Twenty Inkspots

"Errvaozh" (Superman/Batman): Labuenaventura, Jen_in_japan

Fri, 08 Feb 2008 02:30:51 GMT

Title: Errvaozh
Artist: labuenaventura
Writer: jen_in_japan
Fandom: DC Universe
Characters: Superman and Batman
Rating: NC-17
Themes set: Light Themes
Theme: Spinning...

"I still disapprove of this--whatever it is, exactly," Batman grumbled as Superman lowered the Javelin through the atmosphere.

Superman grinned and re-calibrated the controls. "This is your birthday present."

"I didn't need a vacation." Batman sounded slightly sulky.

"I hate to be contrary," Superman said cheerfully, "But the League disagreed with that assessment enough to loan me the Javelin and cover both of us for monitor duty for three days. Dick, Tim, and Barbara all disagreed enough to offer to cover Gotham for you. And Alfred disagreed enough to insist you go."

Batman grimaced as if at an unpleasant memory. "He was rather insistent." Alfred had definitely been the last straw. Batman could have shrugged off the combined might of the Justice League and his extended family, but when Alfred had weighed in the matter was settled. He sighed, trying to relax his shoulders. "Have I really been that bad recently?"

"You've been...how best to say it...completely unbearable, Bruce." Clark's tone was light enough to remove the sting, but serious enough to make his point. He reached out and covered Batman's black-clad hand with his own, squeezing slightly. "You needed a chance to blow off some tension, and when G.L. mentioned this spot in passing a few weeks ago I thought it might be just the thing."

Bruce peered out at the landscape, seeing no sign of habitation. "What is this place?"

"Planetoid XG-129908-D, according to the Corps," said Superman. "A very small and negligible, totally uninhabited ball of rock."

"Well, the totally uninhabited part sounds nice," Batman noted gloomily. "A world free of crime."

"At least until we land, as I intend to soon commit a few crimes of passion," Superman said with something close to a leer. Batman stared at him--he still wasn't quite adjusted to the fact that the upright and moral Man of Steel was so inventively lecherous behind closed doors.

There was a soft thump as the Javelin came to a gentle stop on the planetoid's surface. The door swung open to reveal a landscape of stark beauty. Grassy plains spread away in all directions, broken in the near distance by high cliffs of almost pure white rock. The grass itself was a green too bright to be natural on earth, rolling away in brilliant jade ripples, studded with tiny cream-colored flowers. Far off on the horizon was a faint smudge of smoke from a cone-shaped mountain, purple in the distance.

The whole landscape was bathed in a light which seemed subtly off to Bruce. Looking up, he realized that the sun was paler than yellow, almost white, with an odd, faintly purple tint. He felt a prickle of energy along his skin, a not-unpleasant tingle, and looked questioningly at Superman.

Kal's smile still had a touch of leer in it. "Harmless to humans, Stewart checked it. The sun's electromagnetic signature, combined with some random anomalies in the gravitational field of the planetoid, produce the effect."

Batman flexed a hand, feeling the whisper of power along his skin, a murmuring ripple along his nerves. "What effect, Kal?" The violet-tinged light seemed to be pouring into him, filling him with energy and a restless desire for...something, something just out of reach...

Superman lifted lightly into the air, moving away from Bruce. "You'll see," he said with a grin.

Frustrated with the evasion, Bruce reached out to grab at the fluttering red cape, knowing Kal was already too far away--and felt his feet leave the ground as easily as walking, felt gravity submit to him, until he was next to Superman. In midair.

Clark's grin widened at the look on Batman's face. "Apparently this planetoid gives both Kryptonians and Terrans powers. Congratulations, here you're Super-Batman."

Bruce stared down at the vivid green land below his feet, then back up at Superman. He knew he must be gaping. Shock combined with the effects of the alien sunlight to set his pulse racing. He took a deep breath to steady himself, trying to distract himself from the power resonating in his blood and bones, begging for release, distract himself for just a moment longer from Kal's knowing and inviting smile. "An interesting effect," he noted as blandly as he could. He closed his eyes as the world seemed to slowly unfold around him. "I can hear your heartbeat," he whispered.

He heard Kal's heart leap in response to his words. The whole world seemed to be rustling in the wind, the scent of the tiny white flowers like jasmine and musk, the scent of Kal's skin like perfume, myrrh, like nothing but himself... He took a long, deep breath. "Jesus, Kal. What--what do I do now?" The power hummed on his skin like velvet, coiling around his body, caressing him everywhere, and the arousal he'd been trying not to acknowledge suddenly became impossible to ignore.

Kal wet his lips, the tiny sound a lick of flame along Bruce's new senses. "Catch me," he whispered, and was gone.

Bruce was after him without even thinking about it, his body responding effortlessly to his needs, his needs... The world wavered around him as he caught up to Kal, passed him, stopped in front of him so the red-and-blue blur tumbled into him. Kal's hands on his shoulders, Kal's hips against his, and the world went spinning crazily as they caught each other and were caught, sapphire sky and emerald land alternating almost too fast to be processed.

Kal's laughing eyes closed as Bruce captured his mouth, their passion spinning as out of control as their bodies, careening through the sky like twin comets. Their capes roared like black and red flame, the world wheeling around them. Kal broke away to dart into the sky, and Bruce came after him, catching the red cape, pulling him back into his arms. Kal struggled against the embrace, laughing, trying to break free and failing, and the sight of Kal helpless in his grip made lust leap inside Bruce in ways he had rarely allowed himself to imagine.

He let go of his lover long enough to tug down the shining tights, just enough to get his hand around Kal's cock, and Kal groaned at the touch and flung them both into a dizzying arc through the sky, thrusting into Bruce's hand as the world curved below them. "You'd better have...brought the lube," Kal gasped as they leveled back out, skimming in the air together like birds, limbs tangling, Kal's hands tugging at Bruce's pants in turn.

He gasped again, back arching at a motion from his lover.

"A utility belt and superspeed are a deadly combination," Bruce noted smugly, but the lust in Kal's eyes burned both laughter and words from him.

He meant to go slowly, to savor the moment, but the energy in him was fierce and demanding, insistent. Kal laughed almost imperiously, hair wild in the wind, and pulled him close with no formalities, a clash of bodies that ended with Bruce buried inside his lover. Passion and power made his nerves incandescent, heightened senses feeling every subtle shift of silk around him, each ripple of reaction a new kind of ecstasy.

Wind and sky around them, rapture within them, nothing but glory between them, they grappled like angels through the air.

Bruce felt his climax build in him with an anticipation so exquisite as to be almost agonizing. At the very top of a sweeping arc he saw Kal's face shift, arching against him, his hands grasping wildly at the air. Bruce felt the power in him tense to the point of no return and beyond, and they both fell into climax together as they fell from the sky locked together, uncaring of anything around them.

The impact was dramatic: they crashed into one of the snowy-white cliffs, which turned out to be some kind of chalk. A massive plume of iridescent white powder lifted around them, the ground trembling and reverberating with aftershock.

They hardly noticed.

Eventually Bruce raised himself up enough to shake himself off; white dust flew everywhere. Kal was still flat on his back at the bottom of what appeared to be a newly-formed crater. He smiled up at Bruce.

"I never thought I'd have the chance to ask you this in earnest, but...did the earth move for you?"

Bruce reached out to dust off his lover's dark hair, shaking his head. "That's a long way to travel just to get the chance to make that joke."

Kal's bright blue eyes blinked sleepily at him. There was shimmering dust caught in his eyelashes. "That was fun."

Bruce lifted himself in the air again, enjoying the feel of the planetoid's magnetic field caressing his body. "I think I saw a little lake over to the east. Shall we go wash some of this dust off?"

A wicked grin and a shimmer of movement, and Kal lifted into the air beside him, gloriously nude. "What?" he laughed at Bruce's scandalized look. "Planetoid XG-129908-D is entirely uninhabited. It's all ours, Bruce." He slipped, floating, into Bruce's arms and kissed him, twining his naked body around Bruce's black-clad form until it was completely impossible for Bruce to stay clothed anymore.

"It needs a better name," Bruce noted as he stripped off the last off the armor. "Planetoid XG-129908-D is not very euphonious."

"We'll think of something," Kal said as he lifted into the air again. "I was thinking maybe...Clarkadia? Kentopia?" He dodged his lover as Bruce launched into the sky at him, mock-growling, and then they were both soaring again, lazily making their way toward the lake. Kal ran his hands lightly along Bruce's body as they flew together, making dipping passes to kiss Bruce's nape and calves and toes. The wind in Bruce's face was like wine, and he could already feel the intoxicating build of power along and within his body again. He would be drunk on ecstasy if he stayed here long, he thought hazily as Kal's body pressed against his lightly for an instant, sending ripples of desire through him. Was it like this for Kal all the time on Earth?

When they reached the lake, Kal skimmed across the surface, one foot touching down light as a ballerina's to send graceful sprays of clear water into the air. Bruce arrowed down to grab him in mid-pirouette and duck him into the water, leaving both of them soaked and sputtering. Bruce was treading water and gasping when Kal suddenly grabbed his foot from below and yanked him under; Bruce felt a moment's panic as the light of the surface fell away, then realized he didn't need to breathe. And a good thing too, since Kal apparently intended to kiss him for ten minutes or so, the watery light around them making everything dim and dreamy.

Kal's hair floated in languid waves around his face, and Bruce let himself drown in bliss for a while, feeling the current of the water combining with the current of power along his bare body. Then he slipped away and soared upward to break the surface of the water, Kal close beside him shaking himself like a Laborador. Spray arced from his dark hair and Bruce could see each drop with a sharp, almost preternatural clarity, bright and perfect. Power thrummed in his veins and filled his heart again, and he whispered, "Your turn."

Kal looked puzzled. "My turn?"

