psalm_onethirtyone: (Annie with Red Hair)
[personal profile] psalm_onethirtyone
So I finally finished the last book in Gerald Morris' Arthurian series. I had been getting steadily more disappointed, as the last three or four books were kind of awful, but the last one was actually really good. I mean, evil!2-D!Mordred, but I've really given up on that front. And yeah. I cried. At my client's house, stealthily, while she was napping and watching The Waltons. >_> I would say Mr. Morris has seen himself off with a pleasing dignity.

BUT now I am all sad b/c all my dumb Arthurian boys are dead, so obvs. this is your cue to ask for porn of them, as I am doing: THIS MEME (which shall be called This Meme):

01 » Submit a pairing (or threesome, or solo person) and a prompt by replying to this post.

02 » Please use the following format: fandom, pairing, prompt.

03 » I'll then reply with five* sentences of smut.
[The original meme does say that you can request gen/other non-smutty things, but I'll say straight up that I'd prefer to flex my porn muscles (that was a TERRIBLE thing to say) and so would prefer that request. Having said that, y'all can of course request whatever you'd like, and I may even turn some requests into gen depending on how I feel about my ability to write the smut. Also, I guess "solo person" here refers to masturbation in the context of smut? Which I'm fine with too!] <-- so said [ profile] blindmadness and [ profile] julietveiled, so say I.

04 » If I can't do the prompt then I will beg for your forgiveness, and offer it up to others let you select another if you'd like.

This is not really restricted to Arthuriana. I also write Sherlock, Westmark, certain historical novels, Shakespeare, and can probably be conned into others if you remind me of what they are (when I'm done I will tag this post with the appropriate fandoms).

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-02 04:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
oh god I love this meme more than is healthy.

-Westmark, Zara/Stock, burning
-Westmark, Stock/Florian (SAY WUT OH YEAH I WENT THERE), legacy
-Westmark (I will never never stop), Justin/Rina, prophetic


I really can keep going forevvvverrr but I will just say these three and you can pick just one or you can do two or all or you can say "um that was easy gimme more" and I will do that I lurve you pansymouse :D

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 05:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I hope you're aware that writing smut that has Rina in it makes me feel dirty and wrong. XD Also, ilu2 omggg and feel free to give me more. :D

1. "Gonna hurt you," she warns, gruff and brief, but Stock shrugs, halfway out of his shirt already.

"You can't wound me in any way that you haven't already tried with words," he says grandly.

He finds later that this isn't necessarily true; her fingernails rake down his back when he thrusts into her for the first time, all his preparation for naught, and the welts she leaves are still burning the next day. But he doesn't dwell on it. Making love to Zara is poetry, albeit angry poetry, and, besides, he made her harsh voice crack, made her cling to him for just a handful of seconds, breathless and sobbing his name.

2. "This is not," Florian says, "the legacy I wanted to leave you with." The way his hands move across bare skin has a startling intensity to it, unexpectedly direct, and frank in its desire.

Stock grins. "I'll leave it out of the poem."

Florian smiles, and he feels the rush of warmth go over him, so thorough and deep that he climaxes before Florian's loquacious hands ever finish with him.

3. It was prophetic, he thinks, that Florian always called her the golden divinity, because he knows she's goddesslike, more than human. Things get jumbled up in his head sometimes, blurred and melted together like hot tar on shoe soles, tugging down his footsteps; still he knows that she's more than human, shining luminously from amidst the other things. Sometimes when he has her in his lap, teasing his cock with her small hands, flushed and laughing and her hair tumbled around her face, the cold, bitter memories of blood and blood and blood try to creep up on him, pooling around his ankles. She pushes them back. Her golden divinity casts away everything else, and he loses all sense of reality in her touches -- his body answers, but he might as well be miles away.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 07:51 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Omg that is amazing. Justin you are the crazy. Florian you are the wonderful. HERE ARE MORE >:9

• Rina/Zara, stillness
• Rina/Stock [it feels weird cuz they were both my puppets...but STILL.], chivalry is dead
• Rina/Florian, innocence
• Justin/Stock [EVERY COMBINATION, BABY--], seeking glory
• Luther/ ... I can't somehow but I so want to do Luther/Rina, coming home. But if you refuse I understand. XD

Now some not westmark for a moment.
• Fogg/Aouda/Passepartout, regular as clockwork
• YOUR variation on lynet/gaheris/mordred, coming home
• musichetta/joly/lesgles, a change of pace

Part 1 -- Westmark set

Date: 2011-08-04 04:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Why are you INSANE. XD

1. It's back in the days when Rina is still in love with Florian, and they have something to share in their quiet, sexless leader. Zara is so angry with him, but Rina, determined to make the best of everything, unlaces the bodice of her plain blue dress and guides Zara's hands over her breasts, teaching her to let her thumbs linger on the pale brown nipples. In the stillness of those unendingly long nights before the revolution, Rina has whole volumes to teach her. Zara has always been too angry to make love to anyone. Rina has a body too beautiful to fuck; the only way to touch her is like this.

