Some people are just all show.

Criminal Minds | Ten More Scenes at Further Stages of Domesticity | NC-17 | Hotch/Rossi

2011-12-16T23:24:13Z

Title: Ten More Scenes at Further Stages of Domesticity
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: NC-17 for smut in one section
Pairing: Hotch/Rossi
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. A companion/sequel to this fic.
Word Count: 4,000
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: The scenes in my head piled up again! So obviously that meant it was time for another one of these, lol. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.

( Ten More Scenes at Further Stages of Domesticity )

MIX: Criminal Minds | It's Only Natural | PG | Hotch/Rossi

2011-12-10T20:09:05Z

Title: It's Only Natural
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hotch/Rossi
Summary: A look at Hotch and Rossi's relationship.
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Oh, Hotch and Rossi. How I love them. This mix has been in the works for awhile now; hooray for finally posting it.

Maybe this time I could stay
And let myself get carried away
Maybe this time it's too late
We could make a move or we could wait
Maybe she will understand
And not expect too much from one man
Maybe she can
Or maybe she can't

Maybe when I've changed my tune
I'll come out of my solitude
And start to live my life anew
And spend the rest of my days pleasing you
—Alternative to Love, Brendan Benson

Aaron realizes he has feelings for Dave. Essentially, his reaction boils down to, "Well, shit." Still reeling from the emotional fallout of his divorce, he can only see this as a complication he simply doesn't need right now. He decides to push it to the back of his mind.

Oh this could be magic
After all, after all

You daren’t define which has happened to us
Well, I’ve had a name for it for some time
You try to find what it is that you feel
I long to tell you so truly

Oh this could be trouble
After all, after all

And I say, is it a dream, like it was back then?
Is it a dream like it was back in the stars?
Could I be so wrong? Could I be so wrong?
—After All, Sondre Lerche

Dave, on the other hand, has known exactly what he feels for Aaron for quite a long time, ever since they worked together the first time. David Rossi doesn't pine, but there's no denying he wanted him back then. It simply wasn't an option, and that was fine—Aaron's friendship is plenty.

Of course, then there's the divorce, but then there's George Foyet, and then, finally, there might be a window—and Dave starts to realize he's not the only one who might be interested.

But you had to come along, didn't you?
Rev up the crowd, rewrite the rule book
Where do I go when every no turns into maybe
So what do I do with this?

This sudden burst of sunlight and me with my umbrella
Cross indexing every weatherman's report
I was ready for the downslide but not for spring to well up
This feeling calls for everything I can't afford to know is possible now
—Stray Italian Greyhound, Vienna Teng

Aaron isn't expecting Dave to figure him out. He's not sure he can do this. After everything he's been through, everything he's had and lost—is it worth it?

It's only natural
That I should want to be there with you
It's only natural
That you should feel the same way, too

It's easy when you don't try going on first impressions
Man in a cage has made his confession
Now, you've seen me at my worst
And it won't be the last time I'm down there

I want you to know I feel completely at ease
Read me like a book
That's fallen down between your knees
Please, let me have my way with you
—It's Only Natural, Crowded House

Dave assures him that it is.

When something goes right
Well it's likely to lose me
It's apt to confuse me
It's such an unusual sight
I can't get used to something so right
Something so right

They've got a wall in China
It's a thousand miles long
To keep out the foreigners
They made it strong
I've got a wall around me
That you can't even see
It took a little time
To get next to me
—Something So Right, Paul Simon

Aaron simply has to get used to being in a relationship again, and he does. The two of them, it's good. It's right.

I've been waiting for the day
When I can throw away these numbers
That line my dresser drawers and cupboards
Start me over
Life seems so much slower
With your toothbrush by the mirror
Can I make it any clearer?

And I just might say it tonight
I just might say it tonight
I just might tell you tonight
That I love you
And you should stay all my life
—Might Tell You Tonight, Scissor Sisters

It's not long before Dave asks Aaron and Jack to move in. Casually. Because he's smooth that way. (=P)

Can I tell you a secret?
You promise that you'll keep it?
Cross your heart, not a soul
There's so much that you don't know
(You don't even know)

I'm about to break
I'm about to shake
I'm an insurrection
Do you want to face
Do you want to taste
My secret weapon?
My aim is steady
I'm locked and ready
To blow your mind
Make you feel divine
With my affection
My secret weapon
—Secret Weapon, Ke$ha

There are things Aaron is not used to letting show—when the job gets to him, for instance. Life-affirming sex ensues.

You have to put up with so much
And you feel beat up
But that's all about to fade away

Come on, lay your head down on my shoulder
Let your troubled mind go free
All day long you've had to be strong
But now you're home and I'll make you see
You don't have to be tough with me
You don't have to be tough with me
—Tough With Me, Terri Clark

Dave does his best to remind Aaron that he doesn't need to hide behind a poker face with him.

I've tried counting sheep and I've talked with the shepherd
Played with my pillow forever and ever
I sit alone and I watch the clock
I breathe in the tick and out on the tock
I can hear your bare feet on the kitchen floor
And I don't have to have these dreams no more
I've found someone who can pull me tight
And hold the insomniac all night
—Insomniac, The Virginia Gentlemen

Aaron's biggest challenge: actually talking it easy.

It ticks just like a Timex
It never lets up on you
Who said life was easy
The job is never through
It'll run us 'til we're ragged
It'll harden our hearts
And love could use a day of rest
Before we both start falling apart

I pray that it's raining on Sunday
Stormin' like crazy
We'll hide under the covers all afternoon
—Raining on Sunday, Keith Urban

Dave's biggest challenge: actually getting Aaron to take it easy.

I'm searchin' for one clear moment of love and truth
I still got a little faith
But what I need is some proof tonight
I'm lookin' for it in your eyes

Ain't no chuch bells ringing
Ain't no flags unfurled
Just me and you and the faith we're bringing
Into the real world
Into the real world

Well tonight I just wanna shout
I feel my soul waist deep and sinkin'
Into this black river of doubt
I just wanna rise and walk along the riverside
And when the morning comes baby I don't wanna hide
I'll stand right at your side with my arms open wide
—Real World, Bruce Springsteen

As good as their relationship is, a lot of it is new for Aaron. There are adjustments, even insecurities, involved in being with Dave.

I can sit and listen
Or I can make you scream
Kiss it and make it better
Just put your trust in me

Oh my God, go a little slower
Oh my God, what was that again
La da da, let me feel you baby
Let me in, 'cause I understand
Let me feel you baby
'Cause I understand
—Oh My God, P!nk

Dave does his best to show Aaron how much he feels, to squash them.

We gotta look right at each other and say it
Turn on the radio and play it
And fall in love again
Can you feel the light shine
You know this song's yours and mine
Ain't it good to know you've got a place to go
Where the melody's fine
Sometimes I'm not so strong
And even now I could be wrong
But if you love me like music
I'll be your song
—(Love Me Like Music) I'll Be Your Song, Heart

But they both realize that occasionally, every once in awhile, they need to say it. They can do that.

Alone we're not half bad
But we could be a whole lot better
Anybody knows us, knows we're good together
Just a little sliver of sunlight in stormy weather
Like a tear in my beer, we're good together
Good together
—Good Together (Bucket And Chicken), SHeDAISY

After all, they're good together.

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MIX: Burn Notice | you're not my friend / some are not worth saving | PG-13 | Larry/Michael

2011-11-24T12:44:45Z

Title: you're not my friend / some are not worth saving
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG-13 (references to violence, a twisted relationship)
Pairing: Larry/Michael
Summary: A chronicle of Michael and Larry's respective disillusionment with each other.
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: You might see this and want to ask me, "But Sara, didn't you just make a Larry/Michael mix?" and I might reply, "Yes, yes I did. This one is all Keith Urban's fault." Because it is. I stumbled across "You're Not My God" and was instantly struck by how perfect it was for Michael realizing Larry's just No Good. Obviously I had to create another mix around it. =P

SIDE ONE you're not my friend	SIDE TWO some are not worth saving
crashed / daughtry and then I crashed into you and I went up in flames could've been the death of me but then you breathed your breath in me and I crashed into you like a runaway train you will consume me but I can't walk away	sugar, we're going down / fall out boy am I more than you bargained for yet I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear cause that's just who I am this week lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum I'm just a notch in your bedpost but you're just a line in a song drop a heart, break a name we're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team
(michael meets larry. he's angry and larry knows what to do with that anger. he feels validated for the first time ever.)	(when they meet, larry decides, yes, he'll have him. he plans to seduce him. it's the easiest goddamn thing in the world.)
big bad handsome man / imelda may the man is tall, mad, mean, and good-lookin' and he's got me his eye when he looks at me, I go weak at the knees he's got me going like no other guy 'cause he's my big, bad, handsome man he's got me in the palm of his hand he's the devil divine, I'm so glad that he's mine 'cause he's my big, bad, handsome man	figured you out / nickelback I like your pants around your feet and I like the dirt that's on your knees and I like the way you still say please while you're looking up at me you're like my favorite damn disease and I love the places that we go and I love the people that you know and I love the way you can't say no
(larry's good-looking, fun, and dangerous. how's a boy to resist? michael certainly doesn't.)	(larry has fun with him—god, does he have fun. there's the damage they do and the mayhem they cause. and then there's the way michael begs.)
some kind of ride / grace potter I believe you try to read too much between the lines and you wonder why I don't separate my heart from my mind broken down, let go, you always seen to be in the know and you move me just so I can't tell if you're for real or for show well you're setting me up for the big collide	caring is creepy / the shins hold your glass up, hold it in never betray the way you've always known it is one day I'll be wondering how I got so old just wondering how I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow this is way beyond my remote concern of being condescending
(michael knows, on some level, that larry's playing him. he can't bring himself to care. it's all too thrilling.)	(larry does, in his way, regret how they part the first time. after all, he likes the kid. but that's life: it's necessary.)
stay tonight / matchbook romance I just thought I'd let you know I filled my head with your voice and now I'm drowning well I wrote this song for you you can stay tonight and make everything all right you can hold me down and tell me that you're right tell me what it's like to be alone	i dare you / shinedown hello, let me introduce you to the characters in the show one says yes, one says no decide which voice in your head you can keep alive even in madness, I know you still believe paint me on canvas so I become what you could never be I dare you to tell me to walk through fire wear my soul and call me a liar
(but larry keeps getting darker and darker. it gets harder to reconcile. still, he tries.)	(when they meet again, larry can't believe it. michael thinks he's a good guy now? he knows better.)
all there is / bad religion and everything is barely mist blood relations and bricks my expression, my confession, add it up extract a lesson, more than this once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me can that be all there is	breath / breaking benjamin so sacrifice yourself and let me have what's left I know that I can find the fire in your eyes I'm going all the way, get away, please you take the breath right out of me you left a hole where my heart should be you got to fight just to make it through 'cause I will be the death of you
(michael's reaction to larry's "death" is muddled. what should he believe? he's regretful, angry, even a little bit heartbroken.)	(he doesn't know why michael tries to hide his darkness. he just can't bear to see him not living up to his potential. he'd rather see him dead.)
you're not my god / keith urban from the cradle to the grave temptations all around but no matter how good the fix it's gonna take you down now some call it a weakness some call it a sin but it's all the same behind each game I see your evil grin but you're not my god and you're not my friend	lights out / breaking benjamin I am done pretending you have failed to find what's left I will suck you dry again some are not worth saving you are such a pretty mess I will choke the life within now you want to take me down as if I even care I am the monster in your head and I thought you'd learn by now
(it's not until larry comes back that things change. he can't believe it took him so long. but michael finally realizes the truth.)	(and eventually michael betrays him one too many times. he cares, he does. but larry simply can't forgive it.)

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Burn Notice | Easy | PG-13 | Larry/Michael; Michael/Fi; Michael/Sam; Sam/Michael/Fi

2011-11-12T09:32:14Z

Title: Easy
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: past Larry/Michael; Michael/Fi; Michael/Sam; Sam/Michael/Fi
Summary: An AU for 3x13, "Enemies Closer"--Larry drove a wedge between Michael and Fiona, but Sam was already cooking due to the Gilroy job. What might Larry have tried on him if that hadn't been the case? What might have happened?
Word Count: 1,500
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Thanks for the beta, Kelly!

This would be so easy.

As far as Larry could tell, Michael was only fucking Fiona. Hell if he knew why—Michael had always been obvious about wanting Sam, though for what reason he couldn’t say, because Michael had never really liked the Boy Scout type, just in general. He smirked at that thought. He had personal experience there.

Somehow it was even more obvious that Sam had one hell of a thing for Michael.

This would be so fucking easy.

“What’s up, Sam?” he asked, radiating the kind of false friendliness that always put Sam’s teeth on edge. “Help any little old ladies cross the street today?”

“No, Larry,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Kicked any orphans for sport?”

“Slow day for both of us, I guess,” Larry said, flashing him a thousand-watt grin. Sam only tensed further. He flagged down the bartender and asked for a cortadito as he sat on a stool.

Sam gave him a baleful look. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“Just a Cuban espresso,” Larry said, smirking. “You know, I hate to say it, but this jealous boyfriend shtick is kind of old hat, Sam.”

Sam gave him a look that suggested he thought he was crazy. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you,” Larry said, rolling his eyes as he threw back his espresso. “The past is the past. Michael and I are over. We both know that.”

Sam stared at him. “Are you saying you and Mike were…”

He couldn’t even say it. Goddamn this was too easy. Larry arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying you aren’t?” he asked. Sam’s expression said it all. “Huh. That’s new. He always liked older men.”

The fist flying at his face came out of nowhere, and Larry had to grudgingly admit Sam could still punch pretty fucking hard. And yet, as Sam tore out of the Carlito, Larry couldn’t help but smirk. Right on cue.

Too fucking easy.

*

“Sam, what the hell—” Michael started, when Sam barged into his loft, looking furious.

“You and Larry, Mike?” he demanded. “You let that soulless creep into your bed?”

All the color drained from Michael’s face. “How did you—”

“How do you think?” Sam interrupted. “He told me.”

“He told you—”

“Of course he told me, Mike. He wanted to piss me off. Guess what? It worked.” He glared. “If you need help on your little meeting with Carlos, call Fiona.”

“Sam, wait—”

Too late. Sam had already stormed out.

*

Michael couldn’t help but be thankful for his brother.

Larry’s trap had almost worked. Why was it still so easy for Larry to manipulate him? He hated that about himself, the way he’d let him climb into his head and, in Fi’s words, build a little nest.

At least now he’d be out of their hair for awhile.

Still, not everything was back to normal. He’d apologized, but things between him and Sam were still awkward. He didn’t know how to fix that.

“Michael?” called Fi’s voice suddenly.

He glanced up to see her walking into his loft. “Yeah, Fi?”

“We should talk,” she said. “Sam told me what Larry told him.”

Michael winced. “Great.”

Fi rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t surprised.”

“You weren’t?” Michael gave her a curious look.

“With the way he acts around you, and especially with the way he talked to me? Of course not,” she said, then paused. “‘Sometimes you’re exactly what he needs, and sometimes he pushes you away,’” she continued, obviously quoting something Larry had said. Looking thoughtful, she added, “He’s a snake, but he wasn’t wrong about that.”

“Fi,” Michael started, but Fi shook her head.

“No, Michael,” she said. “That, plus what Sam told me—it made me realize something. Sometimes you need someone like me,” she said, “and sometimes you need something else.” She smiled knowingly. “Someone like Sam.”

“What—”

“Don’t interrupt. I’m not done.” She smirked just a little. “You want us both, don’t you? But you think you have to choose. That’s very noble of you, Michael, very self-sacrificing. Very you.”

“Fi, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I understand.” She met his eyes. “You need Sam just as much as you need me.” At his look, she snorted. “You’re not misunderstanding me. You’re just pretending you are. Call Sam, Michael. Talk to him.”

With that, she kissed him, and then left.

*

“Sam, we need to talk.”

“You apologized, Mike. What else is there to talk about?”

“How about how you’re still barely looking at me?”

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Larry.”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Larry.”

“What kind of person sleeps with Larry?” he demanded.

“I did.”

“Yeah, obviously. What I don’t get is why? How much different were you, Mike? How much more like him?”

“A lot more,” he said. “I told you. That part of me gets smaller—”

“But Larry, Mike?”

“What do you want me to say, Sam?” Michael demanded. “I was young and angry and Larry was there and he was a hell of a lot more supportive than my father had ever been. He saw right through me and he got exactly what he wanted. And yeah, part of me knew that, but he was like a drug, and when we were together, what was right almost never won out over what felt good, and it felt fucking good. Is that what you want to hear?”

Sam’s jaw tightened. “I hate that bastard,” he said. “I’m glad I decked him.”

“You did?”

“When he told me.”

“Yeah?” Michael gave him a sidelong look. “Why?”

“Because he pissed me off.”

“By telling you about us,” Michael said. “Why did that piss you off?”