"Catch me." He was gone, feeling the heat of Kal's pursuit right behind him, breaking into evasive maneuvers that left him catching fragments of his lover's laughter. He soared, faster and still faster, feeling the heat of motion caressing his body, making his way toward the smoking mountain on the horizon.

He paused at the lip of the volcano, expecting an assault of suphur, but the air smelled merely of impossible heat, metallic and bright. He turned to look back at Kal staring at him, then stepped backward into the volcano.

Heat enfolded him, heat that could burn a man to ash and less than ash, stroking his body like gentle fingers. He moved slowly into the heart of the furnace, euphoria burning away all doubt, to hover just above the lake of magma. Near the edge of pool of fire he could see Kal, eyes wide, figure rippling in the heat. A shudder shook the surface of the sea of molten rock, and a plume of lava lifted around him, spraying his body with incandescent heat. He could feel his hair lifting in the wind, feel the liquid flame twining around him, and he smiled at Kal. Beckoned.

He saw Kal's lips move, and only his new-heightened hearing could have heard his whisper over the roar of the volcano: "Angel. Angel of flame."

Kal met him in the air and there was nothing but fire.

: : :

The door of the Javelin settled onto the viridian turf with a soft sigh. Kal felt himself involuntarily echo the sound himself. He looked over at Bruce. "I suppose you'll be anxious to finally get back to Gotham."

Bruce was still staring out over the rolling hills, at the smudge of smoke on the horizon. "Eh?" He pulled his attention to Kal. "Oh yes, of course. The sooner the better." He closed his eyes as a breeze rippled the grass, the scent of jasmine washing over the two of them, and sighed slightly. "I suppose you'll insist on dragging me back here every now and then."

"Most likely," said Kal, smiling. Then he frowned. "We never did come up with a name for it."

Bruce opened his eyes again. "I've been thinking about it."

"You have?"

A nod. "Would you mind if we named it something in Kryptonian?"

Kal looked out over the lush green fields, the pristine white chalk cliffs rising above them. He cleared his throat. "I think that's a...nice gesture. What did you have in mind?"

Bruce's eyes were blue as distant smoke. "I'd like to name it Errvaozh."

"Errvaozh," Kal repeated, tasting the word in his mouth like salt and honey.

Joyous Harmony.

"It's a good name," Kal whispered.

"Yes," Bruce said, and pulled him close for a last, long kiss.

#19 Echoes in Winter (Fullmetal Alchemist, Archer/Kimbly)

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 20:47:35 GMT

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Archer/Kimbly
Author: forchancookie
Artist: tomoe_daeva
Theme: #19 Echoes in Winter
Summary: Colonel Archer walks on dangerous ground when he becomes infatuated with a prisoner.
Warnings: Nazi!AU, NC-17, Yaoi

Echoes in Winter

The snow had finally begun to fall in Central. Colonel Frank Archer looked up as the first delicate flakes began to dust the street. He wondered if his golden eyed pet was keeping warm in his lab or if he'd chosen to stay huddled in his bed for an extra hour, nursing the ass that he'd given a thorough pounding the day before. He wouldn't be surprised if he walked with a limp today. It always gave him such a thrill to watch him limp around the laboratory.

When Archer had first received his assignment to work at the internment camp on the outskirts of Central, he'd been furious that he would be used as a mere guard. He was a skilled soldier, an excellent shot, and a shrewd officer. He felt demeaned by the position. That was before he really got to know the job. He oversaw the research complex, which was separate from the rest of the camp. It was no ratty old shack. Instead, it was a state of the art facility with large laboratories, a library, several offices and a dormitory for the scientists. Archer had a large office with a two way mirror that allowed him to watch the scientists at work.

In that building, he was God. He controlled schedules, meals, outdoor time, guard shifts, restroom breaks, supplies, and everything else that went on. He made sure to keep up on all the research and progress of the scientists and he ran the complex smooth and tight. He always received excellent performance reviews and was regularly granted a bonus for his exemplary work. He may not have wanted the post originally, but now he realized it was a good fit for him and he was pleased with his position.

Of course, there were also some extra benefits to his position. He regularly spent time with the head researcher of the project, Dr. Zolf J. Kimblee. Kimblee was a brilliant scientist with a specialty in ballistics. Currently, they had him working on a new type of bomb that they could use against their enemies in the war. The research looked promising and Archer was sure that sometime soon he would be able to present his superiors with the means to rid the rest of the world of the filth that had contaminated it.

It was a shame that Kimblee was part of that blemish. He was a handsome man. He had a strong calm face that framed the most peculiar golden eyes that Archer had ever seen. They always burned brightly with curious emotions that Archer could only catch fleeting glances of. Pride, anger, hunger, indifference, strength, and lust. His favorite was lust.

He had never before considered himself a deviant man. He was always a model citizen that walked the right path and never strayed. Then the doctor had walked into his office in a dusty lab coat, curiously long hair pulled back haphazardly into a ponytail and a stack of files in his arms. It was the first time that his mind had ever dared to suggest that a man was beautiful. Even in the dull gray jumpers that the scientists were given to wear, Kimblee had a shine about him and he found himself bewitched.

At first, he had been angry. He took it out on the doctor by yelling at him during their meetings, restricting his meals, and having his sleep cycle disrupted. Harried, scrawny, and exhausted, Kimblee still wreaked havoc on Archer's thoughts. He probably would have continued to run the man into the ground if the doctor hadn't approached him with a deal. He offered to relieve Archer's stress in return for better treatment. Intrigued, Archer had accepted without realizing what he was getting himself into. The first time that Kimblee had caressed him, Archer punched him. The doctor had spent the night in the infirmary with a concussion and walked around with a bruise on his face for over a week.

The second time Kimblee touched him was far more successful and pleasurable. He was able to move past mere caresses and use his mouth to pleasure Archer. As promised, Archer had felt considerably less tense after Kimblee's treatment. He began receiving such treatments daily along with his progress reports. It wasn't long before Archer's curiosity had them moving beyond oral pleasures to whole new realms of sensation. The first time that he entered Kimblee he thought that surely he had found the paradise that their ancestors had been banished from eons ago.

Having Kimblee's tight body squirming beneath his own seemed to stoke a primal fire within him and soon he had begun to think of the doctor as his own, his conquest, his l... No, he couldn't use such a word. As much as he enjoyed the trysts, to put such a label on their activities was to step off of the straight line that he had always walked. Now, it was a mere dalliance, but to title what they had was to step onto the side of the damned. He could not do that for he was one of those Chosen people. He considered himself a man of privilege to work for the Fuhrer ,while Kimblee was nothing more than dirt that was left to barter like a beggar with the only thing he owned, his body. And even that did not fully belong to him as Archer could take it at any time without permission, though he did not choose to do so. It was more pleasurable when Kimblee was a willing participant.

Kimblee had a fine body, but it was still unclean. Archer went home each night and cleansed himself of the filth in a hot bath. He drank strong alcohol to flush his system of any lingering trace of the man and he always gave thanks to his maker that he was Chosen and asked to remain pure despite straying. Each new day, he would again, partake of that which had been set before him. It seemed a waste not to indulge. As long as he continued to cleanse himself and did not get too attached, it worked out well.

Archer passed a second hand store and turned as a flash of red caught his eye. In the window, a deep burgundy coat was wrapped around a tailor's dummy. Though he had never seen the man wear colors other than gray and white, he knew that this color would suit Kimblee. Just yesterday, the man had been complaining about the cold. He had been coming down with a chill because the standard issue jacket did little to keep him warm on his precious walks in the yard of the compound. As they lay together, curled on the lounge chair that Archer had recently put in the office for just such a purpose, Kimblee quietly asked if perhaps Archer could acquire a warmer coat for him to wear.

In the past, Archer had gifted him with thick socks, long underwear, and his own handed down boots, but never had he given the man anything so obvious as a jacket. He was aware that some of the soldiers in the main camp would give gifts to the women that pleased them, but such things did not happen at his compound. Yet, he could not afford to get sick because he allowed Kimblee to become ill. Besides, the prisoners in the main camps were lower than scum, while the scientists under his care were more like pets. They were kept better and were occasionally rewarded when their research proved useful.

Archer decided that Kimblee had been a model of good behavior lately and as such, he could be given a reward. With his mind made up, Archer went into the store and purchased the burgundy coat. The shop owner wrapped it in brown paper and tied it with twine and wished him a good day. Archer nodded and left the shop, imagining how Kimblee would look wrapped up in the fine red wool.

The light snow became heavier as Archer walked past the regular camp towards his own complex. As he neared, he heard voices raised in mocking jeers from the exercise yard. He frowned. His men were much more disciplined than the men of the main camp. They were not ones to behave like heathens. The men at the gate gave him curious looks as he was admitted into the complex. Ignoring them, he stalked towards the exercise yard where a knot of soldiers had gathered. No one was guarding the gate to the exercise yard. Archer angrily marched into the yard.

"What is the meaning of this?" He shouted, his voice snapping like a whip in the cold winter air. He watched their backs tense as they turned around to face the wrath of their commander.

The men gave him a hesitant salute as they stood at attention. They stood in close ranks, blocking something from his view. With narrowed eyes, he stalked forward and stared down two men until they moved out of his way to reveal a prone form. Though bloodied and bruised, the naked body on the snow was instantly recognizable as Kimblee. He bore purple black bruises in the shape of fists and boots and blood stained the snow around him. His long hair had been shaved off and lay in clumps on the ground.

All thoughts of berating his men fled as he Archer knelt beside Kimblee and turned the man over. His eyes were swollen shut and his nose obviously broken. At least one of his teeth had been knocked out and blood had dried to his face. Despite his dreadful condition, Kimblee parted his cut and swollen lips to release a sound that might have been his name. Archer pursed his lips angrily and tore at the brown paper that was wrapped around the burgundy coat. He draped it over Kimblee's body and gathered the man into his arms.

