XFiles/roleplay, because I am a big old softie when it comes to Mulder/Krychek. I like my rat a little dirty and beat up and Mulder not too much of an ass.

This is what came to mind as soon as I saw your prompt 'roleplay'. My default setting for M/K seems to be damp and dirty alleys. *shrugs*

Mulder reached down and hauled the new kid out of the garbage heaped against the alley wall. Water – and probably worse - stained the fabric in ugly, random splotches from his ankle to mid-thigh all down his left side. The knuckles on his right hand were scuffed and bloody, as was his lower lip, and his left cheekbone looked tender and swollen. He'd have a black eye by morning for sure.

"I thought you had him."

Krycek bowed his head, stared down at his sodden shoes for a moment before glancing up at Mulder through his lashes.

"I did. It was... He got the jump on me while I was checking him for weapons. I've never seen anyone move that fast. And flexible! The way he twisted and bent his arm back to-"

"Show me."

"What?"

Mulder grabbed Krycek's shoulder and spun him around, pinning him to the wall with his gun hand.

"Show me what happened. You were frisking him, like this." Mulder's other hand skated over Krycek's sides and chest, fingertips skimming over the hardened peaks of his nipples before brushing across the flat plane of his stomach. "How did he get away from you?"

Krycek's breath stuttered in his throat as Mulder's hand followed the line of his hip before dropping down to pat his thigh, and then he was stretching back and up with his left hand and twisting his torso round to the right, as far as it would go.

"He reached back and grabbed my gun hand before I could move. There's no way he should have been able to do that without at least dislocating his shoulder, but it didn't seem to slow him down any. He twisted too, from the hips, all the way around until he was facing me dead on, and he hit me, several – three - times, putting me on the ground before he unscrewed himself and took off. I think he threw my gun in the dumpster over there." Krycek jerked his chin to the left as he finished turning, leaving the two of them face to face, inches apart, both of them breathing heavily.

"Doesn't really sound possible," Mulder said quietly, deliberately playing devil's advocate.

Krycek shrugged, hips canted at an angle as he settled himself more comfortably against the wall at his back, pelvis pushed slightly forward. Cocky. He smirked, and shifted his gaze to the wall opposite, over Mulder's head.

"It's all on camera. See for yourself."


Edited at 2010-07-06 07:45 pm (UTC)

Batman/Flash, Flash finally gets Batman to agree to watch a movie with him on the Watchtower. Too bad Flash managed to switch the DVD for a porno.

Oh, gods. I saw this prompt and my mind went straight to the Batman porn parody movie and then I wondered, what if there was a JLA porn parody and Flash got hold of it and...

When the movie started playing and the fake (stacked, racked and packed) JLA team, in various stages of undress and arousal, appeared on screen, Wally dropped the remote in shock. And maybe horror. Embarrassment was definitely in the mix somewhere too because he had so not been planning on sharing his porn collection with his crush and kinda-boss, ever.

The unexpected, though expectedly tight, grip on the back of his neck prevented him from bending down, grabbing the remote, hitting the off button, ejecting the disc, snatching it up and running away – faaaaaaaar away – before Batman could kill him.

He was so dead.

At the very least, he was shortly going to wish he was.

"Um..."

The gauntleted fingers tightened on his nape and Wally closed his mouth and tried to will himself invisible. He closed his eyes too, only to snap them open again when Batman gave him a warning shake.

Wow, Bruce really had that non-verbal communication thing down, managing to instil threats of violence through the fingertips of his - ow! Ow! OW! Nerve-pinch! Not fair! – left hand.

Huh. He would have expected Batman to have manhandled him down to the front of the screening room by now so he could confiscate the-

Wally looked up at the screen and nearly choked on his tongue. Fake Supes was nailing fake Wondie over the control desk in the fake Command Center while fake GL has his head buried in fake Hawkgirl's lap and J'onn was... Wow! Tentacles? Really?!

Hoping to gauge just how badly Bruce was taking this, Wally squinted to his right, just in time to miss seeing a crucial scene-change, though the soundtrack let him know whose impersonators were getting lucky now.

"Ohhhhhh, Bats!"

Wally couldn't bring himself to look at the screen. He was mortified by the breathy quality of the voice that wasn't his but oh, gods, could have been. Seriously, where did they find these people? Clones-R-Us?

He was also fascinated by the sight of Batman's tightly balled right fist pressed hard against his armored crotch. Wait... Was he rubbing?

His own cock ached to receive the same kind of attention Bruce's was enjoying. Wally squirmed, licked his lips and swallowed, hard. He may have whimpered. The fingers at the back of his neck flexed and shifted, push-pull-tugging his head down and around until he was nose-to-knuckle with Batman's right hand.

Balanced precariously on one knee, the other leg folded and tucked under him, trapped by the confines of the screening room's fixed seating, Wally braced one hand on Batman's thigh and swallowed a sigh as the solid muscle twitched beneath his palm.

