Fluffy

Hiatus

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 15:43:44 GMT

I'm not sure if anyone's noticed, but I have been very inactive on LJ lately. I haven't been posting (what's new?) and I haven't been replying to journal entries I'd normally reply to. I apologize if I've missed anything important, and haven't been there to provide support or anything.

I've been trying to redirect my life as of late. I am, by nature, a hermit. I don't often socialize, leaving me to spend most of my time on the internet/LJ. Lately, I've been trying to change that. I'm extending my social network, while also working hard academically. Together, these leave me very little time for internets, causing me to neglect you guys.

I am really sorry if I've missed anything important, but I really need this. I love you all, and consider you guys my friends, but the ratio of time spent in NL versus RL was getting unhealthy.

So this is me, announcing my hiatus.

Does this mean SR has been abandoned? Not at all. Will I be posting the next chapter soon? In all likelihood, probably not.

Will I be reading your posts? Yes and no. I may occasionally pop onto LJ, and go through your individual pages, instead of friends' paging it. I'll probably be skipping fic, just because of time. Will I be commenting? Not really. I may occasionally, but please don't be offended if you don't receive one from me.

I AM contactable, though. If you'd like my e-mail address (the one I check more frequently than flufshepherd@yahoo.com) just ask and I'll give. E-mail conversations are super-duper, and don't take as much time out of my life than LJ does.

Thank you for understanding.

THIS JOURNAL IS NOW ON HIATUS

Award!

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 19:19:24 GMT

Sour Revenge won another award!

Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Thank you to all who voted for me, and to whoever nominated me!

"Keeps true to characters, amazing writing,and the story flows easily. Description is good.
Love the way the relationship evolves."

Thanks, Kitty, for showing me! *tackle hug*

Layout: It's New

Sat, 07 Jun 2008 03:37:51 GMT

Okay, so first I have a few questions that I want to get out of the way.

1) Is there any way a basic account user can put up an original header, or am I stuck with what I've got? I like this layout, I just don't want to have a header that I didn't create. I'm weird like that.

2) Is there any way a basic account user can change the layout of the friend's page and not the recent posts page?

... or am I screwed on both counts?

And, I said I'd update on RL here, too, so for those who aren't interested, look away now.

Earlier this year I was experiencing a terrible slump - one of the worst I've ever had. I was very uninterested in everything, very anti-social, and very lazy. I suspected depression, but seeing as how I've been feeling much better lately, I'm just chalking it up to a case of 'feeling blue.' Hopefully I'll never feel that down again. It could have had something to do with the last remaining of my cats passing away, but I was feeling down before that, anyway, so who can really say?

That was months ago, though. I've been getting much better. Made more friends, re-bonded with older ones, got closer to my family. I've even had some ideas for writing - fic *and* original. I just haven't quite gotten to the writing yet. Also, I still maintain the 'no writing until SR is finished' rule.

I'm also starting a project in which I'm going to read more literature. I was in Barnes & Noble today and realized how few books I've actually read. So I'm compiling a list. I'm going for well-known classics, so if anyone has any must-reads to recommend, please do!

I believe that's all that's up with me. So, how have you all been? I've been reading posts, but I'm still interested, if anyone has any new news.

Also, please help me with my layout questions! I'm rubbish at these sorts of things!

Tag - I'm it!

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 21:57:17 GMT

I have officially tagged my whole LJ. This means that you guys can subscribe to my Sour Revenge tag and this (through some process that I am to understand is not dissimilar to sorcery) lets you keep track of it without having to check my journal or friend me. I have many tags, so if you are more interested in icons, other fandom fics, or my rl-related posts, there are tags for all of those, and more.

Unfortunately, the Boxer layout doesn't let me display my tags, so I'm going to have to customize my journal. So, if you'll bare with me while I do that, I'll let you all know when the tags are see-able. I just wish LJ hadn't changed the way of customizing your journal; my choices are so limited now!

While tagging, I re-discovered what I had once called my "Howard" 'verse, for want of a better name. I have found that 'better name' and now it's called "A New Kind of Family." If you don't remember, that's the one where Spike and Drusilla had stolen a baby!Xander from the Sunnydale hospital and raised him as their own. I have many fics that I've started/outlined that I plan on continuing after I've finished SR, but I think ANKOF is going to be first on that list. Since it's not a real WIP, I can write single fics in that and post them with no responsibility.

Having learned from SR, I am very keen on the 'no responsibility' aspect of one-shot fics. No more WiPs for me. If I ever post anything multi-chapter, it will be fully completed by that point.

That's all for now. I have some vague RL news, but I'll put that in when I post the all-clear for the tags.

ETA: Uh... is it possible that free account users can't display their tags? Because I'm not seeing any option for it.

ETA part deux: Never mind. I see it depends on the layout you're using.

I Won an Award!!

Sun, 11 May 2008 14:53:00 GMT

Me!! I did!!

I never won an award before, so excuse me if I seem a bit happy, but

EEEE!!!

Thank you, takhen for bringing it to my attention!

"Keeps true to characters, amazing writing,and the story flows easily. Description is good.
Love the way the relationship evolves."

I'm is happy.

Congratulations to the other winners and runner-ups!

If I didn't have so much to do today, I'd celebrate by writing more SR. Though, next weekend is pretty empty for me, if I recall...

Because I love my beta...

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 20:51:41 GMT

*hugs kitty_poker1*

That will be all...

Smells like things are happening...

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 20:01:49 GMT

My f-list seems to be shining up with happy reactions re: LJ's wonderful new ideas which completely keep users' happiness in mind and definitely don't slap us all in the faces.

So, yeah. Am I taking part in the strike?* Yes. Yes, I am.

Because, oddly, I don't really like getting slapped in the face. Weird, innit?

Also, I'm probably going to become more active in my InsaneJournal. That is, I'm going to start moving my fics and icons over. And I'll be double posting. (If you're reading this in IJ, then I guess you don't really need to be told that. :-P)

My biggest issue with completely abandoning LJ right now is that I know that LJ is more active in the fandoms, and I don't want to miss anything. Until the tables have completely turned, you can find me at either site.

If any of you are wondering where the hell I've been with the last chapters of SR, thank you for sticking with me through all of my impossible writing droughts. I want to promise you that I'll have some for you soon, but I can't do that. I want to finish writing this ASAP, but I'm realistic enough to know that it may not happen.

I'm trying, though. Please understand that.

I'm wondering if it'd just be easier for everyone if I waited until I completely finished the series before posting anything. I'm approximating that there will only be 3 more, and I feel like, once I get passed this one rough spot, I might be able to pull it together with some speed.

Any thoughts?

BTW... I'm pretty psyched about getting 100 userpics at IJ. Now I get to show off the pretties I've been working on for the past few months. :-D :-D

*I know, I know. As if I'd have posted that day, anyway, right?

Sour Revenge 30

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 19:55:30 GMT

*peeks out* Does anybody remember me?

I hope you all had excellent holidays. My life since last posting has been full of various ups and downs. Cat died, had an experience almost close to romantic, had wonderful holidays, and, what you're all probably most interested in, wrote a new chapter of Sour Revenge. I experimented a little bit with this chapter, so I'm pretty nervous about it.

Some day, this series will be finished. Once that happens, I hope to write many stand-alones in loads of different fandoms. Also, I'm so going to create an icon journal. You have no idea how many icons I have waiting to be posted.

I predict three more chapters of this series, not including this. For a sane person, this might take about a week. But, since I'm me, who knows when I'll be done? Feedback will definitely encourage me to write faster, though. *g*

Title: Sour Revenge, Part 30
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Entire series is NC-17, though this chapter's PG-13.
Concrit: Very welcome in comments.
Disclaimer: The characters, story, and rating system are not mine and since I'm not making any money, nobody should care that I'm using them.

Summary: Whole series written for willowschild who asked for "A variant on what happened to Xander when he cast the love spell. Only instead of attracting all women it was all men and the only one who could break the spell was his true love."

Beta'd by the fantastic and brilliant kitty_poker1.

Previous parts here.

Thank you authoressnebula for the banner and icon!

---
Xander contemplated Spike's face for a moment before shaking his head, regretfully. "Spike, you... you kill people. I can't just overlook that. Yeah, I like you. A lot," Xander pretended to ignore Spike's self-satisfied smirk at that remark and continued, "but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I dated a murderer."

Spike frowned and looked away. After a few seconds, he sniffed and turned back to Xander. "I could stop," he said with false conviction.

Xander didn't pretend not to notice it. "No, you couldn't."

...

Spike grinned back. "Get a coffee with me. No big deal. No candles, no kissing, no sexiness, no genocide. Non-committal coffee."

The moment Xander ran his hand through his hair, hesitating, both he and Spike knew that Spike had won that round. Xander met Spike's eyes and ignored the intensity that greeted him. "Yeah, okay. Coffee."

-----------------------

Xander left the lights off as he walked into Giles' living room. He could make out Spike's white outline in the darkness. He kneeled before Spike and nudged him gently. Spike didn't even stir.

For not the first time in the past few weeks, Xander wished Spike was human. Then he wouldn't have to worry about the fact that Spike was sleeping so soundly at 3 AM.

How long had it been? Just two weeks?

"You win, all right? You don't have to do this anymore. Just wake up, you stubborn corpse." There was no response. Xander wasn't expecting one.

-----------------------

Getting Giles to agree to let Xander go on a date with a mass murderer was easier than Xander had expected it to be. The argument, "he hasn't killed me yet," didn't go down too well, but all Xander had to do was explain to Giles that he was resolved in giving this relationship a chance, however foolish it was. Giles seemed to realize then that if Xander was going to do something so, well, insane, then it was better that he knew about it than not. Before he was permitted to go, though, Xander was forced to eat more garlic than he ever wanted to, put on two crosses, and sprinkle himself with holy water.

As he left, Giles bade him be careful and gave him a look so intense that Xander wanted to go back to his storage-closet-turned-bedroom and hide under the covers there forever.

Xander tried to give him a reassuring smile and gestured at himself. "With all these precautions, I think I'll be having the safest sex of any teen in Sunnydale." When he saw Giles' eyes widen at that, Xander quickly amended, "Not that we're going to be having sex! This is a strict no-sex date. Just coffee!"

Giles didn't smile, but there was clearly amusement in his eyes as he wished Xander a good night.

Standing outside Giles' apartment, Xander inhaled the cool air. "Just coffee." He looked up at the sky and exhaled slowly. "Just coffee with a vampire."

-----------------------

Thinking he might have heard a creaking floorboard, Xander glanced nervously at the stairs. The ensuing silence assured him that it had just been one of those nighttime sounds that you can only hear when you're doing something wrong and terrified of getting caught.

Xander swallowed. He was terrified, all right, but he was resolved. With one hand rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles on Spike's forehead, Xander slid his other hand into his pocket and pulled out the switchblade he had stolen from the library earlier that day. He opened the blade and traced it with his thumb, wondering if there were any other school in the country where, if a student wanted to steal a weapon from the library, a switchblade would be the least dangerous of all his options. He wondered if there were any other schools in the country where a student would think to steal a weapon from the library at all.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Giles told him all the reasons why he shouldn't do what he was about to. He began to tap the knife against his knee with a quick and nervous rhythm. When Spike's outline appeared to jerk in its sleep, Xander's hand quickly shot back to his side. As his pupils began to adjust to the darkness, Xander was able to make out Spike's features more clearly.

Spike's lips were parted. Xander smiled to himself as he wondered if Spike would be snoring right now, were he the kind of guy who needed to breathe.

------------------------

This was awkward. This was more than awkward. This was impossibly awkward.

Xander didn't know what he was expecting, but he knew it wasn't this. He was used to Spike being Mr. Smooth Seducer, never short on confidence or something raunchy to say.

This was not the Spike he was used to.

This Spike was... well, for one, he wasn't wearing his normal black tee, red shirt, duster combo. Oh no, this Spike was wearing a navy blue sweater. His face, which usually radiated all of the confidence he couldn't have fit into his words, was shut to Xander, and his eyes, which usually sparkled with life way more than any dead guy's eyes had a right to sparkle with, were fixed squarely on the coffee he held in his hands.

When he'd arrived, Spike was already waiting for him, standing outside the café and shifting his weight from leg to leg. They had exchanged their mutual and civil compliments, enquired after their health - or lack thereof, in Spike's case - ordered their drinks, and then, well, then nothing. They sat in mutual and impossibly awkward silence, only occasionally interrupted by one of them clearing their throats, causing the other to raise his eyes, which, once met, caused the original throat-clearer to lower his awkwardly as the silence reaffirmed itself.

They sat this way until they had both finished their drinks, at which point Xander started chuckling.

Spike started nervously as if somebody had fired a gun and stared at Xander, perplexed. "What?"

Still smiling, Xander waved his hand at Spike. "Relax." When Spike didn't, Xander started laughing again.

Spike frowned and crossed his arms impatiently. "What?" he repeated.

"It's nothing," Xander assured him, unreassuringly. Spike just continued to stare at him, frown deepening. Xander stopped laughing and gestured towards Spike. "It's just... look at you!"

Spike looked at himself. Then he looked at Xander, still frowning.

"What are you doing?"

Spike didn't need to ask what Xander was talking about, but he did it anyway.

"You are Spike, right? William the Bloody? The same big bad vampire who has been stalking me and tricked me into blowing him in public?" Spike broke his frown to smirk at the memory. "The evil fiend who has killed unfeelingly and indiscriminately for over a century?"

Spike didn't exactly appreciate that remark, but he couldn't really find any point to dispute. "What of it?" he asked, instead.

Xander was beginning to feel what it was like to be the confident predator. He had the power in this conversation right now and it was making him giddy. No wonder Spike liked it so much. "Do you realize that you just sat through a train-wreck of a date acting like some nervous teenaged boy?"

Spike straightened his spine in offense and Xander smiled playfully at him. "You weren't any better," Spike countered.

"Well, I think I have more of a right to it, considering the circumstances. You, on the other hand, have just regressed 100 plus years and quite possibly have lost the respect of the entire vampire community."

Xander's words had their desired effects. The challenging nature that usually flowed through Spike's personality returned with full force. He grinned, and Xander could tell that he had just lost that power he had been growing fond of. He wasn't mourning the loss, though.

