drabblerabble

[brigdh]

Idea shamelessly stolen from fox1013:

So, the election results are sad. And frustrating. And make me want to either curl up and cry or start riots and set things on fire.

Therefore, we should do fun, distracting things. Things like... fluff! And porn! So request a drabble from me, and I'll write it for you. Any fandom, any pairing (as long as I know the fandom, which means pretty much only YnM or BtVS/Angel, but if you happen to have seen me talking about something else too, feel free to ask for it). I can't promise they'll be good, because I have OMG SO BUSY, but... fluffy porn! Yay!

And you should make the same offer, so I can request things from y'all. ^_^

Comments

[wolfpilot06.livejournal.com]

YAY PRETTY FLUFF TSUSOKA PR0N!!! (which is just what I wanted right now, anyway. ^____^)

*glompsnugglehug!*

**Wolf**

525 words, so not really a drabble...

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Tsuzuki could tell Hisoka was awake. Not because he'd said anything, or made any big movement; he'd only frowned slightly, lips pursing, and then his face had smoothed out and he'd hitched slightly closer to Tsuzuki, head curling in to rest on his shoulder.

"What're you thinking about?" Tsuzuki asked, running his fingertips over the back of Hisoka's hand, sliding them over the bump his wrist bone made. Hisoka was so warm when he first woke up. It was comforting and cozy and Tsuzuki wished he had the words to convince him to never leave their bed.

Hisoka was silent for a moment, then, "Nothing." His voice was sleep-rough. "How long until we have to get up." He opened his eyes, but his face was turned down and Tsuzuki couldn't see the green, only the sweep of his long lashes.

"A while yet."

Hisoka made the expression that Tsuzuki interpreted as 'I'd roll my eyes at you, but it's early and I haven't had coffee yet and I don't have enough energy for it, and anyway, I'm sort of amused, though I’d never admit it'. "Liar."

Tsuzuki grinned and tapped Hisoka's chin, lifting it so he could kiss him, just once. "Maybe. You won't know until you look at the clock."

Which, of course, meant that Hisoka immediately levered himself onto his elbows and glared past Tsuzuki's shoulder at the clock, then groaned and dropped face-first back onto his pillow, covering what little was exposed of his face with a hand.

Tsuzuki turned on his side and kissed Hisoka's shoulder, slowly working his way in to the sensitive spot on his neck.

"Stoppit. 'M sleeping," Hisoka mumbled directly into his pillow.

"Go ahead." Tsuzuki let his lips brush Hisoka's skin as he spoke. "I'll just do this. I'm not bothering you, am I?" He licked the tiny dip behind the earlobe, and Hisoka shivered. 'Bingo,' Tsuzuki thought, letting his hand drift down Hisoka's spine, soft enough to tickle. He leaned over Hisoka and buried his face in his hair, breathing deep to get the scent of his shampoo and sleep-sweat and warm Hisoka-scent, then moved to take Hisoka's earlobe in his mouth, scraping his teeth over the thin ridge of cartilage.

Hisoka's face came off the pillow with a gasp. "Brat."

He sat up, throwing Tsuzuki off, and turned to him, pinning Tsuzuki flat to the bed with a hand on one shoulder. "Such an annoying dork, Tsuzuki."

Tsuzuki smiled at him, because this was Hisoka and he loved him, adored him, and Hisoka didn't care that he had purple eyes and wasn't human and had done such terrible things; Hisoka hadn't left him. He had done so much wrong, but somehow, he had this still, he hadn't lost Hisoka. This was good on a level he didn't deserve, and it almost frightened him to think about it closely, as if examining it would make Hisoka wake up and realize his mistake. Hisoka's mouth got thin and hard, like he might yell, but instead he just dipped down and kissed Tsuzuki, deeply.

It was a good thing that Tatsumi was used to them being late.

Re: 525 words, so not really a drabble...

[wolfpilot06.livejournal.com]

*melts, dies, and absolutely WIBBLES TO PIECES*

Sankyuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!! It was pretty and warm and fluffy and ahhhhhhhh!! Tsusoka love! Ah! Ah! *wibbles!!!*

*dribbles out of her chair* ^____________^

**Wolf**

[shes-unreal.livejournal.com]

WRITE ORIYA.

ORIYA?! DAMMIT, WHY DO YOU HATE ME, YOU KNOW I'VE NEVER ONCE WRITTEN HIM!

