tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252573112024-03-12T23:51:39.976-04:00Elly's FanfictionMy archive of Smallville fan fictionUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1047125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-47549956027894784382014-12-25T10:43:00.000-05:002017-12-12T20:34:08.657-05:00Welcome!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeG2k2eIZALcJA_KMTpOdrU93xaP1OWCRR8BwdGI213SoXvuwKbeMdSNg7UWoISjpybxoR2E9Gbwp7f3UqexRwMarm6DtDMgHlE5NgHogPuOTxBzQRTecQePZPlk80UpSjIIWZw/s1600/electricmonkchlarkfuture.png"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649244785075141282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeG2k2eIZALcJA_KMTpOdrU93xaP1OWCRR8BwdGI213SoXvuwKbeMdSNg7UWoISjpybxoR2E9Gbwp7f3UqexRwMarm6DtDMgHlE5NgHogPuOTxBzQRTecQePZPlk80UpSjIIWZw/s400/electricmonkchlarkfuture.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 299px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<strong><em>Picture above by electricmonk. Used with permission of the artist.</em></strong><br />
<br />
Welcome to my archive of Smallville fanfiction. Most of my stories revolve around Chlark, but there are some slash and general stories here as well. There are a also few M*A*S*H stories (Hawkeye/BJ slash) and Doctor Who stories. Please don't read any story marked "adult" unless you're over eighteen.<br />
<br />
You can find Smallville Christmas stories <a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2008/05/christmas-stories.html">here</a>. Doctor Who stories are <a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2013/12/doctor-who-stories.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
I love feedback! Please feel free to leave comments or email me at <a href="mailto:ellyfanfiction@yahoo.com">ellyfanfiction@yahoo.com</a> .Thanks for stopping by!<br />
<br />
A list of completed stories that are for some reason not in my sidebar, have been misfiled, could only be found by tags, or may otherwise be difficult to find:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2013/12/this-christmas-12_3.html">This Christmas</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/11/weight-of-world.html">The Weight of the World</a><br />
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/cute.html">Cute</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/08/angels-among-us.html">Angel Among Us</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-1.html">Heated</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/07/coming-home.html">Coming Home (graphic)</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/04/these-happy-golden-years.html">These Happy Golden Years (Shelby)</a><br />
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<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/04/fandom-smallville-characters-clarkchloe.html">The Thing (Shelby)</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/30.html">-30-</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/chances.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/chances.html">Chances</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/10/happy-endings.html">Happy Endings</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/03/in-memoriam.html">In Memoriam</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/05/big-boob-theory.html">The Big Boob Theory</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/03/butterfly.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/03/butterfly.html">Butterfly</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/03/empty.html">Empty</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/02/birthday.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/02/birthday.html">Birthday</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/02/bright-blessed-day.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2010/02/bright-blessed-day.html">The Bright Blessed Day</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/12/out-of-mist.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/12/out-of-mist.html">Out of the Mist</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/12/happy-anniversary.html">Happy Anniversary</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/12/urgent.html">Urgent</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/12/naughty-and-nice.html">Naughty and Nice</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/11/online.html">Online</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/11/im-not-that-girl.html">I'm Not That Girl</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/11/what-about-everything.html">What About Everything?</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/11/wings-that-fly-us-home.html">The Wings That Fly Us Home</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/shes-got-you-high.html">She's Got You High</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/next-go-round.html">Next Go Round</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/let-me-look-in-your-eyes.html">Let Me Look In Your Eyes</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-love-story.html">It's a Love Story (story with pictures)</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/jungle-boy.html">Jungle Boy</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/idle-king.html">An Idle King</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/dirty-little-secret.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/dirty-little-secret.html">In the Closet</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/purple-heart.html">Purple Heart</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/09/steel.html">Steel</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/09/fly-like-eagle.html">Fly LIke an Eagle</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/09/beginnings.html">Beginnings</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/08/easy.html">Easy</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/08/bun-of-steel.html">Bun of Steel</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/08/bun-of-steel-2.html">Bun of Steel 2</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/08/kiss-on-my-list.html">Kiss on My List</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/08/lollipop-lollipop.html">Lollipop, Lollipop</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/08/in-his-arms.html">In My Arms</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/07/im-your-angel.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/07/im-your-angel.html">I'm Your Angel</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/06/hot-chocolate.html">Hot Chocolate</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/05/send-me-angel.html">Send Me an Angel</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/05/few-precious-things.html">A Few Precious Things</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/03/dont-let-go.html"><br /></a>
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/03/dont-let-go.html">Don't Let Go</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/03/tears.html">Tears</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-will-always-return.html">I Will Always Return</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2008/11/denial-or-five-times-clark-told-himself.html">Denial</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-28632211325849426702013-12-24T14:55:00.004-05:002013-12-24T14:55:57.989-05:00This Christmas, Chapter 2<i>Fandom: Smallville </i><br />
<i>Pairing: Clark/Chloe </i><br />
<i>Season: Pre-show </i><br />
<i>Genre: Fluff </i><br />
<i>Rating: G </i><br />
<i>Author's Note: Written for the Chlark Secret Santa gift exchange for the_chlarkette last year. Unfortunately, I didn't get it done in a timely manner, so I'm posting it this Christmas instead:-). Based on a prompt by the_chlarkette. </i><br />
<br />
Clark Kent couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.<br />
<br />
An hour later, Chloe stood in the deep snow, gleefully pelting him with snowballs. Clark ducked away from her onslaught, laughing, and occasionally lobbed a snowball in her direction, but he had the most amazingly bad aim ever. Maybe it was because he was growing almost hourly, and didn't have a clue where his huge hands were in relation to his skinny body right now. Or maybe he was just a natural-born klutz. Regardless, he rarely got a snowball within three feet of her.<br />
<br />
She whacked him with another one, right in the middle of his chest, and he groaned.<br />
<br />
"I surrender," he said cheerfully. "How about we go in and sit in front of the fire? I could use some cocoa."<br />
<br />
"With marshmallows?"<br />
<br />
He grinned more brightly than before. "My mom doesn't know how to make it any other way."<br />
<br />
He loped past her, and went up the steps. She looked at him as he passed, and noticed his cheeks weren't red with cold, the way hers were. And even though he hadn't bothered to put on gloves, his hands weren't red, either. He looked just as warm and happy and comfortable as he'd been inside.<br />
<br />
<i>Weird</i>, she thought again. But of course, when it came to Clark Kent, weirdness was nothing new. For all his apparent normality, his gosh-shucks manner and his flannel shirts and his big sweet grins, there were always some odd things about Clark, some stuff that just didn't add up. She'd noticed that from almost the moment she met him, when a copy of her favorite book had far too coincidentally been sitting there in his loft.<br />
<br />
She shrugged off the slightly worrisome thought. Today of all days, she wasn't going to pay the slightest attention to pings on her weirdar. Today wasn't weird, but blissfully ordinary. In fact, it was by far the most normal day she'd had in a long, long time. And it was all due to Clark.<br />
<br />
Smiling happily, she followed him back inside.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
"A skateboard! Cool!"<br />
<br />
Clark held aloft the present he'd just unwrapped, looking as happy as if Chloe had given him a puppy. She shifted uncomfortably, remembering how uncoordinated he'd been in their snowball fight. She was a little worried that he might actually kill himself learning to skateboard.<br />
<br />
"I thought you might like it," she said. "I mean, once the snow melts."<br />
<br />
"I can't wait." He grinned widely.<br />
<br />
"Maybe you should, you know, buy a helmet..."<br />
<br />
"Chlo." His green eyes danced. "Don't worry about it. I have a really hard head."<br />
<br />
<i>You'll need one</i>, she thought, but refrained from saying so. Odds were he'd never get up enough speed on the thing to hurt himself anyway. No one moved slower than Clark Kent.<br />
<br />
"Here's mine," he said, reaching a long arm over-- she honestly wondered if he'd grown since breakfast-- and snagging a badly wrapped present from beneath the tree. He handed it to her, looking expectant.<br />
<br />
"Oh," she said in dismay. "But you already got me the mug..."<br />
<br />
"That was just a stocking stuffer. Go on, open it."
She tore open the package and opened the little box to find a pair of green enameled earrings in the shape of Christmas trees. She'd seen them downtown at Fordman's Store, and admired them. But because her dad shunned all things Christmas, she hadn't quite dared buy them.<br />
<br />
"Oh," she said softly. "They're beautiful, Clark."<br />
<br />
"They're just..." He cleared his throat, like he was worried she might get the wrong idea from a gift of jewelry. "Well, I know you just got your ears pierced a couple of months ago, and I thought... well, I thought maybe you'd like them. They kind of go with the necklace my mom got you, too. And besides, you can wear them every winter. Just because your dad doesn't do Christmas doesn't mean you can't."<br />
<br />
She recognized that was true. Now that she knew what a real Christmas was like, she wanted to celebrate it every year. Cocoa and snowballs and rustling wrapping paper and the scent of a fresh-cut Christmas tree...<br />
<br />
And Clark. She wasn't sure she'd ever be happy celebrating Christmas without Clark again.<br />
<br />
Which was silly, because Clark was just a friend, a big, gangling, puppyish doofus who could hardly take three steps without falling over his own feet. It wasn't like he was gorgeous or anything-- not like the guys she usually crushed on-- and she'd only known him for a few months. And yet...<br />
<br />
She sighed, and put the earrings into her ears. Even though she hadn't known him that long, she nevertheless had the feeling Clark was going to be very important to her. And somehow she felt a warm certainty that she'd spend the next Christmas with Clark and his family, too. She tossed her head, feeling the earrings swing in her ears like a promise of happy Christmases to come.<br />
<br />
"They look great," Clark said, grinning.<br />
<br />
"They're beautiful. Thank you." She wanted to thank him for more than the earrings, but couldn't find the words. <i>Thank you for the warmth. Thank you for the first happy Christmas since my mom died. Thank you for letting me be part of your family, just for the day</i>.<br />
<br />
"C'mon." He unfolded himself and got to his feet. "I'm still cold. Let's go sit in front of the big fire in the parlor and have some more cocoa."<br />
<br />
She followed him through an open doorway. There was a bunch of mistletoe hanging there, and she thought briefly about kissing him, the way she'd kissed him the day they met. But no. Clark was like a big brother to her now. Just because he was sweet and thoughtful and nice didn't mean she ought to keep planting kisses on him. He might get the wrong idea or something.<br />
<br />
But Clark hesitated beneath the mistletoe, and his cheeks turned red. Then he bent, and dropped a brotherly kiss on her forehead. She smiled up at him, delighted, and followed him across the room. The two of them sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, warm and comfortable and happy, drinking hot chocolate and eating gingerbread cookies and talking a mile a minute.<br />
<br />
When her dad came to pick her up, hours later, she smiled all the way home.<br />
<br />
<i>-The End-
</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-6167612464828460262013-12-13T07:02:00.001-05:002013-12-13T07:02:36.458-05:00Because the Night<i>Fandom: Supernatural</i><br />
<i>Pairing: Dean/Cas</i><br />
<i>Rating: Adult (sexual content). If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.</i><br />
<i>Season: 9</i><br />
<i>Description: Dean and Cas spend the night in a motel. A fix-it fic with a missing scene from "Heaven Can't Wait." Spoilers for that episode.</i><br />
<br />
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“You’ve been sleeping at
the convenience store? In the <i>storage room?</i>”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Cas' fingers tighten on
the cheeseburger he's holding. After the babysitting adventure was over, Dean
had suggested dinner, so they’d found a local diner. Now they’re both devouring
greasy, hot, delicious burgers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“I couldn’t afford an
apartment,” he says stiffly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Why the fuck not?” Dean
glowers at him over his cheeseburger. “I put together that bag of stuff for
you, dude. There were a couple of credit cards in it. Why the hell didn’t you
use it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Cas glares right back. “I
threw it out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean puts down his
burger. His lips are moving slightly, and Cas suspects he is counting to ten.
He’s not sure how this activity benefits Dean, but he’s noticed Dean does it
when he is irritated—or, as Dean would put it, “pissed off.” It is also not
clear to Cas what pissing has to do with anger, but he shelves his wandering
thoughts about the peculiarities of the English language and waits for Dean’s
response.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
The counting doesn’t seem
to have helped, because Dean still looks pissed. “You,” he says. “Threw. It.
Out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Yes.” Cas meets Dean's
glare unflinchingly, refusing to look away. He might only be a sales associate
at a shabby little convenience store now, but he is a quondam angel of the
Lord, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let a human intimidate him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean’s lips move
soundlessly again. At last he says, in a slightly calmer tone, “Why?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Cas lifts his chin.