"Night's not over, pet. If you want, I can show you just how little I resemble a nervous child."

Xander shook his head, 'no,' but his eyes betrayed him. Xander was definitely not averse to the idea of some 'grown-up fun.'

Spike grinned. "You so want me."

"No. I don't."

"Love, this is textbook stuff. You say 'no', but your eyes say 'yes'."

"No it's not."

"Is too."

"Is no-- Okay, maybe it is. But it's not. I'm not going to do anything groiny with you tonight, Spike. Or any time soon."

While it sounded an awful like rejection, to Spike, it was a promise. "That mean you will any time not-soon?"

Xander paused before looking down. "Maybe," he whispered. When he looked up to meet Spike's eyes, they were dancing.

"How soon is 'not-soon'?"

"Why? How long are you willing to wait?"

Spike let his eyes roam Xander's seated body. There was nothing special about this body that he couldn't find anywhere else. Hell, he could get up right now and, after a night on the town, could go home with three boys who'd be perfectly willing to give him what he wanted from Xander. But, for some reason, the idea made him sick. After long consideration, Spike answered, "Forever."

His answer surprised them both.

"Why?" Xander asked.

"Buggered if I know."

Xander seemed to be satisfied. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the waitress came over to give them their bill.

Without looking at it, Spike covered it with a fifty and told her to keep the change. Xander and the waitress stared at him in shock. Spike shrugged. "Came into a decent amount of money today." It was all the explanation anybody was going to get out of him, and the look in Spike's eyes said that it was not up for discussion.

When the waitress left, Spike moved to stand up, but Xander stopped him. "Three weeks," he muttered.

"Three weeks what?"

"Three weeks. No sexy touching or anything. Not even kisses. Don't even look at me below the waist."

Spike blinked. "Come on, pet. Isn't that a bit harsh?"

"That's not even the worst part." Spike motioned for Xander to continue. "I want you to not kill anybody. Think of it as a no-carbs diet. Only, instead of carbs, it's murder."

Spike chuckled. "Not bloody likely," he challenged, arms crossed again.

"Those are my conditions. Three weeks of keeping it in your pants and keeping your fangs from stopping any pulses. Or any other part of you from stopping pulses."

"And what, exactly, is my grand prize for doing this? Not that I'm agreeing, mind."

Xander looked down, feeling very self conscious. "Me."

Spike sat to full attention. "What - like a slave?"

Xander wondered if he should be concerned about that slightly evil glint in Spike's eyes and tone.

"No. Like... a boyfriend."

Narrowing his eyes, Spike leaned back again. "What privileges come with that?"

"Well, for one, I'd be more willing to trust you." Spike snorted. "You'd probably be more respected among my friends." Another snort. "We would spend more time with each other." No snort.

Xander smiled. "I wouldn't object to doing... things. And I'd only do them with you - no one else."

Spike raised an eyebrow and started nodding.

"Of course, that also means you are obliged to obey the same restrictions."

"Bollocks to that!"

Xander scowled. "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

Spike surprised them both again by considering it. "I'll take it."

Xander blinked. "Good."

---------------------

With the hand that wasn't holding the knife, Xander traced Spike's lips. He had kissed those lips. It seemed to long ago, but he could remember it with perfect clarity. He doubted that he would ever forget the way Spike's lips felt against his. Cordelia's kisses weren't even comparable to Spike's.

Cordelia. All Xander's second thoughts diminished as he thought of her. It was because of Cordelia that any of this had happened. If she had been willing to sacrifice her shallow status of popularity-queen... But she hadn't. Xander wasn't worth that sacrifice to her. Spike, though. Spike did sacrifice so much more than Cordelia was unwilling to.

Here Spike lay before him, still sacrificing, even though Xander said it was okay, that he could stop. Xander had given him a free pass, but Spike refused. Spike was sacrificing his two closest friends, with whom he had shared over a century of memories, and he was doing it for Xander. He was sacrificing not only his lifestyle, but his freaking life. Of course the dumbass vampire was too stubborn to admit that he was sacrificing that.

"Why would you do this? What are you trying to prove?" But, of course, Spike stayed just as still as before. "Dumbass," Xander added, for good measure.

Xander shook his head. He was ready.

-------------------

Giles brought up a good point when Xander told him about his deal. What was going to stop Spike from lying? Xander hadn't thought of that before, but Spike had and was pissed as hell that Giles mentioned it.

"I'm not a liar." He was, so he didn't feel guilty by saying so.

"Can he stay here?" Giles and Spike turned to look at Xander as if he'd just suggested they all take off their clothes, cover themselves with jam and walk to the Bronze. They responded at the same time.

"Hell no."

"I don't think that's wise."

Xander didn't drop the issue. "Giles, come on. If he stays here, we can make sure he's not up to anything mischievous. And, Spike, think of it as... a temporary break from Angelus. I know you think he's a... ponce, or whatever you called him. He doesn't have an invite here, so he'll be out of your hair for three weeks."

Spike seemed to be pleased with Xander's argument, but Giles was still unconvinced. "And what, exactly, would stop him from killing us both in our sleep?"

Spike didn't bother taking offense to that jab. It was a fair enough question, considering that was one of his first thoughts. It was also one of the reasons he objected to the idea. If he was going to be starving himself for three weeks, he was bound to start viewing Xander and his new father-figure as TV dinners.

Xander looked at Spike and seemed to be thinking the same thing. "We could confine him?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "I doubt Rupert here is the type who has spare handcuffs lying around the house, pet."

Giles coughed politely and moved to his linen closet. He pulled out a set of shackles from within.

Spike barked out a laugh. "What aspect of your night-life do those fall into, Rupert? Bein' a watcher, or bein' an over-the-hill, filthy pervert?"

As a response, Giles looked Spike squarely in the eyes and said calmly, "I'm not that old."

While Xander covered his eyes uncomfortably, Spike just had to raise an eyebrow appreciatively. "Nice."

"Okay, before I go stab my own eyes out," Xander said, still covering his face, "does this mean that Spike can stay?"

Giles looked over the shackles, then at Spike. "As long as he doesn't mind spending three weeks in chains, promises not to be as annoying as I know he's planning on being, and doesn't mind drinking exclusively pig's blood, I see no reason to object."

"Like hell I'm drinking that disgusting shite. Can't you just steal me some from the hospital?"

Xander looked to Giles, who replied, "The hospital uses that blood to save lives. You'd be amazed at how many people in Sunnydale are rushed to the hospital for blood transfusions." Pointedly looking at Spike, he added, "Nobody can quite explain why so many patients suffer from mysterious blood loss."

"Oi, don't look at me, mate. Mine never make it to the hospital." Spike quickly realized what he had said, and looked at Xander, hoping he hadn't just ballsed everything up.

Xander rubbed his eyes and sighed. He forced a smile. "I guess it's a good thing you're going through rehab now, then."

-------------------

Without giving himself any more time to change his mind, he slid the blade across his forearm and hoped the school psychiatrist didn't ever see the mark he was definitely going to leave.

Spikes nostrils flared as Xander moved his arm closer to Spike's face. He pressed the open wound to Spike's mouth. The moments Xander had to wait before Spike reacted were impossibly nerve-wracking.

"Now don't go pretending you're not hungry. Just drink it," Xander pleaded. Spike didn't react.

"Drink it!" Xander hissed. "Drink!"

He almost started shouting, but he finally felt Spike's tongue reach out and make contact with his arm. He drew a jagged breath when he felt Spike begin to start sucking in earnest.

He soon began to feel light-headed and surprisingly aroused. As the seconds ticked by and Spike continued to take from Xander, Xander's prayers soon changed from "let him realize what he's doing before he kills me dead" to "please make my boner go away before Giles discovers my corpse tomorrow morning."

------------------

Spike was fine for the first few days, if not a little bit of a nuisance. Xander liked having him around, though. Coming home and hearing Giles and Spike bickering was almost like coming home to his own parents, only here, Xander knew that these two people both cared about him. It was a great feeling.

Soon, though, they started to witness changes in Spike. He was clearly getting thinner and paler. He was beginning to sleep more and his usual light-hearted arguments with Giles began to take on a new, vicious side. Strangely, though, Spike never lashed out at Xander.

Giles threatened to kick him out countless times, but didn't. Xander wasn't sure if it was because he felt sorry for Spike, or because he was terrified of unlocking the shackles.

Xander tried to offer pig's blood to Spike, but each time he was met with disgust and childish stubbornness. He left it within Spike's reach, but it remained untouched.

When Spike passed out mid-sentence while he and Xander were talking, Xander had to pour two glasses of ice-cold water before he woke up again. That night, Xander offered Spike his own blood. Spike grabbed Xander's hand tightly, growled, and told Xander never to make the mistake of offering that again, because he was not always going to have the self-control to turn it down.

Things continued to decline in this way for a while, until Xander decided he was going to do something about it. If Spike was going to continue being so stubborn, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

That night, when Giles served him garlic steak for dinner, Xander returned his plate with all the garlic still on it.

------------------

He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Spike let go of his arm.

"Spike?"

He almost thought Spike had fallen back asleep until Spike shifted his head closer to Xander and slowly opened his eyes. "Thought I told you not to do that."

Xander laughed and wiped some tears off his face. "Did you? I must not have been listening."

Spike snorted and shut his eyes again. They remained in silence for a few moments. Xander was considering getting up and letting Spike get back to sleep, but he wasn't sure if he could get his legs to function enough for him to do so.

Eventually, Spike lifted an eyelid and spoke again. "Fuck, Xan. What do you eat? Taste like a bleedin' gourmet meal, you do."

Xander blinked, slightly taken aback by the unusual compliment. He assumed it was as close to a 'thank you' as he was going to get. He nodded and winked. "Always expect the best quality at Chez Xander's."

A very, very late b-day pressie

Sun, 14 Oct 2007 17:38:28 GMT

*achem*

A bit over 6 months ago, a certain lovely lady had a birthday. I promised her a Jeeves/Wooster fic, and now, finally, she can have it. Ignoring that it's now closer to an early birthday present than a late one:

Happy Birthday, skyblue_reverie! I hope you like it. :-D

Title: A Reflection
Author: flufshepherd
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,821
Warnings: See rating.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.

Summary: Bertie reflects on how his relationship with Jeeves became the way it has.

A/N: A super-late birthday pressie for skyblue_reverie, beta'd by the marvelous, fantastic, marvelously fantastic kitty_poker1. Thank you, Kitty!

I knew I loved Jeeves from the very first time I saw him crack a smile. If you know Jeeves, you know that earning a smile from the man is as likely as my good friend Barmy Phipps becoming a first-rate philosopher. That's not to say that Barmy's got a completely hollow noggin atop his shoulders; I just mean that some people are thinkers, and some are smilers. Jeeves is one, Barmy the other, and those lines are rarely crossed.

So, the first time I ever saw Jeeves smile I was suddenly overcome with the urge to see it again. And again. And again and again and again until his cheeks practically fell off. Not only did I want to see it happen, I wanted to cause it.

Now while I'm a bit quicker than Barmy in the thinking department, I've never considered myself the brainiest of coves. Even so, I recognized that this was not the normal type of feeling a gentleman should have for his gentleman's personal gentleman. I mean to say, if every chap in the world went around desperately trying to earn a smile from his manservant's lips, well, the world would be in an altogether different sort of state, would it not?

I paid no mind to that rational voice in my head and went on with questing for more of Jeeves' smiles. I'm sure Jeeves caught on to my plans, as I was not entirely subtle with going about them. I stayed in his company for much longer periods, repeated to him all of the latest jokes immediately after hearing them, and even once, to the dismay of both of us, attempted to cook dinner.

Jeeves said nothing on the matter of my new goal. He did, though, grace me with a grin or two, which set my heart a-flutter and made me feel as if somebody had emptied me of my intestines and replaced them with warm cotton-balls and melted chocolate. I was well-enough versed in the matters dealt within novels by Rosie M. Banks to clearly recognize these symptoms.

It was love.

How our relationship went from that to involving acts of a more carnal nature, I can only guess. We'd never truly put our relationship into words. I suppose the only way to truly trace how we went from an employer/employee relationship to a more, well, chummy one, would be to tell of each significant 'first' of ours, if you know what I mean.

Our first kiss happened only a few weeks after I had discovered my love for my man Jeeves. I'd returned to the flat from the Drones not completely unaffected by the rather generous proportions of alcohol I had ingested during lunch.

As I stumbled in through the door, Jeeves was standing there, perfect in his tall, manly manservant way, entirely nonchalant and smelling wonderful, as he does. As he leant forward to rid me of my hat and umbrella with a knowing glint in his eye and a, "I hope you had a pleasant luncheon, sir,” something in my head (I have not yet eliminated the afternoon's wine from the suspect list) convinced me to lean forward with him and quickly peck him on the cheek.

To clarify, I use the word 'peck' to mean 'light kiss,' and not 'bird's bite.'

Jeeves was hardly surprised. That is, his eyes did widen ever so slightly for the quickest of moments, but I suspect that the chap had known about my emotions and their nature for quite a while. I was not disappointed at all when he responded to my affection with another of his cotton-balls and melted chocolate inducing smiles. I beamed back at him and that was, as they say, that.

No words were exchanged on the matter, and every day since then, whenever Jeeves or I returned to the flat and was greeted by the other, a quick kiss on the cheek was to be added to the ritual. That is, of course, if we weren't in the presence of others. We never said, but Jeeves and I both seemed to agree that signs of such affection weren't appropriate to share in front of relatives, chums, or strangers.

I'm not sure when it happened, but soon these chummy k.'s on the c. became more frequent, and not just reserved for doorway greetings. A cup of tea, for example, could merit such a k. on the c. . Meals, also. A nice tune on the piano occasionally invited one, and sometimes they were spurred on for no special occasion at all. Every night, as Jeeves tucked yours truly into bed asking if that will be all, sir, his lips were pressed lightly to the old Wooster face, and dashed if it weren't my favourite kiss of the day.

It took me a while to muster up the courage for it, but one night, as Jeeves moved to plant the last kiss of the day, I tilted my head slightly, so that instead of landing on my cheek, his lips landed atop mine own. Jeeves made an affirmative noise and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, and I smiled into the kiss. Since then, that, too, was added to the list of daily rituals of the Wooster-Jeeves household.