“Because Larry’s the kind of guy Satan would take a step back from and go, “Whoa there, buddy, lighten up a little on being evil, huh?”

Michael snorted. “Was that the only reason?”

“What are you getting at, Mike?”

“I’m saying there’s a reason he told you. He was trying to drive a wedge between us.” He paused. “Jealousy is a good way to do that.”

Sam stilled. “You think I’m jealous.”

“Are you?”

Sam met his eyes. They stared silently at each other for a long moment. “I hate the idea of him being within ten city blocks of you,” he said at last.

Michael moved first, closing the distance between them and kissing Sam hard. Sam deepened it, pushing him roughly back against his work bench. “I wanted you the first time we met,” he told him, once they broke apart. “Larry’s always known that.”

“Don’t say that name right now. Or ever again,” Sam said, and Michael laughed, which got cut off halfway through when Sam kissed him again, deep and claiming. He groaned into it, hands going to Sam’s back, and pressed closer. He groaned again, this time in disappointment, when Sam pulled away suddenly. “Wait,” he said, breathless. “Fiona.”

“Is okay with this,” Michael said. “She told me to go for it.”

“Good,” Sam said, relaxing. “I’d rather not be blown up.”

“I should tell her you were concerned.”

“Mikey, come on,” Sam groaned. “She’d never let that go.”

Michael grinned. “Then maybe you should keep me otherwise occupied.”

Sam smirked at him. “Yeah? Fine. I can do that.”

He tugged Michael toward the bed.

*

“Aw, look who kissed and made up,” Fi said softly, letting herself into the loft. Sam rolled his eyes, raising an eyebrow when Fi sat right down on the bed. She nudged Michael’s calf and he woke with a start, hand reaching under his pillow for his gun before his brain caught up to the reflex.

“Fi,” he half-yawned, giving her a look that was somewhere between wary and curious.

“Just dropped by to see how your talk went last night.” She smirked. “Very well, I see.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Sam replied.

“Good.”

Sam’s eyebrow lifted again when she nudged Michael over, closer to him, and settled against Michael’s other side, hand absently rubbing his thigh. Fi only smiled at him.

Michael, for his part, was looking back and forth between them, as unsure as Sam had ever seen him. That was interesting, Sam thought, and when he saw Fi’s smile morph into a smirk, he caught on, smirking back.

“Yeah, it is,” he said.

“Excellent.” She grinned. “I can share if you can, Sam.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

Michael was still glancing back and forth at both of them. “Guys?”

“Don’t worry, Michael,” Fi said, smile too sweet to not also be a little wicked. “You’re ours now.”

Sam grinned as Michael’s expression turned wary. “Relax, Mikey,” he said. “I think you’re going to enjoy it.”

“Oh, he’ll definitely enjoy it,” Fi agreed, smirking.

“Guys,” Michael said again, raising an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t seem to be taking our word for it. Maybe it’ll be easier to show him?”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

They decided to show him together.

Easy.

Burn Notice | That's The Thing | R | Larry/Michael; Sam/Mike/Fi

2011-10-23T13:36:26Z

Title: That's The Thing
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: R for some sexual references and a very, very twisted relationship
Pairing: Larry/Michael; sorta kinda vaguely hinted if you squint Sam/Mike/Fi
Summary: Larry used to know him, is the thing.
Word Count: 750
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: There are some references to 4x17, "Out of the Fire", but I don't know if they really constitute spoilers. It's all pretty oblique. Thanks to Kelly and Abigail for the beta!

Larry used to know him, is the thing. They worked together for a long time—three years is practically eons by spy standards—and they developed a rhythm. Not a pattern; patterns are dangerous and get you killed. But a rhythm, a rhythm is fluid, and it can be flexible, which is exactly what they’d needed. Back-and-forth, give-and-take, twist, dip, spin away—it was like a dance, one with infinite possible steps, but still that same familiar rhythm underneath, guiding them to the right path.

They both knew it at the time. They both recognized it for what it was. So did the government, except they referred to it in terms of “noteworthy” success rates.

Larry still thinks it applies.

And Michael has to admit, what with the way they got the name at the courthouse, he felt himself slip back into that rhythm a little bit, balancing it with the separate one that he, Fi, and Sam share. He would be lying if he said it hadn’t felt comfortable, like slipping on a well-worn pair of shoes.

Of course, shoes generally don’t make you feel like you’re slicing away bits of your soul just by wearing them. That effect is all Larry.

It’s all Larry, is the other thing. He slips into your head before you notice and sets up shop, chipping away at the parts of you that you thought you could never abandon. Michael always thinks Larry can’t get to him anymore, and then when he least expects it, he shows up and blows that comforting fiction straight to hell. He can still manipulate him. He does it every time they see each other.

And it must have been so easy, he thinks, back when they first met. Larry was a very effective operative. He was so green, so young, so obviously pissed off at his father and the world. Christ, they’d paired a kid and his Daddy issues up with a good-looking older guy who knew exactly what buttons to push, what lines to say, when to praise, and when to criticize—a guy who could grin at him like he was the best damn thing in the world, make himself needed. Was it any wonder what had happened? Was it any wonder that they’d fit as well as they had?

Was it a shock that it’d taken all of three missions together before Larry had him pinned up against their motel room door, kissing him so hard it hurt? Making him want it, need it, beg for it, those dark, intense eyes, staring at him with a heat that could almost make him come without any contact? Making him crave that contact anyway and want to do anything, anything he could to get it?

Was it even a surprise that Larry had seen him do all the things he’s least proud of, had carefully guided him toward all the things he now wants so desperately to be able to forget?

Because, really, that’s their rhythm, down to its core: slick and deadly, and easy, so easy, too easy to get lost in.

And Larry knows that, is another thing.

He knows he can bring out that rhythm, knows that Michael will fall into it with him. Maybe not as fully, not as completely as before, but the echoes of the past get louder and clearer the longer they’re in it. He knows that, too. He knows that Sam and Fi somehow keep those echoes at bay, keep them faded and distant, in the past where they belong. He tries to work around that. He almost succeeds.

But he never will, not really, not ever again. He can use that rhythm, he can isolate him, he can turn on that grin, but what he doesn’t know is what kills him. That’s his weakness.

He doesn’t know how and he’ll never know why—how they work, why they stay together, how deep it runs, why it makes sense. He doesn’t know what friendship is. He doesn’t know trust. He doesn’t know how to relate to someone without manipulation.

He doesn’t know that Michael does.

Because Michael used to be worse than he is now, so much worse—maybe, probably, definitely as bad as Larry—so his lack of understanding makes sense. But he has a quality that Larry never will, probably never could, and as long as Larry doesn’t know that, he’s safe.

He’ll never know Michael, not really. Not ever again.

That’s the thing about Larry.

MIX: Burn Notice | You're Gonna Go Far, Kid | PG-13 | Larry/Michael

2011-10-22T22:40:50Z

Title: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG-13 (for language and general disturbingness...I mean, there is Larry)
Pairing: Larry/Michael
Summary: Larry and Michael's long and somewhat Machiavellian relationship.
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: This mix literally created itself in about a day. That is the fastest I have ever made a mix before. I don't even know what happened.

Larry first meets Michael: young, brimming with potential, holding onto so much anger...matched with his experience, he knows they'll be great together.

1. Let It Rock | Kevin Rudolf ft. Lil Wayne
Because when I arrive
I, I'll bring the fire
Make you come alive
I can take you higher
What this is, forgot?
I must now remind you
Let It Rock
Let It Rock
Let It Rock

Now the son's disgraced
He, who knew his father
When he cursed his name
Turned, and chased the dollar
But it broke his heart
So he stuck his middle finger
To the world

*

He trains him in his image.

2. You're Gonna Go Far, Kid | The Offspring
"Show me how to lie."
You're getting better all the time
And turning all against the one
Is an art that's hard to teach
Another clever word
Sets off an unsuspecting herd
And as you step back into line
A mob jumps to their feet

Now dance, fucker, dance
Man, he never had a chance
And no one even knew
It was really only you

And now you steal away
Take him out today
Nice work you did
You're gonna go far, kid

*

Predictably, Michael can't resist him.

3. Toxic | Britney Spears
With a taste of your lips
I’m on a ride
You're toxic, I'm slipping under
With a taste of a poison paradise
I’m addicted to you
Don’t you know that you’re toxic
And I love what you do
Don’t you know that you’re toxic

*

However, Michael does, eventually, become self-sufficient.

4. Secret Agent Man | Johnny Rivers
There's a man who leads a life of danger
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger
With every move he makes, another chance he takes
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow

Secret agent man
Secret agent man
They've given you a number
And taken away your name

*

And eventually Larry fakes his death...and comes back without a soul.

5. When You're Evil | Voltaire
I pledge my allegiance, to all things dark
And I promise on my damned soul
To do as I am told, Lord Beelzebub
Has never seen a soldier quite like me
Not only does his job, but does it happily.

I'm the fear that keeps you awake
I'm the shadows on the wall
I'm the monsters they become
I'm the nightmare in your skull
I'm a dagger in your back
An extra turn upon the rack
I'm the quivering of your heart
A stabbing pain, a sudden start.

And it's so easy when you're evil
This is the life, you see
The Devil tips his hat to me
I do it all because I'm evil

*

But he just wants to be the Clyde to Michael's Bonnie again.

6. Key Largo
Here's lookin' at you, kid
Missing all the things we did
We can find it once again, I know
Just like they did in Key Largo

Honey, can't you remember
We played all the parts
That sweet scene of surrender

*

Michael is not interested.

7. Don't Ask Me | OK Go
Quit acting so friendly
Don't nod don't laugh all nicely
Don't think you'll upend me
Don't sigh, don't sip your iced-tea
And don't say, "It's been a while..."
And don't flash that stupid smile

Don't ask me how I've been

*

Larry can't get to him. ...right?

8. Bulletproof | La Roux
Been there, done that, messed around
I'm having fun, don't put me down
I'll never let you sweep me off my feet

I won't let you in again
The messages I tried to send
My information's just not going in

Burning bridges shore to shore
I break away from something more
I'm not turned on to love until it's cheap

Been there, done that, messed around
I'm having fun, don't put me down
I'll never let you sweep me off my feet

This time, baby, I'll be bulletproof
This time, baby, I'll be bulletproof

*

Larry thinks he can.

9. I Don't Care | Fall Out Boy
Say my name and his in the same breath
I dare you to say they taste the same
Let the leaves fall off in the summer
And let December glow in flames

Erase myself and let go
Start it over again in Mexico
These friends, they don't love you
They just love the hotel suites, now

I don't care what you think as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
Said, I don't care what you think as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery

*

Michael fights off Larry's influence.

10. Terrible Thought | Poe
What minds have you shredded
I bet they regretted
Having ever thought you up
Just look at you shine
Committing your crimes
You know I don't want you in my mind

'Cause you're breaking my stride
You poisonous vine
You're strangling me inside
You're breaking my stride
You poisonous vine
You're strangling me inside
You're breaking my stride

*

But it's tough, so tough. There is definitely a part of him that's like Larry.

11. Monster | Skillet
I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I feel like a monster

My secret side I keep
Hid under lock and key
I keep it caged
But I can't control it
Cause if I let him out
He'll tear me up
And break me down

*

Especially when they have to work together out of necessity.

12. Dance With The Devil | Breaking Benjamin
Say goodbye, as we dance with the devil tonight
Don't you dare look at him in the eye, as we dance with the devil tonight?

Trembling, crawling across my skin
Feeling your cold dead eyes, stealing the life of mine

I believe in you, I can show you that I can see right through all your empty lies

*

He fights hard, though. Sam and Fi help.

13. This Is War | 30 Seconds to Mars
It's the moment of truth, and the moment to lie,
The moment to live and the moment to die,
The moment to fight, the moment to fight
To fight, to fight, to fight!

To the right, to the left
We will fight to the death!
To the edge of the earth
It's a brave new world
From the last to the first

*

And he wins.

14. Control | Poe
While you were looking the other way
While you had your eyes closed
While you were licking your lips
'Cause I was miserable

While you were selling your soul
While you were tearing a hole in me

I was taking control

Now I have taken control
Now I have taken control...

This is beginning to feel good
Watching you squirm in your shoes
A small bead of sweat on your brow
And a growl in your belly you're scared to let through

You thought you could keep me from loving
You thought you could feed on my soul
But while you were busy destroying my life
What was half in me has become whole

*

Larry is not happy. They haven't seen the last of him.

15. FMLYHM | Seether
You could've been the real one
You could've been the one enough for me
You could've been the free one
(The broken down and sick one)
Remnant of a vacant life

You come around when you find me faithless
You come around when you find me faceless
Fuck me like you hate me
(Dig it up and tear it down)
Dig it up and whore me out
Fuck me like you hate me
(Dig it up and tear it down)
I love the sound when you come undone

*

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Criminal Minds | Ten Scenes at Varying Stages of Domesticity | NC-17 | Hotch/Rossi

2011-10-04T06:37:04Z

Title: Ten Scenes at Varying Stages of Domesticity
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: NC-17 for smut in one section; warning for a homophobic slur in another; the rest is pretty PG
Pairing: Hotch/Rossi
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Now has a companion/sequel here.
Word Count: 4,000
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: So. They are never going to leave me alone. I see how it is. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.

Morgan couldn’t help but watch as Hotch and Rossi headed over to the coffee pot at the same time; neither said a word, but they moved in tandem, the sort of nonverbal communication borne from plenty of practice: first, Hotch picked up the pot as Rossi sat out two mugs; then, while Hotch poured coffee into each cup, Rossi picked up two creamers. As Hotch sat the coffee pot down, Rossi passed him one, and they each added one to their mugs. Hotch handed Rossi a packet of sugar, and in return, Rossi handed him one of two stirrers he’d picked up. Hotch stirred his coffee as Rossi added sugar to his. He took a sip, nodding slightly, before heading over to the table. Rossi was a beat behind him.

He gave them an amused look.

“What?” Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You guys picked out curtains yet?” he asked, smirking. “Or china patterns? You’ve got china patterns, right?”

They both rolled their eyes.

“I’m just saying,” he added, “we all better be invited to the wedding.”

Really, he thought, as the rest of the team filed into the conference room, it was actually kind of ridiculous that it had taken them so long to figure things out.

*

“Do people celebrate six month anniversaries?” Aaron asked him.

“Some people celebrate one month anniversaries,” Dave replied. “Or so I’m told.”

Aaron frowned. “That seems excessive.”

“Just a bit, yeah,” Dave replied. “Why?”

“Morgan reminded me today that ours is Tuesday.”

“I swear, that man has the biggest secret romantic streak I’ve ever seen,” Dave commented. “I’m not that great with remembering dates,” he added. “I have, if you’ll recall, been divorced a few times. If I were any good at this stuff, I think that probably wouldn’t be the case.”

Aaron shrugged. “I would’ve forgotten too if not for Morgan. I’ve been preoccupied by the mountain of paperwork attempting to devour my desk.”

“It’s a good thing that we’re both terrible at this—the workaholic and the triple divorcé,” Dave replied dryly. “At least we can be terrible at it together.”

He snorted. “There is that.”

“So how about this,” Dave suggested. “Next night we have free, I’ll make us dinner. We’ll spend it in, just the two of us. What do you think?”

“I think,” he said, a smile turning up the corners of his lips, “that it sounds like Morgan isn’t the only one with a secret romantic streak.”

Dave rolled his eyes, but he smiled.

*

Dave discovered the spot entirely by accident.

Jessica had agreed to take Jack for the day, and they were spending the time at his place, a low-key day in. They both needed the time to relax, and relaxing was exactly what they’d been doing.

After all, having plenty of sex had always been Dave’s favorite method of relaxation.

So far, they’d relaxed this morning in bed, and then a little later on in the shower, and now they were starting to relax on the couch in the den, the TV on in the background. Dave had no idea what was actually on; he was paying much more attention to the man currently half-sprawled on top of him.

He skimmed a hand under the hem of Aaron’s undershirt. “Why did you put a shirt back on?” he murmured into his ear.

Aaron’s chuckle rumbled through his chest. He felt as well as heard it. “You put one on. Would you rather I walked around shirtless?”

Dave smirked. “Was that supposed to be a difficult question?” He drew Aaron in for a deep kiss, long, languid, searching.

“Here I thought we were still pretending that there was a point to this day other than sex,” he managed, dryly, once they broke apart.

“Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

Beat. “I’m not sure why I cared.”

They kissed again; Aaron shifted this time, pressing his hips against Dave’s. It made him groan, kissing back harder, more passionately.

He broke the kiss and dipped lower, trailing kisses along on Aaron’s jaw, then his neck, proceeding to kiss and suckle his way over his Adam’s apple. When he got to the crook of his neck and his shoulder, he found the spot. Aaron’s hips bucked.

They both groaned. Intrigued, Dave sucked softly on that spot again. Aaron let out a loud moan, hips bucking again. Lightly—very lightly—he bit down. Aaron yelled, “Jesus Christ, Dave!” and his hips ground down hard. It made him very briefly dizzy.