“Because you threw <i>me</i> out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean seems to have
forgotten his burger, which is not normal behavior for him. Some of his anger
seems to fade, and his gaze flickers sideways, away from Cas. “Yeah,” he says
roughly. “About that. I kind of—well, I didn’t want to, Cas. I just…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Cas raises an eyebrow,
waiting. When Dean’s explanation sputters and dies out like the Impala running
out of gas, he scowls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Forget it,” he says. “I
didn’t want your money, and I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m fine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“You’re sleeping in a <i>storage
room,</i> Cas.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“I have a sleeping bag,”
Cas answers with dignity, and is taken aback when Dean’s eyes crinkle at the
corners like he’s trying to hold back amusement.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“A sleeping bag. Well.
That’s okay, then.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Cas strongly suspects
that he is being made fun of, and it annoys him. “Bite me,” he says coolly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
This time Dean doesn’t
even try to hide his amusement. He barks out a laugh, and picks up his burger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“You’re awesome, Cas,” he
says, and at the unmistakable affection and admiration in his voice, Cas is
conscious of a warm sensation in his middle, a sensation like nothing he's ever
experienced before. Maybe, he thinks, it’s hunger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He turns his attention
back to his own burger, but the warm sensation doesn’t go away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
*****<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“No.” Dean sounds pissed
again. “I’m not taking you back to the convenience store this time of night.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Cas crosses his arms over
his chest. “That is where I sleep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Not tonight, it isn’t.
I’m going to get a motel room, okay? You can come along.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
The idea that he should
tag along with Dean, like a baby brother who needs protection, makes Cas’ teeth
grind together. Really, it’s no wonder humans need dentists. Between the way
his jaw clenches when he gets angry, and his fatal weakness for blue slushies,
he probably has cavities forming right now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Just drop me off at the
Gas-N-Sip,” he repeats.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Nope.” Cas glares, but
Dean is cheerfully oblivious to his annoyance, or maybe he just isn't impressed
by it. It’s not like Cas can smite him any longer. Which is unfortunate. “We’re
going to check into a motel.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Damn</i> it,
Dean—"</div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean slides a glance in
his direction, and flashes a bad-boy grin. “I’ll get you home in time for work
tomorrow morning, don’t worry.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Cas wonders how many
women Dean has said that to, and the thought makes the warmth in his stomach
begin melting down entirely. It’s an odd sensation, and one he isn’t sure he
likes. He shifts on the bench seat, uncomfortable, and tries not to imagine
being alone with Dean in a motel room for the next eight hours.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He doesn’t entirely
succeed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
*****<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
The motel room is shabby,
but clean, with tattered green bedspreads, Audubon prints of birds on the
walls, and peeling floral wallpaper. It's like a million other hotel rooms
where Cas has visited Dean and Sam. Only this time, he’s not visiting, and Sam
isn’t here. It’s just him and Dean. He isn’t sure why that thought makes his
heart pound harder, but it definitely does. He’s almost afraid Dean might hear
the sound, and that makes his cheeks heat. He thinks he's blushing, and that
makes him get even hotter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He covers his odd
reaction by stalking toward the bathroom. “I could use a shower,” he says.
Showers are a rare indulgence for him, one he really likes. He has gotten very
good at cleaning himself thoroughly with only a sink and soap, out of sheer
necessity, but he is fastidious by nature, and has a preference for long, hot
soaks in the shower.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Okay.” Dean leans back
on the bed and flips on the television.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
In the bathroom, Cas
strips off his clothes, noticing with distaste that they smell of sweat after
the stresses of the night. A date that turned into babysitting, a baby with a
fever, an angel trying to kill him. It’s no wonder he's sweaty. He wishes he
had a change of clothes, but he doesn’t. He folds the clothes neatly and places
them on the toilet seat, then peels off the bandage Dean applied to his hand
earlier. His scratches are no longer bleeding, though the palm of his hand
still smarts. He tosses it in the trash, then turns around and turns on the
water.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
It is hot within seconds,
and he steps under it, sighing with pleasure at the feel of the hot water
sluicing down on his shoulders. Showers are nice. Showers are very nice. If
there was ever a compelling reason for becoming human, he thinks, this is it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Over the sound of the
rushing water, he thinks he hears a creaking noise. He stiffens slightly, and
sure enough, a second later the shower curtain is shoved aside. Cas’ heart
pounds—he’s seen <i>Psycho</i> more than once, thanks to the
Winchesters’ penchant for late-night horror movies—but the intruder isn’t a
crazed, knife-wielding maniac.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
It’s Dean.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He has just enough time
to realize that Dean is as naked as he is before Dean’s voice says roughly,
“Move over, will ya?” Automatically, he steps aside and makes room for the
other man. But his head is whirling with confusion. As an angel, he has watched
humans for years, in all sorts of situations, and he is quite certain that
showering is almost always a private activity, except between sexual partners.
And he and Dean are not sexual partners.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He wishes he knew more
about being human, because what he does know doesn't explain this situation in
the least.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Hand me the soap,” Dean
says, and Cas gropes for it blindly, and passes it to him. His hand brushes
against Dean's, which is so warm and wet that Cas discovers that it's hard to
let go. His mind is still clamoring, <i>What the hell is going on?,</i> but
his body has moved on to something of an understanding of the situation. He has
an erection, and he sincerely hopes that Dean won’t look down and notice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He wonders if Dean has an
erection too, and the thought makes his stomach melt more than before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“I figured you could use
some help in here.” Dean is standing close behind him, lathering up his back
with the soap, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be
doing. The evergreen scent of the soap rises with the steam, teasing Cas'
nostrils. “I guess you haven’t taken a lot of showers, if you’ve been living in
a storage room.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“No.” Cas is alarmed by
the low, gruff sound of his own voice. He sounds as if he’s getting a cold, and
he wonders if he could possibly have caught the baby’s virus so quickly. He
clears his throat and tries for a more normal tone. “No, I haven’t.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Well,” Dean says,
lathering soap all over his shoulders. “We better get you nice and clean, then.
No telling when you might get another chance at a shower, if you’re gonna be
stubborn and refuse to let us help you out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean still sounds pissed,
but Cas doesn’t care. He’s totally focused on the sensation of Dean’s hands
moving across his shoulders. Dean isn’t just lathering him up; he’s sort of
massaging Cas, his fingers rubbing deep into the tense muscles, and it feels so
good that Cas wonders if he really is melting. His body, he discovers, doesn’t
seem inclined to remain in a vertical position. He leans his forehead against
the wall, and a moan escapes him before he can stop it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean's hands, strong and
competent, are moving over Cas, using the soap to work up a lather, and then
reaching around him and spreading it all over his chest. When Dean’s hands
brush over his nipples, Cas gives a pathetic little whimper. He can’t help it.
Dean still doesn’t seem to notice. He strokes his thumbs over Cas' nipples
until they're hard and aching, and then his hands slide down across Cas’
abdomen, toward…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<i>Oh.</i> It’s all
Cas can think as Dean’s hand closes gently around his erection. <i>Oh, oh,
oh.</i> His mind has lost all capability for logical thought, and there’s
nothing in his head except pleasure, and the craving for more pleasure. He’s
vaguely aware that his hips are moving, shoving his erection into Dean’s hand,
rubbing against the wet, slick palm and fingers, and it feels so good that he
quivers all over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“That’s it,” Dean says,
right in his ear. “That's right, Cas. Let me take care of you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He isn’t sure if Dean is
talking about touching him this way, or about the fact that he wants to give
Cas money, to support him, and his mind is too fogged to care right now. Dean’s
hand moves on him, slowly, steadily, and he becomes aware of something big and
hot pressed against his posterior.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<i>Oh.</i> Dean does
have an erection. He definitely does.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
The realization makes
fire race through his veins. He lifts his hands, bracing them flat against the
wall of the shower, and tries to push into Dean’s encircling hand harder, but
Dean is controlling the pace, and he won’t let Cas have what he wants. His hand
works Cas, very slowly, and Cas is desperate for more. Faster harder more <i>more.</i> He
moans and whimpers and tries very hard to utter a complaint, but all he can
manage is, “Dean—<i>Dean</i>—"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“I want you to promise
me,” Dean says, his voice low and deep and protective, “that you’ll let me give
you some stuff. Clothes, money, ID. And that this time you'll keep it, okay?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
A spike of rage goes
through Cas, so intense that it startles him. He turns his head to the side and
glares at the other man, and his words snap out like blows. “I am not a <i>prostitute,</i> Dean.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean looks shocked at the
terse words. “’Course you’re not. What the fuck, Cas? I’m just trying to help
you out, same as I’d help Kevin or Sammy or Charlie or any other member of the
family.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“You… wouldn’t… do this…
for… Kevin.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Not <i>this,</i>”
Dean says with an impatient squeeze that makes Cas grunt. “But the money thing,
yeah, of course I would. Quit fighting me on it, okay? We're family. Family
take care of one another. I don’t like thinking about you sleeping on a
concrete floor.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“You are using… sex… to
try to… control me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“This? This isn’t sex.
I’m just helping you get clean, buddy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Despite Dean’s words, his
hand moves a little faster. He is doing something with his thumb now, flicking
it softly over the head of Cas’ erection, so lightly it almost tickles, and it
makes Cas groan, and forget completely that he was trying to argue with Dean.