Our first foray into the much more physical aspects of our relationship was also of my - what's the word? Starts with an 'i', I believe. Imitate... Inebriate... Initiation! That's the one. I initiated this event, as I did the cheek-pecks and the night-snogs. Jeeves, I imagine, awaited each initiation with perfect patience, waiting for me to be ready for the advancements in our relationship. I sometimes wished he wouldn't be such a gentleman in these matters, because I'd have found it much easier if he'd initiated these advancements once or twice.

Our nightly snogs, as you can guess, were my favourite parts of the day. Or would that be 'part of the days'? Either way, they were looked forward to all day with anticipation. I often went to bed earlier than the rest of my body desired just to feel my manservant's lips against my own. Jeeves, I could tell, had quite similar feelings, as I do recall him suggesting I head off to the sack earlier than the norm, as well.

One night, nearly two months after our first lip-on-lip kiss, and nearly three since our first doorway peck-on-cheek, with my tongue in its favourite mouth, I nervously slid my hand from its normal resting spot on the back of Jeeves' shoulder, down his back until I was tracing the top of his trousers with my fingers. Jeeves' quiet groan was enough encouragement for me, and I slid my hands further down, cupping his buttocks. From this position, I pulled Jeeves forward, and soon Jeeves was lying on top of me, legs on either side of my own. We had to move the blankets from between us, but soon I was pleased to find Jeeves' frame pressed against my own.

With each of our groins in such close proximity to the other's, it took little time for me to feel a stirring in my nether-regions, and to feel an answering one pressing against it. I arched my hips and pressed harder into Jeeves' hardness. Jeeves whimpered, and I raised my legs to wrap them around his body.

Jeeves reached between us and in a move that I couldn't possibly repeat, undid his flies and lowered both of our trousers so quickly that, before I could blink, both our erections were out in the open. I had to unwrap my legs for him to be able to rid our legs of any garments, but once that task was completed, I immediately replaced them.

I pressed myself against Jeeves as hard as I could and whimpered. Jeeves, who was kissing beneath my ears, moved his hand so that he was grasping both our hardnesses. He squeezed and I yelped and my hips moved of their own accord to his hand.

I am used to Jeeves taking most matters into his own hands, this instance being more literal than most others, but I just didn't find it fair that he be responsible for both of us in this task, so I quickly took his own erection from his hand, and soon we were both tugging and pulling each other closer to our climaxes.

All from that point was a great blur of thrusting, stroking, squeezing, kissing, and groaning. Soon, though, I found myself pulsing out into Jeeves' hand and not too long after felt Jeeves come to his own end.

Jeeves may not appreciate my reporting this, but I feel it extremely important to mention that when Jeeves orgasms, his entire body stills, his eyes close, as if in deep concentration, and he lets out what seems to be a mix between a long, shuddering breath, and a groan. Such a noise I could not imitate, but from that night on, I have found it my duty to draw it from him as often as possible. The sound sends all sorts of lovely shivers down the Wooster framework.

I'd report our first full-on intercourse, but, upon reflection, it is nearly identical to the encounter above, only it lasted a bit longer and included more oil and less nervousness and occurred exactly one night later.

Well, that was how Jeeves and I went from having a proper employee/employer relationship to a more romantic one. Though we never put the thing into words, we both understand that there are rules to our companionship. We both avoid getting tangled up in romantic relationships outside of our own one, but as my devoted readers would know, it's often hard for me to escape such r. r.'s, so Jeeves knows that when such happens, it's his duty to steer me clear of these sinister entanglements.

We also know to exercise complete discretion with our love. I say love, because, while we never say it to each other, we both jolly well know that that's what we feel. Jeeves can read me like an open book, and there have been more than one chain of events that have led me to knowing full well that Jeeves' feelings for one Bertram Wilberforce Wooster are not those just of lust.

Perhaps some day I will record one or two of those c.'s of e.'s, but that will have to be a job for another day. Reminiscing on these events has led to me wanting to spend more time with my beloved gentleman's personal gentleman. After all, he is coming back from the shops soon, and I'd hate to miss out on being there to reintroduce my lips to his face once more, if for no reason more than to see the smile that will greet me afterwards. Jeeves really does have a wonderful smile, you see.

I seem to have written a Life on Mars fic...

Sat, 06 Oct 2007 20:21:21 GMT

I think I mentioned this before. I don't think anyone on my f-list is into LoM, so this is probably of little interest to any of you. But, while I'm here, I do really recommend the show to all of you. It's only two series long, eight episodes per series, and it's pretty damn fantastic.

And it's slashy. That's why I'm here now. :-P

This fic isn't very good, and is probably (definitely) confusing if you've never seen the series. Hm... I think I'm just going to shut up and post it before I start saying not to read it.

Title: A Visit
Author: flufshepherd
Fandom: Life on Mars
Pairing: Gene/Sam, Sam/Maya
Rating: Green Cortina (PG)
Word Count: 2,239
Warnings: SPOILERS probably straight through to the end.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.

Summary: DCI Sam Tyler receives a visit from some strange men.

A/N: This is my first fic in this fandom. I always thought my first LoM fic would be some type of PWP with loads of fighting, banter, and some good, old fashioned ignoring of emotions mixed in. Instead, I was bitten by this plot bunny. It seemed like an awesome idea at the time, and I hope it came out at least somewhere close to that. Anyway… fic:
ETA: I can't believe I forgot to put this in, but a huge THANK YOU to kitty_poker1 for the beta!

They weren't in the room, but Sam still saw them immediately through the partially-blinded windows. Just two elderly men, nothing out of the ordinary, but Sam couldn't draw his attention away from them.

They looked to be about 70 years old, maybe a bit younger. One was clearly heavier than the other, and that one didn't look too happy about being there. The skinnier, maybe even younger, one made eye contact with Sam and smiled. Sam frowned and tilted his head. The men looked so familiar but he just couldn't place them. Know them or not, he couldn't look away. He was drawn to them. He wanted to go over to them, talk to them. More than that. He needed to.

"... -- Sam."

His name drew him out of his unjustifiable haze. He looked up to find Maya looking at him with concern and confusion.

"Sorry," he quickly apologized, covering her hand with his. "I was on another planet. What were you saying?"

"I was asking my new Detective Chief Inspector if he wanted to head down to the pub for a celebratory drink." Maya was beaming at him, and Sam had to blink. He still wasn't used to hearing himself being called a DCI. He'd spent a long time reaching for that position, and now that he'd finally gotten it, it felt slightly awkward. Like trying on a new type of shoe. Though, this was one pair that Sam Tyler had spent his life trying to afford, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to get used to it and make sure he deserved to wear it for as long as he bloody well could.

"DCIs don't drink on the job, Maya," Sam said, smiling at her. "Tell you what, though. Make us reservations at the nicest restaurant you can think of. We're going to celebrate the best day of my life the right way."

She leaned closer to him and spoke with a lowered voice. "And then, maybe we can go back to your flat and try to finish it with the best night of your life."

Sam's smile widened. "I so love you," he said, pulling her hand to his lips. "Now, go make those reservations. That's an order."

Maya turned from Sam's desk with a quick, "Yes, sir, Detective Chief Inspector," and went straight to her computer, no doubt looking up the fanciest and most expensive restaurants in all of Manchester.

Sam looked down at the files spread out on his desk, trying to ignore the nagging feeling inside begging him to just to glance at the window once more. He couldn't help it; he looked.

The larger man had his hand on the other's shoulder and was leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Sam couldn't explain it; the men were all the way on the other side of the office, standing outside, the office itself was just as busy and noisy as it had ever been, and yet Sam heard the whispered words, clear as day.

"We should go, Sam, before you do something stupid."

Sam frowned at the words, and so did the other man - the other Sam - from the other side of the window. Before he could stop and consider what he was doing, Sam was out of his seat and walking with considerable speed across the room. Within seconds, he was out the door and staring face-to-face with the men.

He wasn't sure what to say. What could he possibly say after rushing across a busy police office just because he was afraid of two strange old men leaving? He closed his eyes and shook his head clear. "Detective Chief Inspector Tyler," he introduced himself, extending an open hand to the larger, scowling man.

Instead of taking his hand, the man just looked at it distastefully, and then at his companion, who stepped forward and took the offered hand. "It's a pleasure, DCI Tyler. I'm so -- I mean, you're -- uh, congratulations. On the promotion. Detective Chief Inspector." The man was grinning like a madman and still hadn't stopped shaking Sam's hand. "You must be so happy."

Sam nodded and started to reply before the other man interrupted with a snort. "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head."

Sam frowned. That wasn't the politest way to congratulate a man who'd just been promoted to DCI. "I'll try not to," he said, not exactly succeeding in keeping all the sourness from his voice.

The smaller man released Sam's hand and turned to his companion. "Christ, Gene. For once in your life try to be nice to somebody. This is -" The man cut himself off and glanced at Sam. "I mean, this is probably one of the best experiences in DCI Tyler's life. Can't you ever just be supportive of... him?"

Sam narrowed his eyes and frowned at him. So did Gene.

"I've never even pretended to be nice to you. Why the 'ell would I want to start now?"

Sam redirected his narrowed eyes and frown.

"Oh, quit pretending to be tough. If that were true, we wouldn't even be here now. Definitely not together, at least."

"Pretending to be tough! Oh, Sammy-boy, I'll show you pretending." Gene grabbed the older Sam by the collar and pushed him against the windows. "Reckon they've still got a Lost & Found I can pummel you in?"

Before Sam could interfere, the older Sam surprised him by squirming out of Gene's grasp and hitting him over the head with an open hand. "Behave," he said, as if talking to a child.

Gene practically growled at Sam before looking around and noticing the attention they'd received from the busy police station.

Sam chuckled lightly. "Can't take you anywhere," he said, albeit fondly.

"Yet you still do," Gene said, with a pointed look around the station.

"I had to come," Sam responded, quietly. "I said you didn't have to."

Gene looked at him sympathetically and seemed as if he was about to say something, but younger Sam cleared his throat, reminding him of their audience.

The older Sam smiled at him. "Look, I know you don't know us and this might seem a little strange, but do you want to join us down the pub? We'll buy you a few rounds. You know, to celebrate your promotion."

"Sam," Gene said in a warning tone.

"That's all right," younger Sam responded. "I'm on duty. A good DCI doesn't drink on the job," he said for the second time in the last five minutes.

The older Sam snorted in amusement, and Gene rolled his eyes. "Never change your song, do you?" This remark, which Sam didn't entirely follow, just caused the older Sam to laugh harder. "Let's get out of here before you start telling me that smoking will kill me."

With a frown, Sam started to protest. "Sir, with all respect, smoking at your age --"

The older Sam held a hand up. "Stop now before he punches you in the gut."

Sam saw that Gene was scowling dangerously at him, so he drew himself up. "Are you threatening to hit a police officer?"

Gene's scowl turned into a feral grin as he turned to his companion, who was shaking his head with what seemed to be long-acquired patience. "Oh, come on, Sam. He's got to get used to it some time."

Younger Sam began to tense his body, contemplating whether he could bring himself to hit an old man if he needed to. Before he was pushed to the test, older Sam put a restraining hand on Gene's shoulder. "Gene, how about you go wait for me in the car? Before you cause some serious damage."

Gene nodded, but before he turned to go, Sam was surprised, not to mention even more confused, when Gene cast what seemed to be a concerned look to his companion.

"I'll be fine," older Sam assured him.

Gene sniffed and glared at him carefully. "Just don't go changing history, yeah?" And with that ambiguous comment, he left, and the two Sams stood awkwardly looking at each other.

Sam still couldn't figure out why he'd even come out here in the first place. He should go back into his office, back to his team. He kept trying to think of a good way to excuse himself from the conversation. Anything would do. 'I've got work to do.' 'My girlfriend is probably wondering where I went.' 'You should probably go stop your friend from causing too much trouble.' Or, more realistically, 'I have to get the hell out of here because just talking to you seems wrong and I can't explain it and I can't stand things I can't explain, so excuse me as I go back to my office and pretend I never came out here in the first place.' He couldn't bring himself to say any of them. Instead, he found himself saying, "So, you and Gene. Are you two...?”

"We're together, yeah."

Sam swallowed nervously. He wasn't expecting… well, he didn't know what he was expecting. He nodded. "Excuse me for saying so, but you must be mad or the most patient man alive."

"You wouldn't believe it." Older Sam paused a second, then with an odd smile, added, "Well, I guess you would. Anyway, he's not as bad as he pretends to be."

"That's good. I guess." Sam fixed his stare on the man facing him. When older Sam smiled at him, he smiled back, though he had no idea why they were smiling. He had to ask - "Look, this might be strange, or rude, but, well, do we know each other? I mean, do I know you? It just seems like -- I, uh, I don't know."

Older Sam took a long time before answering. "Yeah. You, uh, you've probably heard of me or seen me in the records. I used to work here. DI, uh, DI Skelton."

Sam nodded. It was an explanation. His gut was telling him that Mr. Skelton wasn't exactly telling the truth, but he had no reason to doubt him, so he just accepted it. Mr. Skelton seemed ready to change the topic, anyway.

"Look, Mr. Tyler. You should be... I mean, I'm sure you are so proud of yourself for finally doing it. Detective Chief Inspector," he said with a grin. "You’ve probably wanted that for as long as you've been a copper. Longer, I bet."

"Since I was a kid," Sam said, matching Mr. Skelton's grin.

The older Sam looked down for a second, and when he raised his head again, his smile was more wistful than proud. "Gene was right; I should probably go." He looked at the younger Sam for a moment. "Take your girlfriend out somewhere nice tonight. Celebrate your promotion. Celebrate life. It might get hard for you in a few years. Being a DCI, I mean. You might feel like you've gone mad more times than you can count. But it'll all be worth it. So worth it," he said with conviction and a big smile. "You'll be fine, and you'll do great."

For some reason, these words warmed Sam more than they probably should have. He lowered his head with a grin as the older Sam reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you," he said, looking up to meet Sam's eyes.