As Archer stood, he turned back to his soldiers and speared them all with his icy gaze. "I don't know what is going on here, but this will not go unpunished," he said.

"You're right sir. It won't."

Archer staggered back as though he'd been pushed. There was a crack of thunder in the air followed by a blossom of pain in his shoulder. The men were shooting at him! His knee exploded in agony and he tumbled to the frozen earth, dropping Kimblee. The man never let out a sound. Archer hit the frozen earth awkwardly. His body was riddled with pain, but he still looked up to check on Kimblee. The burgundy coat was changing colors and the snow that touched it turned pink. He realized that that first push had been a shot at Kimblee; a killing shot. What landed on the ground was no longer a bewitchingly beautiful scientist, but a mere corpse.

As he lay there, his shock faded and his training kicked in as he reached for his gun. The action was short lived as someone shot him in the arm. He bit through his lip as the pain lanced through him. The shots ceased and he looked up as the men gathered around him.

One of the men knelt in front of him and grabbed his hair, tugging him up to look at his face. "Are you confused sir? You look confused." He turned Archer's head violently, forcing him to look down at Kimblee's battered face. "This is trash. When you partake of trash, you become trash. You have sullied the position you hold and insulted the Fuhrer that trusted you with that position. You are no longer one of the Chosen people! You are nothing but trash!" He dropped Archer with a disgusted sound. "We are reclaiming the honor of this complex. No, the honor of the Fuhrer and all those who are Chosen!" He stepped back and signaled to the others.

The air crackled angrily as another round of bullets ripped through his flesh. As the echoes died, the pain in his body began to fade. His vision blurred as he stared at the burgundy coat he had bought for a man he feared to call his lover. His fingers twitched as he moved them to touch the hand that had caressed him so intimately. He thought that there were worse things he could die for. One final shot echoed through the yard and Archer joined his lover.

#9 I Laughed So Hard I Nearly Cried (Fullmetal Alchemist, Archer/Kimbly)

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 16:19:29 GMT

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Archer/Kimbly
Author: forchancookie
Artist: tomoe_daeva
Theme: #9 I Laughed So Hard I Nearly Cried
Summary: Frank Archer isn't gay, but somehow he can't stay away from the handsome and persistent Kimblee.
Warnings: AU, NC-17, Yaoi

I Laughed So Hard I Nearly Cried

Frank tried to avoid the hard gaze of the man sitting across from him on the train. The weight of his stare was disturbing. At first, he'd thought the man was staring at the woman sharing the seat with him, but that notion was dashed when she got off and the man continued to stare. Though he was wearing a nice suit and holding a briefcase, Frank got the impression that this man would look more comfortable in a trench coat as he stood in the shadows waiting for his next victim. He shuddered at the thought. Luckily, he was transferring trains at the next station.

He stood, clutching his backpack nervously. While he knew that the Victoria's Secret bag inside of his backpack was not visible, the other man's stare unsettled him. It had been nerve wracking enough shopping for his underwear today. It was inevitable that a man in a lingerie store get strange looks, but he always felt so aware of their eyes. It was worse now with this man staring at him as if he could see through his clothes to the secret underneath. It made his stomach turn with nervousness and his body tense and jumpy.

As the train pulled to a stop, Frank tried to shake off his thoughts. He headed for the waiting train across the platform and spotted an empty bench next to the window. He slid in the seat, moving over to make room for someone else. As he looked up at the rest of the train, he noticed the man that had been staring at him step on. The man looked around and spotted him. A smile twisted his face as he began to move down the aisle towards Frank.

As the man approached, the seat dipped next to him and an arm slung around his shoulder. "Hey baby, you never called me back!"

Frank blinked and turned to look at the person who had settled beside him. He had startling golden eyes, slick black hair, and a wide grin. The newcomer flicked his gaze to the stalker, staring at him pointedly. With a frown, the man passed by their seat and headed into the next car. Frank sighed in relief.

"You have to watch out for that guy. He likes to hassle pretty young men like yourself," Frank's seat mate said.

"Oh, um...thank you." He fought back a blush. He was not pretty. Men were not pretty.

The man grinned. "No problem. The name's Kimblee. Zolf J. Kimblee, but everyone just calls me Kimblee." He offered Frank his hand.

"Frank Archer," he replied, shaking his hand.

Kimblee nodded. "Are you new to the area Frank?"

"Yes. I just moved here recently."

"Like it so far?"

"Except for strange stalking men on the train? It's nice."

Kimblee chuckled. "Yeah. You have to watch out for that. There's a lot of strange people on the trains."

"I'll keep that in mind," Frank said.

"So, you have a boyfriend?" Kimblee asked.

Frank stiffened. "I'm straight."

Kimblee tilted his head and looked at Frank. A smile split his face before he burst out laughing. Some of the other passengers glanced at them as Kimblee continued to laugh carelessly. He put a hand to his face, covering his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.

Frank's face turned red as he glared at the other man. "I am," he insisted, loudly.

Kimblee wiped at his eyes and nodded, still chuckling. "Yes. Ok."

Frank turned away, staring out of the window into the dark tunnel. He couldn't decide whether he was more insulted or hurt by the man's laughter.

"Look, Frank. I'm sorry." Kimblee said soothingly. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It was just wishful thinking on my part."

For some reason, the blush raced up his cheeks again. "It's fine," he said gruffly. The truth was, he got that response more than he liked to admit.

"So, you're straight? No way I could possibly entice you out for a date?" Kimblee asked, leaning towards him.

"N-no." Frank pressed himself back against the window.

Kimblee tsked. "That's a shame. You're just my type."

"I'm sorry, but you're not mine." Frank looked up as the train operator announced his stop. He quickly stood up. "Excuse me, this is where I get off."

Kimblee looked disappointed. "Can I get your number at least? I could show you around."

"I appreciate the offer, but no."

With a sigh, Kimblee stood and let Frank out of the seat. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe," Frank replied flatly as he walked towards the door. Once he was off the train, he checked behind him to make sure he wasn't followed. Luckily, Kimblee stayed on the train, though Frank did notice him watching as the train left the station. He shivered uncomfortably and hurried down the stairs.

Frank walked home swiftly, frequently checking over his shoulder just in case. Two brush ins with strange men left him unsettled. He sighed as he stepped into his apartment and locked the door. He shed his backpack and dragged it into his bedroom where it got tossed on the bed. He slid off his shoes and collapsed across his comforter. After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, he turned over and opened his backpack, drawing out the pink lingerie bag.

He started to pull out his purchases, laying them out on the bed. He'd bought varying shades and styles of panties, all in his size. While he knew that he wasn't gay, he did enjoy the delicate intricacy of a pair of women's underwear. The materials, the colors, the texture and the decoration had always drew him. When he'd moved out on his own and began doing his own laundry, his choice of undergarments had changed dramatically from the old cotton briefs that his mother would buy him. His underwear was the most colorful part of his wardrobe. His outer shell was fashionable, yet conservative, so he couldn't figure out why men like Kimblee kept hitting on him. He didn't think he looked gay.

He sighed and shook his head to clear away such thoughts. He reached for his cell phone and frowned. He was sure he'd put it in his right coat pocket. He searched the other pocket, then patted down his pants, then dumped over his backpack, searching frantically for his phone. It wasn't there. He cursed and grabbed the cordless phone on his dresser. He dialed his number and listened carefully, hoping to hear his ring tone.

"Hello? Frank?"

Frank blinked. "H-hello?"

"Ah, so this is yours. This is Kimblee. You dropped your phone on the train."

"Oh."

"I'm guessing that you want this back."

"Yes, of course."

"I'm also guessing that you won't give me your address to return it and the chances of having you come to my place are non-existent."

Frank snorted softly. "You'd be correct."

"Then how about we do it this way? There's a nice little deli just off the Langford stop. You meet me there for lunch tomorrow and I'll give you your phone back."

Frank could hear the triumphant grin in the other man's voice. He could just imagine the look of glee on his face from having the leverage to get Frank out on a date with him. He thought about arguing, but he needed his phone. It was effectively held hostage by the other man. "What's the name of it?"

"Petrelli's Deli. Just leave the station, take a right and walk up the sidewalk. It's the place with the tables on the sidewalk."

"And what time should I meet you?"

"11:30. We'll beat the crowd that way."

Frank nodded to himself. "Then I'll see you tomorrow at 11:30 and you'll give me my phone?"

"Of course, but only after you enjoy lunch with me. My treat of course."

"Of course," he replied sourly.

"All right. It's a date then. See you tomorrow Frank."

Frank stood there listening to the dead line for a minute before he put down the phone. He couldn't believe that he got tricked into going to lunch with that man.

~*~

Frank stepped off of the train at 11:10. He left the station and took a right. Up ahead he could see the deli that Kimblee had described. In fact, he saw Kimblee lounging at one of the tables. Kimblee spotted him a moment later and stood up, waving.

"You made it. Come on, have a seat." He gestured to the chair across from him.

"Do you have my phone?" Frank asked.

"What a greeting. Yes, I have your phone, but you can't have it till after lunch. You'll run away if I give it to you now." Kimblee grinned.

Frank sat down and frowned.

Kimblee continued to grin. "Don't be like that, you'll get your phone. I just want a nice little chat and some lunch."

"You're holding me hostage," Frank pointed out.

"Don't think of it like that. You make it sound like I'm doing something wrong." Kimblee sat back in his chair, calmly countering Frank's accusation.

"Aren't you? You won't give me my phone back."

Kimblee sighed. "Fine, if I give it back to you, will you stay and have lunch with me?"

Frank looked around and then at Kimblee before nodding. "I'll stay." He might as well get a free lunch for going all the way out there.