There is something slick all over the head of his penis, not water but moisture
from his body, precome, and Dean’s thumb begins to slide through it more
firmly, stroking all around the sensitive flesh, pressing the pad of his thumb
into the leaking slit at the tip, and Cas’ back arches as his head drops back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He realizes with a vague,
dim corner of his mind that he's almost entirely overtaken with lust. But it's
not like the lust he's experienced before. It's deeper, more compelling
somehow. It's consuming him from the inside out, so that his mind is filled
with nothing except his need for Dean. A snatch of lyrics from a song Dean
plays all the time races through his mind: <i>Love is an angel disguised
as lust.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
For the first time, he
thinks he understands that line. This is lust, and yet... it's not. It's
something much stronger, something far beyond the physical.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean’s mouth is moving
gently over the nape of his neck. Dean, Cas realizes, is kissing him there. The
thought makes him shiver, compels his muscles to strain toward completion, and
he hears himself groaning Dean’s name again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Promise me,” Dean says,
his lips hot against Cas’ neck, his erection hot against Cas' hip. “I’m going
to get you credit cards and shit, and this time you’re not gonna throw it all
out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Stop it,” Cas grinds
out. He is really getting annoyed here. Dean is definitely using sex to get
what he wants, which is so totally Dean that it’s almost heartbreaking. Damn
it, he wants Dean to be doing this, to be sharing this with him, just because
he <i>wants</i> to do it, not because he’s trying to manipulate Cas
into cooperating. “Just stop it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean’s hand stills,
loosens. “You really want me to stop?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
“Not <i>that,</i> damn
it.” Cas is just about ready to spin around, grab Dean by the shoulders, shove
him up against the wall, and punch him, the way he did once or twice when he
was an angel. But he’s not sure he could manage it now. Dean is stronger and
better trained, and Cas knows he might just get his ass handed to him. At any
rate, he knows that fighting is not what he really wants right now. “Quit
talking, Dean. I think you would say… shut the fuck <i>up.</i>”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He can feel the soft huff
of Dean’s laughter against his skin, and then Dean’s hand moves on him, faster,
harder, <i>more,</i>just what he wanted, what he needed, and he cries out
sharply as pleasure and heat coil in his testicles, taut and compelling and
achingly needy. Dean doesn't stop this time, only jerks his hand even harder,
until the heat inside Cas all seems to explode outward in a long, hot rush. He
comes all over the wall, in spurt after spurt, and it’s the most powerful
rapture he’s ever known.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
He hears Dean grunting
softly, feels the hot rush of Dean’s come against his ass cheek, and the
knowledge that Dean is coming right along with him makes his orgasm even more
intense. He cries out with the pleasure of it, his body tense and shuddering,
while Dean's hand keeps stroking him, drawing it out, prolonging it until he
can't bear it any longer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
And then he’s slowly
relaxing, falling against the wall, and he hears himself whispering Dean’s
name. Dean wraps his arms around him and holds him, preventing him from
collapsing completely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Dean’s body is warm
against his, solid, heavy, <i>limp,</i> and he loves the sensation of
having reduced Dean Winchester to an inert, exhausted mass of flesh. He’s still
annoyed—<i>pissed off</i>—at Dean for trying to negotiate in the midst of an
intimate moment, but he knows Dean’s worried about him. Dean worries. It’s what
he does. And Dean means well, even if he’s clumsy and awkward and tactless in
his protectiveness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
A little while later,
Dean pulls him upright, and the two of them finish cleaning each other off, and
then dry each other with scratchy hotel towels. They finally tumble into bed
together, ignoring the television in favor of touching each other softly,
learning each other’s bodies more intimately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
They don't discuss the
matter of money any further, but that's all right, because there is quite
simply nothing to discuss. In the morning, Cas will go back to his job, and he’ll
stand on his own two feet, without any help from Dean. This, he thinks, is what
a man does. He is learning to be a human, and he will damn well do it on his
own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
But just because he won't
accept charity from the Winchesters doesn't mean he’ll have to struggle through
the transition from human to angel entirely alone. He's still not sure why Dean
made him leave, and he knows in the morning they will part ways with no
promises made, and much left unsaid between them. But he also knows Dean will
be back to see him when he can, and that the two of them will share more
moments like these, moments of touching and kissing and quiet whispers in the
dark.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
And that will have to be
enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<i>The End</i></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-30965631521768078632013-12-08T08:28:00.000-05:002013-12-13T07:03:27.421-05:00Supernatural storiesAll Dean/Cas:<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/fallen.html">Fallen</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2013/12/because-night.html">Because the Night</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-52627677633884315362013-12-08T08:16:00.002-05:002013-12-08T08:16:34.059-05:00Doctor Who stories<br />
Ten/Donna:<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/11/life-of-party.html">Life of the Party</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/11/mating-habits-of-humans.html">The Mating Habits of Humans</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/11/personal-spaces.html">Personal Spaces</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/11/personal-grooming.html">Personal Grooming</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/11/appetites-chapter-1.html">Appetites</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/afterimages.html">Afterimages</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/isolation.html">Isolation</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/incompatible.html">Incompatible</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/incompatible-remix.html">Incompatible (Remix)</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/still-hour-is-come.html">The Still Hour is Come</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/two-friends-one-bed-doctor-who-version.html">Two Friends, One Bed (Who version)</a><br />
<br />
Eleven/Donna:<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/45-for-moment.html">45 For a Moment</a><br />
<br />
Other:<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/11/singing-of-song.html">The Singing of the Song</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2011/11/dream-of-normal-life.html">The Dream of a Normal Life</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/paradoxes.html">Paradoxes</a><br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/01/there-will-come-soft-rains.html">There Will Come Soft Rains</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-90802592490867991522013-12-03T07:33:00.002-05:002013-12-24T14:57:50.235-05:00This Christmas (1/2)<i>Fandom: Smallville</i><br />
<i>Pairing: Chlark</i><br />
<i>Season: Preshow</i><br />
<i>Genre: Fluff</i><br />
<i>Rating: G</i><br />
<i>Author's note: Written for the Chlark Secret Santa last year, but not completed in time, so I'm posting it this Christmas. Based on a prompt by the_chlarkette.</i><br />
<br />
"So what are you doing for Christmas?"<br />
<br />
Chloe Sullivan shifted uncomfortably on the bus seat. She felt a little crowded. When she'd met Clark Kent a few months ago, just after she'd moved to the leafy little burg of Smallville, they'd been more or less the same size. But recently he'd begun shooting up like a cornstalk in summer, and he took up a whole lot more space than he previously had.<br />
<br />
But the lack of room wasn't what was making her uncomfortable. It was the question Clark had just asked.<br />
<br />
"Um..." she said, raising her voice to be heard over the racket on the bus. Kids in the sticks made just as much noise as the kids in Metropolis had. "Not much. Well, not anything, actually. Dad doesn't do Christmas."<br />
<br />
"He doesn't... do... Christmas?" Clark echoed the words, enunciating them as carefully as if she'd said them in another language. "What do you mean, he doesn't do Christmas? You guys aren't like Jewish or anything, are you?"<br />
<br />
"We aren't really anything, no. I mean, we don't go to church."<br />
<br />
"Well, neither do we. But you still gotta have a Christmas tree."<br />
<br />
"We never have. Not since my mom left. I guess Christmas sort of reminds Dad of her, and... well, he doesn't want to be reminded."<br />
<br />
Clark looked horrified, as if she'd admitted to cooking up neighbors on the grill or robbing banks or something. "What about presents?"<br />
<br />
"We don't do presents."<br />
<br />
"Christmas cookies? Decorations? A wreath on the front door?"<br />
<br />
"None of the above," she said with a little sigh she couldn't quite suppress.<br />
<br />
"Oh, my God." Clark boggled at her. "That's terrible."<br />
<br />
"It's no big deal." She shrugged. "I guess I'm used to it by now."<br />
<br />
The truth was, she wasn't, not really. Christmas always left her with an empty feeling-- the feeling that everyone in the world was having fun except her. She was getting too old to cry over the lack of a Christmas tree, but... well, everyone was a kid at heart at Christmas, and she did kind of long for a nice normal Christmas every now and then.<br />
<br />
"You have to come over to our house this Christmas," Clark said. No, he <i>decreed </i>it, with a sort of bossiness that was coming out of his mouth more often lately. Almost a sort of arrogance. He was a nice guy, but when he spoke in that tone, people seemed to have almost a compulsion to do what he wanted. It was kind of spooky, actually, although she recognized it was just that he was growing up, and becoming a litte more forceful about his opinions.
<br />
<br />
She sighed. "I'm not sure Dad would like that..."<br />
<br />
"Tough luck." Clark looked irritated on her behalf, which warmed her heart a bit. Clark had appointed himself the big brother she'd never had, standing up for her against the world. She appreciated that, even if she didn't quite think of him as a brother. "He can't have it both ways. If Christmas doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. If he's not going to put up a Christmas tree and do presents, then he can't insist that you stay home, can he?"
<br />
<br />
"Yeah," she admitted, unable to argue with his logic. "I guess that makes sense."<br />
<br />
"Then it's settled," he said. "Me and Dad'll come get you early Christmas morning."<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
On Christmas morning, the Kent house was awash in wonderful scents. Chloe stepped in and drew in an appreciative breath, inhaling the mingled fragrances of fir tree and gingerbread cookies and turkey. Memories of happy Christmases long ago flitted through her head, and she sighed in contentment.<br />
<br />
"May I take your coat?"<br />
<br />
She almost laughed at Clark's formality, but realized it had been drilled into him by his father Jonathan, who was a bit old-fashioned when it came to manners. She decided she didn't mind. "Thank you," she said, and let him help take her coat off. He hung it neatly on a wooden rack standing in one corner of the hallway, and she took off her boots as well, because they were covered in snow.<br />
<br />
"I was a little worried you wouldn't be able to come," she said, smiling up at Clark. Really, really up. He'd grown four inches since she'd met him. She wondered if she was ever going to get any taller, or if she was destined to be a shrimp. Oh, well, at least their friend Pete Ross didn't seem inclined to grow any taller, either. Clark loomed over both of them now, and he didn't show any signs of slowing down any time soon, either. She'd almost think he took after his tall father, except everyone knew that Clark was adopted.<br />
<br />
"Dad's good at driving through the snow," Clark said. He grinned at her, then bounded toward the kitchen, all his old-fashioned formality forgotten. "Hey, Mom! Can me and Chloe have cookies for breakfast?"<br />
<br />
"Try eggs and bacon instead," Mrs. Kent said, placing two plates on the counter. Clark made a face, but he obediently picked up the plates and carried them to the battered pine table. Chloe sat down before he had a chance to hold her chair, and began eating.<br />
<br />
"These are great," she said.
Clark still looked like he thought cookies would be better, but she noticed that didn't stop him from clearing his plate. She cleared hers, too. Her dad didn't usually cook breakfast anymore; she generally got herself a bowl of cereal in the mornings. Eggs and bacon were better than she remembered.<br />
<br />
"Come on." Clark had finished with his food before she was half done. It was like he ate in fast forward or something, she thought with amusement. Now he was standing next to the table, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in an excited, shuffling dance. "We have to look at our stockings."<br />
<br />
She blinked at him. "But I don't have--"<br />
<br />
"Sure you do. I filled it myself."<br />
<br />
"Oh, <i>wow</i>," she said, and gobbled the rest of her eggs.<br />
<br />
The stocking had been hand knitted by someone-- presumably Mrs. Kent-- at some time in the distant past. It was distorted and stretched from being stuffed repeatedly at Christmas, but Chloe thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She'd never had a stocking since her mom left.
She dumped the stocking's contents on the pine planks of the floor, following Clark's example, and was delighted to find all kinds of candy-- Hershey's kisses in bright red and green foil, candy canes, peppermints, chocolate-covered marshmallow Santas-- and a few little gifts, like a Christmas necklace with a red-enameled poinsettia pendant and a tiny book with the title, <i>Inspiration for Writers</i>. At the bottom was something larger that wouldn't come out on its own. She reached in and pulled out a greenish coffee mug in the likeness of an alien's head. She grinned in delight.<br />
<br />
"That's 'cause you wrote that article for the Torch about UFOs last month," Clark said through a mouthful of chocolate. Obviously eggs and bacon did not constitute sufficient caloric intake for growing boys. "And you drink coffee all the time, so I figured..."<br />