The older Sam nodded in return and moved to leave. He took a few steps to the elevator before turning around. The younger Sam was still there, watching him, as if rooted to the spot. "I hear The Silver Spoon is a very nice restaurant," he said with a knowing grin.

With that, Sam Skelton turned and left, leaving DCI Sam Tyler staring at a closed lift. He didn't know how long or why he stood there, but, soon enough, Maya's voice brought Sam out of his reverie once more.

"Sam, are you all right?"

He turned to her and realized he was still frowning slightly in confusion. He quickly smiled. "I'm fine. Great, even. Did you book us a place for tonight?"

Maya nodded. "A new place I've never heard of before. It's called The Silver Spoon, and it's supposed to be brilliant."

Sam's head snapped up and he looked sharply at the lift. "The Silver Spoon," he repeated softly.

"Heard of it?"

Sam shook away the strange feeling that had just shot up his spine. With a reassuring smile, he turned back to Maya. "Never in my life."

When Sam returned to his office, work seemed to pick up just where it had left off. A robbery investigation had landed on his desk, along with a mountain of papers for him to read and sign. Sam welcomed the work. Within minutes he'd nearly entirely forgotten about his surreal encounter with Gene and Sam.

He never saw them again, and soon enough he did entirely forget the men.

Had Sam known where to look, he might have noticed them many times during his life. He'd have seen them at each of his graduations. He'd have noticed them on the other side of the restaurant on his first date.

Had he known to listen for it, he'd have heard the bickering just a short distance away, behind a pillar, when a speeding car came out of nowhere and threw his body forward and his mind backward thirty years.

Sour Revenge 29

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 16:46:47 GMT

It would appear that I'm posting a chapter of a fic that most of you have probably forgotten. For those who haven't, I bring to you: Sour Revenge, 29.

Title: Sour Revenge, Part 29
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Entire series is NC-17, though this chapter is PG.
Concrit: Very welcome in comments.
Disclaimer: The characters, story, and rating system are not mine and since I'm not making any money, nobody should care that I'm using them.

Summary: Whole series written for willowschild who asked for "A variant on what happened to Xander when he cast the love spell. Only instead of attracting all women it was all men and the only one who could break the spell was his true love."

Beta'd by kitty_poker1, who I can never thank enough.

Previous parts here.

Thank you authoressnebula for the banner and icon!

---"No thanks, Will," Xander shook his head and stood up. "I kinda just want to go home."

Xander was already walking away from the group, so he didn't notice them freeze in their tracks. The words echoed between the three shocked and confused heads. Xander wanted to go back home? After all that?

When he reached the door, he turned back to Giles, completely oblivious to everyone's reactions. "You ready to go, Watcher man?"

When Giles realized what Xander was implying, whether purposefully or not, he smiled. Xander thought of his apartment as home. He gave a half nod and grabbed his jacket. "Yes," he said. "Let's go home."---

This was all getting a bit old for Angelus. This club, this loud pulsing music, this whole ignorant town. He was sick of it all. He looked over the railing, down at the Bronze. Though the place was packed, Angelus couldn't find a single meal worth sinking his teeth into. He might as well just start eating rats again; these people were hardly any better.

"I swear, as soon as that Slayer and her ridiculous band of nerds are dead, I am leaving this place and never coming back."

Angelus continued to watch the swarm of faces below him, but he wasn't looking for food anymore. He would just pick someone up on the way home.

He heard a low hum coming from behind him. It wasn't part of the "music" that the club was playing, he could tell. This was quiet - getting louder - and it was moving towards him. A thud, and then the hum became singing.

"I'm a little teapot, short and stout. When your lips aren't on me, I might pout."

"Drusilla," Angelus muttered to himself without turning around. "'Here is my handle; here is my spout.'"

"I don't much care for Handel," she complained.

"Who does?" Angelus turned around. "What are you doing here, Dru?"

Drusilla pouted. "I wanted to play, but poor William was too distracted. He's all criss-cross applesauce, and you're not helping much with that." She pointed an accusing finger and scowled. Then, she quickly let out a bark of laughter. "You're both very naughty boys."

"Go away, Dru."

"Angelus is building a tower of cards. Jacks upon Kings upon Queens. He's got to be very careful or it'll all come crashing, crashing down."

Angelus scowled. "I'm not in the mood for this, Drusilla. Just do what I say for once and go away."

"Play nice or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your tower down," she snapped. "Then I'll play poker with the stars."

Angelus was annoyed, but he wasn't stupid. He knew enough to know that this was not an idle threat. His face morphed from anger to calm patience. "What is it, Dru? How'll you blow down my tower?"

Drusilla looked up to the ceiling at her non-existent audience. "He asked, as if he didn't know."

Angelus walked over to Dru and took her hand. Laying a kiss on her palm, he looked up at her and asked once more. "If you tell me, I'll let you try to turn a pony again."

Drusilla grinned. "The Spander boys."

"Spander boys?" Angelus frowned. After a moment, he asked, "You mean Xander?"

"Spander," she insisted.

"Spander... Ah! Spander. Spike and Xander. Spander," he repeated. "Nice."

"I know all about your Spander plans. Trying to separate them, like you just did. 'Spike and Xander.' William has found himself a love and you want to make his pet wicked, like us. But it's not about the puppy. It's about her. It always is. You think he'll kill her. You underestimate the angels."

"What have you seen?"

Drusilla looked away. A teenaged boy caught her eye and she smiled coyly at him. Angelus grabbed her head and made her look back at him.

"What have you seen?"

Drusilla tried to match the anger and seriousness on Angelus' face but only managed to do so for a few seconds before breaking out into laughter. "Brutus shan't be carrying a knife in this salad."

Angelus snarled and tossed her away. Within seconds he was out of the Bronze and on his way to one of the more hardcore clubs in town, where there were sure to be some junkies. He was in the mood to kill and he could use a little bit of a mental escape.

---

Sitting on a bench downtown wasn't the smartest thing to do at night in Sunnydale, but Xander figured that, with a cross, stake, and more garlic than you'd find in the pizza shop behind him in his pocket, he was safe enough. Of course, if a demon came after him, that was a completely different story.

Normally, Xander wouldn't be foolish enough to sit there, vulnerable and alone, but he was waiting for somebody who would hopefully get there before any passing demons felt a hankering for a Xander Sandwich.

Not that he'd exactly told Spike that he would meet him there. He just hoped that Spike would do that normal annoying thing he did where he just showed up wherever Xander was.

Xander started bouncing his leg and wondering if, perhaps, this wasn't such a good idea, but Spike, reliable as, well, never, suddenly appeared from behind him.

"Don't think it's a fantastic idea to be sitting there on your own, Kitten." Spike's voice was emotionless enough so that Xander couldn't tell if the pet name was meant as an endearment or sarcastic insult. Xander chose insult.

"Call me Kitten again, and I'll scratch your eyes out."

Spike snorted and grinned, so Xander grinned back.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Isn't it about time for all good boys to be tucked into bed?"

"Couch, actually. And I was waiting for you," Xander admitted.

"There's a nice change." Spike paused, then looked around. "Why here? I never come here."

Xander looked at him with a frown. "You're here now."

Spike shrugged. "I smelled you." He coughed. "From that Thai place you like so much."

"The one all the way on the other side of Sunnydale?"

"I have a sensitive nose," Spike said, tapping it for good measure.

Xander smiled. "You were looking for me!"

"Well, you were putting your life in danger on the off chance that I'd show up, so I think it was a slightly good thing I was looking, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Xander said, still smiling.

"Why were you waiting for me, anyway? Thought you were still pretending to hate me."

Xander dropped his smile and looked at his feet. "I wanted to tell you that... that I told my friends."

"That's nice. Always be honest with your friends, s'what I always say. So, what'd you tell 'em about?"

"Us!" Xander couldn't help but smile with pride when he saw Spike jump at his annoyed outburst.

"Oi, no need to shout. Got sensitive ears, too, me." Xander just looked at Spike. "So, have I got to worry more about the Slayer, now?"

"I don't know. I mean, before, when she just wanted to kill you, you seemed to be able to handle your own end of the fight. But, now? Now I think she might want to talk instead of fight, so..."

"So I should be worried."

"Very."

They settled into a comfortable silence. Now that Spike was sitting beside him, Xander wasn't too worried about being ambushed by demons. It was strange to think of what was classified by everyone as an Evil Creature as protection, but that's how Xander saw Spike at that moment. He knew he shouldn't be too sure of it, but he felt positive that if, at that moment, they were attacked by some sort of creepy-crawly, Spike would protect Xander. It felt nice, but so scary at the same time.

Spike was looking at him with a contemplative expression on his face, and Xander didn't like where that might lead. His anxieties were soon justified.

"So," Spike was saying, "if you told your friends about you and me, does that mean there's a 'you and me' to tell about?"

It was a poorly articulated question, but Xander knew what he meant, and he was hardly one to judge. Spike was avoiding his eyes, and at this moment, Xander knew he held some power over one of the oldest and cleverest vampires in the world. It was this power that showed Xander that, no matter how much he wanted to doubt it before, he really was more than a hobby to Spike. The cocky asshole of a vampire did care about him.

"I guess it does," Xander admitted, after a pause.

The words took a few moments to register, but Xander saw the shift in Spike's face when they did. Spike looked at Xander's face, and Xander could tell he was feeling very pleased with himself.

"You want to go somewhere?" Spike asked. "Not now, mind you, but some night. We could go out to eat, or maybe get a coffee? Like a... a thing."

"A date?"

"Yeah. A date thing. You up for it?"

Xander contemplated Spike's face for a moment before shaking his head, regretfully. "Spike, you... you kill people. I can't just overlook that. Yeah, I like you. A lot," Xander pretended to ignore Spike's self-satisfied smirk at that remark and continued, "but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I dated a murderer."

Spike frowned and looked away. After a few seconds, he sniffed and turned back to Xander. "I could stop," he said with false conviction.

Xander didn't pretend not to notice it. "No, you couldn't."

"I wouldn't hurt you," Spike insisted.

"It'd be like necking with Hitler."

Spike looked affronted. "I am much more attractive than Hitler."

"Yeah, you are," Xander admitted with a grin.

Spike grinned back. "Get a coffee with me. No big deal. No candles, no kissing, no sexiness, no genocide. Non-committal coffee."

The moment Xander ran his hand through his hair, hesitating, both he and Spike knew that Spike had won that round. Xander met Spike's eyes and ignored the intensity that greeted him. "Yeah, okay. Coffee."

Hallo all

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 17:14:58 GMT

First off, HUGE thank you to authoressnebula for the virtual roses on my user info. So pretty! Thank you, sweetie. *hugs*

Also, thank you to all who wished me a happy birthday. I had a very good day, so that was nice.

Now for a quick update on me, for those interested:

In the writing department, I've been a busy little bee, I'm happy to say. I have, as of right now, written the next chapter to Sour Revenge, written a little Jeeves/Wooster for skyblue_reverie's super-late birthday gift, and I surprised myself by writing a Life on Mars fic. It's Sam/Gene, but really pretty gen. All of these will be posted soon enough.

I've also been a pretty busy icon-making bee. Life on Mars, specifically. I've decided that when I finally get around to making that icon journal, I'm going to do single-fandom icon posts, and the first will be Life on Mars. After that? Well, I'll figure that out later.

I'm really glad that I'm almost finished with Sour Revenge. I went about that fic all wrong, and that definitely had its consequences. I've written myself into corners too often and had to keep putting off writing more due to my disappointment with myself and it. I've worked out most of the problems with it, but my love is no longer with this fic.

Like I said, though, I did write the next chapter, and I am going to finish it. I'm just also going to be very happy when it's done. No more WIPs for me.

I hope all of you are enjoying your summers and that you're not all dying from the incredible heat.

SR, Plans for Future, Doctor Who

Wed, 27 Jun 2007 20:41:37 GMT

Hey everyone! I figured it was about time to do a post on the current state that is me.

A few people have been asking after Sour Revenge. I'm really flattered that people are into my story enough to make inquiries on their own and I feel more than guilty that I always take so long to get the latest installments out. I have the rest outlined and, if chapters stay basically the same length as they have been, the story is going to end in somewhere around six chapters. I have almost all of the next chapter written, so I can't imagine it taking much longer to get out. I am also working on skyblue_reverie's very, very late birthday pressie, though, which I'd love to get written for her before her next birthday rolls around.

Also, I'm thinking about creating an icon journal, which got me reconsidering my LJ priorities. Here's my plan for my LJ-life future:

The journal flufshepherd will be used for personal posts and for writing. I will not post any WIPs in the same way that I've done SR. From now on, anything I post will be 100% complete when I post it. That will hopefully ward off all frustration and guilty feelings. The free time I will then have once SR is all finished might go to icon making, which I find a very relaxing and productive way to spend time when I don't have any decent plot bunnies hopping around my brain.

Also, I hope to be able to start commenting more on my friends' posts. I know that I don't do it very often, but I do read all of your posts. I've never been the greatest at things of a social nature, so I never really know what to say and often feel like whatever I am saying is pretty stupid. It's a problem I've had for as long as I can remember.

I do read every single one of your posts, though, down to the last word. For those of you who have been going through a hard time right now, as I know a few of you are, I'm really, really sorry and I hope things start looking up for you. I'm here to talk to, if anyone wants.

And, lastly, Doctor Who? So intense. I am loving this show. I want it to be Saturday right now! Or, well, more accurately, Sunday, as that's when it's normally uploaded onto the 'net.

So, uh, does anyone have any suggestions for a name for my new icon journal?

Icon Post: 113 multi-fandom

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 18:49:54 GMT

Hokay, enough procrastination. It's icon time. Here's the line-up:

07 - Doctor Who (2005)
07 - Firefly
13 - A Bit of Fry and Laurie
13 - Angel
17 - Buffy the Vampire Slayer
27 - House MD
27 - Jeeves and Wooster
2 - Animated Blackadder

Teasers:

39. 77. 103.

Doctor Who (07)

01. 02. 03. 04.
05. 06. 07.

Firefly (07)

08. 09. 10. 11.
12. 13. 14.

A Bit of Fry and Laurie (13 - 2 animated) (I'm fully aware that I did too many variations, thank you.)

15. 16. 17. 18.
19. 20. 21. 22.
23. 24. 25. 26.
27.