“What do we have here,” Dave murmured. Aaron leaned back just enough to meet his eyes; Dave could see how dark they were, how unfocused. The sight went straight to his cock. Thanking God that he’d splurged for such a large couch, he shifted them, pressing Aaron back into the cushions. Kissing that spot again, he grinned when Aaron writhed and moaned, his head falling back, eyes closing. “Very interesting.”

“Dave,” Aaron breathed, cracking open one eye.

“Yes, Aaron?” he asked, trailing a hand down his chest, between them. He slipped past the elastic waistband of his boxers, finding and grasping his cock. Squeezing lightly, he stroked, slowly, steadily, and then he leaned down at sucked at that spot on Aaron’s neck.

Aaron’s eyes snapped shut again and his head fell back, lips parted; he writhed harder, his whole body shuddering in pleasure. “Dave, Christ,” he groaned, arms flying up to grip at his back.

“Mm, we’re often confused,” he murmured against Aaron’s skin, moving upwards to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Those lips were just far too tempting.

“Delusions of,” here Dave sped up his strokes, “fuck, Messianic grandeur?”

“Don’t think you’re going to profile me into forgetting this,” he breathed, bringing his free hand to rub over Aaron’s neck, pressing his thumb against the already-sore spot. Aaron’s hips jerked hard into his hand, and Dave grinned, stroking faster.

“Dave, I can’t—“

“Sure you can,” Dave said, moving his mouth back where his hand had been. He bit down again, just hard enough, his hand still working Aaron’s cock.

Aaron shuddered again, volume increasing, and his hips moved faster, frantically fucking Dave’s hand. His head was still back, his eyes still closed, and not only were his lips parted just so, but they were swollen now, from his last kiss.

It was the hottest thing Dave had ever seen.

He sped up his strokes and bit down again. Aaron cried out, fingers digging into Dave’s back, hips moving faster, faster, and then Dave bit down one last time, and that was it—Aaron let out a loud shout, his hips gave one last jerk, and then he was coming hard into his hand.

Dave kissed that spot, smoothing it over with his tongue, and then reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a tissue, wiping off his hand. Aaron didn’t move much under him, his breathing slowly returning to normal. “Dave,” he murmured.

“Don’t say a word,” Dave replied. “I don’t think you get just how much I like to see you stripped of every last shred of your uptight, no nonsense, buttoned-up, utterly ridiculous sense of propriety.”

“No, I do,” Aaron said, meeting his gaze. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I was just going to say,” here he flipped them, kissing Dave hard, “that now it’s my turn.”

*

“I’m telling you,” Garcia said, gesticulating wildly at Hotch and Rossi, who were up at the bar, getting their drinks, “they can read each other’s minds.”

Morgan smirked. “What makes you say that, baby girl?”

Tsk, Derek Morgan, she thought. So pretty, but so clueless sometimes. Wasn’t that just like a man? “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “They practically have entire conversations by just looking at each other! They’re doing it now.”

“They are?” Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow. She glanced up at Hotch and Rossi, who were sharing one of their knowing looks.

“They so are,” Garcia replied. “The bartender keeps trying to flirt with Hotch. Rossi’s look is saying, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you, and Hotch is replying, dryly, naturally, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Reid and J.J. both glanced over at the bar as well, and Garcia waited. When the bartender handed Hotch his drink, she was sure to emphasize the napkin she gave him as well. “She just gave him her number,” Garcia said, grinning. “Now watch.” Hotch held up the napkin just enough to show Rossi, who gave him a look. “Rossi’s saying, keep this up, you’ll see what happens. Hotch’s reply is, well, now I’m curious.”

The five of them kept watching as the bartender set Rossi’s drink down in front of him. Rossi smiled, slow and dangerous, then reached over, slung an arm around Hotch’s neck, squeezing his shoulder. He took the napkin with his free hand and turned back to the bartender, handing it to her and saying something with a friendly smile; she blushed, but looked amused, and Rossi sent a look back at Hotch.

“So there Rossi just said, what did I tell you? And now Hotch is saying, I can’t believe you did that,” Garcia translated. “And Rossi’s replying, sure you can, you know me, now let’s get back to the table.”

Rossi picked up his drink and he and Hotch made their return. Garcia grinned triumphantly. “Told you so,” she said, smugly. The others gave her impressed looks.

“Did we miss something?” Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow. He sent Hotch a curious look, who only half-shrugged in return.

Innocently, Garcia took a sip of her drink. Everyone else smirked.

*

“Maybe I do have a problem! Maybe I have a problem taking orders from a fucking faggot!” shouted Detective Carson.

The entire precinct went deadly still. Dave watched Aaron tense, just slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was calm as ever. Calm, but firm, like steel. “I suggest you keep your personal feelings to yourself,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “I further suggest you refrain from using derogatory language unless you are seeking to have disciplinary action taken against you. We were invited in to help you with this case by your captain. The fact that you seem to have a problem with that is none of my concern. The fact that you have been undermining our investigation at every turn, however, is, and I am telling you now that it will not be tolerated. Either put aside your petty grievances and help us find the man responsible for these crimes or sit down, shut up, and get the hell out of our way.”

With that, he turned and headed back into the room that they’d been using for their work. The team followed, slowly: Prentiss glared daggers at Detective Carson as she walked by, hand pointedly resting on her gun; J.J.’s gaze was like ice, her entire posture stiff; Reid frowned at him, anger and outrage written all over his features; Morgan’s gait was purposely slow, his shoulders tight, and he actually stopped next to Carson. “You might have noticed that none of us are happy with you,” he said in a low, intimidating tone. “I’d watch yourself from now on.”

“That a threat?” Carson challenged.

“It’s an observation,” Morgan replied coolly, tone still intimidating. He walked into the room.

Dave shook his head. “Well,” he said, injecting an extra dash of smug superiority into the word, “that was pretty stupid of you, wasn’t it?” He smiled condescendingly. “You know, Morgan might hit you. Prentiss and J.J. might shoot you. Reid might find something terrible to do to you with numbers. Me, though?” He smiled more dangerously. “Oh, I’ll ruin you. In fact, it’ll be easy. I doubt I’ll even break a sweat.” He smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Maybe you should keep that in mind next time you’re about to insult someone. You just never know what kind of utter bastard might love them.”

Still smirking, he followed the rest of the team into the room.

*

“Daddy, are you and Uncle Dave gonna get married?” Jack asked suddenly, looking up from the picture he was drawing. He seemed to be finished with it, because then he carefully started putting his crayons back in the box.

Dave watched Aaron blink, briefly floundering for an answer. “I don’t know, buddy. Why?”

Jack shrugged. “You like each other and he’s here lots and I like him,” he said simply. “Plus you kiss sometimes, which is weird but it’s what grownups do, so it’s okay I guess.”

Dave stifled a laugh at Aaron’s expression.

“Plus it’s okay if I have two daddies. I asked Mrs. Chandler at school and she said so. And my best friend Melanie has two mommies and they’re really nice, I met them once. So you could get married if you want. Here’s a picture!” He lifted up the piece of paper he’d been drawing on. There were three stick figures—two taller ones, holding hands, and one smaller one. One of the taller stick men had a beard. “That’s you and Uncle Dave,” Jack said, pointing, “and that’s me.”

“It’s a very nice picture, Jack. Thank you,” Aaron said.

“It’s for both of you,” he declared, standing up. “I’m gonna go play with cars now.” He headed off to his room.

Dave raised an eyebrow at Aaron, who groaned. “I was wondering when he’d hit the mortifying questions stage.”

“At least we know we have his blessing,” Dave said, smirking. “And Mrs. Chandler’s too. That’s important.”

“You enjoyed that far too much.”

“No, I think I enjoyed that the exact right amount.”

“It’s not bad enough that the team keeps asking if we’ve set a date, now my son has to get in on the act too?”

“He’s a fast learner. Takes after his father. And his Uncle Dave.” Dave grinned unrepentantly.

Aaron rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “What should I tell him?”

“You should tell him that maybe, before marriage, you two should at least move in first. Just a thought.”

“I—” Aaron started, then stopped, obviously taken by surprise. He met his eyes. “Was that an invitation?”

“Yes.” He shrugged, trying to exude the essence of casual. “If you want it to be.”

“Yeah,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I do.” He considered that response, then gave him an accusing look. “You did that on purpose.”

Dave couldn’t help but laugh at him. Aaron responded by very maturely chucking a pillow at his head.

*

Aaron squinted, tilting his head just so. “I have no idea what I’m looking for,” he said at last, turning to Dave.

“You think I do?” Dave asked, throwing down the sample curtains in his hand. “Last time I just hired a decorator.”

“Why don’t you do that this time?”

“You know, that’s a good question,” Dave replied. “I think I will.”

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” asked a salesperson just then, walking up to them.

“No thanks,” Dave said. “We’re beyond help. I’m going to hire a professional.”

She smiled, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“Believe me,” Aaron said, dryly, “we’re sure.”

*

“Did you get called to the principal’s office too?” Dave asked him when they met in the hallway.

Aaron nodded grimly. “I’ve been expecting it.”

“Me too. I’m actually surprised it took this long.”

They headed for Strauss’s office together. “She’ll see you right away,” said her secretary, and they headed inside, shutting the door behind them.

“Should I bother to ask about the meaning of this?” Strauss asked, indicating the folder splayed open on her desk.

“It’s a change of address form, Erin,” Dave replied, tone dry. “Its use indicates, well, a change of address.”

“David,” Strauss said, giving him a look. She glanced at Aaron. “It’s your form, Agent Hotchner. And it’s David’s address.”

“That is correct.”

She sighed, looking from one to the other, suddenly sounding tired. “There are rules,” she said, after a moment. “David’s the reason for them.” There, she sounded almost wry.

“I do like to leave behind a certain reputation,” Dave replied, smirking just slightly.

Aaron resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Some rules can be bent. Some have been bent before.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Strauss replied, shaking her head and sitting down behind her desk. “And I suppose that as long as nothing significant changes, there won’t be any problem.” With that, she closed the file, turning to another.

Dave and Aaron exchanged, for them, a surprised look. “Erin?” Dave asked.

“Is there a reason you’re both still in my office?” she asked him, not looking back up.

A grin snuck its way onto Dave’s face. “No, there isn’t.” They left, turning to each other once they were safely out of her secretary’s earshot. “Who knew?” Dave asked, amused.

Aaron allowed himself a small smile.

*

“Uh-oh,” Morgan said.

“What’s wrong?” Prentiss asked, looking up.

“Hotch and Rossi are still in their separate offices.”

“Doesn’t Rossi usually get Hotch by now?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Think they had a fight?”

“Who had a fight?” Reid asked, walking up.

“Possibly Hotch and Rossi,” Prentiss said.

“Is that why they’re still in their respective offices?” he asked. “I was wondering about the anomaly.”

“Let’s find out,” Morgan said, standing. He headed up to Rossi’s office, followed by Prentiss and Reid, and knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” Rossi called, and Morgan pushed the door in.

“What’d you do?” he asked.

Rossi blinked. “What’d I do?”

“We’re operating under the assumption that you and Hotch had a fight,” Reid informed him.

“…and you think I did something?”

“It’s just odds, man. You’ve been divorced three times as much.”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “In what scenario did you think I was actually going to talk about this with you?”

“So you did have a fight,” Prentiss said. “Confirms our theory.”

Rossi groaned, throwing down his pen. “Get out, all of you.”

“Not until you tell us what you did,” Morgan said.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I did nothing. I went to lunch.”

“With whom?” Reid asked curiously.

“An ex-girlfriend,” he said, after a moment. Obviously he decided he was going to talk about it. “She just moved to the city. I was helping her out.”

“Oh, man, Rossi,” Morgan said. “You at least tell Hotch about it?”

“It didn’t even occur to me that I needed to. It was nothing,” he said.

“So how’d he find out?” Prentiss asked.

“She stopped by the house,” he admitted. “Wanted to thank me by taking me to dinner.”

“We talking dinner or dinner?” Morgan eyed him.

Rossi paused. “The second one.”

“Even though she knew you were seeing someone?” Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She didn’t,” Rossi said. “How would she know?”

“Rossi, Rossi, Rossi,” Morgan said, shaking his head. “You had lunch with an ex, didn’t mention it to Hotch, and during the lunch, didn’t even mention you’re with someone? And Hotch finds all this out when a sexy woman shows up at your door with some obvious intentions? Man.”

“Suddenly the three divorces seem clear,” Prentiss muttered.

“Jealousy does become a problem with a third of couples,” added Reid.

“It’s not like that. We don’t get jealous, at least not seriously.”

“You’re telling us it wouldn’t bother you if you found out Hotch had gone to lunch with an ex, didn’t tell you about it, and then only found out when the ex showed up because he obviously didn’t mention being with anybody?”

“Why would it? I know nothing’s going to happen.”

“That doesn’t always mean you won’t get jealous, man,” Morgan said. “It’s not always rational like that.”

“He might also be feeling unacknowledged,” Reid suggested. “There’s not only the lack of communication but also the lack of relationship confirmation to a third party.”

“We live together,” Rossi protested. “How much more relationship confirmation is necessary?”

“You have to say it out loud sometimes, Rossi,” Morgan said. “I know you and Hotch have that whole let-it-remain-unspoken, we-just-know-and-it-just-is, knowing-looks-are-enough sort of vibe going on, and it works for you guys—which is good, ‘cause you both kinda suck at talking about stuff—but every once in awhile, what’s the harm in actually saying something?” Rossi looked thoughtful and Morgan smirked, glancing at Reid and Prentiss. “Let’s get out of here. I think he’s figuring it out now.”

Rossi rolled his eyes, which Morgan chose to ignore, as they all left his office. As they walked back down to the bullpen so Prentiss could get her things, they noticed Rossi head into Hotch’s office.

“Mom and Dad’ll be okay,” he said, grinning. Reid and Prentiss gave him amused looks in return.

*

Aaron sighed as he hung up the phone. “I have to go back in,” he said.

“All of us?”

“No, it’s an administrative thing,” he replied. “I should call Jessica—”

“Why?”

“To watch Jack.”

Dave shrugged. “If I don’t have to go, I can watch him.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. We’ll be here.”

“Thanks, Dave.” They headed to Jack’s room, and Dave watched as Aaron told him he had to go back into work for a little bit.

“That’s okay, Daddy,” said Jack. “Is Uncle Dave gonna stay with me?”

“He is,” Aaron confirmed. “Be good for him.”

“I will,” Jack promised. Aaron smiled and dropped a kiss on his forehead, then headed out of his room.

“I shouldn’t be longer than two hours,” he told him.

“See you then,” Dave replied, kissing him goodbye.

Aaron smiled again and headed down the hall, and Dave turned toward Jack, pausing in the doorway to his room. “So what do you want to do while your dad is gone, Jack?”

Jack seemed to consider this very carefully. “Let’s watch a movie! With popcorn!” he declared at last.

Dave grinned. “A move sounds perfect. You pick, I’ll make the popcorn.”

“Okay!” Jack stood and hurried out of his room, into the den. All their DVDs were in there, lining several shelves, encompassing a joint collection now.

Dave headed into the kitchen to get out the bag of popcorn and a pot. He turned the stove on, setting the pot over the burner, and added some oil.

“I picked Toy Story 3,” Jack said, walking into the kitchen. His brow furrowed when he saw Dave in front of the stove. “What are you doing?”

“Making popcorn,” he said.

“You make popcorn on the stove?” he asked, eyes wide. “Me and Daddy usually make it in the microwave.”

“This way is better, trust me,” he told him sagely. He picked up a kernel and tossed it into the pot, smiling when it immediately popped. “Pot’s ready.” He coated the bottom of the pot with kernels and put the lid on it. “Should be just a few minutes now.”

“Can I see?” Jack asked, and Dave nodded, retrieving a folding step stool from the pantry.

“Keep your hands back,” he said.

Jack nodded, stepping onto the stool. He watched in rapt fascination as the kernels popped in the pot. “This is cool!”

Dave grinned.

After their popcorn was done, Dave got out the seasonings, both the salt and the white cheddar, which Jack declared that he loved. They headed back to the den, where they settled in to watch the movie. By the time Dave heard the front door open, it was almost over.

“What are you watching?” Aaron asked, appearing in the doorway. He slipped onto the couch on Jack’s other side, stretching an arm along the back of the couch. His hand brushed Dave’s shoulder.

“Toy Story 3,” Jack said in a whisper. “Shhh, this is the good part!”

Aaron grinned at him. Dave could only grin back, leaning in and kissing him quickly.

“Grownups,” Jack said exasperatedly, glancing up at them.

Dave stifled a laugh, leaning into Aaron’s touch. Aaron smiled back at him, bright and unreserved.

In David Rossi’s not-so-humble opinion, it was one hell of a sight.