<br />
"I love it," she said, beaming from ear to ear. She happened to glance up, and saw Jonathan and Martha Kent standing stock still, wearing identical expressions of shock and anxiety. The instant they saw her looking, they both wiped their faces clear of all expression and turned away.<br />
<br />
<i>That was weird</i>, she thought, but she was too happy to give it much thought.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2013/12/this-christmas-chapter-2.html">Read Chapter 2 here.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-56847543930891358302012-08-08T09:27:00.001-04:002012-08-08T09:27:48.324-04:00Heated, Chapter 5<i>Fandom: Smallville<br />Pairing: Chlark<br />Rating: Adult. If you''re under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Warnings: Sexual content, underage sexual activity, language<br />Summary: After "Heat," Clark doesn't have quite as much control over his heat vision as he thought he did.<br />Written for the <a href="http://secret-chlark.livejournal.com/">Secret Chlark</a> gift exchange. Based on a prompt from elenarain. Chloe helps Clark to master his heat vision with multiple sexual training sessions and some kind of road trip adventure, with an actual car, not Clark using his speed</i><br />
<br />
Holy <i>shit</i>, Clark thought again, because it was the only phrase he knew that could even remotely express the shock and amazement and sheer <i>what-the-fuck-is-happening-here</i> he was feeling right now. Chloe Sullivan was unbuckling his belt.<br />
<br />
He opened his eyes, because he had to look-- he had to-- and watched as her small, competent hands deftly unfastened his Levi's, and then slowly unzipped them. He could see the enormous bulge in his boxers, and he knew she could too, and he really ought to be embarrassed by it. Maybe he was—he could feel his cheeks flaming, though whether that was with a blush or from the effort of holding back his heat vision he wasn't sure—but at this point he was beyond caring. All he cared about right now was the need that seemed to be burning him up from inside.<br />
<br />
She reached out a finger and stroked him, very gently, through the thin fabric of his boxers. His dick jerked, and he gave a suffocated whimper.<br />
<br />
He needed to look away. He really did. He was pretty sure he couldn't set himself on fire-- he could survive being hit by a car at sixty miles an hour, or shove his hand into a woodchipper without any damage, so his heat vision probably couldn't so much as redden his skin-- but Chloe wasn't fireproof. He needed to close his eyes against the burning and look toward the trees, right now, before he hurt her badly.<br />
<br />
But somehow the sight of her slim finger caressing him up and down wasn't something he could look away from.<br />
<br />
He watched with avid, hungry eyes as her finger slid up and down. He could feel the caress of her finger moving from head to base, almost to his balls, and back again, and his eyes burned as his dick spasmed. He could see a little wet patch appearing on the fabric as precome spilled out, and he blushed hotter than before, because he knew she could see it too.<br />
<br />
She touched him, right where the cotton was wet, right where he was most sensitive, and he uttered a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, and might have been a curse if his brain was still functioning enough to produce anything other than animalistic noises. Which it wasn’t.<br />
<br />
Oh, <i>God</i>. How had this happenned, exactly? He was supposed to be madly in love with Lana Lang, and yet he was standing here in the late summer sunshine, his jeans open, with Chloe Sullivan touching him in a way no girl ever had. He was standing in the middle of a field, where someone, anyone, might come along and see them, and letting her touch him intimately. And it was <i>awesome</i>.<br />
<br />
This, he thought, was a hell of a good way to learn to control his heat vision. It beat blasting scarecrows by a country mile.<br />
<br />
She stroked him some more, caressing his most sensitive flesh right through the cotton, and he shuddered. The heat sizzled in his eyes, but he fought it back. He had to watch this. He <i>had </i>to.<br />
<br />
She teased him there for long moments, while he shook and made sounds that that he couldn’t seem to suppress. His eyes burned, but he couldn’t look away. He was entirely helpless.<br />
<br />
He was all hers.<br />
<br />
At last she caught the elastic top of his boxers, and pushed them down carefully, and his dick sprang free, making him blush even more. It was huge and dark and kind of, well, wet with all that precome. It gleamed in the sunlight, looking so blatantly aroused that he was horrifically embarrassed. He ought to pull away from her, yank up his jeans, and stammer out a suggestion they get going.<br />
<br />
But he needed her touch so badly that he just couldn't.<br />
<br />
Her finger trailed over the head of his hard-on, right over his bare skin. He was exquisitely sensitive there, and just the touch was enough to pull a sobbing moan from him. He felt another gush of precome, and the flaming need in his eyes grew more intolerable than before.<br />
<br />
She trailed her finger back and forth, just as gently as she'd touched his palm, and without the cotton in the way, it felt incredible. He was pretty sure he could come just from this. In fact he was pretty sure he was going to, if she didn't stop soon.<br />
<br />
She didn't stop. Her little hand wrapped around him, and then her thumb began moving back and forth, brushing over the wet, swollen head of his dick in a steady motion.<br />
<br />
His knees shook, and he almost collapsed to the ground. His eyes felt like burning coals, but he still couldn't look away. There was no way in this or any other world he could look away from the sight of her pale hand wrapped around his blood-darkened flesh. His eyes smarted almost beyond endurance, but with a violent effort, he managed to hold back his heat vision, and stared at the sight of her thumb moving slowly over his wet flesh.<br />
<br />
Her thumb was gentle and relentless, and it felt really, really good, but he became aware that he wanted more. He <i>needed </i>more. Instinctively, his hips jerked, shoving his dick harder into her encircling hand.<br />
<br />
She took the hint, and began stroking her hand up and down, while still caressing the head. His hips moved harder, thrusting helplessly. He heard himself making noises-- and they were more than just moans now, they were strange, desperate noises like no sound he’d ever heard himself make-- and felt his balls beginning to ache.<br />
<br />
He was going to come, going to come here in the sunshine with Chloe Sullivan touching him, and the thought made his heart pound and his eyes burn like never before. He held back the heat with a terrible effort, and thrust hard against her palm.<br />
<br />
And then pleasure flowed through him like the sunshine, hot and sweet and so impossibly good, and he jerked his head to the side and let the heat rush out of him as he came. It was incredible, amazingly pleasurable, utterly overwhelming. His dick twitched and jerked in her hand, and come spurted from him in long, intense spasms as the heat rushed out of his eyes in a violent blast. He heard himself crying out, wailing her name, <i>oh Chloe oh yes oh <b>Chlo</b></i>, and she didn't stop, just kept stroking him until the pleasure and the heat ebbed, and he fell to his knees, drawing in oxygen in deep, unsteady gasps.<br />
<br />
Afterward, he wasn’t aware of anything for long moments. At last he heard her voice.<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”<br />
<br />
He came back to himself,and managed to focus. Chloe was a short distance away from him, her back turned toward him. He could see guilt in the way she held her shoulders, the way her head was lowered.<br />
<br />
“Hey,” he said, and began to get to his feet. His jeans started to fall down, reminding him that she’d unzipped them. He blushed, and hastily refastened his jeans and belt, then stepped toward her. “Hey, Chlo. It’s okay.”<br />
<br />
“No, it’s not.” She sighed. “I took advantage of you, Clark. You’re in some sort of meteor rock-induced hormonal haze, and I… well, I know you never would have wanted me under normal circumstances.”<br />
<br />
He gaped at her. She was gorgeous, her gold hair shining in the sun, her skin soft and pale, her body curved in all the right places. In her tiny little shorts and her low cut tank top, he thought any guy in his right mind would want her. God knew he did.<br />
<br />
He had to admit she had a point, though. He hadn’t wanted her till today. At least he hadn’t <i>wanted </i>to want her. Maybe, he thought, he’d been comfortable with the idea of being madly in love with Lana, so comfortable he wasn’t willing to look around and notice things had changed. Maybe he’d been kind of used to the status quo, and it had been easier to think of Chloe as just-a-friend, rather than a sexy and gorgeous girl.<br />
<br />
Until today, when his heat vision had made it impossible for him to pretend Chloe wasn’t a girl any longer.<br />
<br />
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I liked that. I mean, I <i>really </i>liked it.”<br />
<br />
“Doesn’t matter. You’re my friend, and Lana’s my friend, and…”<br />
<br />
“Lana and I aren’t dating, you know. She doesn’t own me.”<br />
<br />
Her voice was soft. “I kind of think she figures she does.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, well, maybe she’s wrong.” He patted her shoulder, rather awkwardly. “I’m glad we did that, Chlo.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, me too.” She sighed heavily. “The truth is… well, I’m not nearly as sorry as I ought to be.”<br />
<br />
“Me either. In fact, there’s only one thing I regret.”<br />
<br />
She looked back over her shoulder. “What’s that?”<br />
<br />
He grinned down at her. “That I didn’t get to touch you.”<br />
<br />
She thought about that for a moment, and then a mischievous light started to glow in her hazel eyes. “We can fix that, you know. In fact, it would probably be good practice for you.”<br />
<br />
“Practice is very important,” he agreed solemnly.<br />
<br />
“Very, very important.”<br />
<br />
“I’m glad we agree,” he said, and grabbed her.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
“Look. There’s Metropolis.”<br />
<br />
The city rose out of the flat Kansas prairie, proud and tall and beautiful. It was, Clark thought, one of the most amazing cities on Earth, and it was within driving distance of the little town where he’d grown up. But it was so different from Smallville that it might as well be on another planet. It was almost a shock to be driving along, in the middle of nowhere, and see the shining towers of Metropolis loom up on the horizon.<br />
<br />
“My home away from home.” Chloe chuckled, stretching out her legs in the close confines of the truck. “Keep driving, farmboy, and I’ll show you around the city.”<br />
<br />
“I’ve been there a few times, you know. I’m not a complete hick.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, well, I can get us in to see the Daily Planet.” She grinned at him, as if the idea of seeing the Planet again made her very, very happy. “One day, I’m going to be working there full time, and you’ll be coming to visit me.”<br />
<br />
“Ha,” he scoffed. “I’ll be at the desk right next to you.”<br />
<br />
“Maybe. If you can learn not to set buildings on fire.”<br />
<br />
“Hey, I totally had it under control last time we, uh, practiced. You know I did.”<br />
<br />
“You’re definitely improving. We’ve made out in Reddick—“<br />
<br />
“That wasn’t Reddick. It was Bumfuck Egypt.”<br />
<br />
“It was near Reddick, anyway. Sort of. So we’ve made out in Reddick, Wolf Rapids, and Reedville, and you’ve gotten better every time.”<br />
<br />
“Better with my control? Or better at making out?”<br />
<br />
“Both,” she said, patting his arm.<br />
<br />
It had been a nice day, Clark thought. A really nice day. When they hadn’t been making out, they’d been talking. He’d always found it really easy to talk to Chloe, and even after a summer spent apart, he still had an awful lot to say to her. He could barely get a conversation going around Lana, but with Chloe, the words just rolled out, on both sides.<br />
<br />
Chloe was a lot of fun, and she was sexy besides. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather take a road trip with.<br />
<br />
“How about we make out in Metropolis next?” he suggested.<br />
<br />
“Maybe we should just stay there for good.”<br />
<br />
“Chlo…” He shook his head. “When we get to Metropolis, I need to call my mom and let her know I’ll be home tonight. I can’t just run off. I thought maybe I could this morning, but… I guess I’m not the runaway sort of guy.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, I know. You’re the responsible type. You’d never take off for the big city for a summer like I did.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah. My parents will worry if I don’t get back tonight. And I’m serious about what I said, Chlo. If you don’t want to go back to your house because your dad’s never there… well, you can stay with us if you want to.”<br />
<br />
“I’m old enough to be on my own, Clark.”<br />
<br />
“I know. But you could use some home cooking, right? Come home with me tonight, and stay for dinner, at least.”<br />
<br />
She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he could almost see what she was thinking—<i>Is this a friend thing, or a girlfriend thing? </i>The truth was, he couldn’t answer that question himself, because he honestly wasn’t sure. He and Chloe had made out repeatedly on the way from Smallville to Metropolis, and so they were obviously more than just friends. But as to where they were going from here…<br />
<br />
Well, he didn’t know. Yet. But he figured the more time he spent with Chloe, the faster he’d figure it out.<br />
<br />
He wasn’t in a big hurry to work it all out, anyway. Figuring out their relationship status didn’t seem to be that important, not right now. After all, it was a beautiful late summer day, he had a hot blonde in his truck, and more temptation than he could handle. It was an awesome day. It was one of the best days of his life.<br />
<br />
And he was pretty sure that tomorrow was going to be even better.<br />
<br />
<i>-The End-</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-68905063600424178892012-08-08T09:26:00.001-04:002012-08-08T09:32:44.721-04:00Heated, Chapter 4<i>Fandom: Smallville<br />Pairing: Chlark<br />Rating: Adult. If you''re under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Warnings: Sexual content, underage sexual activity<br />Summary: After "Heat," Clark doesn't have quite as much control over his heat vision as he thought he did.<br />Written for the <a href="http://secret-chlark.livejournal.com/">Secret Chlark</a> gift exchange. Based on a prompt from elenarain. Chloe helps Clark to master his heat vision with multiple sexual training sessions and some kind of road trip adventure, with an actual car, not Clark using his speed</i><br />
