bruce doesn't say anything, just leaves and walks across the parking lot to his car, and - wow. They have some pretty pimped-out rides at the school, but Bruce's car is something else. As Bruce starts to get in, the light catches something on his belt; Logan peers intently and sees grappling hooks, and he's pretty sure he just dodged a proverbial bullet. Or maybe a literal one.
Those two guys are still sitting there, Bad Hair clicking away on his laptop and ranting on and on about electromagnetism, while Good Hair looks bored as hell. Logan doesn't blame him.
This time, he pronounces all his words right, and Jareth limits himself to a slight sneer. He grabs the coffee and leaves, ready to get the hell back home.
LOOK, SOMETIMES YOUR FRIENDS GIVE YOU DARES AND YOU ACCEPT THOSE DARES. Bob Barker and Puff the Magic Dragon: Tragic BFFs! :(
Bob has seen some pretty crazy things in his lifetime, so he's surprisingly not bothered when a giant dragon asks him to come frolic in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee.
Thing is, he's Bob Barker. He doesn't do frolicking. He's much too old, really; a man his age could break something. So he suggests coffee, instead.
Puff wants gourmet coffee, but that's ridiculously expensive. Bob buys him coffee from a gas station instead, because the price is right.
They make it a regular thing, the outings for coffee. Puff doesn't have any friends, and while Bob has plenty of people in his life, he doesn't have a best friend. Someone who he trusts completely. But Puff proves to be loyal, and Bob is good company, and both are quite content.
The thing is, dragons live forever, and not little boys. And Bob is certainly no little boy, and Puff knows that someday all too soon, Bob will be gone forever, just like every friend Puff ever had.