Angel (13 - 1 animated)

28. 29. 30. 31.
32. 33. 34. 35.
36. 37. 38. 39.
40.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (17)

41. 42. 43. 44.
45. 46. 47. 48.
49. 50. 51. 52.
53. 54. 55. 56.
57.

House (27 - 1 animated)

58. 59. 60. 61.
62. 63. 64. 65.
66. 67. 68. 69.
70. 71. 72. 73.
74. 75. 76. 77.
78. 79. 80. 81.
82. 83. 84.

Jeeves and Wooster (27)

85. 86. 87. 88.
89. 90. 91. 92.
93. 94. 95. 96.
97. 98. 99. 100.
101. 102. 103. 104.
105. 106. 107. 108.
109. 110. 111.

Blackadder (2 - animated)

112. 113.

PLEASE,
* Comment & CREDIT me
*DO NOT EDIT in any way
*DO NOT HOTLINK

Resource post.

Sour Revenge 28

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 15:59:38 GMT

And now, the next installment of the reason over half of you have me friended: Sour Revenge. I know, the wait has been long and I should be shot for promising this would come earlier and not having it for months. Hopefully, you'll all think that this was worth the wait and refrain from shooting me until some later date.

I've finally got the rest of this all outlined, so if things all follow plan (I've learned not to make promises any more), this series should be done in four or five chapters.

Also, there may be an icon post coming from me in the not-too-distant future, in which there shall be Buffy, Angel, Firefly, Doctor Who, ABOF&L, House, and Jeeves & Wooster icons.

Right, I'll shut up now and post the story.

Title: Sour Revenge, Part 28
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Entire series is NC-17, though this chapter's PG.
Concrit: Very welcome in comments.
Disclaimer: The characters, story, and rating system are not mine and since I'm not making any money, nobody should care that I'm using them.

Summary: Whole series written for willowschild who asked for "A variant on what happened to Xander when he cast the love spell. Only instead of attracting all women it was all men and the only one who could break the spell was his true love."

Beta'd by the fantastic and brilliant kitty_poker1.

Previous parts here.

Thank you authoressnebula for the banner and icon!

---

And that led Giles to believe that Spike was either being honest about not wanting to kill Xander or he was planning something much, much worse.

All Giles could do was pray for the former.

And what about Xander's feelings? Spike's weren't the only important ones in this dilemma. Was this just a passing crush for Xander? Or was it the real deal?

The very best situation Giles could imagine was that Spike's intentions were pure. That he had no quarrel with any of the Slayer's group and all he wanted was to love Xander. But, as Giles found that possibility highly unlikely, the second best was that this whole thing with Xander was just a phase. That his feelings were unreal and that Spike's betrayal would not leave Xander as broken as Angel's had Buffy.

And that was another factor, wasn't it? Angel. The vampire was definitely planning something. And, while Giles felt he could indulge himself with the near-impossible fantasy that Spike wasn't being completely evil in his pursuit of Xander, he could not even entertain the thought that Angel was being helpful because he was a good Samaritan.

What was Angel planning?

---

The next few days were relatively uneventful for everybody. There were no sightings of Spike, Angelus or Drusilla. Buffy thought she might've seen Angelus one night, but, since she was obsessing, she thought everybody was Angelus. Including their English teacher. Xander smiled at that memory, which had ended with Buffy in Principal Snyder's office, the proud recipient of a week's detention.

Xander was a little disappointed that he hadn't seen Spike at all in the past few days. He was beginning to get used to the idea of having a crush on the vampire. He was also getting a little thrill in having a secret from the girls. There was something about having a secret relationship that made his life seem a bit more... adventurous. Especially since it was a secret relationship with a male vampire. Nobody could accuse Xander Harris of leading a dull life.

School was over and they were all in the library, hanging out. There was no meeting, no demons to discuss, and no research to be done. Xander was doing his math homework while Willow and Buffy were "studying for history", which actually meant they were discussing the new hair shop that had opened up down the street from Willow's house. Apparently the shampoo boy was very cute.

Xander rolled his eyes and then wondered idly if maybe he should be participating in these types of conversations. He was gay, right? So shouldn't he be over there, braiding their hair and giggling over Geraldo, the shampoo boy?

"And he's got the cutest way of rolling his R's," Willow said with a happy sigh.

Xander sighed for a complete different reason. He may be gay, but he definitely didn't want to sit over there with a dreamy smile over Geraldo’s R-rolling. He'd much rather sit over here, doing his math homework, with a dreamy smile over the way Spike's body moved when he fought.

Giles walked over and sat down in the chair across from Xander. He was eating a banana and reading some poetry book. Xander smirked and wondered to himself how he never guessed that Giles was gay before. Or bisexual or whatever Giles said he was. There was something about the way Giles was holding and eating that banana that made Xander blush and desperately want to think of anything else.

Giles looked up at him and Xander noticed this... look pass over his face. It was gone in a second and Giles looked back down at his book, and if Xander hadn't been seeing that look all the time ever since the night Giles caught him and Spike outside the apartment, he would have assumed he'd just imagined it. But he didn't imagine it. And he couldn't for hell decipher its meaning, either. It wasn't happy, or grumpy, or any of the other seven dwarves. It was... serious. It was pensive. It was pissing Xander off.

"We're going to get moving," Willow announced.

Xander and Giles looked up at the girls simultaneously.

"Xander, you coming?"

Xander went back to doing his math homework. "Can't. Too much work."

Willow nudged him. "Come on, Xander. You can do it at home. Walk two scared little girls home." Willow and Buffy gave him matching sad-kicked-puppy looks.

He smiled apologetically. "If I don't do it now, it'll never get done. You know how hard it is for me to concentrate at home, what with the fun yelling and all."

The girls smiled and Xander noticed Giles' eyes snap up from his book to register their reactions.

"It's hard for you to concentrate anywhere," Buffy grinned teasingly.

Xander grinned back and a little while later both girls were out of the library and Giles was standing up and giving Xander that look again.

"What?"

Giles looked down at Xander, disbelieving. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Do they not care about you?" Giles asked, waving angrily at the closing doors.

Xander frowned. "Huh?"

Giles frowned back as he realized that Xander honestly had no clue what he was talking about. "You just blatantly admitted that your home life was... is not perfect and they smiled."

Xander nodded, finally understanding what Giles meant. When he'd said that about not being able to concentrate at home, he had forgotten that Giles knew about his family. Making jokes about a bad home-life isn’t such a good idea when somebody actually knows you're being serious. "I didn't admit anything. I made a joke. Hence smilage."

Giles shook his head. "They should have..."

"Should have what, Giles? Analyzed the comment? Read my soulful eyes and miraculously come to the conclusion that, because I wear long sleeves in California during the summer, because I'm sometimes quiet and angry, because I used to want to stay at school or at the girls’ houses much longer than I was welcome, that I have two parents who don't give a crap and sometimes like to hit me? And maybe then they'd have noticed that I'm starting to wear nicer clothes that fit the weather, that I'm eating better, and that I'm all around a happier person lately and deduced that I've moved into the school librarian's house." Xander stopped talking and looked away.

"It was just an offhand comment," he continued. "A joke. I've told them millions of time before, in millions of different ways. Do you know why people of Sunnydale don't realize that their neighbours only come out during the night and never look any older, no matter how many years pass? They see what they want to see and hear what they want to hear. I joke about being neglected and abused because who wants to hear that I'm serious about it? You used to do it, too. It took Angelus, my father, and a live performance of me living on the streets and getting smacked around a bit to make you realize what was really going on."

"I'm so sorry, Xander."

The quiet words surprised both Xander and Giles. They swung their heads quickly to find Buffy and Willow standing quietly in the door, eyes shining and cheeks wet. Everybody in the room remained perfectly still and unsure of what to do, except Giles, who calmly walked over to Xander and took the seat behind him. He was close enough to put a reassuring hand on Xander's shoulder. He didn't, but Xander felt it anyway.

Finally, it was Willow who broke the silence. "I left my bag and... I'm sorry. I didn't..."

She didn't finish the sentence and she didn't have to. There were hundreds of things she could have said, and Xander accepted all of them. She didn't know. She didn't mean to overhear. She was sorry that she hadn’t done anything all these years. She didn't, and she was sorry, and Xander had a sudden urge to hug her and wipe away her tears. But he didn't move; he couldn't move.

Xander could see Buffy still processing and calculating. Her eyes kept wandering between Xander and Giles and the window and Willow. Finally, she looked at Giles. "Thank you," she said. "For keeping him safe." She turned to Xander. "I should have realized. I'm sorry. I... can I do something? I feel like I should do something. Is there someone I can kill?"

Xander smiled and the sinking feeling in his stomach started to lighten. His finger twitched and he suddenly realized he could move. The second he took a step towards the girls, they both rushed at him and hugged him far too tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Xander," Willow sobbed into Xander's shoulder.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry. I should have told you guys," he replied with a shaky breath.

"You did. We should have listened."

Xander wanted to shake his head. He wanted to say, "No! You were listening. I just didn't try hard enough to tell you." He wanted to reassure them and tell them they were perfect and couldn't have done anything. But he couldn't. He knew it was a lie. As much as he loved Buffy and Willow, he knew he'd dropped plenty of hints and they just didn't pick up on anything.

But he wasn't angry. None of that mattered. It was all out in the open and he wasn't holding any grudges. He was out of his parents' house and he was happy.

He could feel Buffy and Willow slowly loosen their hold on him and step back.

"No more secrets," said Buffy, wiping her eyes. "No more hiding. If any of us ever have anything to say, we say it. We're all friends and we're supposed to be here for each other. With lives as dangerous as ours, we can't afford secrets."

Xander took a step back and looked at the floor. He could see Giles looking at him from the corner of his eye. He looked up to make eye contact with the older man.

Here's your opening, Giles' eyes were saying. They're ready to listen. Xander nodded slightly and looked away. He drew in a deep breath.

He could tell them now. Tell them about Spike, about the spell, about him being gay. He could tell them all of it and they'd listen. And they wouldn't judge. But, just because he could tell them, didn't mean he wanted to. It had taken him long enough to even admit it to himself and, even then, Giles practically had to spell it out for him. Could he do it? Could he really just come out and say...

"I'm gay."

Guess so.

***

Giles listened as Xander told the girls everything. He started with how Cordy broke up with him on Valentine's Day, to the spell he and Amy did. He told the story in detail, including the parts with Spike which Giles really wished he hadn’t, and the girls listened to every word without comment.

Giles noticed that Xander never once mentioned the side effect that he'd lied to Xander about. He didn't know what he should make of that, but he was relieved, for the most part. Xander either forgot about it, or assumed it didn't play any part in what he did with Spike. Either way, it wasn't bad news.

The girls seemed to have taken the news pretty well. Giles paid close attention to their faces, and noticed Xander doing the same.

During the parts with Xander's father, he noticed both girls tense up. When Xander told about how Angelus had shown Giles that Xander was living on the street, he noticed Buffy's face flash with sadness and guilt, which she tried to cover up quickly. When he told about how he and Willow had encountered Spike on their way home, he noticed Willow shift uncomfortably.

Giles could tell that Xander was very nervous about telling the girls his story. Whenever either girl made any expression of sadness, pity, disgust, anger, or even blinked funny, Giles noticed that Xander looked away and grew red behind the ears. He felt bad that Xander was so nervous about telling his friends what had been going on for the past few weeks, but he knew it was all for the best. Xander would feel much better now that he’d gotten everything out into the open.

And maybe the girls would be able to give him some advice. Giles had been trying his best to advise Xander, but even he had to admit that a teenage boy would be more likely to listen to his two young friends than a middle aged, foreign librarian.

When Xander finally finished his story with his last encounter with Spike a week ago, he was practically falling out of his chair with exhaustion. His eyes were darting between his two friends, searching for, Giles assumed, something that'd show him what they thought of him now. Giles looked at them, too, and saw nothing but love and pity for their friend.

When Xander apparently couldn't find what he was looking for in the girls' faces, he asked, "So, what do you guys think?"

"I think," Buffy said, "that your past month has been more adventurous than my whole year. And I'm a vampire slayer, so congratulations." She was smiling, and a few moments later Willow was, too. Giles saw Xander's face light up with relief. They weren't mad and they didn't hate him. Xander smiled back.

Willow put her hand on Xander's shoulder. "You look exhausted. Do you want to sleep over tonight? We can talk more. Or if you don't want to talk, we can watch cartoons and just relax. Whatever you want."

"No thanks, Will," Xander shook his head and stood up. "I kinda just want to go home."

Xander was already walking away from the group, so he didn't notice them freeze in their tracks. The words echoed between the three shocked and confused heads. Xander wanted to go back home? After all that?

When he reached the door, he turned back to Giles, completely oblivious to everyone's reactions. "You ready to go, Watcher man?"

When Giles realized what Xander was implying, whether purposefully or not, he smiled. Xander thought of his apartment as home. He gave a half nod and grabbed his jacket. "Yes," he said. "Let's go home."

On my absense, on House, and on Sour Revenge

Thu, 08 Feb 2007 22:30:29 GMT

You may or may not have noticed that I've been a bit quiet as of late. I'd put my money on 'not', because I'm usually pretty quiet, anyway. But, I have been more so lately. I owe e-mails and comments and I have no free time at all. In fact, I was going to make this post earlier this week but I didn't have the time to until now. I haven't even checked my friends' page in days. *weeps*

I did get a chance to watch House on Tuesday, though. I'd post my thoughts if I had the time. Maybe later. I am curious as to other people's opinions, though. So, please do pop by to discuss.

And, finally, some news on Sour Revenge for those interested. I know many of you have probably given up on me (I know I did, for a while there), but I may finally have a new chapter for you guys when I get back to my state of sanity. I also may have an icon post, but for that, I make no promises.

Now, before I go, I want to apologize if I've missed anything important by not checking my friends' page this week. For anyone having a bad time, I offer you *huge hugs*, but I do hope nobody needs them. Instead, I hope all of you are perfectly happy, healthy, and any other adjective that could describe the state of 'goodness' that I hope this post finds you in.

That's all for me. You may now return to your normal broadcasting and I'll return to my... very hectic life. *growls*

Last of the batch!