<br />
"Okay," Chloe said. "Let's start with something a little more... basic." She reached down and took Clark's hand. "How's that?"<br />
<br />
"Uh..." He considered the matter. His eyes didn't seem to be burning. Much, anyway. "Okay."<br />
<br />
"Good." She stood in front of him, simply holding his hand, while he tried not to think about the summer breeze fragrance of her hair, or the way her legs looked in those too-short shorts. For long moments they simply stood there in the sunshine. The warm sun beat down on his skin, and her hand felt as warm as the sunshine. It was like holding onto summer, warm and bright and happy.<br />
<br />
And then she slowly moved her thumb. stroking the back of his hand.<br />
<br />
Instantly his eyes began to burn. He blinked hard.<br />
<br />
"Control it," she said softly.<br />
<br />
He focused hard, and kept his reaction to a low simmer. He could feel his eyes heating up, but he refused to give in to it. She moved her thumb a little faster.<br />
<br />
It felt good, and his eyes started to smart. He closed his eyes, but behind his eyelids he could feel his eyes sizzling.<br />
<br />
"I think you better stop," he muttered, his voice hoarse.<br />
<br />
"Okay." She stopped the motion of her thumb, and simply held his hand. A few moments later, the burning need receded, and he opened his eyes again.<br />
<br />
She began stroking her thumb across the top of his hand again, and this time, he lowered his gaze and watched. As he did so, he became aware that it wasn't just his eyes that were burning. He could feel heat running through his veins, and a sort of throbbing need in his...<br />
<br />
He blushed. Apparently his heat vision really <i>was </i>linked to arousal.<br />
<br />
He was actually a bit embarrassed to find that he was getting so hot and bothered-- <i>really</i> hot, and <i>really </i>bothered-- over a girl touching the back of his hand. That wasn't how normal guys reacted, was it?<br />
<br />
He wasn’t sure. But it sure as hell was the way <i>he </i>reacted. The burning, aching need in his eyes intensified. He held it back fiercely, because if he couldn't control it, then Chloe would stop.<br />
<br />
And he didn't really want her to stop.<br />
<br />
She kept on stroking his hand, while he controlled his responses as firmly as he could. At last she looked up at him, and blinked.<br />
<br />
"Your eyes are glowing," she said.<br />
<br />
He blinked. "Seriously?"<br />
<br />
"Seriously. They're kind of... orange."<br />
<br />
"Oh," he said, and lowered his gaze to the ground, just to be safe. And also because he really didn’t want her to think he was some kind of freak. "I guess that looks kind of creepy."<br />
<br />
"No." Her voice was soft. "It's actually kind of flattering. To know that you can get-- well, I mean, it's just me. And I know you don't think of me as a girl, most of the time."<br />
<br />
He couldn't deny that. Before today, he somehow hadn't been aware of her sex appeal. But now he was acutely aware of it, to an embarrassing degree.<br />
<br />
"You're definitely a girl," he said, lifting his gaze and looking at her. His voice still sounded hoarse to his own ears. "A really, really sexy girl."<br />
<br />
She smiled, a radiant and happy smile that made his eyes burn every bit as much as her touch had. Chloe Sullivan, he thought, had one hell of a gorgeous smile.<br />
<br />
She turned over his hand and began stroking the palm. His skin was more sensitive there, and the touch of her thumb sent waves of delight through him. He lost it almost instantly, jerking his head to the side and releasing a blistering burst of heat vision. The heated rush wrenched a moan of pleasure from his chest.<br />
<br />
When he was through, he looked down at her. "Sorry," he mumbled.<br />
<br />
"Not your fault," she said gently. "We'll work on that next."<br />
<br />
"Uh." The touch of her hand against his palm was heaven, and he shifted from foot to foot. "I'm not exactly sure-- I mean, that feels kind of good--"<br />
<br />
"You still have to learn to control it, Clark. A girl's probably going to hold your hand at some point."<br />
<br />
A girl <i>was</i> holding his hand, but he didn't bother to point that blindingly obvious fact out. "Like I said before, this only started happening this past week," he said with a sigh. "Maybe in a little while..."<br />
<br />
"And meantime you'll have immolated all of Smallville. I think you'd better learn to control it <i>now</i>, not in a little while."<br />
<br />
He knew she was right, but it was just so hard. Um, difficult. Well, no, <i>hard </i>worked too. He was really hard, and that made him extremely uncomfortable, because he knew that all she had to do was look down at him, and she'd see his hard-on.<br />
<br />
At the thought, his dick twitched, and he blushed worse than before. Because the only thing worse than having her notice his erection would be having her see it twitching around in his jeans like a live wire.<br />
<br />
"It's all right," she said, continuing to stroke his hand. He had a feeling she could sense his nervous embarrassment, even if she wasn’t quite sure what caused it. "Just relax."<br />
<br />
He was hard and aching, and his eyes were hot and itchy, and relaxation was the furthest thing from his mind. But he was supposed to be learning how to control his heat vision, so he did his absolute best to focus on that. He lifted his head and stared over her heard, toward the trees, while she continued stroking his palm, with long, slow, soft caresses of her thumb.<br />
<br />
God, it felt good. Was the touch of a girl's hand against his palm supposed to feel that good?<br />
<br />
Her thumb slipped back and forth, and the pleasure built, surging along his nerves, heating his skin. The touch of her thumb against his palm was really… well, sensuous. He felt his eyes burning again, but he also felt the throbbing need lower down, and he had an awful feeling that he was going to lose it in more ways than one.<br />
<br />
"You'd better stop," he muttered.<br />
<br />
She stopped for just a moment, barely long enough for him to get a grip on himself, and then she started up again, stroking softly, relentlessly, until he could hardly hold himself still. He blinked hard, holding back the heat by a tremendous act of will, but in his jeans his hard-on twitched uncontrollably.<br />
<br />
Oh, God. He was going to-- and he hadn't ever, not with a girl. He'd hardly <i>kissed </i>a girl, for crying out loud. Despite being an alien, he was pretty much the same as any other sixteen-year-old boy, and he'd definitely thought of girls while-- but this was a whole different thing, this was Chloe holding his hand, stroking his hand, making him crazy-- and he couldn't stop now, he just couldn't...<br />
<br />
He clenched his eyes shut, and shuddered, hearing another funny sound come out of his own throat, a low, resonant groan.<br />
<br />
She stopped.<br />
<br />
Oh, God. She couldn't stop, not now, not when he was so close, not when his dick was jerking in his jeans and his eyes were sizzling and his whole body was shaking. Now was so not a good time to stop.<br />
<br />
It occurred to him, very vaguely, that even though he was as turned on as he'd ever been in his lifetime, he was managing to hold back his heat vision. He supposed that was a good thing, though he honestly wasn't sure if it was because he'd learned control or if it was just that right now he was focused on the other, overwhelmingly physical aspects of his arousal.<br />
<br />
"You're doing very well," she told him.<br />
<br />
He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. His eyes were jammed shut against the heat, and his body was taut with need. Rather ridiculous need, considering she'd just been touching his hand. He wasn't sure if the palm was some strange alien erogenous zone, or if he was just being an ordinary sixteen-year-old again. Really, it was hard to tell.<br />
<br />
He forced words out.<br />
<br />
"I guess you better... stop... touching... my hand."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I intend to," she said, and let go of him. He could barely stifle his disappointed moan.<br />
<br />
But a second later, he felt her unbuckling his belt, and shock ran through him, along with a violent stab of need.<br />
<br />
Holy shit, he thought. This day just kept getting better.<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-5.html">Read Chapter 5 here</a></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-8452063431713212722012-08-08T09:25:00.001-04:002012-08-08T09:32:09.298-04:00Heated, Chapter 3<i>Fandom: Smallville<br />Pairing: Chlark<br />Rating: Adult. If you''re under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Warnings: Sexual content, underage sexual activity<br />Summary: After "Heat," Clark doesn't have quite as much control over his heat vision as he thought he did.<br />Written for the <a href="http://secret-chlark.livejournal.com/">Secret Chlark</a> gift exchange. Based on a prompt from elenarain. Chloe helps Clark to master his heat vision with multiple sexual training sessions and some kind of road trip adventure, with an actual car, not Clark using his speed</i><br />
<br />
"You're a meteor freak."<br />
<br />
Anyone else would have been backing away from him in horror, but Chloe just looked fascinated as she looked at the blackened grass. "Wow. You're not the first one we've met who's pyrokinetic, but Coach Arnold didn't shoot fire out of his eyes that way."<br />
<br />
"Uh..." He wasn't about to explain to her that he was actually some sort of alien, because she'd probably think he was nuts. But he didn't want to lie to her, either. Fortunately, he didn't have to. Chloe Sullivan, reporter extraordinaire, never stopped asking questions.<br />
<br />
“Does it hurt?”<br />
<br />
“No.” In fact it was the opposite of painful, but he didn’t want to talk about that, because it made him blush. “And it’s not fire. It’s heat.”<br />
<br />
She must have taken his terse response for anxiety, rather than embarrassment, because she patted his arm. "You don't have to worry about me outing you," she assured him. "You know I'll protect your secret. And I wasn't snooping, either. Really, I wasn’t. I just thought you were getting sick out here, so I thought I should come hold your head while you puked." She looked at the blackened grass with a wry expression. "I think it's a good thing I wasn't holding your head."<br />
<br />
Clark snorted. He couldn't help it. Chloe had always been able to make him laugh.<br />
<br />
"So," she said. "How long have you been able to do this?"<br />
<br />
"Only a few days," he admitted. "And it's sort of... well, it's kind of tied in with my hormones somehow."<br />
<br />
"You mean--" She looked at him, and humor sparkled in her hazel eyes as she began putting the events of the past week together in her head. "I see. You get near girls and--"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. Boom."<br />
<br />
“<i>Oh</i>.” She looked as if a light had just dawned. "That day in class, when the screen caught on fire. Was that--"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. That was me."<br />
<br />
She tilted her head on one side, thinking about it. "I wonder if Desiree's supercharged pheremones somehow activated your meteor talent."<br />
<br />
"I guess they might have," he admitted. "But I think maybe it would have developed sooner or later, anyway."<br />
<br />
She didn’t ask why he thought that. She just looked up at him, her eyes glowing with interest. Her fascination with the weird and bizarre was going to make her a great reporter one day, he was certain. "So it really doesn’t hurt?"<br />
<br />
“Um…” He thought about the blast of heat, the violent release of tension, and gave a shaky laugh. It definitely didn’t hurt. “No,” he said at last, and blushed despite himself. "Actually, it feels kind of good."<br />
<br />
She made a sound that he suspected was a repressed giggle. "So you took off and left Smallville behind because... you were setting everything on fire?"<br />
<br />
"Pretty much. I figured the sheriff would have to arrest me again, sooner or later. I need to figure out how to control this, Chlo. I can't go through my whole life avoiding women. There are an awful lot of them in the world."<br />
<br />
"Have you tried to learn how to control it?"<br />
<br />
"Sure. I practiced a lot. I'm just fine-- until I get near a girl. Then my control goes all to hell."<br />
<br />
He’d worked hard at trying to master this power, learning to incinerate a scarecrow on cue, then learning to hold back the heat, so that he could release it in little increments. He’d managed to pop popcorn with his eyes, and he’d thought he was pretty well under control.<br />
<br />
But the events of the past few days had shown him otherwise. Just walking past a pretty girl in school was enough to set him off. Walking past a group of cheerleaders in skimpy skirts made him go ballistic. And Chloe—well, he thought, looking ruefully over the blackened grass, Chloe had somehow made his heat vision even worse than before. Which was weird, because she was just… Chloe.<br />
<br />
Only she wasn’t. Since she’d come back from Metropolis, he’d been vaguely aware that she was different somehow, and when he’d seen her by the side of the road today, his awareness had rocketed to whole new levels.<br />
<br />
She wasn’t the sweet little girl who’d kissed him a year and a half ago, and told him she was just getting it out of the way so they could be friends. She wasn’t even the girl who’d gone to the Spring Formal with her. That girl had been pretty enough, but now…<br />
<br />
Well, now she was sex on a stick.<br />
<br />
“I have to figure out how to control this,” he said hoarsely.<br />
<br />
"Maybe," she said, moving a little closer, "you need to practice controlling it while you're near a girl."<br />
<br />
He looked down at her. Despite the massive blast of heat he'd just released, his eyes itched. "Are you volunteering?"<br />
<br />
She grinned up at him.<br />
<br />
"I guess I am."<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
They were in the middle of nowhere.<br />
<br />
They’d gone back into the diner and eaten their burgers-- which were surprisingly good, if you didn’t mind a little grease—then gotten back into the truck and kept driving. This part of Kansas looked a lot like home. Flat, empty, and pretty damn dull.<br />
<br />
"We need to make sure we're far away from any sort of civilization," Chloe said as they drove. "You're kind of destructive."<br />
<br />
He was <i>kind of destructive</i> like she was kind of sexy, but he didn’t say so. "I don't want to destroy anyone's crops, either. Or start a forest fire."<br />
<br />
Since he was pretty well fireproof, he could put out a fire with his hands afterward, but didn't particularly want to unless he had to. Meteor freaks rarely possessed more than one ability, and if Chloe noticed his numerous and varied talents, she might begin to wonder.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but he’d been keeping secrets for a long time now, and it was a matter of habit with him. Anyway, <i>Did I mention I’m an alien?</i> was an awkward conversation to have with anyone, even your best friend. Maybe especially with your best friend.<br />