Kimblee beamed. "Great! They have a really good roasted lamb sandwich." He produced Frank's phone from his pocket and slid it across the table.

"Thank you." Frank picked up his phone and looked it over. Everything appeared to be in order. He slid it into his pocket and picked up the menu on the table. "They have lamb here?"

"Yes. It's delicious."

Frank nodded. "I think I'll try that."

"Great." Kimblee flagged down the waiter and they placed their orders. Once the waiter had dropped off their drinks, Kimblee turned his attention back to Frank. "So Frank, what brings you out to Central? Where did you move from?"

"My job brought me here."

"What do you do?" Kimblee asked, resting his elbows on the table.

"I'm a personal assistant."

He nodded. "I work for an advertising agency. I'm in the entertainment division. We promote a lot of plays and concerts. If there's ever a show in town that you want to see, call me up and I can get you tickets."

"That's very nice, thank you." He doubted that he'd ever see the man again after this. After all, he was just here for his phone.

Kimblee continued to make small talk while Frank tried to keep his answers short and polite. Luckily, their food arrived to break up the questioning. Frank was glad to finally focus on something other than Kimblee. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite. He was surprised by the taste. It was good and he said as much to Kimblee.

"I told you so." Kimblee grinned before turning his attention to his own food.

Frank found himself staring as the man delicately ate his sandwich. For some reason, he'd thought he would tear into it. Kimblee glanced up and raised an eyebrow. Frank blushed and turned his attention back to his own food. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd never found people eating interesting before. So why now?

Kimblee finished off his sandwich and carefully wiped his mouth. Frank noticed that now, he was the one being watched. He licked some mayonnaise from his lip nervously. Kimblee smiled. Frank looked down at his sandwich. The juicy lamb was dripping down his fingers.

"You're dripping," Kimblee said, reaching out with his napkin to wipe at Frank's wrist.

"Thanks," Frank mumbled.

"No problem." Kimblee sat back. Frank could hear the tinkle of ice in his glass as the man took a sip of his iced tea.

Frank continued to work at his food, but the silence was getting tho him. He knew that Kimblee was staring at him. He needed some sort of distraction.

"So Frank, you're a fan of the Military Dogs?" Kimblee asked.

Frank looked up, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Your ring tone. It's Fullmetal by the Dogs."

"Oh."

"They're coming to town next week. They have a show at the Devil's Nest." Kimblee said.

Frank nodded. "I know, but it's sold out and the scalper prices are too much."

"I have tickets."

The sandwich froze halfway to Frank's mouth. "What?"

"I have tickets. I told you, I work for an advertising agency. We were contracted to do the advertising for the tour, so I have two tickets to the show." Kimblee grinned at Frank's shocked, but hungry expression. "Wanna go? You'd have to go with me, but you'd be on the third row."

"You really have tickets?" Frank asked.

Kimblee nodded. "I really have tickets."

Frank looked at him thoughtfully. He didn't want to encourage the man, but he would really like to see Dogs of the Military in concert. They were his favorite band. In the end, his desire to see them won out. "I'll go. As long as you don't try to turn it into another date."

"Another date?" Kimblee asked.

"Yes. Like this forced date."

"You consider this a date?" Kimblee grinned.

"No, I consider this more of a hostage situation."

He chuckled. "Well that's an interesting way of looking at it. I've never had anyone so desperate to get away from me."

"I'm not exactly here by choice," Frank reminded him.

"But you're not having a bad time are you? And there are fringe benefits."

"That may be, but I'm still not gay."

Kimblee laughed. "All right. You're not gay, but you really can't blame me for trying. You are very handsome."

"And you don't know when to quit." Frank quickly finished his food. "Thanks for lunch," he said as he wiped his chin and brushed a few stray crumbs from his shirt.

"You're leaving already?" Kimblee asked.

Frank nodded. "I was just here for the phone."

"What about the concert? You don't want to plan that out?"

Frank paused as he realized that he was yet again trapped. If he wanted to see the concert, he had to stay and entertain Kimblee's whims. "Fine, I'll stay, but only for a few more minutes."

Kimblee grinned triumphantly. "A few minutes is fine with me."

~*~

Frank, grudgingly, allowed Kimblee to pick him up to go to the concert. When he walked out of his apartment complex to find a limo waiting, he was shocked. Kimblee was leaning against the sleek black car, grinning as usual.

"What is this?" Frank asked, waving at the car.

"Our chariot my dear."

"I thought you had a car."

Kimblee shook his head. "I just rent them when I need them. And I always rent the best."

"You're insane."

He shrugged as he opened the door of the limo. "You say that now, but we'll have a much easier time getting in and out in this car than if we drove ourselves. There is logic in the madness, I promise."

"If you say so." He carefully climbed into the limo, looking around. It was his second time in a limo. The first time was for his cousin's shot gun wedding when he was 12. This one was a lot fancier.

Kimblee climbed into the car and sat next to a mini bar. "Champagne?"

"Does it cost more if we open it?" Frank asked.

Kimblee chuckled. "Don't worry about that. We're just here to have a good time." He opened the bottle and poured a glass of the sparkling liquid for Frank.

"Thank you." He took the glass. It had a delicate sweetness that encouraged him to have seconds. He had a pleasant buzz by the time they reached the arena. He felt a lot more relaxed in Kimblee's presence, which was a plus.

Just as Kimblee had predicted, they had no trouble getting in with their luxury wheels. The seats were great. The music was amazing and better yet, Kimblee had managed to get him back stage to meet the band. Frank almost would have called it the best date ever, except that it wasn't a date.

He ended up sitting on a couch talking with the Military Dogs' bassist, Riza Hawkeye, while Kimblee chatted with a small group of people across the room. Riza was beautiful and intelligent and their conversation was interesting, but somehow, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering over to Kimblee. It seemed every time he glanced over, the man was being overly friendly with another person.

"Worried about your boyfriend?" Riza asked, grinning.

"Wh-what? No! He's not. We're not," Frank babbled, his face heating up.

"Ah. Not yet anyway?" Riza asked, looking from Frank to Kimblee.

"No," Frank said, embarrassed that she misunderstood like this.

"Don't worry, he's watching you when you're not looking too. I'm sure it won't be long before you get together."

Frank just nodded dumbly, too embarrassed to try and correct her again. Instead, he picked up another drink from the waiter serving the little after party and attempted to erase her comments from his mind. By the time she excused herself to feed her dog, Frank realized that he'd had about two drinks too many as the room was wavering slightly. As the rest of the band trickled away to eat and sleep, Kimblee returned to collect Frank. He was careful to keep an arm around Frank's waist as they wobbled back to the limo.

The ride back was quiet as Frank stared out the window, thinking about Riza's words. He knew that Kimblee liked him, but he didn't like the other man! He didn't want to get together with him. He wasn't gay! He was straight. He hadn't dated in high school, but once he got to college, he met a nice girl at the library and they dated for three years. They broke up when she graduated and moved, but later on a friend had told him that she claimed he didn't satisfy her in bed. He hadn't dated since then, but that didn't mean he was gay. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He woke with a start as someone shook him and called his name.

"Frank. Wake up, we're at your apartment."

Frank opened his eyes blearily and stared up at the blurry form over him.

"C'mon Frank, time to go home."

"Home?" Frank murmured as he was pulled into a sitting position.

"Yes. Come on, I'll walk you up." Kimblee backed out of the car, making sure that Frank came with him.

Drunk and half asleep, Frank leaned heavily against Kimblee.

"Which of these buildings are we going to?" Kimblee asked as they headed up the walkway.

"Um....B."

Kimblee nodded. "And what's your number?"

"325."

They headed into the building and Kimblee got Frank into the elevator. Frank rested his head on Kimblee's shoulder and wondered what cologne the man wore. It smelled nice. The chime of the elevator interrupted his contemplation as he was guided out into the hall to his doorway. Frank stood, staring at his door until Kimblee asked for his keys. He fumbled, but managed to pull them out of his pocket and drop them. With a chuckle, Kimblee knelt down to pick them up and get the door open.

Kimblee guided Frank into the apartment, looking around with interest. "Where's your bedroom?" He asked.

"This way." Frank slipped away from Kimblee and headed down the hall, through his living room and disappeared through a doorway.

Kimblee followed and found Frank sprawled on his bed with his shoes on. He smiled and walked over, working the shoes off of his feet. "You're going to mess up your sheets," he said, setting the shoes on the floor.

"I'm tired." Frank sighed, turning over to look at Kimblee.

He nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. Best date ever," he said through a yawn.

Kimblee blinked. "Date?"

"Mmm." Frank agreed.

"I thought you said-"

"You smell nice," Frank interrupted, sitting up slowly. He rested his head on Kimblee's shoulder, inhaling.

"Thank you," Kimblee said quietly, as though saying it louder would cause Frank to jump away.

Frank nuzzled his neck before looking up at him with a glazed look. Kimblee stared back like a mouse facing down a snake ad Frank leaned in and clumsily pressed their lips together. Surprised as he was, Kimblee couldn't help but kiss him back. Frank pressed forward, adding a slip of tongue to the kiss. This wasn't bad. It was just a kiss, like all the other kisses he'd ever had before, but with a man instead. He continued to deepen the kiss, slowly trying to process it.

Kimblee groaned and pushed him away. "Frank, you're killing me."

Frank licked his lips and looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Because you're drunk." He tried to push him down onto the the mattress.

Frank went easily, but not before grabbing Kimblee to drag him along. Kimblee's head bumped into his, but he ignored it as he sought out his mouth again. He got in another kiss causing Kimblee to moan.

"Frank, stop." Kimblee held him down as he pulled away.

"Why?"

Kimblee sighed and shook his head. "You're not gay. You were very insistent upon this point when sober."

"So?" Frank tilted his head.