Criminal Minds | Fitting | PG | Hotch/Rossi

2011-09-30T17:57:09Z

Title: Fitting
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hotch/Rossi
Summary: The lesson serves a dual purpose.
Word Count: 1,120
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Mild spoilers for 7x02, "Proof." Mostly just for the very last scene. Apparently, Hotch and Rossi have taken over my brain. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.

Morgan smirked as he sat down next to Prentiss on Rossi’s couch. “So we’re thinking this is recent, yeah?”

“Recent?” J.J. asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The Iron Chefs over there,” Morgan replied, indicating the kitchen, where Hotch was taking his turn at the stove. Rossi was nearby, “supervising,” but even Morgan could see he didn’t need to be; Hotch clearly already knew what he was doing. “Unless you think Hotch just happened to know how to make pancetta all on his own.”

“Plus, Hotch is obviously comfortable in Rossi’s kitchen,” added Prentiss, sneaking her own glance at them. Hotch was now grinning at something Rossi had said, and their eyes met—and lingered. Not long, no, but enough.

“It has to be recent,” J.J. said, after a moment. She looked amused. “As obvious as they’re being, we’d have known before now.”

“This cooking lesson obviously served a dual purpose,” Reid added. “To improve morale, and to…let us know. In their way.”

“And what are we talking about over here, boys and girls?” Garcia chirped, walking up to them, a fresh glass of wine in her hand.

“Hotch and Rossi playing house,” Morgan said, smirking.

Garcia glanced back over at Hotch and Rossi, who were now standing just too close to be casual. She chuckled. “I don’t think they’re playing, mi amor.”

“She has a point,” Prentiss said, sounding amused.

Laughter drew their attention back to the two men in the kitchen. Hotch was smirking at Rossi, who was apparently doing his damnedest to look stern. “What’s so funny, boss man?” Garcia called, grinning impishly.

Hotch only continued smirking. Rossi, in a long-suffering tone, replied, “Aaron seems to think he’s surpassed the master.”

“Well, how long have you been giving him private lessons?” J.J. asked, the picture of innocence.

Morgan hid a smirk. He saw Prentiss do the same, using her wine glass as cover. Garcia didn’t even bother to try, and Reid didn’t seem to be able.

Rossi and Hotch both rolled their eyes. “Five months,” Rossi replied. “Obviously with a three month break in between.”

“Man, I don’t know, Rossi. He might have surpassed you. Hotch is probably a quick learner,” Morgan said, smirking.

Rossi shook his head. “No respect,” he said. “Not even in my own house.”

“Mansion,” Hotch corrected, deadpan. Everyone grinned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rossi said, glancing at the pan on the stove. “Planning on burning down my kitchen, Aaron? That’s done.”

“Almost. I know what I’m doing, Dave.”

Their good-natured squabbling continued. Amused, Morgan turned back to the others. “How is it they’ve been together five months but they bicker like they’ve been married fifty years?”

“That’s just Hotch and Rossi,” Prentiss said.

“Yeah,” Garcia said. “I totally agree. It’s one of those things that just kinda makes sense in a crazy intuitive weirdly illogical but also still totally logical way.”

“Objectively, I suppose we should probably find it surprising,” Reid replied. “Rossi has been married three times before, to women, and Hotch was married to a woman for years. While past heterosexual relationships are obviously not a 100% reliable indicator of heterosexuality, in a heteronormative society, it is assumed.” He shrugged. “Subjectively, however, I have to agree with Garcia’s assessment.”

“I think what all that translates to is: they fit,” J.J. said, clearly amused.

“Yes,” Reid said, looking sheepish. “They fit.”

“If you’re all done gossiping,” Rossi called then, “Aaron has finally managed to finish—and somehow, my kitchen survives. Let’s eat.”

*

After dinner, they all helped clean up, before they gravitated back into the living room with a fresh bottle of wine. Hotch and Rossi ended up on the couch, looking relaxed; they sat slightly closer than would probably be considered usual, with one of Rossi’s arms stretched along the back, absently brushing Hotch’s shoulder. In his other hand was a glass of wine.

It wasn’t overt, or even obvious; Morgan wasn’t sure that anyone else would actually notice any difference in their behavior. To the five of them, though, the message was loud and clear: this dynamic had shifted.

“So are we all on our way to being master Italian chefs?” Prentiss asked with a grin.

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Rossi replied, taking a drink from his glass. “Though some of you showed more promise than others.” He gave Reid a pointed look.

“Hey, I was late!” he said, indignant. Everyone laughed.

“Still, kid,” Morgan said, “I think you should stick to takeout.”

“There, there, boy genius,” said Garcia, patting him sympathetically on the leg. “You’ve still got basically every other subject ever to be good at.”

“I’m still surprised Morgan didn’t burn the place down,” Prentiss said, grinning.

“I’ve got some game,” he said, smirking back at her.

“But Hotch was the best out of all of us,” J.J. said.

“Yeah, but he cheated,” Morgan pointed out. “He’s had a private tutor.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Is that cheating, or merely…being better prepared?”

Morgan exchanged a look with Prentiss, Reid, J.J., and Garcia. “Cheating,” they said simultaneously, breaking out into grins.

Hotch shook his head, holding up his hands in a surrender motion. “Then I take myself out of the running.”

“At least you’re a noble cheater,” Prentiss said, amused.

“Sounds like a contradiction in terms,” Reid replied.

“Were you people expecting trophies?” Rossi asked then, raising his eyebrows. “You’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“Aw, there should at least be certificates of completion,” Garcia said, pouting.

“You could just make your own, baby girl,” Morgan replied.

“It’s not the same.”

He chuckled, taking a drink from his glass.

*

J.J. ended up being the first to leave, citing Will and Henry; she was followed shortly by Reid. He, Prentiss, and Garcia started trickling toward the door not long after.

“This was a good idea,” Prentiss said before she left, smiling. “See you guys at work on Monday.”

“I had fun!” Garcia agreed. “Thank you, Rossi. Your words of wisdom will be remembered.”

That meant he was the last to head out, or at least he assumed he would be, since he doubted Hotch would be leaving; with the way he and Rossi had been exchanging the occasional meaningful glances, he figured that was a safe bet.

As Rossi walked him to the door, Morgan told him, “Thanks for having us,” then, after a beat, added, “And, sincerely, man—congratulations. You both know we’re happy for you guys, right?”

Rossi smiled. “Yeah, we know. Thanks, Morgan.”

Morgan smiled back, nodding. Then he smirked. “Have fun tonight.”

Rossi gave him a look. “Keep in mind I say this with a lot of affection,” he replied, “but get the hell out.”

Laughing, Morgan left, shaking his head. Yeah, they fit.

Criminal Minds | Unspoken | PG | Hotch/Rossi

2011-09-27T13:07:21Z

Title: Unspoken
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hotch/Rossi
Summary: They finally figure it out.
Word Count: 1,390
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Mild spoilers for 6x22, "Out of the Light". Basically, just for the adorableness in this clip. Which kind of killed me. Could these two possibly be any more married? There is a point where you just, you know, implode from sheer domesticity, right? I mean, c'mon. The next stop is shopping for curtains, y/y? Thanks go to my friend Kelly for the beta.

Dave watches as Jack animatedly draws Aaron into some sort of discussion with several of his teammates, smiling in amusement. Aaron looks truly relaxed and happy, which is not a state that many get to see him in. He’s glad for the opportunity.

“Hi there,” says a cheerful voice suddenly, off to his left. Breaking out of his reverie, he glances over to see a petite, redheaded woman; she’s smiling brightly at him. “I’m Sally Jacobs. We haven’t seen you around here before.”

“David Rossi,” he replies. “It’s my first time.”

She smiles. “Aaron invited you?”

“He did,” he says. “I’m helping him coach.” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “If you ask him, he’ll be sure to stress the word assistant. Don’t believe it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, chuckling.

Dave glances back over at Aaron, grinning when he sees him chasing Jack around the soccer field. Sally follows his gaze, smiling as well. “He’s so good with Jack, and all the kids,” she says. “But he’s…reserved, isn’t he? Some of us were worried. But now you’re here! I’m glad about that.”

He pauses, not exactly sure how to respond to that. “I’m glad I could ease your worry,” he says after a moment.

“You really have.” She beams. “It’s good to know he has someone. How long have the two of you been together?”

“I’m sorry?” Dave asks. It doesn’t happen all that often, but here he is, actually surprised.

“You and Aaron?” she asks, and then her eyes widen. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I thought—with the way you look at each other, and act—and then he invited you to his son’s soccer game—I’m sorry, never mind, please excuse me.”

“It’s all right,” he says, but she’s already hurrying off. Dave watches her leave, thoughtful; shortly after, Aaron walks up to him, Jack in tow.

“Hey. Jack and I were thinking breakfast,” he says.

“Come with us!” Jack squeals.

Aaron smiles at him. “If you want.”

Dave smiles back. “Sounds fun.”

*

Dave ends up spending the whole day with Aaron and Jack. It’s a lot of fun, and when Aaron puts Jack to bed, he realizes it gives him a chance to enlighten him about his interesting conversation with Sally.

“So did you know,” he says from where he’s seated on the couch, as Aaron walks back into the living room, “that the other parents at the soccer game think we’re a couple?”

Aaron stops in his tracks and glances over. His expression is as stoic as ever, but Dave has made an art-form out of deciphering Aaron Hotchner’s stoic expressions. This one seems to be indicating surprise, along the level of deer-in-headlights. “They…”

“One of the moms introduced herself to me this morning,” Dave continues. “Sally Jacobs. She mentioned that she and the others had, on occasion, been worried about you, because you’re so reserved. Then she asked how long we’d been together.” His lips quirk into a smile at Aaron’s expression. The man is actually stunned—not, of course, that many people would be able to tell. He enjoys it.

“What did you say?”

“Not much,” he replies. “She ran away pretty fast after she realized she was mistaken.”

Aaron nods, his stoic expression changing ever-so-slightly. If Dave isn’t mistaken, he thinks he detects…worry? “I’ll clarify things next week.”

“I?” Dave asks, raising an eyebrow. “Am I no longer invited?”

“Of course you’re still invited,” Aaron replies. Dryly, he adds, “You’re my assistant.”

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “You keep telling yourself that.”

*

For the rest of the week, Dave considers Aaron more closely. He notices that he’s slightly standoffish, shying away from the casual physical contact they usually share, keeping his distance.

He wonders about that. He wonders why.

When they’re back in DC after their latest case, he finds Aaron in his office. “Bright and early tomorrow?”

Aaron hesitates, just barely. From anyone else, it would be meaningless, not even worth considering. From Aaron, it says multitudes. “Bright and early,” he replies, not glancing up from his paperwork.

He eyes him. “What’s wrong, Aaron?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, finally looking up. “Was that all you needed?”

“You’ve been acting different,” he says, meeting his gaze. “Ever since I told you about what Sally said. So I repeat: what’s wrong, Aaron?”

“And I already answered. Nothing.”

“And there’s no way in hell I’m letting you get away with that answer,” Dave replies. “Who do you think you’re talking to? It’s me. David Rossi. I’ve known you sixteen years, remember?”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dave. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Fine, you want to play this game? I’ll figure it out,” Dave says. “Let’s see. When I told you what Sally had said, you were surprised,” he starts, then stops, thinking about how Aaron had seemed when he’d told him. Deer-in-headlights. “No, not surprised. You were stunned. Caught, like she’d noticed something you thought you’d hidden—because then you were worried. And now you’re trying to push me away. Most people would think it was aversion, that you’d been offended, but I know you better than that. You’re not a bigot.” He laughs as it all falls into place, shaking his head. “No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Excuse me?” Aaron says, raising an eyebrow. His expression is so blank that it says everything to him.

“Do you really think she would have thought we were a couple if it were just you?” he asks, giving him a look. “I believe, as the song goes, it takes two.”

“I…” he says, uncharacteristically speechless. “Dave. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

He smirks. “You’re a profiler too. You tell me.”

Aaron gives him an unimpressed look. Its effectiveness is severely damaged when the corners of his lips turn upwards, into a small smile. “We should get dinner.”

Dave grins at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

*

They don’t talk much at dinner, but it isn’t awkward. It’s never really awkward, not with them, this past week notwithstanding. Even then, it could have been worse.

“There is no way in hell I’m letting you order the wine, Aaron,” Dave informs him, because there are some things that do need to be said.

“Let me guess. It’s the Italian in you,” he replies, dry as ever.

He pretends not to notice. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” he says, haughty. Aaron laughs.

Dave orders the best red wine off the list.

*

After dinner, they pause in front of Aaron’s door, eyes meeting. There’s a moment between them, one full of understanding and desire, and then Dave leans in and kisses him.

“Jack’s at my sister-in-law’s for the night,” Aaron murmurs when they break apart.

“Just what kind of guy do you think I am, Aaron Hotchner?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

His eyes are laughing. “Impatient,” he says, and then he kisses him again, hard and passionate.

“Okay,” Dave says after, slightly breathless. “Yeah. That’s accurate.”

“I know.” Aaron smirks. “Let’s go inside.”

They do.

*

“If they keep this up, we may actually want to start keeping score,” Dave says to Aaron as the game wraps up. Aaron smiles as he watches Jack talking with several of his teammates.

“Your soccer formations helped,” he says, smirking. “You make a good assistant.”

Dave rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, holding up a hand when he spots Sally Jacobs nearby. “Hey, Sally,” he calls, waving, and she waves back, looking embarrassed. He grins, throwing an arm around Aaron’s neck, squeezing his shoulder. “To answer your question? About a day.”

Sally looks confused for a brief moment, but then she breaks out into a wide grin. She waves again, this time at Aaron and with much more enthusiasm, before one of the other parents draws her into a conversation.

“Was that really necessary?” Aaron asks, giving him a look.

“I thought so,” he replies, unrepentant.

Aaron’s expression remains unamused. It doesn’t fool Dave for a second. “So, breakfast?” he asks, and Aaron rolls his eyes.

“Breakfast sounds good,” he replies. “I’ll get Jack.”

Dave watches as Aaron heads for his son, looking relaxed—and happy. He likes seeing it.

Maybe now he’ll get to see more of it.

Sports Night | Coffee and Competition | PG | Dan/Casey

2011-09-23T02:41:27Z

Title: Coffee and Competition
Fandom: Sports Night
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dan/Casey
Summary: Dan and Casey discover something new about one another.
Word Count: 800
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Written for hi_falootin, as a part of the help_kelly auction. She asked for Dan/Casey "living together." Thanks to Kelly and Geena for looking it over.

“Morning, Casey,” Dan said—no, not said, it was nothing as innocuous as said, at least in Casey’s not-so-humble opinion. He chirped. It was inhuman.

Casey responded by grunting what he was sure was, “Holy mother of god how the hell are you this cheerful before eight in the morning?”—or at least something in the vicinity. Given Dan’s frown, Casey figured he’d been further off the mark than he realized, but he didn’t care, deciding he’d let him puzzle out his response while he made a beeline for the coffee pot. Immediately, he poured himself a mug, adding just a dash of milk and one packet of Splenda. He drank it greedily, closing his eyes and losing himself to the feeling. Soon, the caffeine would jump-start his brain. Yes.

“Wow, Case,” Dan said suddenly, breaking him out of his coffee-inspired reverie. “Would you like some time alone with your coffee? You’re, like, making out with it, man. I’m a little concerned I may have competition here.”

He shot Dan a bleary-eyed glare, which just made him laugh. That was not the result he’d been hoping for. “Shut,” he said firmly, blinking as he realized there was another word he needed to say in order to complete that thought. “Up,” he added, belatedly.

Dan laughed harder. “How is it we’ve been friends sixteen years, together three, and I somehow didn’t know you’re this terrible in the morning? I mean, I’m sure I didn’t know. I would’ve made fun of you for it way before now.”

“How,” Casey managed, after he’d drained the last of his coffee, “didn’t I know that you’re one of them?” Disgusted, he shook his head, pouring himself another cup.

“One of them?” Dan asked, smirking. He looked very amused. Casey hated him for it. “One of whom, Casey?”

“You,” he started, wrinkling his nose like he’d just smelled something bad, “are a morning person.” The words left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I am indeed, Casey, I am indeed, and this is something you clearly didn’t know. Let’s consider why that might be.” Dan was definitely amused. And still far, far too cheery. It remained extremely inhuman, though he acknowledged that the coffee was starting to help. “Ah, I know. Most of the time, when I previously stayed over, I left before you woke up to get coffee or bagels or donuts or sometimes just to ride the subway around for awhile, because we live in New York, Casey, and it’s an incredible city.”

Casey stared at him for a full ten seconds, then shook his head. “Why do I like you, Dan? Answer me that.”

“Because I’m just adorable, Casey. Why else?” Dan said, grinning. Casey rolled his eyes. “So in those cases, by the time I got back, you were awake and on your…based on this, I’m going to say third cup of coffee. Almost fully functioning.”

“And then there are the times we got drunk together,” Casey added, wondering as he did how Dan had managed to get him caught up in analyzing this. He decided, after a few moments, not to question it. That was simply the power of Danny. “Given how many times neither of us woke up until three in the afternoon, I think that explains that.” He took another drink.