Sat, 23 Dec 2006 01:13:33 GMT

Firstly, I'd like everybody to notice the icon I'm using. It was made by authoressnebula as a Christmas pressie to me. She made me another sunglasses icon, a wonderful Sour Revenge header, and another icon to go with it! I can't wait to use them. *squeezes Neb to bits*

In other news, I'm really pleased with the response I got to the Jeeves/Wooster fic I posted. It did much better than I'd expected it to. All of these fics are getting such great responses and it's really fabulous. I'm extraordinarily pleased.

This is the last one of the batch. It's Spike/Xander, requested by lishel_fracrium who asked for, "season 4 or 5..but no anya..truth or dare with drunk scoobies..Xander's never kissed a guy. S/X." Hope this is what you had in mind, sweetie!

And, before I post the fic, I'd just like to make it known that I did not choose to post this today because of the neat pattern it'd make on my calendar. *whistles innocently*

*is a big loser*

Title: Truth or Dare
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1499
Feedback/Concrit: Would be adored and cherished.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. This is not for profit. Consider all disclaimed.
Warnings: None.
Summary: What happens when you try to make Spike play 'moronic games'.

Beta'd by kitty_poker1, for whom I'd try to find the words to describe how magnificent she is, but, sadly, the thesaurus doesn't have enough synonyms for 'marvelous'.

If there was ever a time to really wallow in self-pity and self-hatred, it was now. Spike sat, tied to a chair in Harris' malodorous, humid and all-around disgusting basement, surrounded by the Slayer and her merry band. He remembered a time when he was feared, when his name summoned feelings of panic and dread. And now, this girly bint and her idiotic friends had brought about his downfall to the point where he was now sitting in a dank room, surrounded by drunk, teenaged crime fighters playing truth-or-dare and painting each other's toenails. And, yes, that did include Harris.

Red's attention turned to him and her face lit up with sudden inspiration. "Spike! Truth or dare?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm not playing your moronic games."

"Oh, c'mon! It's fun!"

The Slayer, who was previously lying down by the foot of Xander's bed, sat up and crawled over to Spike. "Don't be a party pooper, Spike," she said, slapping him on the leg.

"Oi! Keep an eye on that Slayer strength of yours. And have you all gone completely mad? I'm evil. Evil people don't go around playing school-girl games with their enemies."

The girls looked pleadingly at Xander. "Xanderrrrr, make him playyy," the witch whined.

Spike frowned. "What makes you think he'll be able to convince me?"

Xander shrugged and stood up from his bed. "Spike, if you play, I'll let you have a beer."

Now, Spike may have been evil, but he was not an idiot. "You've got yourself a deal, mate," he agreed. "But it better be the good stuff I know you've got hidden in your closet. Not that watery shit you've all been pouring down your throats all night."

The girls sent accusing glances at Harris. "You've been hiding good beer?"

"I may have stolen one or two things from that bar I worked at on campus." He turned to Spike. "How did you even know about that, anyway?"

Spike shrugged. "Got a nose for the stuff."

The boy gave him a disbelieving look and went over the closet to get him his reward while the girls giggled and whispered to each other.

"Okay, Spike," Red was saying, "truth or dare?"

Spike rolled his eyes and waited for Harris to give him the beer. When he finally came over with the open bottle and handed it to Spike, Red asked him again.

"Oi! Untie me so I can drink this!"

Xander, who was walking away, turned around and gave him a look. He walked back over to Spike and took the beer from his hand.

"Say, 'ahhh'," he said, grinning.

"Oh, you've got to be joking," Spike sneered.

Xander just waved the bottle in response. Finally, Spike consented and let Xander pour the beer directly into his mouth. It was slightly uncomfortable, but Harris seemed pretty good at this and was able to tilt the bottle at the perfect angle so that Spike could drink without having to take large or small gulps. When Xander stopped and pulled the bottle away, Spike grinned and let out a relaxed breath.

"Truth or dare, Spike," the Slayer asked, impatiently.

"You know you're going to have to stay standing here, don't you?" Spike was asking Xander.

"I'll deal," Xander replied shortly. "If you don't answer them, though, you don't get any beer, and I'll get to sit down."

Spike narrowed his eyes at him. "Fine. Truth."

The girls looked at each other and giggled. Spike rolled his eyes and tried not to vomit. He gave Xander a look and a nod, and Xander let him have a few more gulps of beer.

"Which of us do you find most attractive?" Buffy asked. Willow shot her an angry glance, which showed Spike plainly who she thought the answer was going to be. The Slayer just sat there smiling arrogantly, which showed Spike that she didn't think the answer was going to be anything different. Spike grinned; he'd surprise them both.

"Harris."

Xander, who had been concentrating distractedly on his hand, looked up. "Hm?"

"No, you stupid sod. That's my answer."

"What?!" shrieked three equally high voices.

"What were you expecting?" Spike asked, knowing full well what they were expecting. "So far, he's the only one who hasn't giggled like a high-pitched loony. And he's giving me beer. That's enough in my book. Speaking of which..." he said, with a nod. Xander, whose face was growing bright red, put the bottle to Spike's lips and gave him more drink. "So. 'S it my turn?"

Buffy gave him a short nod. It was obvious she was a little put off by not being called the most attractive person in the room.

"Right," Spike said. "Slayer. Truth or dare?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Dare," she said, trying to show Spike that she wasn't afraid of him in the least.

"Good," Spike said, with a grin. "I dare you to never, ever kill or harm me in any way."

"I can't do that!" Buffy protested.

Willow shrugged. Spike's mouth quirked upwards; she was still mad at the Slayer for the question she'd asked. "You did choose dare," she said simply.

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "You chose dare." He nodded to Xander and was rewarded with another drink. Then, to Willow, he said, "You're right, Red. This game is fun."

Buffy frowned. "Fine. Now it's my turn. Spike," she said, with particular venom, "truth or dare?"

Spike grinned mischievously. "Dare. Do your worst."

Now, the Slayer matched Spike's grin with one of her own. She stood up and whispered something into Spike's ear.

"Oh, sure as hell not!" Spike protested.

"You have to," Buffy countered. "Xander, doesn't he have to?"

Xander shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."

Buffy grinned and Spike rolled his eyes with an angry growl.

"Fine. Harris. Truth or dare?"

"Don't you have to do your dare first?" Xander protested.

Spike sighed. "Can't do it yet."

Xander frowned and shifted uncomfortably where he was standing. "Dare," he said, finally.

Spike looked pleadingly at Buffy, but she just smiled and waved for him to go on.

"I... I dare you to...," he grimaced. "Sod it, I'm not doing this."

"Spike!" Buffy shouted. "You have to!"

Spike shifted into game face and growled at her, baring fangs.

"Yeah, that's real scary," Buffy said, with a fake shudder.

Spike let out one more growl before shifting back. "Harris. I dare you to kiss me."

Xander's eyes nearly fell out of head, Willow yelped in surprise, and Buffy started laughing hysterically.

Xander shot an angry glare in Buffy's direction and took a large gulp out of Spike's beer. In what seemed like slow-motion, Xander placed the bottle down on the floor and walked over to stand in front of Spike. He leaned down and shut his eyes. Spike couldn't tell if he was doing it as a natural reaction to kissing, or because he didn't want to see who it was that he was going to kiss.

When their lips finally connected, Spike heard three different sharp intakes of breath. Xander's lips stayed stationary against his, so Spike stuck his tongue out to trace Xander's lips. He wasn't sure if he did it because he wanted Xander to wake up from whatever trance he was in and bugger the hell off, or because, well, he wanted to. He decided to go with the first reason and smiled when Xander's head shot back.

Buffy's eyes met Spike's and she finally stopped laughing. "Do you still think Xander's the most attractive person in the room?"

Spike grinned. "I think I'm the most attractive person in the room, pet. But, besides that...," he leered at Xander, "all the more."

Xander looked away and drank another gulp from Spike's beer. "I think we've played enough," he said awkwardly. "I'm suddenly struck with the urge to skip directly to the part where I wake up with a huge hangover and can't remember anything."

Buffy and Willow stood up to go. "I've got to go do one more sweep before going to bed, anyway," the Slayer said.

"Yeah, and I have to take a cold shower. Like, now-ish," Red said, quickly, before practically darting out the door.

After the Slayer followed her friend out, Xander and Spike were suddenly aware of how empty the rest of the room was. A moment of awkward silence followed.

Soon, Spike broke it. "Mind letting me finish that beer now?"

Xander put the bottle back to Spike's mouth and Spike couldn't help but notice that it tasted faintly of Xander's mouth. He also couldn't help noticing that Xander's other hand was resting on Spike's shoulder, stroking it slightly with his thumb. Spike wondered if Xander was even aware of it.

That night, when Xander was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and Spike was still tied to the Barcalounger, staring at the ceiling, something happened that neither ever felt the need to mention again.

Xander got up and untied Spike.

Ficlet #4: Jeeves/Wooster

Wed, 20 Dec 2006 04:51:41 GMT

Only one more to post after this!

This is my first ever attempt at writing anything in this fandom ever, so it's not all that great at all. Even still, I think this may be my favorite of the whole batch. Mostly because it was something very new and different and was great fun to write. This was written for skyblue_reverie who wanted Jeeves/Wooster with eye contact.

I'm really, really tired right now, so I'm going to go straight to bed after posting this. I'll post it to indeedsir tomorrow.

Title: My Valet's Eyes
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2027
Feedback/Concrit: Makes me ever so happy.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. This is not for profit. Consider all disclaimed.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Jeeves really does have the most marvelous blue eyes...

Not only should I thank kitty_poker1 for beta'ing this, but you all should, too. Because, without her, everything you're about to read would be complete trash. Seriously. Complete trash. So, thank you, Kitty!

Jeeves really does have the most marvelous blue eyes. I mean, I've never noticed them before now, but they really are quite wonderful.

Jeeves, my valet, and I had recently come into a new form of relationship which was slightly different than what we were used to. A bit more informal, if you can catch my drift. Jeeves calls it a gentleman's agreement, but I call it bally magnificent. Whatever it's called, we're both pretty certain that, if we were ever to display it in public, we'd not be met with smiles, pats on the backs, and hearty "Congratulations, old chap!"'s.

Once entering this new state of affairs, I started noticing a lot of things about Jeeves that I'd never quite noticed before. For one, Jeeves happens to be insanely ticklish. I'll not go into the full details of how I came to learn this, but I will tell you that it's a dashed convenient thing to know. As it turns out, if you ever have Jeeves trapped and are exercising this specific piece of knowledge, he'll do nearly anything to get you to stop.

Well, not you, specifically, reader. That is, I don't think you'd ever quite get into the position to find out. Jeeves and I both dislike the notion of anybody but me laying hands on his wonderful, perfectly sculpted body.

Anyway, that's just one thing I'd learned ever since Jeeves and I became chummier than the average two gents. I've also learned that Jeeves' favourite colour is mauve, he prefers chocolate to vanilla, he looks damn near perfect when at sea, fishing merrily, and he has the most magnificent eyes.

I could spend many fond hours listing all the things I know and love about my man Jeeves, but you might start getting a bit weary of the topic, so I may as well just get to the story. We were in the sitting room at Totleigh Towers, just a guest and his manservant among many at a fairly decent sized dinner party. I was sitting on an ottoman by the fireplace and Jeeves was standing across the room in his usual Jeevesian glory. Usually, if we're at home, we wouldn't keep such a distance between ourselves, but, because there were so many people around us, Jeeves and I were being the perfect models of discretion. Of course, because we were bound to such restrictions, I only wanted to rush over to Jeeves and cover him head to toe with all sorts of kisses and licks. I suppose it was the lure of forbidden fruit and all that.

I don't know if you've ever been in a crowded room in Totleigh Towers with the strong desire to leap up and cover Jeeves from h. to t. with all sorts of k.'s and l.'s, but if you ever have, and were, for whatever reason, forced to act with complete discretion, you'd know how dashed frustrating it can be. There Jeeves stood, the very picture of cool and composed, with his dignified posture and knowing glares, and then there I was, barely restraining myself from rushing over to him and ravishing that lovely body of his.

Jeeves seemed to know exactly what was going on in my mind, though. When I stared helplessly into those gorgeous eyes of his, the corner his mouth twitched upwards and he raised his right eyebrow just so, saying without words that he was not at all against the idea of being kissed, licked and ravished.

I shifted in my seat and it seemed that hours passed, with our eyes locked together an a rather heated stare. It seemed to me that we were having a full-blown conversation right there, without opening our mouths once. I'll be damned if I could say what we were talking about, but I can say that it, whatever it was, had me squirming quite visibly on that ottoman.

Jeeves' eyes had a certain sparkle in them that, for reasons out of my control, brought my cheeks to no little pinkish hue. But, no matter how pink my cheeks were getting, or how hot I was getting under the collar, I just could not bring myself to tear my gaze from Jeeves'. That was why I was quite miffed when one Madeline Bassette sat down in my line of vision and stared me right in the eyes.

I must say, Madeline's eyes are not nearly as stunning as Jeeves'. They're both blue (Jeeves' and Madeline's, that is. Not both of Madeline's. Although they're both blue, as well, of course), but that's where all similarities end. Jeeves' eyes seem to be concealing great wells of knowledge and power. The wells in Madeline's eyes seem to be empty of all knowledge and power. In fact, I wouldn't be very much surprised if there were a few dead rats at the bottom. I do speak metaphorically - if that's the word I'm after - here. I don't mean to say Madeline's eyes really were wells filled with deceased rodents. I'd imagine that'd be dashed uncomfortable.

What I mean to say is, if eyes really are windows to the soul, Madeline's soul is an empty potato sack, if you catch my drift. Her eyes are large, blank, and, on this occasion (and matching her personality quite well, I'd say): wet.

"Oh, Bertie," she sighed.

"Hullo?" I moved my head a bit to the side to try to catch sight of Jeeves again, but it was no use. The blasted woman just moved right back into my field of view.

"Bertie," she said again.

"Yes?" I really hoped she wouldn't just keep repeating my name over and over. Some people do that, you see, and those sorts of conversations really never seem to go anywhere.

"I can see how uncomfortable this is all making you."

I didn't quite follow her. "Uncomfortable?"

