Ficlets from the other day

[wesleysgirl]

I did manage to write a few ficlets the other day.


SGA ficlets

eruthros asked for John/Rodney, wonder or wander.

"You're thinking again," John says.

"I'm always thinking," Rodney tells him. They're lying side by side in bed, which is really two beds pushed together.

"No," John says. "Sometimes, you're sleeping. I can tell because of the snoring." He rolls onto his side facing Rodney.

"Yes, yes, very good, make fun of the person with sinus issues," Rodney says, but there's no heat behind the snark, and John doesn't think it's because Rodney's tired.

He puts a hand on Rodney's arm. "So what's going on?"

"Nothing," Rodney says unconvincingly.

"Rodddddney."

Rodney sighs. Doesn't say anything. Sighs again. "I was thinking, okay?"

"I got that," John says. "About what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rodney says, in the tone of voice that means of course he knows, because he always knows, but that he's not going to tell John. Not yet, anyway.

It's John's turn to sigh, but he drapes an arm over Rodney and shuts his eyes. There's no point in wondering about it. Rodney'll tell him about whatever it is when he's ready.


ladycat777 asked for sga, mcshep, h/c.

"It doesn't matter," Rodney said, pulling away from John and walking into the other room.

"That's bullshit and you know it!" John called after him. He was torn between following Rodney and giving him some space, and settled for going as far as the doorway and leaning on the frame.

"All right, fine, it does matter, but there's nothing we can do about it." Rodney wouldn't even look at him.

"So that's it? You're okay with just letting it go?"

Rodney didn't answer. In fact, he walked past John -- who had to step back to make room for him -- and into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving John standing there like an idiot.

Until he realized, hey, he didn't have to stand there like an idiot.

He went and opened the bedroom door and went in. Rodney was flung on the bed face-down, one arm cushioning his head and the other beside him, palm turned up in a way that John found strangely endearing. He knew what those hands felt like -- knew that Rodney's palms were soft, the skin thin and sensitive.

"You can't just let it go," John said.

Rodney didn't move. "Of course I can," he said, his voice muffled. "I already did."

"If you had, you wouldn't be so upset about it."

"Who says I'm upset?"

Sitting down on the side of the bed, John rested his hand on Rodney's lower back. "Come on," he said.

"Why?" Rodney asked bitterly. "Are we going somewhere? Because I could really use a vacation."

"I know." John stroked his hand up along Rodney's spine and rubbed his shoulder.

"Just... don't leave, okay?" Rodney said, and John nodded even though Rodney couldn't see him.

"I won't," he promised.


bethynyc asked for John/Rodney, one asking the other "What if?"

"But what if there is?" Rodney asked, poking at the slice of cake with his fork.

"There isn't," John said. He was trying to be patient, because God knew Rodney had reason enough to be paranoid. "What part of 'I made it myself' isn't getting through to you?"

Rodney was frowning and staring at the cake like he might be able to analyze its contents if he looked at it hard enough. "What if you reached for the vanilla extract and got the lemon by mistake?"

"I threw out the lemon -- and the orange -- months ago," John said. "Years ago. They're long gone."

"What if someone spilled their juice on the flour at the supermarket and some of it soaked through the bag?"

Touching Rodney's hand, John said, "Rodney. Stop freaking out and eat the damned cake that I baked for you with my own two hands."

Rodney looked up at him, eyes troubled, but then he slowly lifted a bite to his mouth and chewed it. "It's good," he admitted.

"Damn right it is," John said, and grinned.


piplover asked for John/Rodney and a bit of fever.

"You really are a whiner," Rodney said. "You know that, don't you?"

John groaned and tried to pull the pillow over his head. "I'm sick," he said. "If you're going to be mean to me, go away. Let me die in peace."

"You're not going to die," Rodney said confidently. He sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight, and moved the pillow out of the way, putting his hand on John's forehead.

Rodney's hand felt cold; John's teeth chattered. "Jesus," he muttered, and Rodney went away.

He was surprised when Rodney came back, pressing a cup of water and two pills into his hands.

"Take these," Rodney said, and John obeyed, then burrowed underneath the covers, shivering, as Rodney did something that included soft thumps and the dimming of the lights in the room. "Move over."

John could barely think; he let Rodney shove him until they were lying side by side with Rodney's warmth pressed up against him. He burrowed in closer, hiding his face against Rodney's neck, and sighed, relaxing. "Thanks."

"No problem," Rodney murmured, patting John's hair. "Get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."




Jossverse ficlets

entrenous88 asked for Ethan/Xander, with Giles either mentioned or catching them.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Xander says, looking up from the bed at Ethan, the bare line of his back golden in the sunshine that's coming in through the window.

"Of course we should," Ethan tells him. He's buttoning up his shirt slowly, his slacks around his waist but not yet fastened. "We both enjoy it. There's no reason not to. Unless you've changed your mind?" He lets his gaze wander down along Xander's body as the boy rolls onto his side.

"I don't know," Xander says. "I mean, no. No, but... it's just that I'd hate for Giles to find out, you know?"

Ethan knows. In fact, he himself is counting the days until Rupert finds out, anticipating the other man's reaction with a dark, eager glee. "I know," he says, keeping his voice gentle so that the lie is more convincing. "Don't worry. We'll be careful."


cheesygirl asked for Angel/Wesley comfort fic, or comfort sex to be precise.

"Easy," Angel murmured when Wes struggled. "Hang on. I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm fine." Wesley's voice was tight with control, arms straining against the ropes that bound his wrists together behind his back.

"Yeah, you are." It was one thing to break the braided strands, but another to do it without bruising Wesley, who was already coming up dark bruises on his face. Angel channeled his anger at the fact that people had put their hands on Wes, his Wes, into untying the rope. "There," he said as the last of it untangled. "Okay. Easy."

"Stop telling me to take it easy," Wesley snapped, wincing as he brought his arms forward and rubbed at his wrists. "I've already taken it easy -- easy enough that they were able to subdue me and tie me up, at any rate."

"Hey," Angel said, then gave up trying to reassure Wesley with words and went with touch instead. He tipped Wesley's face up to his and kissed him. He kissed him for a long time, because he knew that as soon as he stopped Wesley was just going to start talking again, apologizing, explaining, and none of it was necessary. Wes was okay, not broken, not dead, and that was good enough for Angel.

He kissed him for so long that when he finally did stop, all Wesley did was was look up at him, eyes a little bit dazed and his lips the perfect shade of flushed pink.

"You sure you're not hurt?" Angel asked.

Wesley nodded slowly. "No. But, Angel -- "

There was nothing for Angel to do but kiss him again.