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

621 words

Oriya sat at the edge of his room, the doors slid all the way open to let in the cool night air. He thought of nothing; emptying his mind to take in all the small movements of the garden before him, the rustling of the grasses in the wind and the steady beat from the water fountain, the bamboo spout filling and falling. Tattered clouds drifted across the moon, making slow patterns of shadows and light, silvering the leaves of the trees in pure white before hiding them in darkness.

The moon was full. Not red, though; not tonight. Sweat from kendo practice dried on his skin, chilling him, but he didn't shiver. Oriya was calm, centered. He wasn't waiting on anything.

A noise near the fence announced a presence. He stared straight ahead, not acknowledging it. Muraki's voice was low but carrying, slipping through the distant murmurs of the city like something natural and ancient. "I seem to be without lodging for the night. Perhaps, one of your rooms..." He thought this was funny.

Oriya fingered the katana next to him, the patterns of the handle as familiar to his fingers as his own body. The metal of the blade was cold. "We do not sell rooms for the night. Only guests of the family may stay."

Muraki disturbed the crickets as he walked, frightening them into stillness. Silence spread outward, like ripples in a pond, from his path. "How fortunate. I am an old friend of the owner."

Oriya turned to him, then. His immaculate clothes were splattered with gore, the thin creases of his hands lined in blood. Power glittered in his eyes like excitement or lust, and they were focused on Oriya, darkly amused and waiting to gauge his reaction. "Once." He stood, lifting his katana with the motion and dropping it behind his shoulder so that the sword curved across his back, the handle resting by his neck.

Muraki stepped closer, near enough for Oriya to smell the copper sourness of blood. A smiled curved the pale lips as Muraki tilted his head, pale hair briefly cloaking the mad eyes. "No more?"

"You are not the boy I knew."

He appeared to genuinely consider that, breathing softly for a moment before he answered. There was something of pain or confusion in his expression, or perhaps Oriya only imagined it was there, convincing himself that there was still a lingering trace of humanity. "No? Who am I, if not myself?"

"I don't know." Oriya sighed. "You may stay. Go take a bath, and I'll have clean clothes sent to your room." He moved back into the building, finding a path across the bare wood floor with ease, knowing his way so well that darkness was no barrier.

"And then?"

Oriya pretended to misunderstand. "And then what?"

"You are so angry with me. Does it displease you to see the proof of murder on my hands? You've known what I am. Perhaps you simply couldn't believe it until you saw it. What will you do now?" He paused, but Oriya said nothing to the accusations. "Do you bar me from your bed tonight, old friend?" Muraki's voice was bitter and challenging in the empty room, twisting the last two words into a mockery.

Oriya laid the katana on its stand, hands resting on its graceful curve, head bowed over the smooth blade. It had been passed down to him by his father, and his before, generations of the Mibu family represented in its fine craftsmanship, its strength and beauty. They were proud, independent and wealthy, and bound by tradition and honor, all the intricacies of politics and secrets.

"No. Come as soon as can."

Behind him, Muraki laughed.

[catiechu.livejournal.com]

Can I request Tokyo Babylon fic? >>;

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Well, you can if you want to...

But given that my sole experience with Tokyo Babylon is flipping through the first two manga while standing in Barnes & Nobles, it'll look something like this:

Seishourou (so not spelled right): I R VETERNARIAN! HEE!
Subaru: *magic spell* Whoosh!
Girl whose name I can't remember: You two should date!

[rackhamrose.livejournal.com]

...*cough* maybe a little tatari plz? doesn't have to be smut, just cuteness.

I'll name a character in Shutter Bug after you.

[catiechu.livejournal.com]

*DIES AT YOUR ICON*

"I hate the internet! I HATE men!!"

*is defeated, goes to find AQ soundtrack*

Tatari

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Eee, a character named after me? How cool!

Ahem. I feel I should warn you that I've never written this pairing before, and you being the way-super-cool author of it makes me a bit nervous, but- I tried? Don't hate me. 636 words.

***

It's well known in the Shokan Bureau's main office that one does not drink anything prepared by the resident mad scientist. Especially not, Tatsumi thought, when he's grinning like that.

He looked down his nose at the steaming cup of coffee, regarding it with much the same disgust and apprehension he usually reserved for bread that had begun to display a rather interesting pattern of fuzzy green polka dots. "No thank you, Watari-san," he said, with what he hoped was enough chill to ward off the inevitable attempts at persuasion.