2. "I'm composing a sonnet for you right now," Stock tells her, and Rina rests her cheek against his shoulder and just laughs, her golden hair spilling across his skin. He stops his gentle thrusting and stares at her. "What are you laughing at?"

"You not be very interested if you can think to compose," she says, taking his face in her hands.

"A true poet is inspired by everything," he says with great dignity, and Rina's heart warms; she presses her hips forward to his, startling him back into action.

3. "I thought you were in love with Justin." The smile plays across his pockmarked face. Rina grits her teeth, determined to be stubborn -- behave like Zara, think of Zara -- and sinks to her knees, reaching for his trousers. A moment later, before she can protest, he pulls her back to her feet. "If you're determined to do this, then we'll do it like equals," Florian says mildly, and Rina feels the relief wash over her.

4. "You want to do something to prove to me that you're not just playing at war because you like code names and limericks?" Justin's voice is as calm and authoritative in Stock's ear as his grip is tight on his cock. Just barely tight enough it ought to hurt, but all Stock feels is excitement.

"That's right," he breathes.

"I'll give you a chance to-morrow, with the Monkey," Justin says, and Stock feels himself get harder.

5. Before Florian finds them and makes them his children, they live alone together; he isn't so old, and she's young, and he, the carpenter's son, makes them a bed wide enough that when her nightmares come all she has to do is roll over to be in safe arms.

Later, before she leaves for Nierkeeping, they spend one more night together. Rina isn't so young -- at least sometimes her heart feels old. But there's safety still in his arms, and this time they keep each other warm in a different way. When she leaves in the morning, she stays a little to touch his long white hair and the fine crow's feet in the corners of his eyes.

"I love you," she says; Luther smiles.

^Smut wasn't going to happen, I just wrote the fucking pairing for you. XD

Part 2 -- Others

Date: 2011-08-06 05:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
1. "He's back," Lynet says shortly, putting down the pewter dishes she's washing as Gaheris pauses to lean on his axe. They've been living in exile for half a year now, and Mordred always comes to visit once a month.

Gaheris doesn't say anything. Mordred always stays for a week, and during that week he soothes them both, filling Lynet and then taking the harsh edge out of her anger when he withdraws, holding Gaheris in his hands and smoothing down the furrow of the madness that stretches like scars across his body. In return, they take their turns kissing and stroking down the hollow and bitter places in his heart, until all three of them are safe to come home and continue.

2. Little in their lives is spontaneous -- they keep a firm and attentively marked calendar, through which everything is determined, one event to the next. So the fact that they never compose any statement to one another that Jean should be included in their measured love-making is odd, Aouda thinks fleetingly, as she chooses colours for the new curtains. Even superfluous details should be clearly marked.

But somehow they decide upon it together without ever discussing it, and prepare for it without knowing when. And Jean, as he always does, works like the tiny gears in a pocketwatch, turning everything smoothly and cleanly and brightly, fitting together between them until she wonders how they were ever able to run so well before him.

3. "Upside down," Bossuet suggests, grinning.

"Don't be ridiculous. Making love upside down -- knowing you, you'll fall and break your head open and then poor Christian will catch some blood-borne illness and die," Musichetta says, with a disturbing show of understanding of how things go in their household. "We're perfectly nice the way we are."

Joly adds, "And no one is poisoning me with his unlucky brain tissues," and Bossuet, who can hardly think of witty, irritating comments to make anyway, buried as he is in beautiful 'Chetta, and Joly's clever fingers teasing his skin, nods agreeably, slipping his hand round Joly's cock and smiling at the gasp.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-02 06:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Wait, I have questions before I ask for minific. Which Shakespeare plays do you write for, and does the prompt have to be one word or can it be more complicated?