“It doesn’t explain how you never noticed my bright and cheery personality on display each time I came back with some sort of delicious breakfast food for us to enjoy.”

“Well, I probably just assumed you’d been riding the subway around for the hell of it, Dan,” he said, dryly. Ah, sarcasm was returning to him. Good sign: it meant the coffee was kicking in. “I mean, that would put a smile on anyone’s face.”

“True, my young friend—very true,” Dan said, grinning again, but then his grin dimmed into a smile—almost a shy smile, and Casey’s stomach did a flip. That, he reflected, was not the coffee. That was all Dan. “So what do we think? Is living together still going to work, now that you’ve discovered my deep, dark secret? I am, after all, a,” he lowered his voice to what Casey guessed was supposed to be a spooky octave, and raised his hands and wiggled his fingers in emphasis, “morning person.”

“Yes,” Casey said. He finished off his second cup, setting it down on the counter and advancing on Dan, pressing him against the refrigerator. “And for the record? You do not have competition,” he added, leaning in to kiss him. It was languid and leisurely, a kiss that said they had all the time in the world.

Once they broke apart, Dan’s smile turned sly. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m the jealous type. I was seriously considering switching us to tea.”

Casey laughed, kissing him again.

The West Wing | Knowing | PG-13 | Hoynes/Suzanne; Hoynes/others

2011-08-19T03:10:29Z

Title: Knowing
Fandom: The West Wing
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Hoynes/Suzanne, Hoynes/others mentioned
Summary: John Hoynes, speechless and surprised, all in one conversation. Today was a day for the history books.
Word Count: 1,050
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Set during/around the events of the S4 episode "Life on Mars." You may be able to guess my opinion of this plot device after reading. =P Thanks go to my friends Kelly and Kat for the beta.

"John?" Suzanne asked, sounding curious, as soon as he walked into the room. He supposed his expression probably gave away that something big had happened.

"Suzanne," he replied, and she stood, moving toward him.

"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, now sounding concerned.

"We need to talk," he said, sitting down on the couch. She didn't move to join him, still looking worried, so he gestured for her to sit. "Sit down, please? It's important."

She frowned, sitting next to him. "What's this about?"

"I—" He stopped, hesitating. How many times in his life had he hesitated? Surely few enough that they could be easily counted. How many times had he had to struggle to think of something to say? He was a politician, for God's sake, and a damn good one, his latest idiocy notwithstanding. He was used to having a reassuring answer, a disarming quip, a perfect line, all on the tip of his tongue—confident, practiced, smooth.

It just figured that this skill would desert him now.

"John?" Suzanne asked, worry still lacing her tone. "Honey, talk to me. What's going on?"

"I've been having an affair." He said it deliberately, cautiously, watching her face. "I—"

"What did you do?" she interrupted, voice low and firm, like steel. Her eyes had clouded over, and she stood suddenly, turning away from him and shaking her head.

"I—excuse me? Suzanne, please sit back down."

She turned around, crossing her arms, and met his eyes. Her gaze was unflinching, cold. "You've been having affairs since before we were married," she said. "I'm assuming you haven't suddenly developed a crisis of conscience, so I repeat: what did you do? Why are you telling me now?"

Stunned—well and truly shocked, which was another rarity—he could only ask, "You knew?" John Hoynes, speechless and surprised, all in one conversation. Today was a day for the history books.

Her sudden bark of laughter contained no trace of mirth. "Did you think you married an idiot?"

"Of course not, but you never—you never—"

"Never what, John? What exactly did you think I would do? Throw a fit? Cause a scene? I'm a politician's wife. I was not about to suffer through some tawdry scandal or humiliate us both."

"No, not that." He looked at her, searching her face. He never would have suspected this, not in a million years. "You never even said a word."

"I made my...I suppose you could say peace with it long ago." Suzanne sighed, turning away from him again. "I knew you were never going to change. I hate it—God, I hate it—but I made my choice, and I will always stick to it." She turned back, giving him a pointed look. "Now answer my question."

He took a moment to breathe, a million thoughts swarming through his mind. Shaking his head to clear it, he replied, "I...told her things. Classified things. And now she's writing a book. Several things have been leaked already."

"Well, she must have been quite the lay," she replied icily. "Have you lost your mind, John? You have always at least had the foresight to be discreet. Why are you suddenly risking everything? You're smarter than this, dammit. How long did I have to listen to you rail against Bartlet's senior staff for even implying that you would be stupid enough to leak what happened during a privileged Cabinet meeting? Do your principles go so far out the window when you need to impress some conniving, social-climbing whore? Does your common sense? Every last bit of intelligence and political savvy you possess? Does your entire political career, your family?"

She stopped suddenly, taking a deep breath, and shook her head. After a moment, she continued, but in a much calmer tone of voice. "This is a problem. It needs to be handled. What are we going to do?"

"I committed a felony," he said, holding up his hands. "And the affair makes it juicy. It'll kill us if I stay Vice President. It'll completely kill us. After the MS debacle...there's no way to survive it."

"You'll resign, then." She leaned against the couch, uncrossing her arms. "Show the public that you're taking responsibility. You'll make the rounds, apologize. I'll be with you. Then, when the story dies down, you'll start trying to clean the slate."

"A book?"

"Sure. Or an in-depth interview, or both," she agreed. "Something to get it all out in the open. Maybe, if you're lucky, everyone will forgive you, and this won't have completely demolished your career, though God knows you'll deserve it if it does."

"I would," he agreed, and without hesitation. Of that, he had no doubt. "I'm an idiot, Suzanne, and a bastard. I'm sorry." He meant it. The apology was sincere, if not specific.

She smiled, not happily. "For what, John?" she asked, sounding...sounding tired, suddenly. "For the fact that you cheated or for the fact that I knew? For all of them, or just this one? For the way you screwed up this time?" She shook her head, holding up a hand to stop him from answering. "Don't. It doesn't matter. Don't ask me why right now, but I love you, and frankly, you've always been a bastard, and you've always been a cheater, but I've always known that. I knew what I was getting into." She gave him a hard look. "At least, for that. I did not, however, sign on for idiocy, so the next time you're buttering up some wide-eyed little bimbo, for the love of God, don't break the law."

His first instinct was to declare that there would never be a next time, to promise that this was it, that he'd change, he'd be better. After reading the look in her eyes, however, he resisted that urge. The fact was, he was now sure they both knew it would, eventually, end up being a lie, and he couldn't bring himself to lie to her, not right now. Maybe not ever again, now that he knew she knew him so much better than he'd ever given her credit for. "I do love you, Suzanne," he told her instead. "You know that, right?"

She blew out a breath, giving him a rueful look. "Yes, John," she said. "I know that."

Now he did, too.

MIX: Original Fiction | Corlionis | With Friends Like These

2011-07-15T15:30:11Z

Title: With Friends Like These
Rating: Soft R for language, disturbing themes (...it's Nic and David, what can I say)
Characters: David, Nicoletta
Summary: Nic and David have a very weird friendship.
Disclaimer: The songs/lyrics/etc. are obviously not mine.
Claimer: The Corlionis are a family co-owned with my friends Geena and Kelly.
A/N: For Kelly, from their request at headpeople. Enjoy!

Nicoletta and David's friendship...well, it's really fucking weird. It's a 'fuck you'-'fuck you too', casually antagonistic relationship with an undercurrent of actual respect and genuine fondness for one another.

Not that they would ever admit that last part.

♣

Poor Little Bitch Girl | Josh Miller
Poor little rich girl
Is something wrong
Did daddy’s check go missing
Gonna have a meltdown
Poor little rich girl
A shopping delay
Poor little bitch girl

"Bitch."

♠

The Asshole Song | Jimmy Buffet
Were you born an asshole
Or did you work at it your whole life?
Either way, it worked out fine
'Cause you're an asshole tonight

"Asshole."

♣

Friends Like You | Bowling For Soup

Like when the guy put you in Reno,
Had a lawyer for a dad.
...
I'm ~~not~~ going to beat you up
or drag you through the mud
...
I should have beat you
With your Birkenstock
When you set my house on fire!

Major property destruction and grand theft? Their version of light-hearted sibling rivalry.

♠

Sluts | John Wesley Harding
We’re sluts
It’s what we do
Promiscuity for two
We’re not here wait for the tone
Oh yes we rarely check the phone
Please call back another day
Hold me down just where I lay
I don’t wanna float away
No ifs no ands no buts
‘Cause we’re sluts

"Slut."

"Whore."

♣

Do What You Want | OK Go
Screaming at the top of your lungs
You said, "Come on, come on, do what you want
What could go wrong? Oh come on, come on, come on
Come on, do what you want, oh come on, come on
What could go wrong? Do do do do what you want."

They tend to feed into each other.

♠

Burn It To The Ground | Nickelback
We're going off tonight
To kick out every light
Take anything we want
Drink everything in sight
We're going till the world stops turning
While we burn it to the ground tonight

This can get destructive.

♣

Sin With A Grin | Shinedown
Thank you for reminding me
Of why I'm sick inside
Thank you for the venom, did
You think it would paralyze?
These scars I scratch, I tear
Are there under my skin
Where you've always been
Thank you for reminding me
To sin with a grin

It can also get downright terryfing.

♠

Don't Ya Wish You Were Us | Mudslide Crush
Hey what, don't you wish you were us?
Hey what, don't you wish you could rock?
You're M.I.A., we're V.I.P.
You're L.O.L., we're B.I.G.,
No one really likes you that much
Don't you wish you were us?
Yeah, don't you wish you were us?

Or it can just be relatively light-hearted fucking around.

♣

Fuck You | Overkill
You call us weirdos, you call us crazy
Say what you want, say we're lazy
Say we're just the violent type
Kind of dumb, you know we're not too bright

We don't care what you say...fuck you!

Either way, they don't give a fuck what you think.

♠

I Wish You Were A Beer | Cycle Sluts From Hell
I wish you were a beer
Can't breathe with all this Aqua-Net!
I wish you were a beer! (Shut up!)
...
I need a machete just to get to your face.
I wish you were a beer! (Shut up!)

"Be fucking useful for a change and get me a fucking beer."

"I look like your goddamn waitress?"

"Fuck you, bitch."

"Fuck you too, asshole."

DOWNLOAD HERE.

Original Fiction | The Sun From Both Sides

2011-03-19T03:33:47Z

Title: The Sun From Both Sides
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." Sometimes, it's better with more.
Claimer: All mine. For real. This is original fiction.
A/N: Another story for runaway_tales. The links are locked, but the comm has open membership should you wish to read.

PREQUEL I:

PART I: Meeting
PART II: Flirting
PART III: Feeling
PART IV: Thinking
INTERLUDE: Asking
PART V: Working

PREQUEL II:

PART I: Hers
PART II: Complications
INTERLUDE: A-List
PART III: Shocking Twists
INTERLUDE: Perfect
PART IV:
PART V:

MAIN STORY:

PART I: Out
PART II: In
PART III: Reactive
PART IV: Proactive

OTHER:

Sorry (Anne's POV, at least a year before 'Meeting')
Petty (Tim's POV, in the middle of 'Feeling')
Third Date (Mary's POV, maybe two weeks after 'Working')
Telling (Anne's POV, five months after 'Working')
What It Looks Like (Abigail's POV, six months after 'Working')
Talking (Mary's POV, two weeks after 'What It Looks Like')
Suspicion (Tim's POV, ten months after 'Working')
Professionals (Rachel's POV, ten and a half months after 'Working')
Anticipation (Brian's POV, a year or so after 'Working')
Awe (Brian's POV, shortly after 'Anticipation')
Tick Tick Tick (Tim's POV, five to nine months after 'Professionals', maybe a week or so before 'Out')
Lawyers (Kimberly's POV, shortly after 'Out')
Catharsis (AU, Brian's POV, sometime within the main story timeline that is yet to be determined)
Coupling (Various POVs, various points in the timeline)

The West Wing | Real | PG | Josh/Sam; Sam/Lisa

2010-11-30T10:41:26Z

Title: Real
Fandom: The West Wing
Rating: PG
Pairing: Vaguely implied Josh/Sam; Sam/Lisa break-up
Summary: Sam and Lisa have a brief conversation.
Word Count: 630
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Originally written for a drabble meme, in which Abigail requested Josh/Sam.

Sam’s phone feels heavy in his hands, and he shifts it back and forth between them, hesitating. Lisa’s message had been curt, to the point; Call me back, it’d said, three words in an unreadable tone, and he isn’t sure that means anything good.

Listening to it was the first thing to plant his feet back on the ground ever since he’d walked out of Gage Whitney and into Josh’s very wet arms, ready to follow him wherever the hell he led, all because of that terrible poker face. It hadn’t felt real, like an exciting, enthralling dream he never wanted to wake up from. But now—oh now, sitting here in his and Josh’s shared hotel room in New Hampshire, everything feels real. Almost too real.

He hears the water running in the bathroom and figures this is as good a time as any to call back. He and Lisa haven’t actually had a conversation since he left with Josh, just a game of phone tag, so once he has the phone pressed to his ear he’s actually surprised when Lisa answers, “Hey,” on the third ring.

“Hey.” His mouth feels dry. “I got your message.”

“You’re in New Hampshire?” Lisa doesn’t like to beat around the bush. He remembers finding that quality attractive, back when they first met. Now he wishes she’d indulge him in small talk, if only for a minute, so he can adjust.

“Yeah,” he said. “Josh and I—”

“Josh.” She says so much more than just Josh’s name right then; it’s an accusation and a question all at once, confused and certain at the same time. He finds the dichotomy impressive.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, and he wonders if his voice is supposed to sound that small, “Josh.”

There’s a pause, a frustrated puff of breath, and he imagines her sitting down on their—her—bed, closing her eyes. “Well,” she says at last, “this isn’t going to work, is it?”

So many replies balance on the tip of his tongue. The first is, Of course it will. The next is, I’m sorry, I made a mistake. Another is, You don’t know that. Then, We can do this. You’ll see. Even, I love you.

“No, it won’t,” he says instead. He also doesn’t say, I never meant to hurt you. He doesn’t think it would make a difference.

Lisa sighs heavily. “All right,” she says, and she sounds sad, and he hates himself for it. “Good luck, Sam.” There’s something about her tone that socks him hard in the gut, the way it’s layered with regret and sadness and a hint of anger, but still remains sincere.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he manages. “You too.” The words sound ridiculous and hollow and wrong the second he says them, but there’s nothing he can do about that. There’s nothing he can think to say that will sound right.

“Bye, Sam,” she says.

“Bye, Lisa.” She hangs up first.

Josh wanders out of the bathroom seconds later, in boxers and an undershirt; his hair is wet and he’s holding a towel, and he says, “Shower’s free,” and then the goofy smile he’s wearing slowly vanishes, probably when he sees the look on Sam’s face. He indicates the phone, asking, “Was that, uh...”

“Lisa,” he confirms with a nod. “Yeah.”

Josh has that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, the one he gets when something terrible has happened and he has no idea how to respond. Sam can’t help but save him. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, standing up. “I’m going to take a shower.” He looks down at the phone in his hands again.

It still feels heavy, he notes. Real.

Harry Potter | Thinking Of You | PG-13 | Charity Burbage/Severus Snape

2010-11-30T10:30:17Z

Title: Thinking Of You
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Charity Burbage/Severus Snape
Warning: Spoilers for Deathly Hallows, book and movie; (canonical) character death.
Summary: He doesn't think of Charity Burbage.
Word Count: 240
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: Originally written for this commentfic meme, for the prompt: Charity/Severus, severus, please.

He doesn't think of Charity Burbage.

He doesn't think of her preference for coffee over tea, the way she insisted on reading multiple Muggle newspapers every single day, or the way she always passed him the first scone out of the bunch during breakfast every morning. He doesn't think of the way she smiled when he asked why she bothered and she told him that he should start the day off on the right foot.

He doesn't think of how she was always the first one waiting in the staff room for meetings, even when he left early to get there first, solely so he could claim his preferred chair by the fireplace. He doesn't think of how she always saved that chair for him anyway.

He doesn't think of the way her eyes would light up when she got a new Muggle book or electronic or other inanely Muggle item, the way she'd go on about the science and the mechanics or the history and the importance to Muggle culture. He doesn't think about how pleased she'd be when she actually managed to interest him.

He doesn't think of her intelligence, her kindness, her warmth, but most of all, he doesn't think of her, not even when she's suspended in front of him, begging him to help her, reminding him of their friendship.

He stares, and he watches as the Dark Lord kills her, and he thinks of nothing.

Fake News (RPF)/Harry Potter | Mind Fuck | PG-13 | Gen

2010-11-30T10:20:24Z

Title: Mind Fuck
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)/Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Summary: Jon interviews Hermione Granger.
Word Count: 410
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Originally written for a drabble meme, in which aybara_max requested Jon or Stephen interviewing Hermione after she got the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy rescinded.