<br />
Eventually he spotted a rutted dirt road. He turned down it, and the truck jolted along until they found a fallow field surrounded on three sides by old-growth trees, and partially screened from the road by underbrush.<br />
<br />
"That looks good," Chloe said, but he was already pulling over.<br />
<br />
He got out of the truck and looked around. They seemed to be alone, but for the birds singing in the trees and the insects humming. He headed across the field, and Chloe followed.<br />
<br />
Near the trees, he came to a stop. "Uh," he said, looking down at the tall grass, rather than at her. "Um, how did you want to..."<br />
<br />
"What sets it off, exactly?"<br />
<br />
He shrugged. <i>Pretty much anything having to do with the opposite sex.</i> "Sexy girls, I guess."<br />
<br />
"Well, I suppose that excludes me." She spoke under her breath, but he heard her clearly enough.<br />
<br />
"Hey," he said, reaching out, putting a finger under her chin, and tilting her face up so she looked into his eyes. "You're sexy, Chloe. You really are."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, right."<br />
<br />
"You are," he insisted. He thought it best not to mention that he'd never really noticed until today. That didn't reflect on her; it was the fact that he'd somehow been seeing her as the little girl he'd met in middle school, rather than the curvaceous, hot-bodied blonde she'd grown into.<br />
<br />
He'd been blind and stupid. He hadn't noticed what she’d become... but his body apparently had.<br />
<br />
He could tell she didn’t really believe him, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked up into his eyes. "Okay, then," she said. "Control it."<br />
<br />
She reached up and pressed her palms against his chest.<br />
<br />
Even through the fabric of his blue t-shirt, he could feel the heat of her hands. She smelled good, too. The fragrance of her hair was subtle and summery, like a breeze through an apple orchard. He breathed in the scent of her, felt the press of her hands against him, and heat flared through him. He jerked his head to the side, and blackened a substantial patch of grass.<br />
<br />
She pulled her hands back, stared, and then shook her head with a faint smile.<br />
<br />
"Apparently,” she said, “we have a lot of work to do."<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-4.html">Read Chapter 4 here</a></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-22204999849446439192012-08-08T09:23:00.001-04:002012-08-08T09:31:33.108-04:00Heated, Chapter 2<i>Fandom: Smallville<br />Pairing: Chlark<br />Rating: Adult. If you''re under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Warnings: Sexual content, underage sexual activity<br />Summary: After "Heat," Clark doesn't have quite as much control over his heat vision as he thought he did.<br />Written for the <a href="http://secret-chlark.livejournal.com/">Secret Chlark</a> gift exchange. Based on a prompt from elenarain. Chloe helps Clark to master his heat vision with multiple sexual training sessions and some kind of road trip adventure, with an actual car, not Clark using his speed</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Once Chloe Sullivan had made up her mind about something, it couldn’t be altered, even by a superpowered alien. And so an hour and a half later, she was still in his truck, and they were still headed for Metropolis. Eventually Clark got tired of driving, and they stopped for lunch in a little diner in a town even less impressive than Smallville.<br />
<br />
<i>Reddick, Population 1200</i>, the old faded sign proclaimed proudly as they entered the town limits. Reddick, Kansas possessed no stoplight, but there was a small cluster of buildings, including an old-fashioned general store and a single-pump gas station, as well as the obligatory diner marked EATS. The whole town looked like it had been plucked out of the nineteen fifties and plopped down here, except that up close, the peeling paint of the buildings gave away the town’s age.<br />
<br />
Clark had decided to stop because he was starving, and anyway, a small diner in a tiny town wasn't the sort of place where he was likely to find temptation in the form of beautiful women. This wasn’t Hooters, and the waitress here was probably some middle-aged, plump woman named Flo. He got out of the truck, and Chloe bounced out the other side—and when she bounced, she <i>really </i>bounced-- and trotted around to him. He sighed.<br />
<br />
He couldn't very well avoid temptation. He was carrying it around with him in his truck.<br />
<br />
She headed for the diner, and he fell into step behind her, watching her rounded butt move smoothly beneath the denim. God, those shorts were <i>short</i>. He could almost see the bottom of her butt cheeks, and didn’t have the slightest difficulty imagining what he couldn’t quite see. She'd get kicked out of school if she tried to wear something that short in the hallowed halls of Smallville High-- which was, he supposed, why she was wearing them on a weekend. But honestly, she ought not to be wearing them at all. It looked for all the world like she'd outgrown them over the summer. And no wonder, because her butt was a lot rounder than he remembered.<br />
<br />
But round in a good way. A very good way.<br />
<br />
He blinked hard, trying to hold back the heat vision. Damn it, he must have rocks in his head. He should have insisted Chloe get out and walk back to Smallville, the very minute she’d climbed into his truck.<br />
<br />
But the truth was he’d never won an argument with Chloe Sullivan yet. Anyway, he'd figured she was safe enough. After all, she was just Chloe.<br />
<br />
Only she wasn't, not exactly. Through some mysterious process he couldn't quite understand, she'd become... a girl.<br />
<br />
He reached out a long arm, snagged the diner’s door handle, and held it open for her automatically, because his dad had drilled courtesy into him until it was an instinct. She sashayed into the dim interior of the diner, her hips swinging, and he carefully did not look down. Much.<br />
<br />
To himself, he admitted that he'd noticed she was a girl the other day, at Lex's wedding reception. She'd been dressed up like a princess in pink, her hair up in a fancy style, and he'd thought she looked very pretty.<br />
<br />
But <i>pretty</i> was one thing. Pretty was safe. Ordinary. Everyday.<br />
<br />
The way she looked now... well, it wasn't safe. Not in the least.<br />
<br />
His eyes burned, and he rubbed at them, hard, and followed her into the dimness of the diner.<br />
<br />
The place was empty, and they sat in a booth with a metal-edged formica table and fraying vinyl seats. It was a very small booth, and his long legs seemed to brush up against her bare ones no matter how he arranged himself. His eyes itched dangerously, and he took refuge in conversation.<br />
<br />
"What's your dad going to think if you don't come home tonight?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know if he'll even notice," she said, twiddling the ancient, grease-stained menu and carefully not looking at him. "He got himself a new girlfriend over the summer. He's kind of... engrossed right now."<br />
<br />
Clark frowned. His parents weren't perfect, but they definitely noticed if he went missing. "What do you mean, <i>engrossed</i>?"<br />
<br />
"I mean, he's spending most of the nights at her apartment. I've hardly seen him since I got back from Metropolis."<br />
<br />
"That sucks."<br />
<br />
"Tell me about it. I can't cook, and I'm getting really tired of macaroni and cheese for dinner." She tried for a perky smile, but Clark could see the hurt beneath the perkiness. He could understand it. She’d stayed with her uncle and cousin in the big city all summer, interning at the Daily Planet, and now that she’d come back home… well, she must feel really abandoned. He reached out and patted her hand.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry."<br />
<br />
"Thanks." She flipped over her hand and squeezed his. It was just a normal friendly gesture between them, but right now his hormones seemed to be in high gear, and the touch of her hand set off something inside him, something dangerously hot. His eyes began to burn fiercely. He blinked hard, but the sensation didn't go away, and he knew he was about to set this ancient diner on fire.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me," he muttered. He yanked his hand away and ran for the door, as fast as he possibly could without setting off Chloe’s weirdar.<br />
<br />
Outside, behind the diner, there was an empty lot, and he blasted a perfectly innocent patch of grass and weeds into charcoal. He stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily, then wiped the sweat from his forehead, and turned and walked back into the diner. The old vinyl bench creaked beneath his weight as he dropped himself back down into the booth.<br />
<br />
"Sorry," he said, as casually as he could manage. "My stomach was feeling kind of queasy. I guess I'm hungry. Shouldn't've skipped breakfast."<br />
<br />
She looked dubious, but didn't comment. He noticed she didn't put her hands on the table again, and wondered if maybe he'd hurt her feelings. If maybe she thought he'd wanted to puke because she'd touch him. But that was silly. She wouldn't think that, would she?<br />
<br />
He looked at her downbent head, at the way her shoulders sagged, and decided she might just think that. She was obviously feeling pretty rejected right now, and considering what was going on with her dad, he didn't really blame her.<br />
<br />
"Hey," he said gently. "What are you ordering? I thought I'd get a burger."<br />
<br />
"Yeah." She sighed, sounding totally disinterested. "A burger sounds fine."<br />
<br />
The waitress-- who was precisely as Clark had imagined, except her tag read <i>Gertrude</i>-- took their orders. Two Cokes were delivered to the table in due course, and Clark sipped his. It was a little flat, but not too bad.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry about your dad," he said, looking at her downbent head. "You know, you shouldn't have to be alone. If you want, you could come stay with us any time your dad's out."<br />
<br />
She lifted her head and blinked at him. "Stay with you?"<br />
<br />
"Sure, Mom wouldn't mind. I could bunk on the couch, and you could have my bedroom."<br />
<br />
All of a sudden he imagined her sleeping in his bed, on his sheets, her skin pale against the navy blue sheets, her golden hair all rumpled on his pillow. He imagined climbing into bed after she’d been there, imagined smelling the scent of her, breathing in the faint apple fragrance that clung to her, and the more subtle scent of her skin, and--<br />
<br />
Suddenly his eyes were burning more fiercely than before. More fiercely than they ever had. Oh, God. He needed to get out of here, before he incinerated the diner completely. He jumped to his feet and fled out the door without so much as a word.<br />
<br />
In the field behind the diner, he let the heat go. And this time, it just didn’t want to stop. It went on and on for a long time before it fizzled out, and by the time he’d finished, he’d fried a huge patch of weedy grass. He stood there, panting, trying to get hold of himself.<br />
<br />
<i>Must have destroyed a quarter acre</i>, he thought grimly, staring at the devastation. It was only a bunch of weeds, but if he'd been inside--<br />
<br />
"Well," a voice said behind him. "When you said you felt queasy, this isn't quite what I imagined you meant."<br />
<br />
Clark gave a startled yelp and spun around. Behind him, Chloe stood there, watching him with her calm, unflappable gaze.<br />
<br />
"Chloe," he squeaked.<br />
<br />
She looked over the blackened grass.<br />
<br />
"So this is why you're running," she said.<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-3.html">Read Chapter 3 here</a></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-16983382102891903912012-08-08T09:22:00.001-04:002012-08-08T09:30:35.625-04:00Heated, Chapter 1<i>Title: Heated<br />Fandom: Smallville<br />Rating: Adult. If you''re under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Warnings: Sexual content, underage sexual activity<br />Summary: After "Heat," Clark doesn't have quite as much control over his heat vision as he thought he did.<br />Written for the <a href="http://secret-chlark.livejournal.com/">Secret Chlark</a> gift exchange. Based on a prompt from elenarain. Chloe helps Clark to master his heat vision with multiple sexual training sessions and some kind of road trip adventure, with an actual car, not Clark using his speed</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-2.html">Chapter 2</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-3.html">Chapter 3</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-4.html">Chapter 4</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-5.html">Chapter 5</a></i><br />
<br />
There was a blonde by the side of the road.<br />
<br />
She seemed to be trying to wave him down, but Clark Kent had no intention of stopping the old red truck, even though she was undeniably hot. She was clad in really short denim shorts and a pink tank top, and the scanty clothes accentuated her great legs and a nicely curved body. The spring breeze ruffled her short gold hair in a very attractive way. Even so, he didn’t stop. He just didn't have time for girls right now, not even hot blondes.<br />
<br />
But then he realized it was Chloe Sullivan, his best friend, and hit the brakes hard.<br />
<br />
The truck fishtailed to a stop alongside her, and she yanked open the door and scrambled inside, looking slightly indignant. "For a minute there," she said, sounding a bit huffy, "I thought you were going to drive right past me."<br />
<br />
He blinked at her, rather stupidly. When <i>had </i>Chloe become a hot blonde, anyway? The blonde part wasn't a surprise, of course, but the hot part definitely was. When he'd met her, a year and a half ago, she'd been small and dainty and, well, straight up and down.<br />
<br />
Of course, he'd been about two feet shorter then, too. He'd grown up, and so had Chloe. Except somehow he hadn't really noticed that she’d grown up till… well, till just now.<br />
<br />
She settled her butt—her startlingly curvaceous butt—onto the tattered vinyl seat of the old truck, buckled her seatbelt, and stretched out her legs. She was wearing ridiculously short shorts-- Mr. Sullivan had no business letting her out of the house wearing such a little scrap of denim, Clark thought with disapproval, staring at her smooth, slim legs-- and that little tank top was cut way too low in the front, and...<br />
<br />
Well, this couldn't be Chloe. It just couldn't be. Because she was every bit as hot as Desiree had been. Maybe hotter.<br />
<br />
And that realization freaked him the hell out.<br />
<br />
He felt a familiar, dangerous prickling behind his eyelids, and bit back a curse. Throwing the car into gear, he took off with a squeal of tires. Chloe grabbed for the door handle and squealed as loudly as the tires had.<br />