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 02:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Much Ado, Hamlet, Twelfth Night, with an emphasis on the latter two. I could also probably do Macbeth if you don't ask for any minor characters (oh god it's been shamefully long since I read all my Shakespeare).

Prompt can be more complicated as long as you bear in mind that I only have five sentences in which to do it. :)

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-02 08:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Arthurian, Bedivere/Morgause, fruit (DON'T JUDGE MY SEKKRIT SHIP!)
Arthurian, Sagramore/Gaheris, geography
Westhurian, Agravaine/Justin, angels
Westhurian, Rina/Guinevere, mirror

Pick one, or all, or none. Arthurian can be from any flavoured universe you like - "canon", Britannia, Catechism, whatever...I'm easy. That sounded wrong.

((And no I have not forgotten that I owe you Bedi/Kay brithday is percolating in the back of my head and I haven't had time to write it yet BECAUSE I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON and will now probably do this meme because I am terrible at writing porn and could use the practice what?))

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 04:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
DEAR GOD. However, watch me do them all. Also, I AM WAITING FOR MY BIRTHDAY SMUT, MADAM.

1. They make a fine pair, a crippled old soldier getting by on his lecher's reputation, and a lonely old woman using a touch of magic to keep her hair black and her skin smooth. But Morgause doesn't have patience with many things these days, least of all sentimentality and regret.

This one she has no interest in playing pretence with. The fruit of that is that she knows he's not Arthur, he won't staunch that wound. But as she writhes against the mattress, the fingers of his one hand buried to the knuckles in her, her heart flares and sparks with a satisfaction she can put no name to.

2. "What did all those priests teach you?" Sagramore asks lazily, smiling. Gaheris is still trying to calm the fluttering in his breast at being taken to bed by his brother's lover, by someone who could have Mordred any time he wanted, but is spending the afternoon with him instead.

"Latin, a little Greek, mathematics, illumination, British and French geography," he whispers, as Sagramore's fingers trail across his thighs, as Sagramore leans closer and kisses his chest.

"I'll teach you something the priests won't."

Gaheris' head goes blank when Sagramore's teeth close gently on his nipple, and all he manages to think is that he probably isn't going to learn anything at all.

3. "I'm not an angel," Justin snaps.

"Oh, shut up, I know that," Agravain says, his breath coming in short pants -- it's hard to think with his dick up Justin's pretty white ass, and who the hell cares what endearment a man uses when he's giving you a good fuck?

"Then don't say it."

Agravain can't help being irritated that Justin has the presence of mind to complain at all, and he thrusts harder, doing his best to shut him up, but Justin is perfectly collected.

"A devil's more like it, anyway," Agravain mutters, but Justin maintains a stony silence, and the birdlike cry he gives when he finally comes gives Agravain no satisfaction at all (he knows it's not for him).

4. Even Lancelot, to whom she tells all her secrets, doesn't know about the little golden washerwoman from the courtyard. Guenever feels guilty, sometimes. But then Rina makes them both stand naked in front of the mirror, and smiles her golden smile, and Guenever feels some courage and joy she never feels around the men. Rina's lye-burned hands explore her, from her soft breasts to the tight opening between her legs, hidden by soft blonde curls, and she feels beautiful. She's never found her climax so sweetly with either of the men.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 05:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OMG, now I really have to get on it with the smut.

These are all delightful, btw.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 05:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
:D Yes.

Yay! Ngl, writing grumpy!Agravain!sex is actually kind of enormously fun.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 08:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I fail so hard at teh sexx0rs.

is there any other kind of Agravain!sex? I would dare you to write fluffy!happy!Agravain!sex, but I have NO IDEA HOW THAT WOULD WORK OR WHO IT WOULD BE WITH.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-04 02:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
XD I am so excited to read yours.

Hahaha oh man. I have no idea. He would have to be really, really, REALLY drunk.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 07:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 08:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
YUP YUP. It's happening in my journal too, go request if you have a particular flavor in mind.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-02 05:47 pm (UTC)
raanve: (awesome! [t-rex by Ryan North])
From: [personal profile] raanve
Britannia!Arthurian, Karen/Gary, car [WHAT. I AM EVIL. DON'T PRETEND YOU DIDN'T KNOW]

Sherlock/Arthurian(AU?), John/Lynet, libraries [*snerk* This crack pairing jumped into my head.]

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 03:42 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I like how I'm going and doing all the easy ones first. >_>

1. Karen finds him just outside the bar, where he always goes to hide, and pulls him into her car without giving him time to readjust his balance. She flattens him against the backseat, leaning over him like a hunting cat, her coat and blonde wisps of hair falling all around her.