"So, I like you Frank. I also respect you. I'm not gonna do anything with you that'll make you hate yourself in the morning and ruin my chances with you."

Frank stared at him, slowly thinking over his words. "You're a good guy," he said slowly.

"Yeah. I know. Too good for my own good," he sighed as he stood up.

"You're leaving me?" Frank reached out to him.

"Yeah. The limo's waiting." He took Frank's hand and placed it back on the bed. "I'll call you tomorrow though." He had to tug his hand away from Frank's in order to flee before he did something stupid. "Good night," he said as he stepped out of the room.

~*~

Frank woke slowly. He tried to keep his eyes shut against the light that streamed into his room. There was a headache throbbing in his temples to the tune of "War" by the Military Dogs. As much as he loved the band, he really wanted the racket to calm down. He managed to coax his body out of bed and into the bathroom where he swallowed some painkillers and stripped out of his clothes. He wondered at the whiff of cologne on his shirt, but shrugged it off as he tossed the shirt in the hamper and stepped into the shower. After spending some time under the warm spray, he felt considerably more human.

Frank dried off and headed into the bedroom in search of clothes. He pulled on a pair of flannel patterned panties trimmed with lace and a matching set of pajama pants. He grabbed a white t-shirt and slid it on, ready for a nice day of lounging around the house. He walked into the kitchen to start his coffeepot when the phone rang. With a sigh, he detoured towards the phone and answered it.

"Hey Frank, how ya feeling this morning?" Kimblee asked.

Frank sighed. He really didn't want to talk to the man now. He knew that he did something stupid last night and he didn't want to deal with the aftermath before his first cup of coffee. "Not in the mood," he responded as he headed over to the coffee machine, pulling out a fresh filter and his jar of fresh roasted almond vanilla coffee.

"Hangover?"

Frank didn't respond as he scooped the coffee into the filter and filled the reservoir with water.

After a minute of silence, Kimblee dared to breach it. "Frank?"

"What?"

"About last night-"

"I don't want to talk about it now."

"Just now? We can talk about it later."

Frank sighed as he leaned against the counter. He'd have to talk about it eventually. Bottling it up would not help the situation any. "Fine. We can talk about it later."

"How about over dinner?" Kimblee asked.

"What?"

"Dinner at my place. I'll provide the food if you provide the conversation," Kimblee said hopefully.

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really don't think that's such a good idea."

"Come on Frank. You know I can handle myself like a gentleman. I'm not going to jump you first thing through the door."

"You just want to talk?"

"Yeah. That's all. You up for it?"

He watched the coffee start to drip into his pot. "That depends," he said finally.

"Depends on what?" Kimblee sounded suspicious.

"Depends on the menu."

Kimblee chuckled. "I was thinking of getting some seafood from the River Mill."

"The River Mill? Isn't that place expensive?"

"It's worth every penny and so are you."

Frank felt his cheeks heat up. "Shut up."

Kimblee chuckled again. "Is that a yes then?"

"I...I suppose I can't let this opportunity go to waste," he said slowly.

"Great!"

Frank could hear the excitement in the man's voice as he set up a time and gave him directions. As he hung up the phone, he had to wonder what he was getting himself into.

He arrived on Kimblee's doorstep right on time. The door opened as soon as he knocked and Frank wondered if Kimblee had been waiting right behind the door for his arrival.

"Come in," Kimblee said happily, ushering him inside.

Frank looked around curiously. Kimblee had a pricey studio apartment which overlooked the river that flowed through the center of town. Large picture windows provided an excellent view of the city. The decor was tasteful. The lighting of the apartment was dim but accented with candles strategically places around the room to provide extra warm flickering light. "Nice place," he said.

"Thanks. I guess listening to that poufy decorator was a good idea after all."

Frank lifted an eyebrow at the comment.

Kimblee laughed. "Even I'm not that camp Franky Boy. This guy was wearing a man-skirt. I can do the pink shirt. Hell, I've worn a pink suit! But a man-skirt? That's pushing it."

"I see." Frank wondered what Kimblee would think about his underwear choice. Suddenly, the black satin and lace panties that he'd slid on didn't seem as comfortable as usual.

Kimblee looked up. "Oh? Did I say something wrong? Sorry. I'm an open guy. You have to be to be gay you know." He chuckled a bit weakly. "I just don't think it needs to be advertised on all channels at maximum frequency. You can still be subtle and classy, like you Frank."

"I'm not gay," Frank replied stubbornly, though Kimblee's words did relax him a bit.

Kimblee shrugged. "You're still classy." He winked. "Now come on, the food is waiting."

Frank nodded and walked over to the table. Even though he knew it was takeout, it was obvious that Kimblee had put some effort in the display of the food. The meal was set up as if they were dining in the River Mill rather than Kimblee's apartment.

"It's not quite like at the restaurant, but I tried." Kimblee shrugged as he moved to a wine bucket. "There's some chowder to start off with. Then some baked fish with vegetables. It smells delicious, don't you think?"

Frank had to agree. It did smell wonderful.

"Go on, sit down. I'm going to open this up." He pulled out a corkscrew and expertly pulled the cork from the bottle. He grabbed the glass in front of Frank's plate and poured him a glass of wine. Once he'd poured his own and placed the bottle back in its bucket, he sat across from Frank. "You can eat. You don't need to wait for me."

"It's only polite that I wait," Frank insisted, placing his napkin on his lap.

"Fine, but eat it while it's hot. I don't want you to have to eat a cold meal." He picked up his spoon and started in on the chowder.

Frank followed suit, taking a sip of the creamy chowder. He paused as he let the flavor wash over him. It was incredibly delicious. Despite the fact that he was there to talk about the previous night, he found that they went through the entire meal doing nothing more than commenting on the quality of the food. When the food was gone, he was given another glass of wine and shooed over to the couch while Kimblee cleaned up.

Frank settled on the couch and looked out at the city. He sipped the crisp white wine and worried about the conversation to come. After all, that was his entire reason for coming over. While he'd been drunk last night, he couldn't blame it all on the alcohol. He never had been one to ignore responsibility. As much as he might want to push it aside, he had to acknowledge the fact that he was responsible for coming onto Kimblee. What had he been thinking?

Kimblee returned from his cleaning and settled on the couch beside Frank. He sipped at his own glass of wine. "It's a nice view isn't it?"

Frank nodded slowly in agreement. He looked over at Kimblee, who was staring out of the window. He wondered when he was going to ask about last night, but the time stretched on and Kimblee said nothing. With each minute of silence, Frank could feel himself getting tense with anticipation. That's when Kimblee put his hand out and gently touched Frank's knee. Frank started, causing the wine to slosh dangerously in his glass.

"Relax Frank," Kimblee said gently. "Don't get so worked up." He smiled at him as he continued to rub his knee.

Frank swallowed hard and nodded, looking back at the window. He couldn't focus though. He ended up watching Kimblee's reflection in the candlelit window. Part of him argued that he should be pushing Kimblee away, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. The contact was nice. He was actually enjoying it. Admitting that to himself made him drain the wine from his glass in one deep gulp.

Noticing the empty glass, Kimblee gently plucked it from his hand and set it on the coffee table with his own half-finished glass. His hand took up position on Frank's leg again, this time being a little more daring as it rested on his thigh and began to stroke gently. Frank shivered and glanced sideways. Kimblee was watching him, watching his reactions.

"Is that ok?" He asked.

Frank could only nod at him. He felt like he was in a fog of confusion. He should be asking Kimblee to stop, but instead he was letting him continue. He was rewarded with a smile from Kimblee and the stroking got a little stronger. Frank shifted a little. His cock was starting to take interest in Kimblee's touch and it began to stiffen. Whether he noticed or not, Kimblee did not touch him there, but continued his maddening stroking. "Weren't we going to talk?" Frank blurted out suddenly.

Kimblee turned to him. "I think this is better than talking, don't you? After all, actions speak louder than words Frank."

"Yes, but I..." he trailed off as Kimblee let his thumb nudge up against his cock. His lips parted as he breathed out rather heavily.

Kimblee turned to Frank, studying his eyes before he leaned in to kiss him. He started out slow, just brushing their lips together chastely. He waited to make sure that Frank wouldn't pull away. When Frank leaned in for more, then Kimblee's kisses grew hungry and he pushed closer. He parted his lips, brushing his tongue across Frank's lips. Taking a deep breath, Frank let his opened his mouth to admit Kimblee's tongue.

Kimblee pushed him down onto the couch. The sound of the leather squeaking beneath him seemed so loud, it almost drowned out the pounding of his heart. He stared up at Kimblee looming over him. He didn't stay that way for long as he leaned in to continue kissing Frank senseless. He felt dizzy from the wide array of kisses that Kimblee was giving him. From chaste little kisses to deep toe curling kisses, Frank felt like he was caught up in the center of a human hurricane.

That's when Kimblee's hands began to roam. He started to stroke his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his sides. Anything that Kimblee could reach, he touched. It was odd to have someone touching him so much. He wasn't used to it. Even with his old girlfriend, he had touched her more than she'd touched him. To be on the receiving end of so many different touches was just as dizzying as Kimblee's various kisses. Frank felt like he was losing himself. That's when Kimblee rubbed his cock. He gasped as the man began to knead at his flesh through his pants. Kimblee chuckled and kissed Frank's stunned lips.

"It's going to get better," he promised as he sat up. Kimblee unbuckled Frank's belt, pushing it out of the way so he could open his pants. It was like he was lost in a strange dream as he cooperatively moved to Kimblee's urgings until his pants had been removed. Kimblee sat back to take in Frank's underwear. He ran his hand over the black satin he found and licked his lips. "This is unexpected, but beautiful," he murmured, pulling down the delicate material reverently. He stroked Frank's cock, causing him to moan and squirm beneath him.