<br />
"Clark! What the hell are you doing?"<br />
<br />
"Driving," he said between his teeth, very carefully not looking at her. Damn it. He'd decided to get the hell out of town in order to get away from temptation, and now temptation had climbed right into his truck.<br />
<br />
Only temptation had no business being shaped like Chloe Sullivan. Because Chloe wasn't a girl. She was just... Chloe.<br />
<br />
He stole another glance at her legs, and felt the heat prickling behind his eyelids.<br />
<br />
<i>Damn </i>it. She was definitely a girl.<br />
<br />
"Driving where?" She rearranged herself on the slippery vinyl seat, pulling one of those long legs up and wrapping an arm around it. Her arms were just as sexy as her legs, and that realization didn’t do anything to calm him down, either. "Your mom called. She was, like, half hysterical. She said you'd just driven off in the truck. She was really worried. So where are you going?"<br />
<br />
He took a turn, way too fast, and whipped onto the long, straight road that led toward Metropolis. He hit the accelerator, and the speedometer needle swung up toward eighty. The old engine whined in protest.<br />
<br />
"I'm going away for a few days," he answered.<br />
<br />
"Look..." She reached out and put a hand gently on his forearm, which did nothing to ease the itching in his eyes. "I know it's been a weird few days, what with Desiree--"<br />
<br />
"Allison. Her real name was Allison."<br />
<br />
"Whatever. With the crazy meteor freak teacher somehow convincing Lex to marry her and accusing you of arson and everything. But a weird few days in Smallville is nothing new. So why are you flipping out, exactly?"<br />
<br />
"I'm not flipping out. I'm just driving."<br />
<br />
"You're going eighty, Clark. I've never even seen you break the speed limit before. You are totally flipping out."<br />
<br />
"I just want to get out of town for a while, okay?"<br />
<br />
She was quiet for a moment, looking at him. At last she said, "Is this about Lana?"<br />
<br />
He sighed. It was, and it wasn't. After the first incident with Desiree, where he’d set the movie screen on fire, he'd then reacted to being near Lana, doing his freakish alien eye-heat thing again and setting the Talon on fire. He'd thought that meant he had feelings for her, special romantic feelings. But over the past couple of days, he'd discovered that despite his attempts to learn to control his newly developed heat vision, he tended to have the reaction around just about any attractive female. Well, besides his mom, obviously.<br />
<br />
Anyway, rather than get himself thrown in jail for arson again-- because the sheriff wasn’t completely stupid, and he could only explain away so many suspicious fires-- he'd decided to get out of town and do some more practicing somewhere a safe distance from Smallville.<br />
<br />
His parents, of course, hadn't agreed, and they'd had a big fight. And when he'd gotten mad, he'd lost control over his heat vision again, and fried the hell out of his mom’s sunflowers. That had been the last straw for him. He had scary inhuman powers, of which the heat vision was only the latest to manifest, and he of all people couldn’t afford to be this out of control. He just couldn’t. He could have hurt his parents, and that knowledge scared the crap out of him. So he'd run for the truck.<br />
<br />
Ordinarily he'd have just run, period, but he was kind of afraid to use any of his powers right now. The heat vision was glitchy, which was no surprise, considering it was a brand new power, but the speed thing was acting weird too. He seemed to be getting faster, and considering that he was already pretty damn fast, that worried him. He didn't want to get going so fast he couldn't stop, or something. So the truck it was.<br />
<br />
But of course his mom had called all his friends and asked them to keep an eye out for him, because meddling was what Mom did. And now he had a hot blonde with killer legs in his truck.<br />
<br />
Damn it.<br />
<br />
"You can tell my mom I'll be back in a few days," he said, beginning to slow the truck and pulling toward the side of the road.<br />
<br />
"Hey." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You’re not getting rid of me, Clark."<br />
<br />
"But I'm going to be heading out for a few days. I told you."<br />
<br />
She shrugged, a movement that caused interesting secondary movements a little further down. He was so busy staring he barely avoided the ditch. "I guess I'm coming along, then."<br />
<br />
He somehow pulled to a stop on the side of the road without dropping the truck into the ditch, and turned to glare at her. "But I didn't invite you."<br />
<br />
She looked at him with a little smile, and shrugged again, causing more fascinating ripples.<br />
<br />
"Tough luck, farmboy. I'm coming anyway."<br />
<br />
<i>More to come...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2012/08/heated-chapter-2.html">Read Chapter 2 here</a></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-56823083764898970102012-07-07T14:57:00.003-04:002012-07-07T14:57:57.643-04:00Coming Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3857B4J1l2Kz8E8COUfq-FtgaIqfo3AXdNPmOInw40q1YbHyp5sc9xZPYVVH89yMuK6XoG8-jaay72kCmAAcpYMedT-LDBEb-2jk8eOQgiQb3z221lI2FnVN-NBvZiJ70m7c/s1600/cominghome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3857B4J1l2Kz8E8COUfq-FtgaIqfo3AXdNPmOInw40q1YbHyp5sc9xZPYVVH89yMuK6XoG8-jaay72kCmAAcpYMedT-LDBEb-2jk8eOQgiQb3z221lI2FnVN-NBvZiJ70m7c/s640/cominghome.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-47078447917665732362012-04-26T20:06:00.001-04:002012-04-26T20:09:41.454-04:00Off the Record 4<i>Smallville</i><br />
<i>Characters: Clark, Q (Star Trek: TNG crossover)</i><br />
<i>Post-finale</i><br />
<i>Rating: PG</i><br />
<i>Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW, DC Comics, and Paramount, not to me.</i><br />
<i>Warnings for bitterness. Posted to my LJ previously; never got posted over here.</i><br />
<i>Sequel to <a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/off-record-3.html">Off the Record 3</a>.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
"What the <em>hell </em>was that?"<br />
<br />
Clark turned around, blinking, at an unexpected flash of light in the Daily Planet newsroom. He saw a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline, dressed in a navy blue suit and a dark red tie, and dark-rimmed glasses-- a reflection of the outfit he wore. There was a strange familiarity about the man, and yet Clark was certain he'd never seen him before.<br />
<br />
"Um..." he said, a little taken aback. People didn't just pop into existence... well, except for him. He squinted at the guy. "Have we met?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, right. I always forget that. Odd, considering I'm omniscient." He snapped his fingers, and there was another flash. Clark blinked again.<br />
<br />
"Q," he said.<br />
<br />
"That's right, kid. Your favorite god. Feel free to genuflect."<br />
<br />
"Thanks, but no thanks. Why are you here? It's been years."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, well, I've been watching you, kid. More to the point, I've been watching your life. And holy crap, what an amazing mess it turned out to be."<br />
<br />
Clark frowned, looking around at the empty newsroom. It was the middle of the night, and no one was at the Planet except him... and now the annoying God guy. "I think it's pretty good, personally."<br />
<br />
"Seriously? You're <em>happy </em>with this?"<br />
<br />
"Um... well..."<br />
<br />
"I mean, let's be honest, kid. If you were that much into Lois Lane, wouldn't you two have gotten married seven years ago, like you were supposed to?"<br />
<br />
"Um... see, the thing is..."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, the thing is you're just not that into her. I get it."<br />
<br />
Clark sighed. "But at least I'm Superman," he muttered defensively.<br />
<br />
"True enough. I have to give credit, the John Williams music was a nice touch. Cliched, but a nice touch."<br />
<br />
Clark blinked, confused. Talking with Q was a lot like riding an amusement park ride-- his conversations seemed to spin around till they made you dizzy, but you never actually got anywhere. "Excuse me?"<br />
<br />
"Never mind. Look, kid, I keep rewriting your life, and somehow it keeps winding up snarled in these awful messes anyway. It's like fanfiction doesn't count, or something."<br />
<br />
"Fanfiction?"<br />
<br />
"I don't even know why I'm having a conversation with you," Q said in disgust. "It's like talking to a monkey, only less interesting. Yeah, fanfiction. I rewrite to make things better, and the writers just ignore my vast improvements on their storylines, and keep blundering down the same stupid paths. I mean, honestly, who pays these people?"<br />
<br />
Clark bristled slightly. "You keep talking about my life like it's..."<br />
<br />
"Written by someone else. You should be flattered, kid. I've shared one of the great truths of the universe with you. Your life-- my life-- everyone's life-- we're all just someone else's story."<br />
<br />
"Oh, come <em>on</em>."<br />
<br />
"You doubt me?" Q snapped his fingers, and a fifty-two inch LCD television appeared on Clark's desk. "Here, I had to sit through this godawful finale, so I don't see why you should be exempt. Here you go, kid. This is your life."<br />
<br />
Clark blinked, seeing himself on the television. He squinted suspiciously at Q. "How the hell did you do that?"<br />
<br />
"It's the magic of the CW, kid. Coming to you straight from the Q Continuum. Now shut up and watch."<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
Two hours later, Clark was yawning cavernously.<br />
<br />
"Bored?" Q inquired sweetly as he turned the TV off.<br />
<br />
"Um..." Clark frowned. "Not bored, exactly... I wouldn't say bored, no. Just sort of..."<br />
<br />
"Rendered unconscious from brain damage. Yeah, I think pretty much everyone who had the misfortune to watch that had the same reaction."<br />
<br />
Clark squinted at the TV. "How come they didn't show me in the suit? I mean, it was kind of like I was a little tiny dot."<br />
<br />
"They thought the suit made you look fat."<br />
<br />
"I'm not fat!" Q raised an eyebrow, and Clark shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm just, you know, well-muscled."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, kid, keep telling yourself that."<br />
<br />
"And how about Chloe? They made it look like she's a stay-at-home mom. It didn't even mention that she's a foreign correspondent for the Daily Planet. You know?"<br />
<br />
"And taking care of your kid, I might add."<br />
<br />
Clark blushed. "That was not my fault. It had to do with magic champagne and a lemur."<br />
<br />
"I don't even want to think about that sentence."<br />
<br />
"I'm just saying. Chloe is just a friend, but still, they shouldn't have treated her like that."<br />
<br />
"Of course not. That was obvious to anyone who watched the show--"<br />
<br />
"<em>My life.</em>"<br />
<br />
"--all the way through. All three of us."<br />
<br />
"Are you saying that my life... wasn't popular?"<br />
<br />
"Are you kidding? You were about as popular as a <em>Firefly</em>-watching, World of Warcraft-playing guy is with sorority girls. The only thing that kept you going was the fact that as bad as you were, <em>Hellcats </em>was worse."<br />
<br />
Clark refrained from asking what exactly <em>Hellcats </em>was. "And now?"<br />
<br />
"And now it's over. Curtains. Fade to black."<br />
<br />
Clark swallowed. "Um... what does that mean for me, exactly?"<br />
<br />
Q gave an evil grin. "I told you before, kiddo. You really do <em>not </em>want to know."<br />
<br />
"But I'm going to find out, aren't I?"<br />
<br />
"Trust me, kid. It's better this way. For everyone."<br />
<br />
Q snapped his fingers, and Clark poofed out of existence.<br />
<br />
"Thank God that's over," Q muttered. "Oh, wait... I'm God. Well, thanks, Q."<br />
<br />
<div>
</div>
<div>
He grinned gleefully. "You're welcome, Q."<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
He looked around at the empty room, shrugged, then disappeared in a flash of light. Two seconds later, he reappeared.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
"I almost forgot," he said under his breath. "<i>Hellcats</i> is on."<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
He snapped his fingers, and the TV clicked on. Q materialized a bowl of popcorn in a flash of light, and picked it up, tossing a few kernels into his mouth.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
"Pitiful," he said with a sigh, leaning back in the empty leather chair that had formerly been occupied by one mild-mannered superhero. "I am <em>such </em>a glutton for punishment..."<br />
<div>
<br />
<strong>-The End-</strong></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-49127388629289208862012-04-24T18:50:00.001-04:002012-04-24T18:50:53.749-04:00The Thing<i>Fandom: Smallville<br />Characters: Clark/Chloe, Shelby<br />Description: Chloe gets a birthday present. Shelby does not approve.<br />Length: Oneshot, 1500 words<br />Rating: G<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.<br />Note: Part of my Shelby series, set after <a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2009/10/new-tricks.html">New Tricks</a>. Married Chlark with a baby. Written for Tobi's birthday. Happy birthday!</i><br />