"Yes," she said, sadly. "Being here, near me. I could see you squirming around for almost half of an hour."

I could feel the blood rushing to my face. "Now that ... I, uh ... you see..."

"Hush, Bertie. You needn't explain yourself. I understand. But you must realize that you and I can never be, well, you and I," she said with a certain meaning. I could see what she was driving at and I didn't like it one bit. "Move on, Bertie. One day, you'll find a love even stronger than the one you have for me and it will be returned. I just hope that, whoever she is, she'll be able to bring you the happiness you deserve."

"Hm? Yes. Quite," I replied. I thought of Jeeves and smiled. Jeeves definitely brought me the happiness I deserve. He brings me even more happiness than I deserve, I'm afraid. Jeeves is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I'd much rather be staring into his eyes again, instead of Madeline's. I'd have asked her to biff off, but we Woosters have our code and, no matter how badly we'd love for all wet sops to kindly go as far away as possible so we can gaze lovingly at our manservants, there are some things we cannot say to a lady.

Fortunately, Madeline only remained for a few more seconds to stare quite sorrowfully at me before leaving. Once she'd moved, I quickly looked around the room for Jeeves again, but he wasn't there anymore. I let out a discontented sigh and started fidgeting with my pant leg.

It wasn't until moments later that I felt a hand come down onto my shoulder. I didn't need to look up to recognize whose hand it was, but I looked anyway, if only just to see his beautiful face and those wonderfully perfect eyes.

I am aware, by the way, of how incredibly soppy I may sound to you by going on about how beautiful and wonderful and perfect my valet may be, but I feel these are things that bear repeating. You see, Jeeves' marvelousness, if such a word exists, is something that can't quite be put into words. I feel it very important, though, for you to realize the extent of said marvelousness, so I feel it imperative to repeat, as often as possible, how incredibly incredible Jeeves is. Which is quite incredibly, if you haven't already guessed.

"A certain matter has arisen, sir," he was saying, "that demands your immediate presence back in your bedroom."

There was something about the way he said 'arisen' that sent shivers down my spine. "Demands, Jeeves?"

"Rather ardently, sir."

"Right ho, Jeeves. Lead the way."

When we got back to my room, Jeeves wasted no time in pressing me against the nearest flat surface and doing all sorts of wonderful things to my body that made me feel like the luckiest chap in the universe. As his tongue took up residency in my mouth, his two very eager hands kept sliding up and down either side of my body. Finally, his left hand found itself tangled in my hair and his right moved lower to cup the front of my trousers, where he was met with no little enthusiasm.

I gasped and pulled Jeeves in closer. At that moment, I had my hands resting on Jeeves' lower back, but I quickly adjusted them so that I could return the attentions I was receiving. As Jeeves reached his hand into my trousers, I attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, the man had his shirt tucked in so deep that I could hardly get my hand in. I pulled the offending shirt from his trousers and smiled triumphantly at my rebellion. And, finally, I was able to take Jeeves in hand and give him the attention he deserved.

Jeeves was beginning to do this dashed marvelous thing where he focused his attentions on the tip of my arousal, and we both knew, whenever and however Jeeves reaches that point, it'll only be moments before I'll lose control and release myself with his name on my tongue.

"Jeeves," I started to pant.

I looked up at Jeeves' face, only to find him staring intently at mine own. His eyelids were half-closed, but we both managed to gaze into each other’s eyes as our breathing started getting heavier and heavier with growing urgency. "Sir," he gasped, and I really had to respect his feudal spirit for sticking with him in such a time as this.

At this moment, Jeeves' hand did something I could never mimic and I was bucking into his fist, crying out. My whole world shut down for a few glorious seconds and all I was aware of was the feel of Jeeves' hand and my release. When I came to, my face was buried where Jeeves' shoulder met his neck and my hand was covered with the sticky, warm evidence that Jeeves hadn't had too terrible a time himself.

I smiled and sighed happily. I looked up to admire my valet's expression of post-whatsit bliss. These were the few moments when Jeeves would let his guard down and I'd be able to see, clear as day, all the things he was thinking and feeling. His eyes fluttered open and I smiled into those blue eyes I've grown so fond of and, as I looked into the windows of Jeeves' soul, well, I'd be a monkey's uncle if that very soul wasn't alight with adoration for one Bertram Wilberforce Wooster. I probably looked a silly ass, staring at Jeeves with such a fatuous expression on my face, but I couldn't help myself. If mothers could choose how their children could come, every single child born to this world would be a Jeeves, that's how wonderful he is. He is, without a doubt, the very model of perfection.

"Jeeves," I said. "You are, without a doubt, the very model of perfection."

And with an upward curve on either side of his wonderful lips, he bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, sir."

And the third: Spike/Wesley

Mon, 18 Dec 2006 23:30:19 GMT

So, last time I posted the H/W for kitty_poker1's prompt: 'H/W or Spike/Wesley - a secret finally revealed.' Today I post the Spike/Wesley.

The House/Wilson one went over very well, and I'm pretty damn happy about that. So, here's the second part to that prompt:

Title: Beers and Bears
Pairing: Spike/Wesley
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1114
Feedback/Concrit: Brings about nothing but joy.
Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the 'verse belong to me. And there's no profit. So, consider it disclaimed.
Warnings: None
Summary: Spike and Wes spend the night drinking and talking. Some secrets revealed.

Beta'd by the marvelous, fantastic, superior, and delightful kitty_poker1.

It was raining out and they were sitting on Spike's couch, drinking. They were both drunk, but neither quite as out of it as they were pretending to be.

"You're an ass, Spike," Wesley yawned, kicking Spike's shins gently with his socked foot.

"Yeah?" Spike pretended to think about it for a few seconds. "Well, you'd know." He raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Anyway, you're a prat."

Wesley sighed. "I am a prat, aren't I?"

Spike grunted in response.

"Spike? Have you ever noticed..."

Wes trailed off and Spike frowned. He nudged Wes' arm. "Noticed what?"

"Have you ever noticed that our most eventful days, whether good or bad, are almost always Wednesdays? I mean, I know we have cases every day, but have you ever noticed that Wednesdays are always the really big ones?"

Spike closed his eyes for a few seconds to think. "Not true," he said, finally. "Last Friday, we had to stop a group of giant chickens from raiding Micky D's HQ. If that's not eventful, I don't know what is."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Wes sighed. They both fell quiet for a few minutes. Wesley's head rested slightly below Spike's shoulder as they continued drinking. After a while, Wesley spoke again. "Are you musical, Spike?"

"No. A thousand times no."

"You've never sung? Played an instrument?"

"Never."

"Oh," Wesley said. And that, apparently, was that, until a few moments later when Wesley nudged Spike. "Xander told me you sang when a demon turned Sunnydale into a living musical."

Spike let out a low growl that couldn't be heard unless somebody's ear was pressed against his chest. Wesley heard it.

"You never told me you spoke to Xander," Spike grunted.

"Oh, don't be so testy. I'm not the one who lied."

Spike would have given Wesley a look, but he was too comfortable to move his head. "So I sang," he consented. "Once. What of it?"

"Did you ever play any instruments?"

Spike grumbled a response.

"Pardon?"

"Violin." It was still quiet, but this time Wesley was sure of what he heard.

"Were you any good?"

"Was all right."

"Play me something," Wesley asked, softly fingering Spike's shirt.

"Haven't got a violin, have I?"

"Am I special, Spike?"

Spike made a noise. "You're just the queen of non-sequiturs tonight, aren't you, love?"

"Am I? I mean, I know about in general, but am I special to you?"

Spike could hear the subtle sadness in Wesley's voice and he wondered if Wesley in fact did know about 'in general'. Spike pulled Wes closer to him. "You know you are," he said softly.

Wesley didn't respond, but instead took another drink of his beer.

"You are," Spike insisted. He shot a worried look down to Wesley, but Wes wasn't looking back at him. He just kept playing with the hem of Spike's shirt. "You know I wouldn't just sleep with anyone."

Wesley chuckled. "I think half of the Californian population might argue with you there, Spike."

"Oi! Not half. I've never even been to Northern California." Wesley was grinning, but he didn't seem like he was going to respond. "I, uh... I like you. More. Than other people."

Wesley looked up at Spike's face. "Say it, Spike. Just this once. I need to... I need to hear it."

Spike looked away and was quiet. Wesley looked at him with silent hope, but when Spike didn't respond after a minute or two, all hope fell from his face and he leaned his head back on the couch with closed eyes.

"When I was a boy --" Wesley's eyes shot open and he lifted his head to look at Spike, who still wasn't facing him. "--I had a stuffed bear. Bonko. He was a gift from my old man. Most dads back then gave their boys watches or really nice pens. That sort of rubbish. But not mine. Looking back on it now, he was pretty nancy. Explains a lot, come to think of it.

"Anyway, after he died, I started taking extra good care of Bonko. I wanted that bear to live forever, even if I wouldn't." Spike let out a short laugh and Wesley grinned. "Took him to University with me. You wouldn't believe the crap I got about that. As if being a bloody awful poet wasn't enough ammunition, I had to bring a small stuffed bear with me. Dealt with it, though. Took all the blows as they came. But if anybody laid a hand on Bonko... Well, they lived to regret it.

"When I died, the power was intoxicating. I was dead for a week before I remembered the life I was leaving behind. I tried to keep my mother, but that didn't exactly work out the way I wanted. I kept Bonko, though. 'Least he never tried to rape me. I never left him behind, no matter where death dragged me. I even had him in Sunnydale. And then.... then I died again. And Sunnydale went with me."

Wesley winced and stroked Spike's thigh sympathetically. "Spike..."

"When your lovely band at Wolfram & Hart decided to bring me back as a buggering useless ghost, I obviously didn't have any way of getting him back. Couldn't even leave the building. D'you know what I did the second I got my feel-ies back? Besides the obvious, of course."

"You went back to Sunnydale?"

"Oh, hell no. D'you think I'm insane? Went to a museum, and stole a bear from some Victorian exhibit they had. It wasn't Bonko, though. Do what you can, though, right? I call this one Billy. He's in my closet if you... you know."

"It doesn't bother you that it's not the same bear your father gave you?"

Spike snorted. "Please. That bear stopped representing my father ages ago. I just... I need it. It's from my time. That's enough, I guess. Angel never knew about Bonko. I never told Dru about him, either, but I can't say she didn't know. And I can buy a violin, but I doubt I'll be any good at it anymore. Haven't played in over a century."

Wesley regarded Spike for a moment silently before leaning in to lay a soft kiss just above his jaw line. "Thank you, Spike. I love you, too."

Spike smiled and finally looked back at Wesley. He leaned in and met Wesley's mouth with his own. They sat there for a while, kissing and holding each other until Spike finally pulled away.

"If you tell anybody any of this, I'll kill you. And you will stay dead."

"You wouldn't be able to kill me."

Still smiling, Spike shook his head. "No. I wouldn't."

Second ficlet: House/Wilson

Sat, 16 Dec 2006 17:44:16 GMT

Okie dokie! Time for ficlet #2! This one was requested by kitty_poker1, who asked for 'H/W or Spike/Wesley - a secret finally revealed.' Spike/Wesley is coming up next.

Title: A Secret Revealed
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1808
Feedback/Concrit: Please
Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the 'verse belong to me. And there's no profit. So, consider it disclaimed.
Warnings: None
Summary: Wilson wonders why House is avoiding him.
Notes: This would probably be less OOC if you imagine the Tritter thing never happened. Remember the angst-free days? No? Well, try.

Beta'd by: kitty_poker1, who was able to find the story behind the millions of commas I hid it under.

Wilson walked past House's office for the fourth time today. He frowned at the still-empty room. House had been avoiding him all week. At first, he'd thought it was just House being House. Avoiding work was nothing strange for House, but when Wilson had learned that he had been on clinic duty for most of the week, actually seeing patients - "Sorry, Wilson, can't talk now. Gotta heal the sick." - Wilson knew there was something else going on. House was avoiding him.

Normally, when things like this happened, Wilson would just go to House's apartment with beer and movies and all would be well. So, that evening, that's exactly what he did. On the bright side, House wasn't too busy seeing patients to talk to him. On the not-so-bright side, House was too busy doing something else, because he wasn't home.

Wilson made himself comfortable on House's couch. The man had to come home some time, and when he did, Wilson was going to figure out what was going on.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up in the morning he was still on House's couch with two blankets draped over his body and a post-it note on his forehead.

Next time we have a sleepover, can I be invited?
H.

Wilson grinned. The note seemed friendly enough. Maybe House had got over whatever was bothering him? A glance at his watch told him that it was almost 8:30 and House should still be home. He rolled off the couch and walked over to House's bedroom.

Empty. Wilson frowned. The door to the bathroom was open and, matching the decor of the rest of the apartment, it was empty, too. Wilson ran a hand through his hair and double checked the bedroom. Still empty. The bed was made, too. He walked over to it and put his hand on the pillow. Just because it was cold didn't mean that it wasn't slept on, right? Wilson resisted the urge to sniff it for traces of House's shampoo. House had probably woken up early - earlier than 8 o'clock? - and had gone to work.

Wilson tried to imagine why House would go to work early. Or did he not sleep there last night at all? Either way, it meant that House was still avoiding him. He dropped his head and sighed. He didn't know what had happened, but House obviously didn't want to have anything to do with him any more. Running a hand through his hair, Wilson decided that he didn't care. He wasn't pathetic. He wasn't going to sit there and moon over why the big, bad doctor didn't like him any more. If House wanted to avoid him, then Wilson wasn't going to fight it.

When he walked back into the living room, he found some neatly folded clothes lying next to another post-it note on the coffee table. Frowning, he picked up the clothes and examined them. The shirt and tie were his, all right. They were the pale blue shirt and silver tie that he'd been looking for for months. Underneath them was a pair of woman's underpants with a Superman-styled "W" on the front. Wilson picked up the note.

Clean clothes for work. By the way, you owe me four bucks for the clean underwear. Do you know how hard it is to find Wonder Woman panties?

Wilson would have laughed at this, but none of it was making sense. House was obviously mad at him, considering he'd been avoiding him like the plague. But the notes and the panties... A normal person wouldn't joke around like that to somebody they were mad at.

Then again, House wasn't a normal person.