No such luck. "It's just coffee!" Watari shoved the cup closer to him, the contents nearly spilling as he shook it to prove his point. "Smells like coffee, looks like coffee, and if the rest of the pot was any indication, it takes like coffee. Therefore: coffee. It's perfectly safe." He cut himself off, frowning briefly. "Well, actually, there’s been some recent studies on caffeine intake over long periods of time, but-"

"Whatever it is, I've had all the coffee that I need," Tatsumi said, brushing past with file folders held up to ward off any splashes. "And I have no time to spend debating it with you."

Left behind, Watari sighed dramatically and shoved his free hand into the pocket of his lab coat, scuffing his shoe against the floor. "You don't trust me. That's it, isn't it? I can see why. After all, why should anyone trust me? I certainly haven't... haven't done anything to deserve it. I'd just thought... or hoped..."

Tatsumi turned around, one eyebrow raised. Watari was looking down, hair falling in his face. He peeped upwards shyly through his eyelashes and caught Tatsumi watching, and a grin broke free from his pout. "Damn. It always works for Tsuzuki," he said, shaking back his hair as he straightened up.

Tatsumi told himself that he didn't find that funny at all. "Tsuzuki-san is cuter than you are."

Watari whooped, breaking out in alarmingly loud laughter. "Was that a joke? From you? You really are in need of a break."

"The budget is due in-"

"Yeah, yeah, but you've been in your office for at least the last seven hours, and don't try to lie to me, I know that you were in there when I woke up-" Watari's words froze briefly, then carried on as smooth as before. "-and came in this morning. From my house. Which is where I slept. But," Watari rallied, lifting a finger in an impressive gesture. "That is not the point! The point is that... um. That as your health care provider, I find myself concerned for your well-being! And I prescribe coffee and time out of the office."

Tatsumi adjusted his glasses with a deep breath. "If I take the coffee, will you go away?"

"No. You'll just pour it down the drain as soon as you're alone." Watari smirked at him. "I know you."

Tatsumi considered his options. He could just drink the damn coffee, but he'd be unlikely to get any work done if he grew another arm or abruptly developed the ability to see through walls. On the other hand, allowing an unsatisfied Watari to roam the office could only lead to bad things happening. Clearly, he had to do something to distract the man. "Watari-san. Have I ever told you how lovely I consider your hair?"

Watari opened his mouth, blinked, closed it, and opened it again. "Huh?"

"Never mind. I must be distracted by this work. Please, forget it. Excuse me." Tatsumi adjusted his glasses again, deliberately looking flustered as he turned away.

Of course, he reflected as he walked freely away, leaving Watari clutching his coffee dumbly in the middle of the hallway, victory over said resident mad scientist was very nice indeed. And he hadn't even had to lie.

[gamera.livejournal.com]

I'm all about the Tsusoka fluffy porn, personally. (It doesn't even have to be separate fluffy porn, I'm perfectly happy with just reading the answer to the person who requested it.)

Tsusoka porn!

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Aw, but of course you get your own fluffy porn! Though, if you want more, you can scroll up in the comments to see wolfpilot06's too.

Heh. Yours turned out as a total PWP, though. 776 words.

***

They're on a case, and so they really, really shouldn't be doing this, but Hisoka's come to terms with the fact that he gets stupidly upset and possessive every time yet another person comes on to Tsuzuki, and Tsuzuki, well... Tsuzuki has always been desperately eager for whatever sign of affection Hisoka could give him. He still lights up inside whenever Hisoka makes an excuse to touch him, is still surprised and grateful at every kiss.

And now he's giving off love and want and desire in waves Hisoka can taste in the back of his throat even as he kisses Tsuzuki, craving mixed in with the tea-and-rice taste of his mouth. Tsuzuki cups Hisoka's shoulders, pulling him close until Hisoka's neck aches with reaching up to met Tsuzuki. They stumble backwards until they hit something solid- a wall, good, Hisoka has time to think- and then Tsuzuki turns, scooping up Hisoka as he does, lifting him and pinning him against the wall.

Hisoka startles, tossing his head back in surprise and almost says something. Tsuzuki beats him to it, though. The second Hisoka flinches, terror flashes across his face and emotions, and he starts to step away, hands sliding off of Hisoka's hips where they'd picked him up. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't- I should have thought-"

That's no good. Hisoka's alarm dies in the face of Tsuzuki's sorrow and guilt. He grabs Tsuzuki's face in both hands and brings it back, stopping his words with kisses. Tsuzuki stays tense for only a moment, then presses into Hisoka, gasping and screwing his eyes shut tight. He needs to be reassured, Hisoka can feel, which is fine, because he has no intention of doing anything other than showing Tsuzuki just how much he wants him. He throws his arms around Tsuzuki's neck, threading his fingers through his hair. Tsuzuki's thigh is still between his legs, raising him slightly off the floor, and he grinds into it, arching his back to lean into Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki moans, almost breaking their kiss. Their lips brush as they catch their breath, not kissing but not separate either. Then he sucks Hisoka's lower lip into his mouth and Hisoka has to try to force clumsy fingers to work, to unbutton Tsuzuki's shirt. He tugs the tie away, dropping his face to bury it in Tsuzuki's neck. "Mine," he says between the kisses he presses to the hot skin. "Mine, mine."