“So, as it turns out, you are—how should I put this—not so fictional,” Jon said.

Hermione grinned. “I’m not,” she agreed cheerfully.

“And the reason I thought you were fictional would be the statute you got rescinded,” Jon said.

“The Wizarding Statute of Secrecy, yes,” Hermione said. “But I didn’t get it done all by myself. I had plenty of help.”

Jon smiled. “And this statute forbid the wizarding community from openly interacting with—the word is Muggles, those without powers.”

Hermione nodded. “The statute was mired in prejudice,” she replied. “There’s no other way to say it. It was created by wizards who both feared and held Muggles in contempt, and was simply antiquated. Someone had to do something about it.”

Jon nodded back, clearly absorbing that. “Your parents are Muggles, isn’t that right? But you’re a witch?” Jon tapped his pen on his desk, leaning in slightly. “How does that work.”

“Bloodlines,” Hermione said brightly. “Oh, it’s incredibly fascinating. I read this book once, on magical theory, and it posited that everyone in the world, even Muggles, have a magical ancestor of some kind. I really ought to reread it—I read it my second year at Hogwarts—because it was just so interesting. Actually, no, maybe I ought to see about getting it re-published, instead. With the statute no longer an issue, everyone should be able to have access to these books, and I think it may explain a lot.” It occurred to Hermione that she’d started rambling, and she blushed, giving Jon an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Once I start talking about books, I tend not to stop.”

He smiled at her. “It’s fine. Your enthusiasm—it’s infectious. It’s tremendous, really. And I don’t think there’s anything you can say I wouldn’t find interesting. Finding out a magical community really exists is something of a—well, I believe the term is ‘mind fuck’.”

Hermione laughed. “Yes, I can see how it would be. But an ultimately pleasant one, I hope!”

“Oh, I think so,” Jon said. “Really, you want to know the craziest thing about this whole situation?”

Hermione nodded, interested. “Of course.”

“A ton of religious fundamentalists were actually, unbelievably, right about something: J.K. Rowling is a witch.” Jon shook his head. “Now that,” he said, tilting his head just slightly, “is what I call a mind fuck.”

Fake News (RPF) | Enjoyment | PG-13 | Brian/Jon, mostly gen

2010-11-30T10:12:03Z

Title: Enjoyment
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mentioned Brian/Jon, mostly gen
Summary: Stephen and Jon discuss the reaction to Jon's latest interview.
Word Count: 210
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Originally written for a drabble meme, in which kribban requested something about TDS in my D/s 'verse continuity.

"The media is flipping its shit," commented Stephen. "Your interview with Huckabee has tongues a-waggin', Jon."

Jon snorted, rolling his eyes. "You know I live with a member of the media, right? He keeps me filled in."

"I'm just saying," Stephen said, grinning, "you are a role-model for subs everywhere." He shook his head. "Which means we're so fucked."

"Fuck you," Jon said easily, laughing as he sat down next to Stephen on the couch.

"I could go with Fox's interpretation," Stephen offered, handing Jon his sandwich. "That was fascinating to watch. I didn't think people still used the word 'uppity'."

He snorted again. "The more you know," he said, unwrapping his food. "Pretend that was followed by a shooting star."

"Been getting a lot of calls?"

"Nope," Jon told him. "Brian got exactly two. The second was to give him tips on how best to 'handle' me."

"Oooh," Stephen said, smirking. "That person still breathing?"

"I think they're in hiding," Jon replied, thoughtful. "And I think they've spread the word."

Stephen laughed. "You enjoy this," he said then, poking Jon's shoulder. "Don't try to deny it. I can tell. I see it in your eyes."

Jon said nothing. He took a bite of his sandwich instead. Stephen still grinned.

Sports Night | Five Times Dan Rydell Lied to Casey McCall | PG | Dan/Casey; Dana/Casey

2010-06-05T16:26:40Z

Title: Five Times Dan Rydell Lied to Casey McCall (and Never Told Him)
Fandom: Sports Night
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dan/Casey; Casey/Dana
Summary: Five times Dan lied to Casey.
Word Count: 1,525
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: I asked for Five Times prompts a little while ago; this one was from Geena. Thank you for the beta, Abigail.

1. Not necessarily.

They're both fooling around instead of actually writing—like they should be—when Dana walks in and catches them. She calls them on it, then leaves, and Dan notices the look Casey gives her after she walks away.

"Tell me you didn't just look at Dana the way I think you just looked at Dana."

"Okay," he says agreeably. "I didn't just look at Dana the way you think I just looked at Dana."

"Yes you did." Dan groans, dropping his head into his hands before looking back at Casey. "There was a quality."

"My look had a quality?"

"It did." Dan sighs. "Natalie's going to be insufferable."

"My look not only had a quality, but it had a quality that's going to make Natalie insufferable?" Casey asks, shaking his head. "I think the heat's getting to you, Dan."

"We work in an air-conditioned building, Casey."

Casey hmms; he looks at his computer and types something. Then he glances back up. "Did my look really have a quality?"

"Oh yes. There was a definite quality."

He looks like he's considering it. Dan hates himself for letting that get to him. "It would be a bad idea," Casey says slowly, almost like he's stretching out the words as if they're play-doh, and he can mold them any way he wishes, "for Dana and I to go down that road again, wouldn't it?"

Yes, Dan thinks without hesitation. "Not necessarily," he says, just as quickly, because he can read that look in Casey's eyes easily. He knows what Casey wants to hear. "As long as there aren't any dating plans."

Casey briefly winces at the memory, but he eventually smiles. Dan tries not to frown.

2. I have a date tomorrow night, actually.

"You know what's weird?" Casey says suddenly, once they hit a commercial. Dan could afford a TiVo or DVR if he wanted to invest in it, but he doesn't and never has. When it comes down to it, he actually kind of likes commercials; he thinks they're all a part of the watching-a-game-on-television experience, and besides, he's always appreciated the time they afford him to get a beer, or digest something that just happened, or even talk to the person he might happen to be watching the game with. Point in fact, Casey seems to be taking advantage of the last option today—which is, he admits, somewhat unusual for Casey.

"That they took out Higgins and sent in Ashland?" Dan says. "Since he can't pitch his way out of a paper bag and all."

"No, not—wait, are we watching the same game? Higgins completely earned that, after the last inning," Casey says, then shakes his head. "But anyway, not that. It's weird that I haven't heard you mention any dates you've been on in awhile."

Dan pauses in bringing his beer to his lips, peering over at Casey. "What?"

"Well," Casey says, shrugging, "you always used to mention them. But there's been nothing in, what? At least a month."

Six weeks, actually, Dan could tell him. Ever since Casey asked about dating Dana again. Instead, he replies, "It was a dry spell." He shrugs. "I have a date tomorrow night, actually."

Casey grins, thumping him on the back. "That's my Danny," he says. "You'll have to tell me about it on Monday."

"Oh, I will," Dan says. He forces a smile. "Don't I always?"

The game resumes then, and Dan seriously contemplates the merits of DVR.

3. I'm fine, Case.

Dan actually sees them kiss for the first time—well, all right, it's technically not the first time. But it's the first time since the mess with the dating plan, since everything didn't happen, and considering the way he feels like someone just knocked the wind out of him, it might as well be the first time. When Casey walks out of the conference room right afterward, a ridiculous grin on his face, Dan swallows every negative thought and feeling he has and grins just as widely. "Congratulations, Casey."

Casey grins. "Thanks, Dan," he says, then glances back behind him, where Dana is conversing animatedly with Natalie. Casey lowers his voice. "I feel really good about this. A lot better than last time."

Dan can't quite manage a suitable response to that, so he nods instead. Either he's not doing a very good job of looking thrilled, or Casey has gotten more perceptive lately—his grin wanes, and he tenses just a little. "Something wrong, Dan?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Case," he says, throwing every ounce of casual good cheer he can into that small sentence. It seems to work, because Casey studies him for a minute and then visibly relaxes, grin returning to his face full throttle. "I think that's great. I'm sure it's going to work out differently this time."

Casey nods absently, as Dana is walking up to them. "You ready to go?" she asks.

"Absolutely." Casey grins somehow impossibly wider, and Dana smiles a smile that's almost too bashful for a woman as accomplished as she is. They're both glowing.

Dan shoves his hands into his pockets, looking down at the ground as they walk away. Suddenly, he finds that he misses the stupid dating plan.

4. I'm sorry, Casey.

It's late—really late, even by Dan's New York City standards—when someone's knocking on his door. He groans as he stumbles out of bed and makes his way out to answer, squinting at the moonlight flooding through his living room window as he opens the door. "Casey?" he says, a little lost, and then a thought occurs to him. "How'd you get up here?"

"Doorman recognized me," he replies, not waiting for an invitation before walking inside, speeding by Dan and heading straight for his liquor cabinet.

Right. Dan should have guessed that. He probably would have if it weren't—according to the clock on his microwave—three-forty-nine in the morning. "What's wrong?" he asks as he watches Casey pour himself a staggering amount of scotch.

Casey doesn't answer right away, downing the entire glass he just poured in one gulp. "It's over," he says at last, and begins pouring himself another. "For good, this time."

"It's—" Dan starts, then stops when it hits him like a cab driver going full speed: Dana. Casey gives him an odd look then, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he's worried that his sleep-deprived state is giving his emotions away. But then Casey sighs and sinks down onto his couch, and Dan rubs at his eyes as he sits down in his armchair.

"I'm sorry, Casey," he says, sounding so sincere to his own ears that he almost believes that he means it. Almost. Casey nods, barely even looking at him, so he adds, "Feel free to drink all of my booze, if you want." That, at least, coaxes a ghost of a smile from him.

"I think I may take you up on that," he says. Dan just nods, trying not to feel too guilty.

5. I don't have a clue.

Casey presses him against the wall of the elevator, and it turns out that kissing him is both everything and nothing like Dan always thought it might be: it's strange and passionate and breathtaking and making him far too desperate. Dan doesn't like to think of himself as desperate, and he never thought he would be, not with Casey.

When they finally break apart, Casey's lips are swollen and he's breathing heavily, and he keeps their bodies pressed together, even though their faces no longer are. "You thought I'd freak out?" he says at last, and Dan can't help it: he laughs.

"I did," he says. "Which you kind of did, if you think about it, though your tackling in me in an elevator wasn't exactly how I'd imagined said freak out would go down. I figured it'd be a lot more painful."

"If I'd known you were into that..." Casey starts, and Dan rolls his eyes.

"Very funny, he-who-has-me-pressed-up-against-an-elevator-wall."

"I see you've discovered my nickname."

Dan smiles briefly, then sobers. "Casey," he says. "We can't just—"

"I'm not stupid, Dan," Casey says brusquely. "I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't intend to follow it through." He looks Dan in the eyes. "All the way through."

Dan studies his expression for a minute. "All right," he says. "But we still need to talk."

"I know," Casey says. "But do we have to talk right this second?"

"No," he says, smirking, "I guess not."

Casey grins. "Have any ideas about what we could do instead?"

Dan brings a hand up to the back of Casey's head, pulling him closer. "I don't have a clue," he lies, and he smiles.

Fake News (FPF)/Kansas City, 99 Cents | Bought and Sold | PG-13 | Gen

2010-05-15T22:22:12Z

Title: Bought and Sold
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)/Kansas City, 99 Cents
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None as of this ficlet.
Summary: Stephen buys South Carolina. No one is happy about this.
Word Count: 510
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Originally an OT ficlet, for dystopias. A very self-indulgent AU crossover with my Kansas City 'verse.

"Jon! Guess what I bought today!" Stephen exclaimed as he burst into Jon's office without even pretending to knock. Jon usually got a half-assed tap on the door before Stephen bounded in, but apparently not today.

"What, Stephen?" Jon asked, looking up. "Don't tell me you bought another Hummer."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jon," Stephen said haughtily. "I bought something much more important than that."

"Two Hummers?" tried Jon. Stephen gave him a look, and he stifled a giggle.

"South Carolina, Jon! It finally came up for auction."

Jon's mirth vanished in the time it took Stephen to say those words. "You did what?"

"I bought South Carolina. It had to go to someone worthy of owning it."

Jon, for once in his life, didn't care how pleased Stephen looked. He was just pissed. "Get out," he said firmly.

Stephen blinked. "W—what?"

"Get. Out," he repeated. "You know how I feel about this—this bullshit," he said. "The government's selling off states like it's a fucking garage sale, and it's not okay. So what do you do? Help them out with it. Get out."

Stephen didn't seem sure about what emotion he should settle on. His pleased grin had turned into shock pretty quickly, but now he seemed to be wavering between confusion, despair, and anger. It took a second, but he eventually settled on anger. "How dare yo—"

Someone else burst into his office then, which was strange, because Stephen was the only one who ever did that. Jon raised his eyebrows at the woman who had entered; she looked very, very annoyed. "Stephen Colbert?" she snapped.

Stephen's brow furrowed. "Who are you?"

"Alex Carpenter. You need to come with me."

"Excuse me?" Embarrassingly, he and Stephen both said that at the same time.

"This fucking idiot just bought South Carolina," Alex informed Jon, then looked back at Stephen. "You may be an ideologue, but you're also an idiot, and Mark Hamilton doesn't deal with idiots. You're about ten minutes away from being assassinated. Either come with me or don't and get killed—your choice, and I couldn't care less which one you pick." She paused. "Actually, no, I'd prefer if you chose the second option, because I don't want to deal with you either."

Stephen's eyes widened, then narrowed. "How do I know you're not here to kill me?"

"Because I made it into the building, you're unarmed, and you're still fucking alive?" Alex said. "Let's go." She grabbed his arm and herded him to the door. "You'd better come too," she tossed over her shoulder at him. "When Mark finds out he's gone into hiding, he'll probably have someone kidnap you to get to him."

Jon stood and followed them, saying, "Who do you work for?"

"The subversives. The organization not trying to secretly take over the country."

Jon gave her a skeptical look. "There's one that is? I haven't heard anything—"

"Yeah, that's because secret underground organizations don't hand out fucking business cards," she said, rolling her eyes. "Let's just get out of here. I'll explain everything later."

Fake News (FPF) | Gravitas | PG | Brian/"Stephen"

2010-05-15T22:16:40Z

Title: Gravitas
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brian/"Stephen"
Summary: Stephen and Brian have lunch.
Word Count: 175
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Originally an OT ficlet.

It was hard to command any sense of gravitas with gravy stains on one's shirt.

While normal lunches didn't require commanding gravitas—though of course he commanded it wherever he went, just as a matter of course—this one did. Stupid gravy, he thought.

Stephen wiped futilely at the ugly grey blotch on his otherwise pristine white shirt. There was no use. It wasn't going to come out.

"I hate you," he said petulantly—which also lacked gravitas—to his lunch companion, who chuckled.

"You think I'm in league with the gravy?" asked Brian, raising an eyebrow.

Stephen harrumphed. Stupid Brian Williams, he thought then. "I don't spill gravy on my shirt when I eat lunch with Jon," he said, eyes narrowing.

Brian smirked. "Look on the bright side, Stephen," he said, voice low and full of something—gravitas, Stephen was sure, even as it made him shiver. "After lunch, I can help you out of that shirt."

The quiet squeak Stephen let out then also did not command gravitas of any kind. Luckily, he was too distracted to care.

Fake News (FPF) | Four Times... | PG | Jon/"Stephen"

2010-01-18T23:30:41Z

Title: Four Times Jon And Stephen Didn’t Have Their First Kiss (And The Time They Actually Did)
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jon/“Stephen” (past “Stephen”/Evie; brief “Stephen”/OC; implied Tad/Bobby)
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.
Word Count: 3,055
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Written for sahrafel in the fakenews_fanfic Secret Santa fic exchange. Thanks to Kelly and Abigail for beta'ing.

I.

Stephen always went overboard with his Christmas decorations, and Jon had started coming to expect them earlier and earlier, because Stephen liked to outdo himself if he could. Still, it was October. Not even late October, either, but October second, and already there were red and green streamers in the halls.

“Really, Stephen?” he asked, stepping into his friend’s office and glancing pointedly around at all the tinsel and snowmen. “It’s not even close to Halloween. Don’t you think you’ve gone a little—”

“A little what, Jon? Crazy?” Stephen demanded, tone near hysterical. “Do you think I’m out of control? Do you think I violently overreacted in trying to celebrate my favorite holiday without once considering anyone else because I’m too self-absorbed to stop for a second and think? Am I so insensitive that you can barely look at me, let alone talk to me? Is that what you were going to say, Jon?”

Stephen’s eyes were red and wild, and his hair was but a shadow of its usual shellacked mass, with bits sticking up awkwardly, out of place. His suit looked like he’d slept in it—at least, what was left of his suit. The tie seemed to be in tatters, and Jon didn’t see the jacket anywhere.

“Um, no,” said Jon, watching Stephen carefully. “Did something happen, Stephen?”