Kimblee pushed Frank's legs wider as he settled between them, taking Frank's cock into his mouth. Frank arched sharply on the couch, his body crackling with pleasure. He felt Kimblee purr and all he could do was moan helplessly as the sensation rolled through him. It had never been like this with his old girlfriend. Did that mean that...? He shook his head, shutting down his thoughts. Now was not the time. He'd rather just enjoy the pleasure than get it tangled up in such heavy thoughts.

When he felt the slick finger at his entrance, he tried to pull away, but Kimblee held in him in place as his finger massaged the area lightly. It wasn't such a bad sensation, but it was definitely odd. Kimblee kept at it and the feeling slowly became less threatening and more soothing. He started to relax. He'd almost forgotten it was there by the time it slid in.

"W-what are you doing?" He choked out as he felt the finger moving around. He clenched around him, his body tensing at the embarrassing intrusion.

"Relax. I'm just looking for something," Kimblee purred as he licked delicately at the tip of Frank's cock.

Frank moaned and his head fell back on the couch as Kimblee sucked him back into his mouth. He couldn't stay tense with Kimblee sucking his cock like that. His muscles relaxed and he could feel Kimblee's finger moving more smoothly inside of him. That's when Kimblee rubbed against something that made Frank whimper. The sound burst from his lips as his body trembled. "What is that?" He croaked.

Kimblee chuckled. "That's what I was looking for." He stroked it again.

Frank whined as his hands clenched tightly. No words came to mind to describe how it felt, but he knew he wanted more. He tried to move against the finger inside of him. He made a disappointed sound when it went away.

"Shh. Don't worry, there's more." As promised, the strange filling sensation was back, but this time there were two fingers. He gasped as they spread out. Kimblee resumed his sweet assault and Frank found himself moving desperately to try and get those fingers to touch him in that place again.

"K-Kimblee." He had trouble believing that the desperate plea had come from his lips, but it didn't stop a second one from following. "Please."

"As you wish." Kimblee smiled as he leaned in to draw his cock back into his mouth. His fingers began to massage that place. Frank twisted helplessly as Kimblee assaulted that sweet spot inside of him. With a desperate sound, he finally came.

Kimblee sat back and smiled at him. Frank fought the wave of exhaustion that had fallen over him to ask "What about you?"

Kimblee shook his head. "You don't have to do anything. That was enough."

"But, you didn't-"

"Shhh." Kimblee cut him off with a kiss. "Don't worry. That was just what I wanted. I don't need anything else."

"Ok," Frank said doubtfully, licking the bitter taste of himself from his lips.

"Well, there might be one thing," Kimblee said, brushing Frank's hair back from his face.

"What's that?"

"Will you stay the night? I don't want to let you go just yet."

Frank looked away, his heart beating rapidly. "I...I'm not-"

Kimblee pressed his finger to Frank's lips, cutting off the word. "Don't complicate things. Just say that you'll stay. That's all I want to hear."

Frank felt his cheeks heat up. Finally, he nodded. "Ok."

"Great," Kimblee purred as he leaned down to claim his lips again.

Frank hesitantly wound his arms around Kimblee's neck thinking that maybe he could get used to this.

"Possessions" (Superman/Batman) : Jen_in_Japan, Labuenaventura

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 13:36:40 GMT

Title: Possessions
Author: jen_in_japan
Artist: labuenaventura
Fandom: DC Universe
Charachters: Superman and Batman
Rating: G
Themes set: Light Themes
Theme: On The Night Stand

The sun was just sliding above the horizon, light flooding the steel canyons of Metropolis and striking the sleepy faces of commuters on their way to work, when Batman finished interrogating the last of Luthor's thugs.

He left the man dangling like a fly from a spider's line and made his way toward a familiar apartment building, frowning as the shadows lessened in the dawn. Luthor had gotten a bee in his bonnet about investigative journalist Clark Kent and sent a few of his boys to rough him up a bit. Batman was pretty sure he'd rounded up the last of them, but he wanted to do a quick check of Clark's apartment and make sure none had slipped by him. Not that Clark couldn't handle a few petty thugs trying to scare him, but--well, Batman didn't particularly want Kent to have to deal with it right now. Superman had been dangerously over-extended for the last few months, and just a couple of days ago had taken some fairly serious injuries in a fight with Metallo.

Crouched in an alarmingly thin slice of shadow, Batman scanned the outside of Clark's apartment building. He cursed under his breath as he noticed one of the reporter's windows was open: he should be at the Planet by now. Did one of Luthor's thugs get past his dragnet and break into Kent's apartment? Batman hovered, irresolute, at the border between safe shadow and annoyingly bright sunlight. Then he made his way to the window and slipped inside.

The living room and kitchen were empty. Batman looked around the rather bare and shabby room. Almost everything in it--from the heavy old metal kitchen table that could have been taken from Ward and June Cleaver's kitchen to the couch that hinted its previous owner had owned several incontinent dogs--looked like it had been bought at Goodwill. At first glance, the man seemed to own nothing at all of any value.

At second glance--Batman's sharp eyes began to take in a few items that looked cherished. It was not terribly surprising that all of them appeared to be gifts. There were photos on the end tables of the Kents, Pete and Lana, Lois Lane, Jimmy. And there were other, subtler signs. A desk lamp in an elegant Grecian design was most likely from the ambassador from Themyscira. There was a piece of abstract art, a painting of geometric shapes caught in the moment between balance and imbalance, signed "Rayner." On one wall hung a cuckoo clock Bruce remembered helping Dick pick out during a trip to Geneva. On the refrigerator was a picture of what might have been Superman done in macaroni, his mouth a hugely cheerful curve of pasta, signed "L.H."

Batman's eyes scanned the silent, empty room again. There was nothing at all here from Bruce Wayne. As far as he could remember, he'd never given Clark Kent or Superman anything.

Well, anything physical. He'd given plenty of time to the man, and a fair amount of energy and effort to keeping him safe.

Anything else he may have given Clark Kent was information he kept strictly to himself.

He shouldn't have to give him anything at all, Batman thought, feeling unaccountably annoyed. Kent didn't need tokens of friendship from him; he had nothing to prove.

So he wasn't sure why it made him feel...restless, to see there was nothing of him in Clark Kent's home.

Before he had the opportunity to examine that feeling further, he heard a whisper of movement from Kent's bedroom. Abruptly alert again, he slipped to the open door and peered in.

He drew back in shock when he realized Clark Kent was asleep in the bed, only his dark head visible from a pile of blankets, turned toward the wall.

Composing himself and edging back to where he could see the man's sleeping form, he realized Clark must have called in sick from work today. The fight with Metallo must have weakened him worse than Batman had realized. The man never was honest about his physical condition, Batman thought with irritation. Well, he was here and obviously Luthor's goons were not, so Batman could get going now, making his way back to Gotham. No reason to disturb Kent's rest.

The morning sunlight flowed into the room from between the blinds, heavy and golden, casting bands of light across Clark's sleeping form. It caught in his dark hair and glistened, throwing off refracted bits of blue light, each strand looking softer than any textile Batman had ever worked with. The hair was fanned out across--

Batman stifled a sudden snort of laughter as his brain finally processed the image.

Kent's pillowcase was adorned with tiny little bats.

Batman stared at the tangle of dark hair across the little bats, like a net of black silk, catching them. He could see only the curve of Clark's ear, but he suddenly wished he could glimpse more of Clark's face. Was he smiling in his sleep? Was he dreaming?

The golden light was warm and thick as honey, filling the room, touching Clark's body, healing him.

Bruce watched it.

The cuckoo clock struck eight and Batman started. He'd been staring at Clark for a full fifteen minutes. Well. The man was safe, there was no need to gather any more information about the situation. No sense in waking him up to tell him to get some rest. But it wouldn't be fair to not leave a hint.

He moved forward soundlessly and adjusted Kent's classes on the nightstand so they were pointing toward the sleeping form. Kent would probably notice the change, would probably be able to guess at the message: I'm keeping an eye on you.

Any other implied messages the man would have to figure out for himself.

Batman slipped silently from the room and out the window, grimacing at the brightness outside. It was going to be difficult to get back to Gotham unseen. Well, so be it.

He realized, as he made his way toward a promising shadow, that somehow he didn't feel so badly anymore that Clark had nothing of his in the apartment.

: : :

Back in his bedroom, warmed by sunlight--and something more--Clark Kent smiled against his pillowcase.

FIN

Good Omens, Aziraphale&Crowley, #10 Emotions Arise

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 22:31:33 GMT

Title: A world in white
Author: harriet_yuuko
Artist: fengtianshi
Fandom: Good Omens
Charachters: Aziraphale & Crowley
Rating: G
Themes set: Light Themes
Theme: #10 Emotions arise
Summary: A snowy day and a lot of unusual thoughts, for an angel and a demon.

(A World in White - fake cut)

The One Who Wakes (3/4)

Mon, 01 Oct 2007 16:16:58 GMT

Title: The One Who Wakes (3/4)
Author: delladella
Artist: kimouski
Fandom: FFVII, OGC
Characters: Cloud, Hojo, Sephiroth, Tifa, Zack
Rating: R
Theme: #11 anachronism
Summary: Events between Cloud’s awakening outside Midgar and his arrival at the train station. By request for firefly99!

( Part One )

( Part Two )

He was sitting with his legs crossed and the sword across his lap. This’s the one real thing I’ve got. I wonder. He ran the pads of his gloves over the scratches and dents. “Huh.” Two green materia were slotted in the blade close to the hilt. Been in a lot of fights, I guess.

He’d found a bunch of empty wooden crates dashed on the ground, and now he fed another board into the fire. Between bright licks of light was Midgar, dwarfed by the distance, but from where he sat it looked like the city was ablaze.