All his eyes can see are Lynet, and the blood pounding in his head is shouting Lynet. Within moments she's naked to the waist, and his jeans are lost somewhere, his fingers drawing a new charcoal fantasy on her breasts as she handles his dick as roughly as she did a thousand years ago. Lynet, Lynet, Lynet, is all he thinks, is everything.

2 [wtf, Jess]. John does not know how he got involved with this woman. All he knows is that in the heat of war her ferocity is compelling. One achingly hot night between spatters of gunfire and combat, while he's lying awake and staring at the canvas of his tent above him, she slips through the flap and settles between his legs.

John reaches down to touch her hair, and says, "I suppose you've, uh, you've got an idea about how to do this without waking Will?" jerking his head at the man in the next cot.

She covers his mouth with one hand, the other painfully tight around his hard-on. "Libraries."

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 01:01 pm (UTC)
raanve: (It Means I Love You)
From: [personal profile] raanve
Ohhhh ilu. XD

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-04 01:36 pm (UTC)
raanve: Tony Millionaire's Drinky Crow (Default)
From: [personal profile] raanve

Arthurian: Mordred/Lancelot, sunlight
Arthurian: Morgause/Arthur, finality
ArthurFly: Kaylee/Sagramore, laughter (b/c, come on, you know they'd be fun)
Sherlock: John/Lestrade, details

(I can never ask for Sherlock in this branch of Holmesdom, b/c I just really don't think he's interested in sex. Except maybe for science.)

Of course you know that when it comes to Arthuriana, I accept any flavor of AU. :)

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-06 05:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
1. Nothing sunlit here, no warmth in their exchange, just pure contest. Lancelot is the better jouster, and in a way he half-expects that it will give him the edge, as though his skill at arms will translate into skill here on the floor of his bare room. But Mordred is cleverer, and his fingers find the places that are secret even to Lancelot, the places where just the pressure of a palm can make him cry him out. Lancelot doesn't even know why it's happening. He just knows it's a contest, and he never backs away from a contest.

2. It's the first time they've had a chance to sleep together since Medraut was born. Anna is beautiful with the flush and radiance she assures him is only due to post-partum hormones; Athyr tells her he doesn't give a fuck about her doctor talk and catches her round the waist.

They wind up in bed, as they always do when they're really happy. The war is coming to an end. When Athyr comes inside her, with a shout torn from his throat, it feels as though it's the climax of this entire struggle, and he's sure, really sure, that he can ride it out easy from here.

3. "No more passengers," Mal says, frowning, but the bearded young man charms his way into everyone else's good graces. After that he charms his way into the engine room, as if it had been his purpose all along.

Kaylee doesn't mind at all. He alternates between a gentlemanly respect as smooth as Simon never manages to be, and a cheerfully lewd sense of humour that always sets her into laughing so hard she can't hardly stop.

Not that he can really take the place of Simon-- but he's a real nice interlude, and it's nice to have someone making her feel more than pretty; nothing wrong with that, Kaylee figures, nothing wrong with a break in the dry spell with someone who knows how to use his mouth more'n one way.

4. John doesn't understand Sherlock at all.

What he does understand is the good, solid, English determination to do one's duty, to serve one's country, and to watch Doctor Who in the evenings with a t.v. dinner or a box of takeaway and a bottle of Fixton's, and then to take turns getting each other off in a companionable haze of too much beer and too many late nights at crime scenes.

Perhaps these latter details aren't quite ubiquitous. But after they've done it once it doesn't feel too peculiar to do it again, and then after a while it's a habit.

And, unlike Sherlock, it's a habit he understands.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-06 03:59 pm (UTC)
raanve: (It Means I Love You)
From: [personal profile] raanve
Eeee you make me happy. XD These are all pretty much perfect. Just a bunch of YES YES YES. (Also, Anna & Athyr, ow my heart.)

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-06 09:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Anna and Athyr are, obviously, prohibited from happiness. I firmly believe this.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-02 10:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
-Twelfth Night, Olivia/Viola, endings


(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 02:46 am (UTC)
bewareofitalics: (Shakespeare)
From: [personal profile] bewareofitalics
A Twelfth Night prompt, and a Mirai icon? Eeee!