Wow.

He'd have to remember to thank Dick for getting the discs mixed up last night while he was-

Wait. Had he told Dick about finally convincing Bruce to loosen up a little and watch a movie? Surely he wouldn't have... On purpose?! Wally leaned further into Batman's lap and heard his breath hitch behind the cowl.

Maybe Dick deserved something more than just a basic thank you. Maybe a gift basket – filled with inappropriate porn. Were there security cameras in the screening room?

I'd love to read Xander having a mini-epiphany about Spike (that he's way different than Angel, even if he is a vampire too.)

Xander has been working alongside Spike for over a year when the epiphany hits. It's not a big one, as epiphanies go – and boy, does he know from epiphanies – but it still stops him in his tracks and makes him blink.

Whenever he's around Angel, he always has the same immediate, bone-deep reaction of 'Vampire. Evil. Kill it. KILL IT!' which then morphs straight into 'Oh, right, Angel. Skeevy old 'good' vampire perving on schoolgirls – okay, schoolgirl... and of the Slayer persuasion, but still! – Do. Not. Want. Kill it!'

With Spike? Not so much.

Oh, maybe in the beginning, he was all 'Vampire! Kill! KILL!' But then stuff happened. A microscope to the head followed by a period of fear and dread, ruled over by Spike, all lovesick and drunk - and incidentally, how is that even possible with the whole borrowed blood thing and the demon and being undead and all?

Focus, Xander. Epiph now, question later. Right. Where was he again? Oh, yeah.

Spike. And his scary-romantic co-dependence thing with Dru that had him trying to get help with his love life from schoolchildren who wanted to kill him. Somehow that whole mess made him look less like a soulless monster and more like a clueless teenage schmuck of the type that Xander was sadly very familiar with. And that was only the beginning.

Angel brooded and loomed and angsted manfully – vampfully? No, just...no – while Spike pouted and whined and kicked things when he didn't get his way. (And stole things, and broke things, and threw things, and occasionally bit things.)

It made him seem human, somehow, whereas nothing Angel – or Angelus – did ever let anyone forget what he was, not even for a moment. It was like he went around with a neon sign hanging over his head: 'I'm a sad, souled vampire; join me in my suffering'.

Spike, on the other hand, complained when his flowering onion was overdone, or the beer was warm, and would steal your hotwings if you didn't keep a sharp eye on them. He loved his car, and his coat, and his boots and had a tendency to develop scary-mad crushes on unsuitable people. Okay, Buffy, and yes, it made no real sense that Angel's interest in her was labelled 'dirty old man – EW!' in his head while Spike's earned him an eyeroll and a shudder and made Xander want to tell him to grow up already and get real.

Despite his hundred plus years of undeadness, Spike still lived life to the full and revelled in his humanity at least as often as he indulged his demon.

The epiphany, rendered down to basics, was this: Angel was, and would always be, 'evil-monster-danger' to Xander, but, in scarily short order, Spike had gone from 'evil-monster-danger', through 'scary, lovesick idiot', 'fangless pain-in-the-ass', 'fangless pain-in-the-ass roommate', to 'occasionally useful demon-fighter', then 'go-to demon-guy', 'go-to demon-language translation-guy' and on and on, all the way to the most recent – as in five freaking minutes ago - 'incidentally undead co-worker with a really nice ass'.

Uhoh. Now he was 'incidentally undead co-worker with a really nice ass and a smirk that can only mean someone's in trouble'.

But that's okay. Xander's used to being in trouble. He's kinda looking forward to it this time.


Edited at 2010-07-06 10:41 pm (UTC)

Eureka - Carter/Stark - "unexpected showers"

This was the third time in one week that Jack had been forced to strip for a decontamination shower, and he was starting to get suspicious.

The first time, Stark had marched him into de-con and stood off to one side, armed folded, superior smirk firmly in place as Jack was sprayed and scrubbed and scanned for residual radiation. There as none.

The second time, Stark had been in there alongside him, hissing at the chilly bite of the powerful spray as he lathered, rinsed and repeated to remove the last traces of the whatever-it-was that Jack wasn't cleared to know about.

This time, the third time, after yet another Fargo-related incident, they were both naked and soaped up before Jack noticed that the usual staff weren't anywhere in evidence. He looked over his shoulder and caught Stark's steady gaze, one eyebrow shooting up as his head tilted in silent query.

"Told them I could take things from here and I'd call them back when we were done. I figure we've got at least an hour before someone comes by to check on us."

Jack's second eyebrow joined the first and Stark shook his head in mock sorrow.

"Carter, either your deductive abilities are worse than I'd imagined, or you're truly not interested." His gaze dropped to Carter's cock, which twitched and began to fill despite the coolness of the water still pounding down on them both.