TBC

[goddessgrrrrl.livejournal.com]

I'm thinking about blowing up DMVs and Post offices across the country if I fail my drive test tomorrow... since at that point I'll hate all of the government, from the president to the lowest level civil servent-- The drive test proctor.

DIE DIE DIE!

(I just said the the the in German! No woman who speaks German can be EVIL....)

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Heh. Good luck! I hope I won't hear about you starting any riots. ;)

(Of course not! Germans are always the good guys in movies, after all.)

[b-hallward.livejournal.com]

Ooh, that is nice. I really like your dialogue here, the "brat" and "annoying dork," the way they're playing with each other because they're so comfortable together -- I find that so sexy and yet full of affection.

And, really, the 12-year-old fangirl in me wants to chime in with something Deep and Meaningful like: Aww, so cute!

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you! I'm so glad that you liked it. Writing things like this- where I start off with no real plan or idea or where I'm going to go- always makes me so nervous.

[mistressrenet.livejournal.com]

ClubSoka.

531 words of PR0N!

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Hisoka is annoyed, and irritated, and angry. There's not even a reason for it, or maybe there's a million small ones; school and his family and how stupid most people are and the gagging bitterness of alcohol and deepening cold of the days and nights, so that sometimes, when he comes home so late that it's early, frost glitters on the dead grass like the scattered silver chains of a broken necklace.

He doesn't care about why, though, just that he is. Reasons wouldn't make a difference, even if he had the patience to sort them out. Action is much better, action like this: kissing someone, knotting his fingers through hair to hold him close, the shift of legs and hips under Hisoka as the man restlessly tries to jerk upwards. His chest and shoulders are broad, but they taper down into a narrow waist, so Hisoka can sit on his lap comfortably, knees spread to rest on either side of his thighs. One of the man's hands is curled into Hisoka's waistband, fingertips dipping inside to brush the skin and keep him close. The other is restless, sliding down Hisoka's back before lifting to touch his face, his arm, his chest.

Hisoka turns his head, hungrily kissing across the man's cheek. He lifts his chin with a stifled moan, and Hisoka ducks down to trace the vein in his neck with his teeth. Hisoka can feel the hurried pulse beneath the skin through his mouth nearly as well as he can feel it with his empathy, a stream of sucking need that he longs to throw himself into. It's attractive in a sick, self-destructive way, as if sex or infatuation might actually be enough to make him feel adequate for once.

Stupid as it is, Hisoka just wants someone to want him. And oh, how this man wants. He looks at Hisoka through nearly closed eyes, violet shining beneath thick lashes, and it's like being worshipped. He breathes need, trails craving with his fingers across Hisoka's skin, and Hisoka curves into the touch involuntarily.

"Say something," Hisoka says, dropping his hands to smooth down the man's chest and tap his thighs, to press against his lower stomach.

He licks his lips, panting. "Wonderful. Beautiful. Please-" he bends to kiss Hisoka's shoulder, and the words come out muffled by the noise of the club and the press of his mouth against the skin. Hisoka runs a hand down through his hair, and further to the warm skin of his neck, the knob at the top of his spine, the smooth bow of his back. "I want this. Please."

He seems so lonely and hopeless that Hisoka almost feels guilty. But mostly he feels cynically vindicated, as if the fact that even someone this lovely and perfect is broken is just further proof of the world's unfairness and injustice. He's not cruel though, at least not right now when this man is the only thing that feels at all good, so he cups his face and leans back, staring into his striking eyes.

"Let's get out of here," Hisoka says quietly before kissing him. The man, his mouth closed by Hisoka's, agrees.

[rachelmanija.livejournal.com]

Could you do Wesley/Lilah?

You can request one from me here and I'll do it if I know the fandom, but I'm not officially supposed to be writing fanfic, so I can't make the offer in my own journal.

Wesley/Lilah in 169 words.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Well, I can certainly try! It's been years, though, since I wrote this fandom, so don't expect too much.

***

Lilah is more lovely dead.