*opts out of requesting anything due to not actually wanting to read smut, but hi, Soujin! :D*

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 02:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
oh, you silly non-smutty people~

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 03:00 am (UTC)
bewareofitalics: (Default)
From: [personal profile] bewareofitalics
Pray forgive me for my foolishness, madam!

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 05:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
:/ it did not quite come out as smut, because apparently setup takes too long. >_>

Viola sits next to her on the bed, brushing out her hair, when Olivia suddenly says, "I knew thee for what thou wast."

"O, thou didst not!" Viola laughs. "Else wherefore art thou wedded to my brother?"

"Because he is like thee," Olivia says, and before she realises what she's done, she's leaning over Viola, pinning her wrists to the bed; her heart starts to clench, but Viola smiles, and Olivia goes still with shock.

"Nay, I am better," Viola says -- she bends her body upwards until her hips graze against Olivia's, and her eyes are merry.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 05:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
this is the CUTEST THING.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 05:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I truly do think that Olivia is all "I AM SHOCKING AND MYSTERIOUS AND IN LOVE WITH YOU" and Viola is like "lulz wanna make out?" Because she is cute and tiny and totes okay with random acts of lesbianism.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 06:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Don't you dare apologize I LOVE THIS. :DDDDDDDDDDD

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-04 02:25 am (UTC)

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-02 11:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Britannia, Mike/Gary, arrangements

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 03:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Mike has Gary backed up against the dishwasher, of all places, and Gary can feel the warm humming of machinery at work, vibrating against his skin. Between that and Mike's teeth and tongue at his throat, he almost doesn't hear when Mike whispers, "I made some arrangements. We're going to get away for a while, house-sit for some of Mom's friends near Syracuse. Get you out of this town." And it's as much relief, when his tired, overwrought brain finally understands, as much relief as all the other sensations, that makes him come so hard into Mike's safe and familiar hands.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-03 06:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Arthurian: Merlin / Mordred, ensorcellment. (Shhh, been dying for this pairing.)
Arthurian: Arthur / Kay / Bedivere, the good ol' days.
Arthurian: Sagramore / Mordred, stealing time at the worst time.
Arthurian: Morgana / Viviane (or Nimue, or Niniane, or Nyneve, or whatever), a lesson in womanhood.


(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-04 03:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
1. Merlin is old, but no fool. His first thought is that the boy's ensorcelled (after all, any child of Anna Morcades will bear her mark), but he tastes no magic on that sallow, windburnt skin. The second thought is that Arthur's bastard wants something from him, and he tries to trick the answer out between the sheets, not ashamed to use a little of his power to make Mordred come hard enough to leave another man to helpless babble. In the aftermath, the boy's eyes are hazy and sleepy with lust, but he admits to nothing, his pale lips curving up in a smile that Merlin's backwards-seeing mind can't divine.

Merlin decides that perhaps he is both old and a fool; but at least there's some pleasure to be got from it.

2. "D'you remember when we used to go hunting?" Arthur murmurs sleepily. Kai and Bedwyr aren't finished yet, but then he always does finish before them; he's too tired these days to last very long.

"Never caught anything," Kai grumbles, then cuts himself off with a curse, and Bedwyr grins up from between his thighs. "Bastard."

"We had a good time," Arthur says -- his voice sounds distant to his own ears, but he smiles at the sound of Kai's muffled groan and the creak of the straw mattress, and reaches out to rest his hand on Kai's hip affectionately as he falls asleep.

3. He doesn't even know whether Mordred trusts him any more, doesn't know whether they're still friends, doesn't know whether it's right now to call him heart's-brother, true-friend. Sometimes he almost thinks they're enemies, on opposite sides of the war Mordred is constructing himself with shaking hands. Somehow it doesn't stop them. Every night he can manage, Sagramore goes to Mordred's quarters; sometimes they make it to the bed, sometimes Mordred slams his back into the wall beside the fireplace and they couple feverishly. Sagramore doesn't protest (what right does he have?) -- Mordred's life is as surely linked to his as a man is to his shadow, and kisses that come like bruises now are his due.

4. "Yes, you're very beautiful," Vivienne says, straddling Morgan's thighs, fingers teasing playfully at Morgan's clit. Morgan wants to slap her. "But can you balance a book on your head while you curtsy to fools?"