“No! Of course not,” Stephen said firmly. “Nothing’s wrong. What would make you think that? It’s ridiculous. I’m fine.”

Sometimes, Jon reflected, it helped that Stephen was such a terrible liar. “You sure?” he pressed, walking further into the office and closing the door behind him. “You seem pretty upset.”

“Well, I’m not.” He crossed his arms defiantly, putting on a determined expression. “I’m not.”

Jon sat down in the chair across from Stephen’s desk. “What happened, Stephen?” he asked gently, looking into his eyes.

Stephen stared for a second before he started sobbing, glancing away, and it struck Jon not for the first time how little it usually took to break the dam. Stephen had ideals of toughness and stoicism, but often only a quiet question was enough to get him to talk. It was like kicking a pebble out of the way and inadvertently setting off an avalanche.

“Evie left me,” Stephen said through his tears. “I thought—I thought it wasn’t a big deal, you know? She’s done this before, but she—she always comes back. I thought—I—she was supposed to come back.” He hiccupped. “Instead she sent me these.” He tossed an envelope closer to the opposite edge of his desk, the one Jon was near, but Jon didn’t move to pick it up. He didn’t need to. He knew what the envelope contained: divorce papers. “I tried to call her, to talk to her, but she said—she said she was done, she couldn’t pretend anymore, and she thought it’d be better for the kids this way, if we weren’t—if we—” He shook his head. “We fought. She hung up on me.”

Jon gave Stephen a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Stephen,” he said, and Stephen hiccupped again, looking Jon in the eyes. In that instant, Jon felt himself overcome with the desire to make sure Stephen never looked at him with those sad, tearful eyes ever again. Shaking his head to clear it, he let that thought go, like a wayward balloon slipping out of his grasp and floating upward, high above the rooftops. “Do you, uh, need help with the decorations?” he asked, clearing his throat and looking away, since he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t. “You haven’t covered the whole studio yet, right?”

Stephen smiled a watery smile. “Yeah, you could help,” he said. “Thanks, Jon.”

II.

Stephen narrowed his eyes when he opened his door to reveal Jon on his front stoop, holding what looked like a medium-sized ham. “You think I’m pathetic,” he accused even as he let him in.

“Nope,” said Jon. “I think it’s Christmas, and you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Same thing,” muttered Stephen, but it lacked any real heat. If he were honest, he could admit to himself that he was glad Jon was there—not that he’d ever tell him that. He didn’t need him getting smug. Jon shifted the ham in his arms, and Stephen frowned as something occurred to him. “Hey, I thought you weren’t supposed to eat ham. Isn’t that a Jewish thing?”

Jon smiled sheepishly. “It’s a turkey-ham,” he said. “Is that all right?”

Stephen was about to haughtily respond that it wasn’t a true Christmas dinner without real, God-given ham, but he took one look at Jon’s hopeful expression and swallowed that urge. “That’s fine,” he said instead. “Do you know how to cook it?”

“Yep,” said Jon brightly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” They made their way to the kitchen, where Jon sat the not-ham down and started getting out various dishes, as well as other foods. “Oh, good,” he said, looking under the sink. “You have potatoes. I wasn’t sure if you would.” He pulled the sack out onto the kitchen floor.

“Of course I have potatoes, Jon,” Stephen said imperiously. “I’m an American. A meat and potatoes kind of guy.”

“Right,” Jon said, looking amused. “Well, I should get cooking, huh?”

A few hours later, they were sitting down at Stephen’s dining room table, and Jon was getting ready to serve the not-ham. “Wait!” cried Stephen, as Jon moved for the knife. “I have to say grace first.”

Jon nodded, and Stephen folded his hands, looking down. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Oh, and I know Jon’s Jewish, but you can overlook that just for today, right? Since he cooked and everything? Thanks. Amen.” Stephen looked up to see Jon raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing, Stephen,” Jon said, shaking his head and smiling. He served them both, and Stephen was a little surprised to realize how much he liked the not-ham.

Later, after dinner and even dessert, Stephen deigned to help Jon clear the dishes off the table and bring them into the kitchen. It might be beneath him, but Jon had given him that look he always gave him when he really wanted him to do something, and Stephen still didn’t know how to resist it.

They stood hip to hip at the sink, as he rinsed the dishes and Jon loaded them into the dishwasher, and their sides brushed occasionally. Stephen tried not to think about the rush of heat that engulfed him every time they touched, like a glass of smooth scotch, warming him from the inside out. “Jon?” he said, after a few long minutes of companionable silence, and Jon glanced over, meeting his eyes, grey-blue irises alight with compassion, friendship.

“Yeah, Stephen?” he asked, and Stephen realized how close they really were, close enough that Stephen could smell Jon’s cologne, sandalwood and some kind of spice, mixed with something else that was indescribably Jon. He swallowed.

“Make sure you don’t pack the plates too close,” Stephen said at last. “They won’t get clean if you do.”

Jon blinked, looking like he’d been expecting something else, but he hid it quickly, with an easy smile. “Right,” he said. “No problem, Stephen.”

III.

When Jon found Stephen at the restaurant they’d agreed to meet at for lunch, he was already seated at a table, chatting amiably with another man. “Hi, Jon,” Stephen said as he approached, beaming, and he and his friend stood. “I want you to meet someone. This is Eric. He’s my, uh, well—he’s—we’ve been dating.” Stephen only flushed a little as he said this, and Jon blinked.

He knew a stipulation of Stephen’s custody arrangement after the divorce had been mandatory weekly therapy sessions, but Jon had wondered more than once if they were actually doing any good. This was apparently his answer.

“Hey, Eric,” he said, tone friendly, as he shook his hand. Eric was a good-looking guy, tall (of course he was tall) and broad-shouldered, with light brown hair, and he smiled as he returned Jon’s greeting.

“Stephen’s told me so much about you,” he said as they all sat down. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He even sounded genuine.

Really, Jon thought. Because Stephen hasn’t mentioned you at all. “Well, I hope I don’t disappoint,” he said.

After lunch, when Jon and Stephen had returned to Jon’s studio and Eric had left, citing a need to get back to work, Stephen cornered him in his office. “Well?” he demanded. “Do you like him?”

“He seems nice,” Jon hedged, which was true. Eric had seemed very nice: calm, reasonable, even witty, and able to deal with Stephen’s various quirks. For some inexplicable reason, however, Jon hadn’t liked him at all, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

Stephen didn’t notice his non-answer. “I knew you’d like him,” he gushed. “He’s smart, like you. Even talks about the things you do. I think he might be a liberal, too. You guys should hang out.” He seemed excited by this prospect.

Jon managed a smile. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “So…you’re happy? He’s good to you?” he asked.

Stephen nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “I didn’t think—when the therapist said—well,” he stopped, flushing. “I’m glad you like him, Jon.”

“As long as he makes you happy, Stephen,” Jon said weakly.

That time, Stephen did seem to notice something was wrong, because he frowned. “Wait, you’re doing it again. You’re giving me that look.”

“What?” Jon asked. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jon,” Stephen snapped. “I can tell. Whenever you’re just humoring me you always give me the same look, and you’re doing it now. You don’t like him, do you?”

“I said he seems very nice,” Jon protested.

“But you didn’t say you liked him,” Stephen pressed. “Do you?”

“I—”

Stephen gaped at him. “You don’t!” he said, outraged. “I’m finally happy, and you don’t even like him. Well, excuse me, Mr. Elitist Intellectual Bleeding-Heart Liberal Snob! You can sit in your ivory tower and look down on us all you want, because—because—you’re wrong! Eric’s great!” Stephen moved to storm out of the office, but Jon grabbed his arm to stop him, pulling him closer than he intended.

“Stephen, wait a second. I—”

“No! It’s not fair. What don’t you like about him, anyway? Why isn’t he good enough? Do you even have a good reason?”

He’s not me! Jon thought fiercely, and the force of it surprised him. He met Stephen’s eyes for the briefest of moments before letting him go. “No,” he said at last. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’ll give him a chance. I don’t know why I didn’t like him. He seemed great, Stephen, honestly.”

Stephen gave him a suspicious look at first, but eventually nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Good. I want you to like him, Jon. It’s important.”

Jon swallowed.

IV.

Jon seemed surprised when he arrived, which Stephen guessed was because he was the only one who’d come to his birthday party. “Am I first?” Jon asked, handing Stephen the neatly-wrapped gift he’d been carrying. They headed into the living room.

“No,” Stephen said, placing the present on his coffee table. “It’s just going to be you and me.”

“Really?” Jon asked. “Where’s Eric? Your kids? Tad, Bobby?”

“Tad’s sick,” said Stephen. “I think Bobby’s with him, but don’t tell, because they think I don’t know. The kids and I are going to celebrate next weekend. And, uh,” he paused for a second, “well, Eric and I broke up last week.” Stephen watched Jon’s face carefully for a reaction to that last piece of news.

“Oh, man,” Jon said. “I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?”

Stephen tried not to let his disappointment show. He’d thought that, maybe, Jon had been a little bit jealous while he was dating Eric, but now he seemed genuinely upset that they’d broken up. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s not a big deal.” He glanced away, asking, “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” Jon said, surprised. “You didn’t…cook, did you?”

Stephen shook his head. “I was thinking, since it’s just you and me, maybe we could go out to eat? Evie sent over a cake that she made, as a birthday present. We could have that after.”

Jon smiled, nodding, and they headed back toward the door. “You guys are getting along better these days, aren’t you?” he asked as Stephen locked the door behind them.

“We are,” Stephen confirmed. “I guess—she said that it’s easier now. That she can talk to me and see me some and it doesn’t hurt so much.”

“Good. It’s good that things are better.” Stephen nodded in response, and they lapsed into a companionable silence.

Settling on a restaurant proved easy, and once they were seated, Stephen picked up his menu quickly, watching Jon carefully from behind it.

“So, uh,” Jon started, after a moment, “why did you and Eric break up? If you want to talk about it, I mean. You don’t have to.”

Stephen shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said, recalling exactly what Eric had said: “You’re not in love with me, Stephen. You’re in love with Jon. He’s all you talk about, you spend as much time as you can with him, and whenever the three of us hang out, I feel like the third wheel. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m sorry.” He’d actually looked sorry, too, Stephen remembered, and right before he left, he’d added, “For what it’s worth, Stephen? I do want you to be happy. And I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you too.” Stephen still wasn’t sure if that was true. “There was no specific reason,” he lied. “We just decided we weren’t right for each other.”

“Oh,” Jon said, reaching across the table and placing a hand on Stephen’s arm. It was nice, Stephen thought, as their eyes met. Comforting. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else, Stephen. Someone who is right for you. He might even be closer than you think.”

Stephen leaned in just slightly, hopeful. “Really?” he asked. “You think so?” Maybe Eric had been right after all.

“Yeah,” Jon said, clearing his throat and glancing down at his hand before pulling it away. “I mean, you never know, right?”

Stephen tried not to sigh as he leaned back in his chair. This was just confusing. “Let’s order, Jon,” he said. “I’m looking forward to that cake. Besides, I want to see what you got me.”

Jon’s smile seemed strange. “I think you’ll like it.”

Stephen didn’t know what to say, so he hid behind his menu instead.

V.

Jon knew his back was going to kill him for this, but somehow, Stephen had managed to talk him into putting down a blanket and lying on the ground to watch the fireworks show. He still wasn’t completely sure why he’d said yes—and that, of course, was when Stephen took the opportunity to grin at him happily, almost like a little kid, as the fireworks started bursting prettily over their heads. It reminded him instantly why he’d given in.

“Aren’t they awesome?” Stephen said excitedly. “Fireworks really shouldn’t be limited to the fourth of July, Jon. It’s a shame. They should be set off all year round.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, as he watched the show. “I think there’s something to only doing it once a year. Makes it something special, you know?”

“Maybe,” Stephen said skeptically, leaning back. They weren’t quite touching at first, but then Stephen shifted, brushing against him. Jon didn’t move, unsure if it’d been accidental or purposeful; he’d been unsure about a lot, lately, when it came to Stephen, which was something he really wasn’t used to.

“You comfortable, Stephen?” he tried, figuring maybe he’d gauge what Stephen was thinking that way.

“Sure, Jon. I’m fine.” His tone seemed absent, except Jon was pretty sure he’d just snuck a glance at him. Making up his mind, Jon shifted a little bit closer, smiling when Stephen didn’t move, and they continued watching the display, neither speaking for a few minutes.

Stephen was the one to break the silence, glancing up: “Told you it’d be worth it.”

Jon smiled and looked down, struck once again by how happy he seemed, eyes bright and round. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, kissing Stephen softly, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

It was hard to misread a signal as obvious as Stephen’s hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, so Jon deepened the kiss, pleased by the way Stephen welcomed it. When they finally broke apart, maybe in reality only a few seconds later, though it felt like a lifetime, Stephen pulled back just far enough to give him a cross look, and Jon gave him a bewildered one in return.

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” Stephen demanded before Jon could ask what was wrong. Caught off guard, he laughed.

“Why didn’t you?” he challenged.

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “You’re supposed to be the perceptive one, remember?” he said, and Jon giggled; he had to admit that Stephen had a point there. The look Stephen gave him then was a little harder to read, at least until he was being pulled into another kiss; this time, it was much more heated. Jon gladly lost himself in it, focusing on the feel of Stephen’s lips and the warmth of his body as he shifted again, pressing closer. He let his hands roam, encouraged by the eager way Stephen responded, and time slipped away as they kissed, alternating between slow and fast, languid and frenzied. He breathed heavily when they broke apart again, giggling some more when he remembered exactly where they were.

Stephen frowned. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“We’re making out on a blanket on the ground under fireworks,” Jon said. “I was just wondering when we’d jumped into a B-grade romantic comedy.”

Stephen rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Jon’s neck. “Shut up, Jon,” he said firmly, “and kiss me again.”

Jon smiled at him and obliged.

Fake News (FPF) Sharing | PG-13 | Brian/Jon/"Stephen"

2010-01-14T04:05:47Z

Title: Sharing
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brian/Jon/“Stephen”
Summary: Stephen learns how to share.
Word Count: 800
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Spawned from an OT prompt. I'm not putting it with the other ficlets because it's...not really a ficlet, all together.

Get out of here and just keep away
‘Cause this man is mine
—This Man Is Mine; Heart
[download]

“Go away.”

Brian raised an eyebrow at Stephen, who was standing in front of Jon’s office door, looking rigid and agitated, like a particularly pissed off sentry of some kind. “Excuse me?”

“I said go away!” Stephen exclaimed, flailing his hands dramatically. “Just. Go. Away.”

“I would, but Jon’s expecting me. If you don’t mind,” Brian said, indicating that Stephen should step aside. Stephen narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t have Jon. He’s mine.”

Brian couldn’t help it. He grinned. Mildly, then, he responded, “You never learned to share?”

Stephen seemed shocked by that response; so shocked, in fact, that he made no effort to stop Brian from knocking on Jon’s door before opening it and walking in. “We can finish talking later, Stephen,” he said, smiling, before shutting the door behind him.

So what have you got to say, Jeeves?
What have you got to say?
—What Have You Got To Say, Jeeves; By Jeeves
[download]

“Brian Williams!” Stephen exclaimed. “He—what—who does he think he is!”

Jon bit his lip. He tried very, very hard not to giggle.

“What, he’s on NBC, so he thinks that makes him better than me? Oh, sure, there’s the hair and the voice and the gravitas—but I have those things too!”

That did it. Jon couldn’t stifle his amusement any longer. Stephen whirled on him, shaking his finger mere inches from Jon’s face. “And you! You encourage him! With your decency and your flirting and your giggling and your...your...friendliness! This isn’t funny!”

Jon giggled again. “It’s a little funny,” he said, and Stephen glared. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not!” Stephen protested, but Jon just giggled even harder.

I can do anything that I want
—No Handlebars; Flobots
[download]

“You.”

Brian smiled, looking amused. Stephen wanted to wipe that smug look off his stupid handsome face. “Me.”

Stephen marched up to Brian, intending to imperiously tower over him, only to discover Brian was a few inches taller than he was. He settled for poking Brian in the chest with his index finger. Roughly. It had probably hurt. “You think you’re so amazing. I mean, you’re Brian Williams! You’re handsome and you work for a network and you think that you can just waltz in here and steal Jon from me without a second thought! Well, I’ll have you know that you can’t!”

“Okay,” said Brian genially.

“And don’t give me any of that—wait, what? Okay?”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t want to steal him, Stephen,” he said. Smirking, he stepped closer, hand closing snugly around Stephen’s wrist. Stephen shivered. “That’s why I asked you about sharing.”

Stephen’s eyes widened.

I swear I never had it like this
Forbidden yet I cannot resist
—Resist; Melissa Etheridge
[download]

“So Brian finally asked you, huh?” Jon asked. Stephen seemed to be having trouble processing the request, what with the first sentences out of his mouth having been, “Brian Williams is a devious, devious man.” followed by, “And, oh god, is it ever hot.” Now he was pacing.