Wilson shook his head and got changed.

- - -

The moment he got back to his office, he was attacked by paperwork and appointments. He didn't mind, though. The thing about being a department head was, if you ever wanted a distraction from your slightly psychotic, crippled friend, there was always something to do. Not that he needed a distraction.

After a while, he finally took his break for lunch. The only reason he passed House's office was because it was on the way to the cafeteria. And it was mere curiosity that led him to glance through the windows of the Diagnostics Department. He wasn't expecting to find House in his office and, of course, House wasn't in, but his fellows were. Wilson paused at the door, thinking of some excuse to go in, but, by that time, he wasn't even fooling himself. Of course he cared about why House was avoiding him. And he wasn't going to give in yet. He walked into the conference room.

Chase looked up from his magazine. "Doctor Wilson," he greeted.

"House is in the clinic," Cameron said. It sounded a lot more like a question than a statement, though.

Wilson nodded. "Yeah." He walked over to the coffee maker and picked up the red mug.

"Are you two... Is there something wrong with him?" Cameron asked.

Pouring himself some coffee, Wilson ignored the question. After he added the sugar, he turned around to face the fellows. "Can you guys do me a favor?"

- - -

"It hurts."

"Where?"

The man looked at House incredulously. "My foot!"

"Which foot?"

"The one with a nail in it! Are you blind?"

"Not blind, just a disappointed optimist." When the man just stared dumbly at him, House sighed and continued. "I was hoping you were bright enough to realize that a doctor might guess that a nail buried two inches into a foot might hurt. And then, from that crazy assumption, I leapt to the conclusion that you might be hurting somewhere else if you felt it necessary to whine about it to me."

"Look. I didn't come here to listen to some wise-ass doctor --"

"Why did you come here, anyway?" House asked.

"There's a nail in my foot!"

"I remember. What I meant was, why are you in a walk-in clinic, when the ER waiting room has much nicer wallpaper?" When the patient didn't respond, House grinned. "Figures. You come to a hospital with an emergency and it doesn't even occur to you to go to the emergency room."

The man started to fume. "Just get this goddamn nail out of my foot!"

House sighed and walked over to the drawers. He pulled out a syringe.

"What's that for?"

"The pain," House said, slipping it into his jacket pocket.

The patient frowned and House took out another syringe. He walked over to the patient and injected him. Almost immediately, the patient's shoulders dropped with relief and he smiled. House reached down and yanked the nail out of his foot.

"OW!"

House looked at the nail in his hand. "How did you even get this in so deep?"

"That... hurt," the man groaned between gasps.

"Yeah. Imagine how bad that would have been if I hadn't given you anything for the pain." House cleaned up the foot and called a nurse in. "See to this, okay?"

He walked out of the exam room and looked at the next file. Mrs. Plots - back pain. Rolling his eyes, he walked into Exam Room 4. There was not a 'Mrs. Plots - back pain' to be found. House heard the door shut behind him. He turned around to see Wilson staring at him.

It was completely silent for almost a minute. Finally, House spoke. "I have a patient."

Wilson was quiet for a few more seconds before responding. "Yeah. Mrs. Plots. Cameron's seeing her in Exam 2."

"So I'll just have to see my next one."

"Thomas Greene. Chase is seeing him."

"Let me guess, Foreman's seeing the next one?"

Wilson shook his head. "There are three other doctors on clinic duty today. And there were only four patients to be seen. You have nothing."

"Great. So I can go do my paperwork."

Wilson smiled. "Turns out, after doing so many clinic hours under your name, Foreman's gotten pretty good at your signature. You have nothing," he repeated. "You have no cases, no patients, no paperwork, no nothing. Not one excuse to avoid me."

House grunted. "Fine. I don't need an excuse. Bye." He walked to the door.

"You know what I think?" House stopped. "And do tell me if I'm wrong, because I've been thinking for a while, trying to figure out what I possibly did to piss you off to the point where you wouldn't even want to look at me. At first, I thought you were just sick of me. Which, you know, didn't make me feel too great. But then I realized something. I never actually got blankets for myself last night."

House looked down, still not facing Wilson.

"You don't hate me. You're not even sick of me. You're just avoiding actually interacting with me. Why would you not want to see me?"

"Should I be flattered or scared for my life that you're obsessed with me enough to spend so much time thinking about this?"

Wilson grinned, but ignored the question. "What I didn't realize, though, was that you didn't not want to see me. You just wanted me not to see you. That's why you've been hiding. You have a secret and you know I'm the only one who can see past the Greg House walls. You didn't want to see me because, you think, the second I laid eyes on you, I'd be able to figure out your Big Secret."

House turned around and met Wilson's eyes.

"You know what? You were right."

House's eyes widened noticeably. Wilson smiled and walked up to House. They were standing inches apart and Wilson leaned in. With a deep, shuddering breath, House shut his eyes. Wilson extended his arm past House's side and rested it on the door handle.

"You didn't have to hide," he whispered into House's lips.

House shuddered and leaned in. The kiss wasn't deep or passionate. It wasn't filled with lust or groping hands. It was just another part of their conversation. It was House apologizing to Wilson and it was Wilson reassuring House. And, on top of all, it was Wilson telling House, "I love you, too."

When Wilson finally pulled his head away, House was smiling, but this was a very different smile. This was the smile that Wilson knew led to very bad places. It was the smile he saw right before House revealed to him that he'd spiked the punch at the Mental Health benefit.

"What?" Wilson asked cautiously.

House turned around and locked the door. With the same smile and a very mischievous eyebrow-raise, he slid his hands around Wilson's waist and traced the top of his pants with his thumbs. "Are you wearing the panties?"

Ficlet #1

Thu, 14 Dec 2006 21:26:24 GMT

Nope. Don't like this new update system one bit. Maybe I'll get used to it in time. *shrugs*

First ficlet is for kitsune_okashi who asked for: "BTVS, Giles/Xander, new spell book." Aaaand.... here it is!

Title: Giving
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: PG
Word Count: 549
Feedback/Concrit: Cherished and adored.
Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the 'verse belong to me. And there's no profit. So, consider it disclaimed.
Warnings: Very fluffy. And not much of a plot.
Summary: Xander gives Giles a gift.

Beta'd by: kitty_poker1 who has been well established as the best damn beta in the 'verse. *smooches her*

"Xander!"

"Is that a good Xander, or a this-is-the-worst-gift-I've-ever-gotten-and-that-includes-the-time-Ethan-thought- killing-my-favourite-childhood-dog-Poochie-would-be-a-good-Valentine's-Day-present Xander?"

Giles blinked. "Yes, well, I'm not quite sure what you're talking about, but this is... this is wonderful, Xander. Thank you. It's... perfect."

Xander smiled. "Really? You like it? Because, I mean, it's supposed to be one of a kind, but you know how everyone says that and I wasn't sure if I should have gotten you this or -- "

"Xander," Giles interrupted. "It's brilliant. I - I'm not even sure how you were able to find it. I only knew of the existence of one and that one only exists in a dimension humans can't even get into. How did you get your hands on this?"

"Ah, the power of the internet," Xander grinned. "There's this website that specializes in mystical whosits and whatsits, and they'll basically get anything for you."

"And they were willing to hand over such an extremely powerful spell book as this to a 19-year-old boy?"

"19-year-old man, thank you very much. And no. But, they were willing to hand it over to Pierre Montierre, French magician with a curly mustache and an awesome, rhyming name. Except, of course, they only knew about the rhyming name, but still."

It was obvious that Giles had no idea what Xander was talking about. "Should I be worried?" he asked.

"Always, my precious plum." Xander kissed Giles on the cheek. "Except today. It's your birthday and that leads us to your second present: a stress-free day of doing whatever you want. Or whoever, if that's what you're in the mood for." Xander raised an eyebrow suggestively.

But, Giles was hardly paying attention. He looked admiringly at the spell book in his hands. "I may be even more in love with you now, more than I've ever been. Seriously, Xander, how could you afford this?"

"I used all the money that I haven't been using for rent ever since I moved in."

"Xander! That must be... thousands of dollars! This is really too much."

"Hey, mister. My money, my boyfriend's birthday, my choice. You deserve the best gifts ever. And, since you refuse to let the girls know when you turn a year older, your birthday happiness lies entirely in my hands. Which is why I also baked a cake and cleaned the whole apartment when you were asleep."

Giles smiled fondly at Xander. "I don't deserve this." He pulled Xander closer and laid a soft kiss on his lips. "I don't deserve you."

"I know," Xander said. "You deserve better. Sorry you're stuck settling with me."

"Oh, I think I'll be more than happy to settle with you." He leaned in for another kiss, and this one lasted much longer. When they broke apart, panting, Giles leered at Xander. "Do I remember hearing somebody mention doing whatever to whomever I want? Because I'm starting to get a few ideas."

Xander bounced visibly. "Please say it's me, please say it's me!"

Pushing Xander into a prone position on the couch, Giles let out a noise which wasn't quite a growl, but could easily be considered the cousin of one. Xander bit his lip and Giles moved to straddle him. "Always you," Giles said softly before unwrapping his other, just as rare, but much more... hands-on birthday present.

Updates on the state of me.

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 21:10:53 GMT

Hello all! Remember that prompt-call thingy I did a while back? Well, I finished writing them all and my wonderful, fantastic beta, kitty_poker1 has done her wonderful, fantastic beta-thingy, so I'll be posting them all shortly. I'll be posting one a day in the order they were requested so that it can last longer and be easier for me mentally.

Now, I've been really busy lately, so I haven't been on the computer much. I've been trying to keep up with commenting and reading everybody's posts, but if I've missed anything important, I'm very sorry. Please feel free to kick me as hard as you'd like. And for those of you who are waiting for an e-mail from me: I'm working on it. Again with the busy. You guys can kick me, too.

Keeping in mind how busy I've been (and still am), I might not be able to start posting the fics tonight. I am going to try, though.

Hm... Last order of business, I think I might share a few thoughts on last night's House. First, I didn't really like how this had such terrible balance between patient story and character story. When I think back on this episode in a few weeks, I'm not going to remember the patient plot at all. I mean, the introduction, which almost ALWAYS has to do with the patients, was about Tritter. And what was that cheesy camera swipe thing in the beginning?

I would have enjoyed this episode so much more if...
a) Wilson didn't walk out on House. Although, I do think RSL handled the whole range of emotions in that scene brilliantly. And...
b) If Tritter let House take the deal. I thought his motivation was about getting rid of the danger of a drugged-up!House, but House was willing to take the deal and go to rehab and Tritter didn't let him. So, obviously, this is still just a grudge over the thermometer.

I didn't dislike the episode, though. Compared to the others in the Tritter plot line, I think this was an improvement. By the way, was Tritter still in the hospital basement in that last scene? Because that light on the wall looked a lot like PPTH lighting. Though, it could easily have been due to prop/set limitations.

So those are my thoughts. Anyone's welcome to share their own. I'm going to go grab a bite to eat.

*hugs all*

sigh (and drabble call)

Sat, 21 Oct 2006 16:27:28 GMT

If this keeps up, I'm seriously considering leaving the House fandom. I don't know if it's because the general audience for House is younger or because the main character is a jerk and the fans are modeling themselves after him, but this is getting too far out of hand. In the short time I've been involved in this fandom, I've encountered more kerfuffles, trolls, and just general bitchiness than I've ever even seen in Jossverse. I don't think I've ever even come across a single troll in Jossverse, come to think of it.

Trolls are... so bad. They do what they do only to make other people unhappy. They really crush my spirits because they remind me that there are bad people in this world. It's probably stupid to let small things like that get me down but I can't help it.

And, no, I didn't just write this post to complain. Unfortunately, there are things to be complained about. And doesn't that suck all by itself?

Oh, and don't think I'm saying that all of the House fandom is like this. There are many very nice people in it. Brilliant writers, artists, and mods who clean up the trolly mess and make my friends page pretty again. For them I am glad.

Anyway, let's talk writing. The next chapter of SR is finished. Well, that is, I finished writing it. It still has to be sent off to my lovely beta, kitty_poker1 before it can be officially labeled 'done'. But, see, the thing is, I wanted to finish at least one more chapter before sending off/posting this one, so it wouldn't be such a long wait for you guys next time.

And that's where the problem lies. Everything I write? Complete crap. I don't know why. Maybe it's 'cause I haven't written in an embarrassingly long period of time.

So, to test that theory, I need your help. All of you. Give me a fandom (one you know I'm interested in, I don't care which), character(s), and a prompt. I'll force myself to write something for whatever I get and maybe I'll be inspired to get chapter 29 written. Sound good? Good. Now hit me with your best!

Happy Anniversary to me!

Mon, 04 Sep 2006 21:57:48 GMT

Two years ago, on this date, a livejournal account was made with the intent of reading and attempting to write fanfiction. Since this account was created, the user of it has indeed read and written a lot of fanfiction. She has also made many irreplacable friends and had many great experiences.

So, happy two-year LJ anniversary, me! *eats two-day old cupcake*

And, in other not-as-happy news, I completely lost the outline to a fic that I have been writing. The outline itself was about 6 pages, front and back and I can barely remember what was on it. I remember that there were 9 parts in total, though. And all I have completely written and saved on the computer are the first two. I'm going to try to write on wordpad everything I can remember about it. Hopefully, re-reading the first two chapters will help refresh my memory. Wish me luck!

Don't know if any of you noticed, but...

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 00:30:44 GMT

I kinda haven't been online in the past 6 days. I went on vacation, expecting to have access to the 'net, but it turns out there wasn't any internet or even phone service. Phooey.

I missed a *lot* when I was gone, so I'm trying to get caught up on everything. Sorry to anyone who posted something that I should have commented on but didn't. I know I'm not a big commenter normally, but I still feel really bad about not being available for anybody.

But, one thing that I know I missed is a very special someone's birthday. Someone who was one of my very first friends on LJ and has helped me grow as a writer. Happy (belated) Birthday, kitty_poker1! Hope you had a great day!

A while later: So, I think I'm done catching up to everybody's personal posts. Now, I'm gonna go to the comm's I'm in and try to catch up with those. This... might take a while.

Hm... My 2-year-LJ anniversary is in three days. I might bake cupcakes. :-)