"I can do much better," she says sharply; "I can get you on your back any time I like." She relishes the look in Vivienne's eyes.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-04 03:41 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Have I mentioned lately how epic you are? Because, really.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-04 04:56 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
:D! I like the Arthur/Kai/Bedwyr best, tbh. They are a great ot3.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-05 05:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Creepering in because Original Knights (TM) for the win.

i will never go away

Date: 2011-08-04 01:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Arthurian, Gawain/Ragnelle, windows
Arthurian, Mordred/Guenever, exhaustion
Arthurfly, Mordred/Kaylee, bronze
DF, Pyetr/Mary AU, luck
Westmark, Florian/Zara, relief

fancy that!

Date: 2011-08-09 05:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
1. She always brightens under sunlight, so the windows of their rooms are always open in spring and summer, to let in the warm breezes that make her flower. She entwines herself with him like columbine on a strong trellis, and Gawain, when he touches her, strokes her thighs apart and sucks gently on her fingertips and the curl of vine that creeps down along her cheek. Ragnelle sighs and murmurs like wind in tree branches.

If anyone had told him when he was a boy that he'd be married one day to the faerie folk he heard of in tales, he might have believed it. But he'd never have imagined it would be like this, or that he'd learn to roll the bud of her nipple between his fingers until she cried out and he genuinely wondered whether it would burst into blossom before his eyes.

2. She doesn't have to wonder what they're looking for.

Mordred's face is gaunt with exhaustion, and he looks at her with fever-bright eyes as his hands trace the finely knobbed contours of her spine. Guenever can't blame him for anything these days, though it's half in gratitude that he doesn't blame her.

There's nothing left for them here, nothing except to try and find a little safety and escape. She holds him inside her as though every part of him were precious, and her heart hurts a little less when the mindlessness of coming makes the lines of his face smooth out for just a few seconds.

3. As they roll over again, playing the old game of who can pin the other down, Kaylee hears a clank and winces for her boat -- or him, she supposes, he might've hit himself too. But Jude props himself up on his arms, taking advantage of her distraction -- he's too busy looking over his shoulder at various bronzed pieces of metal to see what made the noise.

"It's all right, I kicked the wrench," he says, and buries his face in her neck.

"What's all right 'bout that?" Kaylee starts to say, but then he's kissing her too distracting to think about the wrench, and she subsides, tightening her hands in his thick black hair. "Wo cao, Jude!" to the sound of his breathless laughter.

4. She wishes she knew what to make of him. She wishes she understood his almost faerie-tale lure, his quality of being so alien to the world with which she's familiar that it's almost as if she's fallen into some outrageous novel. She's grown so used to the weight of his black-furred familiar on her shoulder, always present like some token of good luck.

But he's real, she's never doubted, and doesn't doubt now, as she moves, half-afraid to wrap her legs around him to pull him further into her, half-ashamed of her boldness and the lewdness of it; as his weathered hands pin her shoulders back and he pants against her mouth, mispronouncing her name as always, "Mary, Mary."

She presses her palms against his back -- he's so like a child, all suspicion and bravado, but she wants him anyway, and knows she's wrong to.

5. Zara swears with relief at the first thrust, not because she needed him, but because she can feel the desire behind it, because she can feel him wanting her behind all his mildness and evenness and refusal to confront it. He's spent her whole life being direct about everything but this, muting it behind kindliness and the words "my child."

"Devil take you, come on," she growls, her hands clenched on his shoulders, biting into his skin. Florian laughs shakily and pulls her close.

"Oh, my conscience--" he begins, but she scrapes her nails down his back until he arches into her, and says,--

"Not to-night I'm not."

Re: fancy that!

Date: 2011-08-12 03:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
:D :D :D :D :D

Mordred/Gwenhwy, test
Mordred/Zara, ghost
Lenomie/Divdan, binder
Alex/Emory, film
Phoena/Leonato, egg (WHAT.)


Date: 2011-08-12 05:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
1.The first time they make love, after a dozen months of cold silence, Gwenhwyfach is almost afraid it's some sort of test. They've gone so long with little more than a few civil words between them.

Then he buries himself between her legs, murmuring her name into her shoulder. His hands skim upwards over her body from her hips to her breasts, like a bird riding the wind up into the sky.

And afterwards when he looks at her across the pillow his face is finally calm; it's the first time.

2. They're used to sleeping outdoors, so when they finally come upon an inn she demands a night in a bed, and then as soon as they're settled on the prickly straw mattress she changes her mind. He just laughs silently, to make her glare, and willingly follows her out.