“I—so—he wants us both? Together?” he said finally.

“Yep,” Jon replied with a nod. “I told him after he asked you, we’d talk about it. So what do you think?”

“The things he said. That’d he’d do. To us. To you. To me. Think he meant them?”

Jon snorted. “I have no doubt.”

Stephen shuddered. “They were filthy. Disgusting. Utterly...utterly...depraved.” Stephen’s eyes were becoming a little unfocused, and his breathing seemed to be quickening. The corners of Jon’s mouth quirked up, into a smile.

“So I should tell Brian no, then?” he teased.

Stephen’s head shot up. “Don’t you dare!”

Some mistakes are too much fun
To only make once
—Some Mistakes; Brad Paisley
[download]

“That was...” Jon didn’t seem to feel the need to finish that sentence, which was fine, because Brian had a reasonable guess as to what he was going to say anyway. “Christ.”

“Mmmm,” mumbled Stephen eloquently, who was lying—of course—in between Jon and Brian, one hand on Brian’s thigh and his head on Jon’s chest. “Don’t wanna move,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Brian told him, petting his hair absently. He half-expected to hear him start purring. Catching Jon’s amused look, he guessed Jon was half-expecting the same thing.

“So, uh,” Jon began, looking away, “was this, like, a onetime thing? Or...”

He was about to respond that it was up to them, but Stephen beat him to the punch. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jon,” he said, somehow sounding haughty despite the deeply-satisfied edge his voice held. “There’s no way we’re not doing that again.”

Brian smirked, giving Jon a slight nod. “You heard the man,” he said. Jon grinned.

Fake News (FPF) | Wørdplay | PG | Brian/"Stephen"

2010-01-11T16:26:04Z

Title: Wørdplay
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brian/"Stephen"
Summary: Stephen and The Wørd have a chat about Brian.
Word Count: 1,055
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Thank you to my dear friend Abigail, both for the prompt that gave birth to this story, and the beta that resulted in the final product.

Stephen liked to sit at his desk at night, occasionally, after the rest of his staff had gone home. People he could boss around were nice most of the time, but every so often, there was the need to be alone for a little while. He felt calm when he sat here, drinking in the magnificence of his set, and it never failed to ease his worries. At least, it would have, if he had worries that needed easing. He didn’t. Only hypothetical worries were ever eased in his case, because he had no actual worries. That notion in itself was just absurd.

“Worry is nothing more than a sign of weakness,” he said firmly, voicing the thought out loud to drive the point home. He didn’t jump when The Wørd graphic abruptly appeared on the monitor, nor did he question how it was possible, given that the machine was currently off. There was no point, and besides, he was used to it by now. “Get a new dramatic entrance, will you?” he said, rolling his eyes. “That one’s just old.”

Classics Are Classics For A Reason.

“Snob,” Stephen said haughtily, turning his nose upward.

Warning! Irony Levels Reaching Critical Mass.

“You’re not funny,” Stephen said, pursing his lips.

You’re Sitting In A Dark Room Lying To Yourself And Arguing With A Sentient, Vaguely-Anthropomorphic Bullet Point. You’re Going To Throw Stones?

“I do not lie,” said Stephen, in a tone that would’ve been indignant, if his indignation would’ve mattered. The problem with sentient, vaguely-anthropomorphic bullet points was that you couldn’t fire them. They also couldn’t be intimidated, which sucked. “Even if I did, I would never lie to someone as important as myself.”

I Hope Your Pants Are Flame-Retardant.

“Oh, shut up,” Stephen snapped, rolling his eyes again. “You think you’re clever. Like you know everything. I swear, you’re almost as bad as Jon.”

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/InsultBackfire

“Geek,” he said, snorting.

I Can Link To It Again.

“Whatever,” Stephen said. “You don’t know anything. Don’t act like you do.”

Two Words: Brian Williams.

“Shut up,” Stephen said again. He paused for a minute, and then, “What about him? What do you think you know?”

Bet He Could Deliver Your News Any Day, If You Know What I Mean.

“That’s not a euphemism,” Stephen said, annoyed. “You’re just making things up.” He glared. “I don’t care about Brian Williams. First of all, I am 100% heterosexual—”

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TransparentCloset

“—and second of all,” Stephen continued, pointedly ignoring that ridiculous slight to his character, “he’s not even from Fox!”

I’m Sure He’d Be Willing To Do A Little Roleplay, If You Wanted.

“Shut up again,” Stephen said, but it was half-hearted. “You never listen to me.”

I Listen. I Usually Just Disregard Most Of It.

“You just like to be mean to me.” Stephen crossed his arms and planted them on his desk, resting his head on top of them. “It’s not like stupid Brian Williams is that great, anyway.”

Dude, We’re Talking About BriWi Here. That’s Blasphemy.

“Whatever,” Stephen said, a trace of a sulk forming on his features. “Don’t act like I don’t have a good reason to think that. I do.”

Care To Share With The Class?

“Why should I?” Stephen demanded. “You don’t really care. I know you don’t. I can tell.”

I’m The One With The Limited-Telepathy Gimmick, Here.

“Fine, you want to know?” Stephen asked, narrowing his eyes. “He didn’t even flirt with me!” he exclaimed, sighing explosively. “He goes on The Daily Show and flirts with Jon all the time, but he comes on my show and what happens? Nothing! What, like I’m not good enough for him?” Stephen glared intensely at the monitor. “There. Happy?”

Never Have I Been More Ecstatic.

“I knew you were just going to mock me.”

Okay, Okay, Seriously, Folks...If That’s Your Only Problem, Well...

“Well, what?” Stephen demanded. “Spit it out!”

Then You’re An Idiot.

Stephen glared again. “Shut up.”

“I haven’t said anything yet,” said a voice over to his right, the speaker himself still hidden in the shadows; The Wørd graphic vanished from the monitor and Stephen jumped, eyes wide, until he realized that he knew that voice.

“Brian?” Stephen asked, confused, and sure enough, Brian Williams slowly approached his desk. Stephen absolutely did not notice how attractive he looked in jeans and a button-down shirt. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried calling you a couple times,” Brian told him. “No answer. So I called Jon and asked where you might be. He said to check here, that you stay late sometimes to unwind.”

“Oh,” Stephen said, still pretty confused. He didn’t know why Brian would be calling him. “What did you want?”

Brian smiled handsomely. “Dinner, to start. Is your coat in your office?” he asked curiously, gesturing in that direction.

“Wait, dinner? What?”

“Dinner. A meal served in the evening. You’ve heard of it?” Brian’s eyes were mischievous.

“You and me? Just the two of us?”

“Yeah. A date.” Brian smirked. “You know. Generally two people, a romantic setting, food is usually shared, and if it goes well, there’s sex afterwards. Your coat?”

“Yeah, it’s in my—wait, hold on a second!” Stephen said indignantly, following Brian, who had started in the direction of his office without waiting for Stephen to finish his sentence. “You want to go on a date with me?”

Brian gave him an amused look as they reached his office. “Isn’t it obvious by now? Get your coat. I have a place in mind that I think you’re going to like.”

Stephen blinked. He thought about protesting, telling Brian off for making such a spurious assumption about his character, but for some reason, almost all he could think about was The Wørd calling him an idiot. It was almost all because his mind had started conjuring images about what sex with Brian might be like from the moment he’d mentioned it, and they were pretty distracting. He flushed, grabbing his coat. “Okay. Let’s go,” he said, locking his office door behind him, before they headed back toward the set and to the hallway leading to the exit. Brian left first, but Stephen lingered, glancing back at his desk over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said quietly, and the flash of blue light he got in response seemed approving.

The West Wing | Important Words That Begin With P | PG-13 | Leo/Marbury

2009-12-29T21:45:18Z

Title: Important Words That Begin With P
Fandom: The West Wing
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Leo McGarry/Lord John Marbury. For real this time.
Summary: Leo and Lord John Marbury finally acknowledge what’s been building.
Word Count: 1,040
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: This also happens sometime soon after The Drop-In, though I’m not totally sure when. Thanks for the beta, Abigail. Eventually, I will write a less random-ass pairing. Probably. Maybe.

“Little Lord Fauntleroy was an innocent, pure child of character, who taught the Earl of Dorincourt virtues such as compassion and empathy, opened his eyes to the idea of social justice, and in the end, made him a better man.” Lord John Marbury made his grand entrance as he said this—it was always a grand entrance with him, Leo noted, and it didn’t matter where he was entering—smirking widely when he laid his eyes on Leo. “Were you aware of that, Gerald? He wasn’t a pompous, prissy, spoiled brat at all—in fact, quite the opposite. I think I shall take the term as a compliment.” He shut the door behind him and locked it. Leo didn’t comment.

“You do that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If it helps ease the pain of remembering we kicked your asses, who am I to take it from you?”

“Such crass language from a man of your stature,” Marbury tsked, relaxing on Leo’s couch with a grace that Leo might describe as feline-like. Given the expression on Marbury’s face and his body language right now, if he were a cat, he’d probably be purring.

“Of course you think it’s crass. You also think being called Lord Fauntleroy is a compliment.”

“I choose to ignore the modern connotations of the name,” he said, then apparently reconsidered it. “Well, most of them. Pomposity, I will concede. Perhaps even a certain degree of pampered living. I hardly take it for granted, however. Then there are the other three Ps which I am afraid I cannot claim no matter how you stretch their definitions.”

“And those are?”

“Prissiness, propriety, and prudishness. I do hope, even with your long list of complaints against me, those are not among them.”

Leo snorted, because Marbury said that while leaning back suggestively against his couch, looking like the very embodiment of sin and debauchery. He had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other; his suit was rumpled, his tie loosened, and his lips were pink and swollen by kisses from God only knew who.

“Of your many, many colorful traits, Ambassador, I can honestly say I never thought of those as being any of them.”

“Excellent,” Marbury replied, grin almost feral. “I’ve heard tell of Americans’ dreadfully puritanical outlook on sex, and I would not want to be mistakenly categorized as empathetic in that regard.”

“Americans are puritanical?” Leo said, raising an eyebrow. “Repression is almost a national pastime in England.”

“Only over silly things, like genuine emotional expression. Sex we talk about quite frequently.”

“You’d almost have to. There must not be that much to do, what with not being an empire anymore, huh?”

Marbury smirked, taking a final drag on his cigarette before he extinguished it in his nearly empty glass. He set it on the table and stood, ambling around Leo’s office with that strange way he had, an almost purposeful idleness. “The point, Gerald, that I was trying not to belabor, yet still make abundantly clear,” he started to say, while studying the collection of books Leo had on his shelves, “is that I am anything but repressed.” Marbury looked up then, eyes meeting his, gaze piercing. Leo hated that gaze, because it meant Marbury was about to say something smart, insightful, and inarguable, shifting seamlessly, almost ruthlessly, from his eccentric Englishman persona into the sharp expert who had earned the respect of many, including himself. “The question that remains, however, would be: are you?” Marbury ran a long finger across the spine of a particular book, adding, “I ask only because I fear if we continue this ignominious American tradition of ignoring the burgeoning tension between us, we may be quite likely to implode. Of course, if my breaking the first sacred rule masculinity by actually lending my voice to the matter compels you either to hit me or embark upon a soul-searching quest in order to quell a crisis of sexuality, then I would much rather we simply behave as though I am drunk and my words are meaningless, and let the status quo reign.”

Leo didn’t say anything for a minute. He thought about protesting that he was straight, that Marbury had misread the situation, but they were both too damn old and too damn smart for that kind of bull. “Is it your life’s goal to be my undoing?” he demanded instead. “I can just read the headlines now. ‘White House Ch—” He was interrupted when Marbury kissed him abruptly, and at first Leo swore to God he barely even registered that the man had moved—feline-like wasn’t far off, apparently—but then he realized that of Marbury’s many talents, kissing was definitely one of them. “Christ,” he groaned as he parted his lips, gripping the man’s upper arm and pulling him closer, because he’d be damned if Lord John Marbury would out-kiss him. He kissed back roughly, backing him up against his desk and sliding a knee between his legs as they fought for control of the kiss, feeling triumphant when he heard him moan. “You are,” he accused as they broke apart, both of them breathless. “You’re trying to bring me to my knees.”

Marbury’s grin was a shining example of lust and lasciviousness. “Should that be a possibility, Gerald, I’ll certainly see to it that the favor is reciprocated.” Leo narrowed his eyes, yanking Marbury forward roughly with his tie and kissing him forcefully, and was rewarded by the way he gasped and his hand clutched tightly at Leo’s left bicep. “You Americans,” he said, but his voice was too ragged to pull off his usual arch indifference, “always feel that brute force is the way to get things done, don’t you?”

“We did kick your asses, remember,” Leo returned. “That was a big can of whoop-ass we opened at Yorktown.”

“I’m sure you shall never allow me to forget,” said Marbury, pressing a kiss to Leo’s Adam’s apple, sucking, biting, making him groan, “even if you did require France’s considerable aid in order to accomplish that feat.”

The words were murmured against his skin, and it took a second for them to register. Once they did, Leo thought, Oh, this means war.

The West Wing | The Art Of Non-Verbal Communication | PG | Leo/Marbury-ish

2009-12-28T01:50:22Z

Title: The Art Of Non-Verbal Communication
Fandom: The West Wing
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kinda, sorta Leo McGarry/Lord John Marbury, but not really. Basically, gen unless you have slash goggles.
Summary: Leo and Lord John Marbury have a late-night chat. They even speak out loud for part of it.
Word Count: 705
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: This is kind of a post-ep sort of thing for ‘The Drop-In’. It’s entirely random. Thank you for the beta, Abigail.

“Ah, and I would expect nothing less from you, Gerald. Really, you’re starting to become quite predictable. I find that there’s nothing more troubling than predictability, don’t you agree?”

Lord John Marbury smiled as he said this, but he didn’t smile like a normal person, not that Leo had ever seen. He smirked, and he grinned, and he leered, and sometimes the corners of his mouth turned up into what would be a smile, except his smiles never said, ‘I’m happy,’ like smiles should; they said, ‘I find this pleasing’ or ‘I have deigned to be amused’ or ‘I am a ridiculously clichéd, pompous Englishman who will condescend to you at every opportunity because I am so very much more intelligent than you and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Leo conceded he might be projecting a little with that last one. Not with the rest, though. “Your Lordship,” he said, stressing the title as ironically he could muster without being obvious, not that it mattered—Marbury raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment anyway, and that said, ‘I have noticed your feeble attempt at mockery and I am silently judging you for it.’ Roughly. “As you have reminded me countless—countless—times before, you have been educated at Cambridge and the Sorbonne, you are the foremost expert on India and foreign relations, and now you are the newly-minted ambassador to the United States on behalf of Great Britain, so I don’t feel it’s unreasonable to ask—why is it that my name gives you so much trouble? Surely you’ve remembered names much longer and harder to pronounce than my own.”

There was that not-smile again, that smirk that said, ‘Are you quite certain you’re ready for this game?’ Throw out the rulebooks, Lord Fauntleroy, he thought. When I play, I play dirty.

“You’re not an unintelligent man yourself, Gerald,” said Marbury then, using the slightest bit of emphasis on the name before he finished off his glass. “You’re more than well aware that I know your name, I believe.”

“And yet using it at regular intervals seems to elude you,” noted Leo, and Marbury’s smirk turned into a shit-eating grin, though Leo could hear in his mind the objections his Lordship would have if he ever described it that way out loud. The thought almost made him grin.

“It does,” Marbury agreed, eyes alight with mischief and amusement, and Leo guessed they were saying, ‘You are but entertainment to me, you poor fool.’ Something like that, he was sure. “You complain, and you roll your eyes, and you tell everyone that I am but a raving lunatic; nonetheless, I see how you enjoy baiting me as much as I enjoy baiting you, and I’ve always been of the opinion that one should accept the terms of friendship no matter how bizarre they may seem.” Marbury set his glass down on the coffee table, leaning forward and meeting his eyes. “Life is made up of these strange friendships, as diverse and nonsensical as human beings themselves, as you well know—Leo.”

And Marbury smiled, and this one was a real smile, because Lord John Marbury lived for proving him wrong and for getting under his skin. Leo just knew that Marbury had somehow managed to figure out what he’d been thinking, and really, he should have found it ridiculous that he was granting supernatural powers to the man, but he didn’t. He just shook his head, because the thing was: he was right. He was usually right, which was part of why he was so infuriating. Men weren’t half as annoying when they were wrong. “Sometimes,” he said at last, after a long moment of comfortably tense silence stretched between them, “I really hate you.”

Marbury grinned again, straightening and leaning back on the couch. “Of course you do, Gerald. That is simply the way of things.”

Leo rolled his eyes, because Marbury’s not-smile was back to insulting him in an impossibly British manner, and so he said, “Even if I am predictable, by the way, there are plenty of worse things than that. Someone could be like you, for instance.”

He smirked. ‘Let’s go,’ it said, and he knew Marbury read it loud and clear.