"As I thought. And yet you didn't get a clue when I had you shower to remove the remains of Fargo's experimental hand sanitizer?"

Nakedness temporarily deemed irrelevant, Jack spun on one heel and glared.

"That's what that was? You didn't even give me a chance to-!"

Stark took a slow step forward.

"It was written on the canister you stepped over to follow me out of the lab."

"I-"

"You really didn't read it, did you? Were you that eager to get back here and share a cold shower with me, Sheriff?" Stark reached down and casually lathered up his groin. "I'm flattered."

Jack's gaze followed Stark's hand as it stroked and squeezed, the suds highlighting rather than hiding the burgeoning erection he was toying with.

"I don't put up with cold showers for just anyone, Stark."

Stark's expression was sceptical. "Were you ever planning on making a move, or were you waiting for a formal invitation?"

"I don't know. Were you planning on issuing a formal invitation?"

Stark took another step closer, and Jack watched the water sluice the last remaining bubbles from his erection, down over tanned, muscular thighs and taut calves to dissipate between long, elegant toes.

Another step and they were toe to toe. Nathan reached over, drew Jack's right hand across the few inches that remained between them and wrapped Jack's fingers firmly around his cock.

"Consider yourself invited."

I would love to see Connor/Murphy, beat the heat ^__^

Connor is up on the roof of their building, wearing nothing but a pair of frayed boxers and sprawled out in the shade of a ramshackle shed they'd found up there the first time they'd gone up to look around after moving in. The shade, coupled with the cross-breeze moving east to west between the taller blocks on either side, helped to keep his skin temperature just below egg-frying levels. Heat waves sucked ass.

He was waiting on Murph, who claimed he'd had the best idea ever to keep them cool and then grabbed up his wallet – Connor's wallet, that is, because Murph, as usual, was down to pennies again – and sauntered out of the apartment, yelling back over his shoulder, "And don't drink all the beer, you greedy bastard! You'll thank me later!"

Shifting on the thin blanket he'd tossed down to keep his skin from sticking to the hot, sticky roof, Connor squinted over his shoulder as the roof access door flew open.

Murphy jumped out, a gun in each hand, and Connor was halfway to his feet, braced for anything, when he realised the 'guns' were fake Uzis made from garish neon green plastic. He slumped back and threw an arm over his eyes.

"Dammit, Murph, you made me move. Now I have shit digging in my back again and I just got comfortable. This is your big idea? Really? Water pistols?" Connor struggled to control his temper. "Please, for the love of beer, tell me I've still got some money left for next week's groceries."

The first blast of liquid landed on his tongue before he had a chance to close his mouth, and he was a split second from spitting it out and cursing up a storm when he recognised it for what it was. Vodka. Ice cold, straight from the freezer vodka. He swallowed, shuddering as the fiery chilled liquor burned its way along the back of his throat and down into his belly.

Huh. It was the good stuff too. And yesterday Murph had sworn they were out of it. The sneaky bastard had been holding out on him.

The second blast hit Connor squarely between the nipples, trickling down to pool along his abs and gather in his navel. He barely had time to bite out a single "Fuck!" before Murph's tongue was on his skin, eagerly lapping up the spilled alcohol, rasping against sensitized flesh.

Sneaky bastard he may be, but his brother really did have the best ideas.

This just randomly popped into my head. You can pick which pairing, either Dean/Sam or McShep. But one of the boys comes across something resembling Killer Klowns From Outer Space (awesome 80s cult film if you've not seen it - http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0095444/).

HINT: If you've not seen it, they're aliens that look like clowns. Their spaceship is a big top tent and everything. They like to give people creepy looks, evil laughs, and kill everyone. In other words, AWESOME!

That is a HORRIBLE picture!!! Warnings, love! Some of us have weak constitutions... Or wussy brains.

IT (the book) just about killed me. I still can't walk past sewer grates...

Fic based on this icon. Preferably Dean/Sam, Spander or Harry/Draco.

Ha! I got the notification email and didn't even have to look at the picture to know which icon you were on about.

I had terrible trouble deciding which pairing to write for this, but Draco started being pissy so I went with it. *g*

~

"Don't even think about it, Potter. You are not putting that grubby thing anywhere near the Malfoy family jewels. Do you have any idea how unsanitary that is? There could be... anything on there! You think I don't know you sneak off on your lunch break and kick Muggle things around in the park? Ugh! Honestly. I thought I'd trained you better than this."

Harry's gazed moved from the enticing sight of his naked partner sprawled artfully across their bed to the brown, slightly frayed shoelace in his hand and back again.

"It's just a shoelace."

Indignation radiated from every exposed inch of Draco's milky skin.

"It is a shoelace that has spent the last Merlin knows how long holding your mass-produced shoe on your dry-heeled, hairy-toed foot. I don't care how hot it looked in the picture you found on the ultra-net, or whatever it is you play with at the office, but I swear, if you try and wrap that thing around my dick, you'll be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future."