Perhaps that's why Wesley distrusts it. It seems impossible that she should be real, should be something other than his imagination or guilt or regret. But the others can see her, so he hasn't lost his mind.

Or they all have. That seems possible. But this isn't the ghost he would have dreamed up; this is far too ordinary. He knows himself well enough to know that he would have created something of gore and accusations, returned to prick his conscience. She could do that, now that she's dead and he is no longer quite so certain of himself.

Instead, she has styled hair and a carefully arranged scarf. It seems appropriate, that his dead lover should reappear to offer rewards for saving (or destroying) the world and still be concerned with appearances. Lilah was always very good with the small details, the missing pieces that had slipped from their place.

Perhaps it's only the days of missing her that makes her look beautiful.

[p-zeitgeist.livejournal.com]

Coming in way late to say: First, I love all three of these; and second, I am in awe of your ability to just toss off such splendid things. I'd be awed at your ability to do it at all -- I mean, I'd follow your suggestion and make the same offer, if I weren't afraid that I might turn out to be unable to carry through on it -- but to not only be able to do it, but able to do a terrific job of it? I am both grateful and wildly jealous.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Aww, thank you. It means so much to me that you'd say that. I don't particularly like putting up my writing when I haven't had the chance to obsessively tinker with every detail, especially not when it concerns characters and pairings I don't have a great deal of experience with. It makes me nervous and embarrassed, and if I don't get replies right away, I become convinced that I've done something horribly wrong.

So I'm really massively grateful for your comment. It made me feel so much better.

And heh- you certainly wouldn't be the only one to offer and then be unable to follow through. This drabble meme goes around every so often (there was one interesting variant on it that went "give me a line of dialouge and I'll write a drabble around it"), and I've always offered and always been unable to write them. This is the very first time I've actually managed to respond to all the requests.

[kohakutenshi.livejournal.com]

Okay! Gimme a nice Hisoka/Watari drabble! :)

482 words of Hitari

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Watari stopped short in the door of his lab, rather surprised to find Hisoka curled into one of the hard-back chairs, thick book in his lap and distractedly shooing away something that looked like a cross between a crab and an old-fashioned potato peeler. You know, if crabs were regularly made out of metal and trailed power cords.

"Morning, Bon," Watari said, letting the door swing closed behind him and making his way to the table, where he dumped a pile of files and notes he'd discovered in the library.

Hisoka startled. "Ah, sorry, Watari." He looked down, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to invade your space. I can go..."

"Stay, if you want." Watari shrugged. "Did someone give Tsuzuki sugar again?"

Hisoka's eyes narrowed. "He's bonding with Saya and Yuma. Over fashion magazines."

"I see," Watari said, wincing. "You can hide out here as long as you need to. I won't tell them where you are."

"Thank you."

Watari busied himself with his regular morning routine: turning things on, lighting Bunsen Burners, checking the progress of running experiments, feeding the birds. Hisoka watched him silently, fingering the pages of the book he was holding. It wasn't much of a movement, but for Hisoka it counted as fidgeting, and Watari wondered what he could be nervous about.

"Um. Watari-san. I... you've known Tsuzuki for a long time, haven't you?"

Watari glanced over his shoulder, but Hisoka was firmly glaring at a spot on the floor. "A few decades," he said amicably. "Not as long as some."

"Was he always like this?" Hisoka blurted, frustration evident in every word.

Watari blinked. "Like what?"

"Like..." Hisoka sighed. "I don't know. Like him. I don't- I just want-" He stopped, pressed his lips tight together, and started again. "What does he expect me to do? It's not like I had a chance to learn about this when I was alive; there weren't a lot of potential dates locked in the attic with me. The idiot. Why can't he say something, if he's going to want at me so much?"

"Hmmm." Watari turned to face him, leaning his hip against the lab table. "What you need, Bon, is a little experience."

Hisoka looked at him warily. "Yeah?"

"It's perfect. You won't be so nervous, you'll learn a few tricks; it'll be great!" Watari spread his arms. "I suggest myself as the best candidate. After all-"

"I have to go." Hisoka stood up abruptly, almost dropping his book. He fumbled with it briefly before managing to get a good hold. He could certainly turn some interesting shades of red, Watari noted. "I forgot... something." He hurried out of the lab, nearly running.

Watari crossed his arms and nodded to himself. Give him some time to think about it, he'd be back. If not, well... he could always try putting that new aphrodisiac in the break room's coffee pot.

[moonsheen.livejournal.com]

Coming in a tad late here, buuut don't suppose I can make a humble request for some Wakaba/Terazuma love? T'would be muchly appreciated.