They move like ghosts in the dark, especially her in her black dress, but once in the woods she takes it off quickly enough and her white skin gleams in the moonlight. He sinks back against the root-boned ground and watches her red hair fall all around him like a veil of muted fire -- but with more tangles -- and arches up against her fingernails and her thin hips.

Any place as civilised as a bed is no place for this.

3. "Where's my binder gone?"

"Forget your binder." Divdan lifts his head sleepily and Lenomie comes back to the bed to sit beside him; as soon as she's within reach his arm sneaks out, encircles her waist, and pulls her back in.

Well, Medraut won't be back to-day anyway. Lenomie slides under the covers and reaches for him, gets one hand on his dick and the other over his mouth before he gets a chance to say anything about poetry.

4. There's a film on, and they're supposed to be watching it, but Alex sure as hell isn't. Emory is sitting beside him, looking the fucking picture of gentility, with one of his graceful hands down the front of Alex's blue jeans. Alex bites his lip, trying not to writhe too obviously against his movie-theatre seat, vaguely hearing the sounds of on-screen voices and off-screen popcorn eaters.

He's resilient at first, and then Emory's fingers push him just a little too far. He half-swallows the moan, but it doesn't stop the woman behind them from a loud "Shhh!" and when Emory pats his thigh and starts to do up his jeans one-handed, Alex can't do anything but grin stupidly into space, his eyes gazing right past the screen.

5. It starts out a physics experiment.

Phoena honestly doesn't plan for it to turn into more; poor Leonato always looks as though he's on the verge on a nervous breakdown -- in a stolid sort of way -- and honestly who wouldn't be, if you were stuck in the unenviable position of acting as her step-sister's bodyguard. Teaching him how to cushion an egg with only a strofoam cup, a sheet of newspaper, four straws, and some scotch tape is supposed to be relaxing.

And then all of a suddenly they're spread out on the floor of her studio, with her labcoat under them and her safety glasses pushed up into her curls, and she's laughing encouragingly as he kisses her breasts and belly like it's the first time he's ever touched a girl. She wants him to relax, so that's good; but she feels a little guilty that what she'd really like to be doing is seeing to that egg.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-04 06:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OH WAIT Firefly and Les Mis are among the things I can ask you to write >:D How about:

1. Les Mis - Feuilly/Combeferere, prompt: Lord Byron
2. Les Mis/Firefly - Browncoat!Amis - seriously, whatever crossover or non-crossover pairing you want with it but let's get five sentences of Amis in space :D
3. Firefly - Mal/Zoe, friendly fire

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-09 05:02 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
1. "It's all poetry with you," Feuilly complains, one evening after Combeferre and Prouvaire are finally prised out of the cafe after hours of discussion on Lord Byron; "Nothing concrete."

Combeferre removes his spectacles and looks at Feuilly with astonishment. "You've always said you enjoyed me quoting to you at night."

"Paul," he says grimly, dragging Combeferre out of the line of sight of the cafe's waitresses, "At night I have your prick in my mouth."

Combeferre concedes with a kiss.

2. Like most wars -- says Combeferre -- it's bitter, and few of them survive. Afterwards Combeferre and Courfeyrac and poor, heartbroken Joly scatter to the Outer Rim to slip under the Alliance radar. Joly is the worst off -- both his lovers dead, and his hand seared clean off by some high-tech piece of hardware even Bahorel didn't know the make of, for the few hours longer that Bahorel lived to have an opinion.

Courfeyrac sweet-talks forged permanent residence papers out of some clerk on Rosalinde, and they settle down to lie low. But every time some barroom conversation turns to rebellion, none of them can help thinking of Enjolras and his bold talk, and the way they walked slow and steady for him into Serenity Valley.

3. "Tamade hundan," Mal snaps bitterly, thinking of the dumbass kid who winged him and hoping the said dumbass kid gets both balls stomped on by a horse and maybe sucked out the loading bay of a ship hitting atmo, too.

"Did I touch it, sir?" Zoe asks, in her usual deadpan-patient tone.

"No, go on, keep goin'."

She gives him that look that says she ain't buyin his shit, but her hands don't pause on him as she slides them over his hips, going around the graze on his left thigh nice and easy and slow until she reaches his dick. It's true sex ain't gonna happen until he's healed up more'n this, but -- as he's gonna think a lot more times in this lifetime -- he's got a first officer he can always count on to have a good idea.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-09 05:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
YAY #2

yay all of them but especially #2 :(

(no subject)

Date: 2011-08-10 02:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Yay! :D :D :D


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