Harry registered the threat, and also the heavy-handed hint about a return visit to Draco's favourite mani-pedi parlour - together of course. Draco delighted in getting pampered almost as much as he delighted in watching Harry squirm at all the attention and impersonal touches. He also noticed that, despite his diatribe, Draco was still naked and spread out before him. His cock was still standing to attention, all sleek and darkly flushed.

So. The problem was with the shoelace itself, and not the brain-melting idea of light genital bondage Harry had mumbled and stammered his way through explaining the moment he got home. He could work with this.

Eagerly, he kicked off his other shoe, lifted his wand from the bedside table and transfigured the admittedly less than pristine shoelace into a thin silk ribbon the exact shade of Draco's eyes.

"Is this more acceptable, your highness?"

Draco studied the ribbon for a moment, glared at Harry, and then wiggled his hips in a manner that made his erection jiggle and bob in a most enticing manner.

Harry stood and watched, enthralled and thoroughly distracted, until Draco stopped jiggling and snapped his fingers.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

I am lame and do not know why i put that there. So sorry.
*smish*

Hope rl gets better. And......

*hums*
Rodney/John and...and...and.....

Outsider pov. Earthlings or Pegasus, don't care who. Any rating, snark a bonus. :)
*twirls you*

^^^pets^^

Thankee for the hopes and the prompt. I ended up writing someone I've never written before. He's barely more than a cypher in canon but his head is the one I landed in when I went POV-hopping. *hands*

~

The first time Kanaan is properly introduced to Doctor McKay and Colonel Sheppard, he is confused. Also wary, uncomfortable, and more than a little disappointed, but mostly confused.

Teyla has spoken of these men so often in the months she has been his ama that he has come to feel he already knows them. And then they finally officially meet, and all of his preconceptions fall apart.

Rodney McKay, the loud one - the one with the crooked mouth, the one who talks with his hands and acts permanently suspicious of everything - is a most unlikely looking hero, yet Teyla has told so many tales of his personal sacrifice and valor, of his dedication and determination beyond all reasonable expectations. This is the man who welcomed his son into the world and shared Teyla's pain in the birthing; the man whose hands and mind keep the City of the Ancestors alive.

This is a man who pouts and complains and acts like a child not yet old enough to go on his first hunt, but who looks at Teyla with awe and love and respect, and looks at her – their - son the same way.

John Sheppard is a military man, so Teyla says; the man who commands the warriors of the City of the Ancestors – he commands the City. This is the man who woke the Wraith from hibernation and stormed a Hive Ship to rescue Teyla and her people before he ever really knew them. A man who, alone, took back the City from an invading armed militia, killing many, and then made trade with them.

With his slouch and his unlaced boots, with a smile than rarely reaches his eyes and a sardonic twist to his mouth – this is the man for whom Teyla would lay down her life in an instant if asked, and he reminds Kanaan of no-one more than his sister-mother's boy Jalla, who spends most of his time acting as though his life, and the lives of everyone around him, bores and amuses him by turns. His mother and the other sister-mothers despair of him finding his way, and Kanaan wonders if introducing them to John Sheppard would give them hope or make them weep.

It's not until the third time Kanaan spends time with Teyla's team that he finally sees what she sees. They are John and Rodney, no longer Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay. They squabble and poke at each other like tired children, but the touches linger and the smiles are real.

Now. Now Kanaan can see the man who cradled Torren in his arms and shook with the enormity of that trust. He can see the man who will never forgive himself for finding Teyla's lost childhood treasure and for dooming the Pegasus galaxy with that discovery.

He sees the men who awe his ama with their ability to play and fight and laugh and love with ferocious determination, because anything else is unthinkable.

He sees the men who have laid down their lives to save his people, his ama, his son, his home.

He sees, and is awed at the acceptance that seeing signifies.

I have a special hell icon! *uses* (Actually, I may need to change it out soon - I have a new 'OMG, is he even legal' lovepuppy now. *g*)

So. My timelines are still a bit wobbly. Would this during the time where Dick is Nightwing and Tim is Robin, or do you have a specific age-bracket in mind for our Dick? *g*

McShep and a yo-yo -- anyway you want to play it!

*smishes you and sends vibes for sucky RL* ♥

Hmm, how about Harry/Draco being outed by The Evening Prophet (late edition of the Daily Prophet)? Awesome bonus would be if TEP has photographic evidence. *g*

YAY!! This would be good!

3rd person observation -

Spike/Xander

or

Sam/Dean

It's crystal clear to a stranger... What would it take for a friend?

McShep pirates

SGA-"Well, this is a very anticlimactic ending."

Umm. how about Post NFA and Lorne comes back to the fold and observes Spike/Xander and their "dancing" around each other.