I wonder where it is, or how long since I’ve slept in a bed or sat down to eat. When he closed his eyes and tried to imagine, emptiness drew him into its yawning embrace, the way a tide tugged at the shore. Bit by bit, as if he were so much sand, he could feel himself ebbing.

Dwindling.

So much missing.

This blip of darkness behind every blink was a peek at the well, his hideaway from the world. And the start of a long darkness if he let himself go.

“Hey.” He opened his eyes—only to wince. “Tell me something.” The voice had taught him curiosity came with consequences. But if I’m nobody, then I can be anybody. And I won’t be a coward. “What’s at the bottom of that well?”

There was a pause that went long, as if options were being weighed. You, of course. Sometimes the voice kept things from him, though it claimed it was for his own good.

“And I guess outside’s the world—come what may. Huh.” Who’d dragged him out of darkness? The voice. And it had a purpose for him when he lacked one, a place for him by its side when he had no memory of home. I should be thanking you, he thought. Why do I only have questions? And this feeling—

This feeling that something wasn’t right.

He rose at the onset of restlessness, curling his hand around the hilt of the sword. “About Midgar. What you said before—”

Those idiots may as well be knee-deep in a cesspool. What’s a man? I’ll tell you: the only creature stupid enough to dirty its own nest.

He shook his head and swung around, searching the empty air. “Tell me something I don’t know. What’re you?”

Your best question yet.

“Why do you do that?” He scowled as if he’d been patted on the head. “Pause all the time, like some really bad actor. For effect. Or maybe you’re just a liar who likes to stall.”

The voice’s little snort called to mind the slope of a lofty nose. Who am I? Understand it’s quite a complicated question. You might say your hero. You might say a disease. Your very good friend, regardless.

More riddles. Or maybe just nonsense.

All beside the point. He sucked his lower lip inside his mouth, catching it between his teeth and feeling it pulse. It tasted raw. “But plenty of people must live there,” he said of the city. “Would you burn it down just because?”

Would you cry if I did?

He knew when he was being taunted and resented it. He brought down the sword like an axe, smothering the fire and smashing the makeshift kindling—and went reeling after that, unused to the force behind his movements. He caught himself by planting the sword. “Ugh. Rusty.” If it was possible to get impaled on a hilt, he figured he’d come pretty close.

Laughter sounded in his head, sharp jags of it instead of rollicks. Is it a pity or a plus? You’ve changed, though I suppose it was inevitable.

He shook out his hand. He was stronger than he knew, and maybe he’d get to Midgar and take the voice by surprise, too. “Laugh if you want. I guess it’s funny to you.” Some friend.

He uprooted the sword like a regular daisy, this time careful of his weird strength. This place called Midgar. It stood out like a scab on skin. Stupid, he thought. The voice had seemed like some fount of wisdom, when the truth was the city was the only thing in sight for miles.

Things had started coming clear.

“You aren’t real,” he told the air. “I’ve been asleep this whole time. I’ll wake up someplace nice.”

See where that gets you. And the voice went silent.

He set off with a huff. “Easy.” He didn’t need some bastard of an imaginary friend to guide him where it was obvious he should go.

The sword left behind more of a fault line than a furrow as it dragged on edge, though he could’ve been towing a kite, for all the strain his muscles registered. He kept his attention focused ahead. Though the trip felt lonelier, the distance somehow longer, he could talk to himself plenty to make up for a lack of company. In a way, it was what he’d been doing all along.

“What a mess. So maybe the voice was just the thing I needed to get me going. Well. No more.” It was okay to admit he’d been going crazy back there. Now he was back on track, and things would shake out fine.

The trouble was that he was starting to sag about the shoulders, sapped of all the strength that had brimmed in him before.

He managed to cross another two miles without spotting anything to eat or drink. No tire tracks, either. The city may as well have been a prison, with no outbound traffic and nobody inbound except for him.

As he trudged on, lost in the puzzle of himself, a gauze drew over his eyes and blurred what he beheld. Things sharpened in a blink, and he understood that he was bereft.

Stranded.

“Alone.”

The voice. Couldn’t he call it back? His body ached for closeness. Oneness. But he reminded himself: It isn’t real. Just some trick I played on myself to get by. Wherever I was, I must’ve been pretty hard up, so that’s why.

The sword got heavier. By now he was flexing a two-handed grip on the hilt, and he would take a step and haul it after him, hissing from the effort. He glanced over his shoulder each time, pleased by the way the blade carved the ground in short arcs to mark his wake. The pattern was nice.

But he was tired, and the sword a prize, too important to cast off like candy wrappers, corpses, or empty bottles—garbage. Moving to put away the sword, he caught sight of the stranger reflected in the dingy metal: his too-big eyes, too-fine jaw, face gone soft with surprise. This fraud who didn’t belong at all.

So much as a glimpse left him simmering, and he had to look away—but the looking away didn’t last.

“Ssssk,” he said; the hiss slid to a stop in the back of his throat. So close. He reached for the flat of the blade with jittery fingers. “Sag. Sack. Za—”

Dark, then light. He looked up in awe, nearly losing his handle on the sword. Somebody had opened a freestanding door, one to which no walls were attached, because it wasn’t really there. And the tall figure that took up the doorway was black and backlit by the light he’d let into the world.

He balked.

The dead guy came shambling toward him, heedless of the way he gritted his teeth and hoisted the sword. Of course, he thought. Death meant nothing to a ghost. Its clothes were shredded, its arms outstretched, and it tilted its head as if insulted by the way he kept aloof.

A swarm of flies poured from the door and filled the night, swirling around them like bands of a hurricane.

He freed a hand to bat at the tickle of little feet all over him. Feels so real. “This isn’t happening,” he said, proud of his conviction, even then. “You think I’m stupid? Sorry to break it to you, but you’re dead.”

The corpse’s chest rattled like a seedpod when it sighed. It took another step and sent him backing away, poised to leap before it listed or, worse, lunged.

“What do you want? Supposing you were even real, there’s really nothing I could give you.”

And what it said made less sense than even the sight of it.

He cocked his head around the blade. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clouds were white. Clouds were pure. They hung in the air. They touched ground in a fog.

When clouds cracked, the rain came.

Besides that, they hardly made a sound.

He cast a wild-eyed look around. The voice was real, wasn’t it? And this wasn’t; this wasn’t. The voice had gone away to make a point, and it would come back and make the corpse go away.

Still a desperate hope seized him. He forgot his fear and lowered the sword. “Let’s go,” he said to the corpse. “Can we go? I’m thirsty. And starved.” He narrowed his eyes. “Well?” Willed it to say something.

it said.

“Yeah.” Satisfied, he closed his eyes. “See? You can tell it’s really happening by the way your lips move around the words. Go on,” he said. “I bet you thought I couldn’t hear you talking to yourself, but I listened the whole time.”

“Who am I kidding? I’m no idiot—sure as hell no saint. They’re on our heels, and here I’m lugging deadweight.”

He shook his head hard enough to snap reins. “No, that’s not right. You’d never say that. You were—” Then the breath went out of him as good as if he’d been gutpunched. “Perfect. So much that I wanted to be—”

Careful, said the voice. I’m developing a taste for watching you flounder.

“I think—” Humiliation flared through him, hot and heart-pounding. And hatred. Why did he have to explain what the voice damn well knew? “I think I’m seeing things that aren’t there.”

Hallucinating. To be expected.

He clutched his head, spoke through his teeth. “Then make it stop.”

Ask nicely. I’ll send him away.

“Just—” Don’t let him touch me.

Oh?

“Please.”

But the corpse kept on chanting.

Run, the voice whispered. Run far. Run like the little boy you are.

His heart hammered out the fact that he was, he was, he was. Up went knees; up went fists. He ran till he was a blur of pumping limbs, and the sweat slid off the sides of his face and the blood roared in his ears.

He ran till he couldn’t, then collapsed, wide-eyed and panting, and saw the folly in what he’d done. He could run forever; the things he fled were bound to catch up with him. Inside him all along.

He was crazy. He needed—

It would be so easy to break you.

—the voice. The voice could ground him. He tottered like glass figurine on the edge of tall shelf. It wouldn’t take much to knock him loose.

So easy.

“Why don’t you?”

I’m too amused.

He saw how it was: he was a little ball the voice couldn’t help but to kick, kick, kick, till all the air wheezed out of him and he was deflated. And then, he knew, of no use.

He shot to his feet, shaking with rage. “What’s the matter with me? Am I sick? Can’t you tell me even that?”

As ungrateful as you are? Well. I suppose you might think of it as being poisoned.

“How? By who?”

There was a crackle, like somebody had switched on a loudspeaker plugged into his nape, then a droning whine like a dropped saucer circling on its rim. He clapped his hands over his ears in the hope of keeping his head from splitting open.

That doctor who’d had a hand in his guts drowned out everything when he spoke. “The subject’s at peak functionality. Let it loose on the townspeople, and you’ll see what it does best.”

He thought he’d never wanted so much to hurt somebody in his whole life.

“I know what you’re doing,” he told the voice. “Testing me. I’m being tested! You could take over any time you like, get it done your way—right? But you’re letting me hang out to dry.”

No need to worry. When the time comes, I’ll call on you.

“Come on,” said the boy, tugging at his arm. “Fast, before he finds us.” He took off running and left his words drifting in the chill, white as washed linens on a line.

Where is this place? He felt no rush to follow, only foreboding. Wary as a stray cat, he crossed under the archway. Little one- and two-storey houses crowded around the flagstone plaza, drab with the moonless dark. A stout water tower squatted like a glorified tin can at the heart of town.

The silence was ghostly.

“Over here!” The boy stood in the light beneath the window of the biggest house besides the mansion, blond and slight. He came up behind him and pushed, ushering him with the impatience of somebody pursued. “You were wondering about home, right? So here it is.”

“Who are you?”

“That’s easy. Now come look through the window with me.”

“Fine.” He used his forearm to wipe the breath from the pane before he joined the boy in peering through it. “I see somebody,” he said, pulling back with sudden compunction. “A girl.”

“Not just any.” The boy pressed close enough to blunt the tip of his nose. “Look again,” he whispered, aglow in the lamplight. “It’s her.”

She was sitting alone at the dinner table, scraping a spoon along the inside of a porcelain bowl. He watched the curve of metal slide between her lips, feeding little goldenrod globs of peach cobbler into the soft pink cavity of her mouth. He thought he’d never seen somebody look so morose about eating dessert.

But the boy was rapt. “Feel it?” He turned his head and looked drowsy with fondness. “Everything winds up inside you like a warm coil. And the way your cheeks burn—that’s what it’s always like around her. Remember?”

He put his back to the pane and shook his head. “She’s just a girl.”

“No.” The boy swept his hand and sounded stricken. “That’s not true. I’d do anything for her. Maybe you don’t want to remember, but I do!”

He put out his hand, hoping to cut the kid off before he really got going. “Wait. So maybe it’s true.”

“Coward! This is what we wanted to be? Coward! I can’t believe you.”

He’s right. I shouldn’t run any more. What good does it do? He pinched the bridge of his nose and slid down the front of the house to sit, sick with the same passion, as if it were catching, and knew: whoever he was, wherever he’d been, it all came back to her. “But what do I do?”

“She’ll tell you everything—the whole truth. And she won’t leave anything out; she won’t let you forget the fire. All you have to do is find her.”

“She could be anywhere. I don’t even know her name.”

“It’s—”

A strong hand grasped him, wrenched him from that place, snapping the last link like a strand of saliva between mouths, and he found himself flat on his back, gazing up at the stars: bright, sparse sequins on the darkest whirling dress. Around and around, the world wheeled like a giddy girl, and he felt dizzy just watching, short of breath and unsure of himself. Around and around—

“Why’re you here?” Dredged from the well’s stone throat, the words echoed. Another memory.

He closed his eyes and sank deep in search of himself.

Somebody else, in a murmur that matched his own: “There’s this girl—”

His eyes flew open; he sat up fast. So much as whispering the name made him feel fierce and capable—of good things. Great things. “She’s the one. I’m sure of it.” And he knew what the boy had said was true, because he’d do anything, go anywhere for her.

So you remember. The voice brought the world to still, brought him back into awareness of his surroundings.

Midgar sat larger on the horizon than he last remembered seeing it. He’d lost time again. The pink cusp of dawn was coming on at a far corner of the sky.

Then something caught his eye, gleaming on the gloved part of his left forearm, so he picked at it.

The long strand of hair silvered under the starlight and slipped his fingers.

Nausea poured over him like pails full of somebody else’s puke, and he couldn’t say why, except—this hair isn’t mine. His body tensed, his heart beat like a maniac on death’s door to nowhere, and he could feel a hot rivulet of sweat slide down his back. What’s going on? Something wrong. Something strange. He sensed it like a subtle cancer deep in his bones.

He gnawed a set of knuckles to keep from spouting nonsense: who am I who am I somebody Tifa tell me please—

But the silence was worse; there were no howling wolves or birds or bugs to break it, so he spoke in a heady rush. “I could go deep to get away; it’s dark there, always closed off, like a well. Do you know?” He’d imagined the voice was carrying over great distance, though hardly faint, that it belonged to a person in a well of his own who called to him and needed his help to get out.

Sometimes he wanted so much to help.

But he was met with silence.

And he couldn’t help himself. “It’s that,” he said, “or this other place—a library, a laboratory, a green dream. I want to go home. That’s all I ever meant.”

The One Who Wakes (2/4)

Mon, 17 Sep 2007 08:51:59 GMT

Title: The One Who Wakes (2/4)
Author: delladella
Artist: kimouski
Fandom: FFVII, OGC
Characters: Cloud, Hojo, Sephiroth, Tifa, Zack
Rating: R
Theme: #3 sleep walk
Summary: Events between Cloud’s awakening outside Midgar and his arrival at the train station. By request for firefly99!

( Part One )

He was so busy putting one foot in front of the other that nightfall took him by surprise. The burning eye of the world had dangled all day, bald and blind as a cue ball, only to roll back into its head.

Still he could see—somehow, sort of, in grainy, night-vision green—and he realized there was no true darkness like the darkness at the bottom of his own well.

“Hey. Voice.” A whisper, as if kids were sleeping. “Say something.”

There’s nothing to discuss.

But he liked being reminded it was there and thrilled to the secret way it spoke and its gong-like resonance rumbled down to the bone. And he wanted to ask, Are you inside me? but didn’t. Couldn’t. The voice could be with him—so close—and everywhere at once, and he got the feeling it was busy a lot of the time.

He was breathless and achy, besides.

The thought came as a real relief. I can see in the dark, and I’ll never be

He closed his eyes, back in that perfect blackness, but it didn’t last. Flowers bloomed, faces took shape, all of it in a bright rush, and he thought he remembered something.

Midgar. His old girl used to live there, lived with her mother—something like that—and they’d lie low for a while and—

And he didn’t like the silence, so he talked aloud. “Midgar. Mercenaries. Money in it, for sure.”

Interesting. Down to picking what suits you and discarding I wonder what sort of patchwork personal history you’ll come up with to cover the gaps.

“For a friend,” he said, “you’ve got a funny way of keeping things secret.”

If you understood, you’d thank me for sparing you, and I suppose that’s the catch.

Far ahead, Midgar rose from the ground, round and gray as the back of bloated tick, and he felt a stab of unrest pierce his stomach. He was wary of the voice, the secrets it kept, the city and whatever awaited him there. “So forget my name and tell me yours. Pretty obvious you’re playing a game with me.”

Have it your way. A taste of what you’re so anxious to remember.

He didn’t have time to brace himself.

Enough, said the voice, returning him to the world. Your whining and carrying on get rather tiresome after that.

Down on all fours, he hung his head like a bad dog, gasping for breath. Cold sweat slid down his nose and spotted the dirt. Stung his eyes.

So how does it feel? the voice asked, and those words—something about them—sent a shudder down his spine.

“Horrible. It hurt.” This was a shameful admission, but he’d gotten the impression the voice enjoyed excruciating honesty. “Was that a memory?”

You see how it doesn’t do to dwell.

“That doctor,” he said, back on his feet. “The things he kept saying about me—is any of it true? You said you knew me. So answer.” And then he thought to add, “Please.”

More questions. I’d hate to think you haven’t learned your lesson.

“I’m your friend, aren’t I? So you were looking after me,” he said. “Only trying to help.”

Of course.

The scar was there on his stomach; he had the sense to check for it and now felt it pulse as if with a little heart of its own. He tucked his shirtfront back under the belt and opened his mouth twice before speaking. He could be clever; he could be a coward. By now his breath was back, but he wasn’t sure he meant what he was about to say.

“If that’s how it is, you were right,” he said at last. “I don’t want to remember anything.”

And he knew it was the damned truth.

The sun rose, the wind blew, and shocks of hair came loose from his crown where burying his face into that guy’s chest had flattened them. It was a head of hair you could see from a mile out, stupid for a soldier, unless the whole point was showing off.

“Wait,” he said. He ducked into a shadowy nook between two big jags of rock, with a shudder at the thought of somebody’s sights training on his head.

The voice didn’t like diversions.

“You want me to go? I will. Just that I’d prefer to get there in one piece. Look what happened to that other guy. I’m like a billboard out here, and I know they’re all watching; they watch all the time.”

Just the thought of getting caught was enough to get him breathing faster. He began to sense that he’d been on the run for years and these were the people who’d been after him. Maybe he’d broken some law.

I could be a murderer. He frowned.

“Hold on, all right?” In the shadows, he found water pooled in a basin carved out by the million little hammers of acid rain. He knelt by it and considered. It was shallow and smelt brackish, with an oily film over it he didn’t think he’d have much luck boiling off.

Thirsty as he was, he had other ideas.

He mixed up some mud, and the puddle turned black as a tar pit. He caught his reflection in the water when it stilled, pale and crazed, with one eye gone wider than the other, and the wrongness of it renewed his purpose.

That’s not me. Not really. This’ll do the trick. He broke the surface with his hands, scooping out clumps of mud and mashing them in his hair, till the bright crest on his head drooped darkly like rotten fronds.

And when he wasn’t himself, he said to himself, “There,” then rocked back on his heels to relish in the fact. “Taken care of now. All better.” His fingers slid down the sides of his face. He laughed.

Yes, said the voice, no longer so bothered. Amused, even. Now you’re really beginning to look the part.

“I am, aren’t I?” A smile cracked along his mouth, and his heart slowed and said with surety, I am. I am.

Well since we can post anything now...

Thu, 13 Sep 2007 20:14:13 GMT

...I thought I'd post a request for a partner!

Hi~, my name is is atmosana and I'm lookin' for a companion to embark out with on one of those theme lists we have in the community! =] Here, lemme give my info:

Name: atmosana99

Position: I'm an artist mainly, but if worsts comes to worst, I can write pretty well, too

Fandom: any of the following-
One Piece
Pokemon
Bobobo-bobo-bobo
Disney Movies[any, but specify the one you're looking for]
Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy
(I know more fandoms, but those are the ones that come to mind at once. If you *really* want a partner, then you can suggest a fandom and if I know it, I'll most likely say yes =])

Character/Pairing: I'm open to suggestion~ I just want a partner to do this thang, so I'll try not to be picky ;]

Yup, I think that's about it~ I'll delete this post after I find a partner or if no one comments with an offer for um, let's say 2-3 weeks.

Note to Mod: If this kind of post isn't what you meant by " post whatever you want", then you can delete it; I won't complain.