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<lj-cut text="The Thing"><br />"Take the basket in to Chloe, Shel."<br /><br />I sniffed dubiously at the picnic basket, and what was inside it, and then lifted my head and glared at The Boy.<br /><br /><i>You do not seriously expect me to take That Thing inside the house</i>.<br /><br />"Go on," he said, grinning. "It's her birthday, and she's gonna love it."<br /><br /><i>What about me? I already hate it. Doesn't my opinion count for anything around here?</i><br /><br />"Pick it up, Shel. Take it to Chloe."<br /><br />I sighed, picked up the basket by the handle, and carried it in. I clattered my way up the stairs, and went into the bedroom where The Girl was still lounging in bed. She was feeding The Pup, who was making happy little grunting sounds. Nothing made The Pup happier than milk. My tail waved hello, and I stood there with the basket in my mouth.<br /><br />"Oh," she said, reaching over The Pup and patting me on the head. "Is that a birthday present for me, Shel?"<br /><br />I reared up on my hind legs-- with more difficulty than I expected; either the basket was heavy or I was getting old. Or, most likely, both. I placed the basket on the edge of the bed, then dropped back down to the floor and watched.<br /><br />She opened the basket-- and squealed.<br /><br />"Oh, Clark! It's <i>adorable</i>!"<br /><br />The Boy had come up behind me, and now he was grinning ear to ear. If he'd had a tail, it would have been pounding against the wall. "I knew you'd like it," he said.<br /><br />She lifted That Thing out of the basket with her free hand. It made an irritating little whining sound, and promptly piddled on the bed. The Girl didn't seem to mind. We'd had The Pup for over a month, and piddle was not a shocking novelty by any means. The Pup seemed capable of peeing gallons every day. I suspected That Thing would possess similar talents.<br /><br />"It looks just like Shelby!" The Girl exclaimed, patting That Thing on the head. It peed again.<br /><br /><i>I beg your pardon.</i> I sat down and glared at her. <i>I am a large, handsome canine, even if I am getting a little gray around the muzzle. That Thing, on the other hand, is a fuzzy little furball.</i><br /><br />"It's a golden retriever," The Boy said, "same as Shelby. I thought you'd like him. Shelby's such a good dog I figured we couldn't go wrong with another golden."<br /><br />I waved my tail approvingly at the words <i>Shelby </i>and<i> good dog</i>. It's nice to be appreciated, even if it means you have to share your house and people with a small and fuzzy Thing.<br /><br />That Thing wiggled out from beneath The Girl's hand, and began exploring. It got too close to the edge of the bed, and I leaned forward and used my teeth to grab it by the scruff of the neck, then lowered it to the floor.<br /><br />"How about that?" The Boy said. "Shelby's a born father."<br /><br /><i>A what?</i> I lifted my head away from That Thing with an indignant sniff. <i>I have no interest in this furry little interloper. That was just sort of a... reflex</i>.<br /><br />"Good dog," The Boy said, rubbing my ears, and I leaned against his leg. I ought to be annoyed with him for bringing this little fuzzball into my house, but... well, it's hard to turn down an ear rub.<br /><br />"What are we going to call him?" The Girl shifted position on the bed so that The Pup could switch sides. "You weren't serious about calling your next dog Krypto, were you?"<br /><br />"What's wrong with Krypto?"<br /><br />"It's a stupid name, that's what's wrong with it." She peered over the edge of the bed at That Thing, which was now savagely attacking a slipper, growling in a ridiculous falsetto. "He's redder than Shelby. What about Rusty?"<br /><br />"Rusty's a nice name," The Boy agreed.<br /><br />That Thing gave up on the slipper, turned toward me, and savagely attacked one of my paws. It tickled. I stood up, shook myself with annoyance, and stalked away.<br /><br /><i>Call it whatever you want. As far as I'm concerned, its name is That Thing</i>.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />I spent the rest of the day being persecuted by That Thing. I'd lie down to take a nap-- something I did a good deal of these days-- and it would sneak up on me and grab my ear in its teeth. That didn't tickle... it hurt. It had sharp little teeth, and my ears did not appreciate its efforts to turn them into hamburger. I growled at it once or twice, but it didn't seem to be bright enough to understand what that meant. Frankly, it was dumb. And it had a ridiculous fixation on my ears.<br /><br />The Boy and The Girl played with it during the day, but they also made more time than usual to play with me, so I didn't really resent its presence too much. I didn't chase balls the way I once had, anyway. Most of my interaction with my people nowadays involved me lying at their feet and accepting pats.<br /><br />Anyway, I'd been here long enough to know That Thing wasn't going to replace me. I was indispensable. No one could guard The Home like I could-- certainly not a small and idiotic ball of fur with a growl that sounded like a mosquito's buzzing. But I was also unhappily aware that I wasn't quite as much the life of the party as I'd once been. That Thing was probably more fun for the humans.<br /><br />That afternoon, I lay there feeling old, and watched as the Boy waved a sock in front of That Thing's face. It grabbed the end and hung on, growling in that ridiculous falsetto voice, its tiny little tail wagging. The Boy laughed, just as he used to laugh when he threw balls for me.<br /><br />I decided my first impression had been correct. I didn't like That Thing in the least.<br /><br />It was annoying. It was irritating. It was revolting.<br /><br />But The Girl kept saying that it was cute, and adorable, and the sweetest little puppy ever, so I resigned myself to sharing The Home with it.<br /><br />I didn't plan to enjoy it, though.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />That night, The Boy was out on patrol, so I clattered upstairs and made sure The Girl and The Pup were safely tucked in, then went downstairs and flopped on my bed in the living room. Going up and down stairs was becoming something of a chore for me, but someone had to make sure all my people were all right when The Boy wasn't around. Sirius knew That Thing didn't have the sense to guard its own whiskers, let alone The Home.<br /><br />That Thing was on another blanket across the room, and when I lay down, it began crying, as tragically as if it were lost in the woods in a blizard, rather than in a warm and comfortable farmhouse.<br /><br />I sighed. <i>Cut it out, Thing. Some of us need our sleep</i>.<br /><br />It whimpered, very sadly. I growled. The whimpering cut off for a moment, then began again.<br /><br />I lay there for a moment, glaring into the darkness. It occurred to me that That Thing had probably slept with its mother every night up till now. The Pup had slept with The Girl and The Boy for a little while, in a little tiny crib next to their bed, and she'd cried when they'd moved her out of their room, too. Pups didn't like being separated from their mothers.<br /><br />It could be that Things didn't like it, either.<br /><br />That Thing was still whimpering. I stood up, went over to it, and flopped down next to it on its blanket. Its whimpering cut off, and it sniffed me for a minute, then curled up against me, a tiny little ball of fluff. It seemed very small. It was hard to believe that one day it would be my size.<br /><br /><i>Don't get the idea I like you, Thing</i>, I told it sternly.<i> I'm just lying down next to you because The Girl needs her sleep. The last time she and The Boy didn't get enough sleep, things went all to hell around here. So it's crucially important for the humans to get their sleep.</i> <i>Otherwise, I'd let you howl.</i><br /><br />That Thing wiggled, and licked my muzzle.<br /><br /><i>Don't do that</i>, I objected. <i>No kisses</i>.<br /><br />It licked me again, as if I hadn't just told it not to do that. Dumb, like I said. No brain whatsoever. But for all its lack of intelligence, it was sort of... well, cute. Just as The Girl had said. And besides, if it was part of The Home now, then it needed guarding too, just as everything else in The Home did. I licked it in return, and it sighed and snuffled and cuddled up against me, and fell into slumber.<br /><br />I put my head on my paws, and watched over it while it slept.<br /><br />That Thing wasn't <i>so </i>bad, I decided. As Things went, it was a pretty nice one. And besides... it really did look a lot like me.<br /><br />Even if it wasn't <i>quite</i> as handsome.<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i>
</lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-3889771461810650512012-04-03T07:40:00.001-04:002012-04-03T07:42:32.209-04:00These Happy Golden Years<i>Fandom: Smallville<br />Characters: Clark/Chloe, Shelby<br />Description: Clark and Chloe are finally getting married. But to Shelby, the most important part of the day is the food at the reception.<br />Length: Oneshot, 1350 words<br />Rating: PG-13<br />Genre: Humor<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.<br />Note: This is part of my <a href="http://ellyfanfiction.blogspot.com/2008/09/shelby-stories.html">Shelby stories</a> series, but can probably stand alone just fine. Falls between "Don't Drop Her, Kid" and "My Girl." Title swiped from Laura Ingalls Wilder, with apologies for the rather dreadful pun.</i><br /><br />"She's late." The Boy tried to tie his bow tie, for the fourth time in two minutes, and failed epically, also for the fourth time in two minutes. "Oh, my God, she's late to her own wedding. That can't be good."<br /><br />I thumped my tail twice. <i>The real shocker, kid, would be if she were on time. The Girl is probably going to be late for her own funeral.</i><br /><br />"Oh, <i>God</i>." The bow tie didn't resemble either a bow or a tie. "She's not coming, Shelby. She's changed her mind."<br /><br />I sighed heavily. I was stretched out on the old red couch in The Boy's loft, watching as he got ready... or tried to. Mostly what he seemed to be doing was having what humans call a meltdown.<br /><br /><i>She's gonna be here, kid. Don't worry about it. What you need to worry about is that tie. There are all those people in the yard, and if you come down the stairs looking like <b>that</b>, they're going to laugh their heads off.</i><br /><br />"The tie," he said, almost as if he'd understood me. Sometimes I suspect The Boy understands dog more than he realizes. Or maybe I speak better human than I realize. "Oh, God, I can't go downstairs looking like this..."<br /><br />And he tried to tie it again. But once again, his effort was a miserable failure. I sighed again.<br /><br /><i>Come on, kid. It's not rocket science, you know.</i><br /><br />"Clark?" The Woman stuck her head up over the railing, and I wagged my tail.<br /><br /><i>Now we'll get somewhere. Someone competent has arrived.</i><br /><br />"Mommmmm." The Boy sounded as whiny as he used to back when I first met him. Nice to know that some things never change. "Where's Chloe? Has she called?"<br /><br />"I'm sure she's on her way, Clark." The Woman spoke calmly, and went over to him. In her hands, the bow tie instantly took shape. "There." She stood back and patted his shoulder. "You look very handsome, Clark."<br /><br />"I'll look like an idiot if she doesn't come."<br /><br />"Clark." She shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Chloe loves you. She wouldn't miss this day for anything."<br /><br />At her gentle, reassuring words, a bit of the tension went out of The Boy's shoulders. "You're right," he agreed. "She's probably just hunting down one last lead on that LexCorp article..."<br /><br />"Exactly. She'll be here any minute. Now comb your hair one last time, and get those flowers on Shelby's collar."<br /><br />I perked up my ears. <i>Flowers? For me?</i><br /><br />"C'mere, Shel," The Boy said, and I bounded off the sofa and went to him. He fastened a bunch of pink flowers to my collar, and I lifted my chin and strutted a little.<br /><br /><i>I guess we know who everyone's going to be admiring now</i>.<br /><br />"Don't get cocky, buddy," he said, rumpling my ears. "No one's going to be looking at us. No one ever sees anyone but the bride."<br /><br />As if on cue, a voice called up the stairs. "Clark?"<br /><br />"Chloe," he gasped, and ran for the staircase. I followed more slowly.<br /><br /><i>I told you not to worry so much, kid</i>.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />The man in the black suit would not stop barking.<br /><br />I was bored out of my mind. When The Girl had arrived, I'd noticed she was in a pretty white dress, and I'd tried to jump up to tell her how nice she looked, but The Boy had hollered at me. That had hurt my feelings, just a bit. But fortunately I'd had the flowers on my collar to soothe my wounded feelings and make me feel a little better. The Boy had gone to stand beneath The Woman's rose arbor, and signaled to me to sit next to him, so I had.<br /><br />I was being the gentleman I knew I was supposed to be, and sitting as still as any statue could. But I really wanted to flop down and take a nap. The man in the black suit kept droning on and on and...<br /><br />And then, finally, The Boy and The Girl began saying words of their own. I waved my tail, because they were much more interesting to me. Not that I could understand everything they said. I caught words like <i>love </i>and <i>forever </i>and <i>soulmate</i>, and gathered that they were expressing their affection for one another in front of all these people. That seemed rather silly to me. After all, they already knew they loved each other. So did anyone else who saw them together. There didn't seem to be any need to bark on and on about it.<br /><br />But humans do lots of silly things that I don't quite understand.<br /><br />Finally they slipped rings onto each other's fingers, and then they did that lip-mashing thing that humans do. Everyone applauded, and I forgot that I was supposed to be a gentleman, and jumped up to kiss them both, in the proper canine fashion. The Boy didn't holler at me this time, even though one of my paws did make a tiny little dirty spot on The Girl's dress. (Well, maybe it was more of a medium-sized spot.) He just laughed, and rumpled my ears.<br /><br />"Good dog, Shel," he told me. "You made a terrific best man. We can't wait to hear your toast."<br /><br />After that, mounds of food were served on tables in the back yard, and I politely wound my way through the guests, introducing myself to people, courteously shaking hands, and waiting until they realized they should offer me food off their plate. Most of them were quite trainable, and caught on quickly. There were hot dogs and meatballs, and even a few bites of cake.<br /><br />I was delighted by all the food and pats, not to mention the endless stream of compliments on my flowers. But eventually I sniffed the air, and realized that The Boy and The Girl were missing. Concerned, I went in search of them.<br /><br />I found them in the loft. I looked through the railing, but they didn't notice me. They were giggling together.<br /><br />"Clark." She was laughing as she tried to push him away-- but not very sincerely. "We're supposed to wait for the honeymoon."<br /><br />"I bet plenty of married couples do it during the reception," he said earnestly. "Anyway, we should do it here, Chlo. This is where we did it the first time, remember? It's only right that we have our first time as a married couple right here."<br /><br />"What if we get caught?"<br /><br />"Don't worry about it. Who's going to come into a barn in formal clothes? We're safe."<br /><br />"You're just saying that because you want to get laid," she accused.<br /><br />He laughed.<br /><br />"You're right," he admitted.<br /><br />"I want to get laid too," she whispered, and pulled his head down, kissing him.<br /><br />I realized that this was not a moment they wanted to share, not even with the best man (or best canine). I turned and quietly made my way downstairs. At the door to the barn, I encountered The Woman.<br /><br />"Shelby," she said, looking worried. "Have you seen Clark and Chloe?"<br /><br />I wagged.<br /><br />"Are they up in the loft?" She took a step into the barn, as if she meant to go up the stairs, and I moved in front of her, very casually, then nudged at her hand.<br /><br /><i>I know where they are. Follow me</i>.<br /><br />Fortunately for The Boy and The Girl, humans are gullible. The Woman followed me, giving them a few moments of privacy. And a few moments, I guessed, would be enough... for now, anyway.<br /><br />I led The Woman on a wild goose chase around the house, then returned to all my friends, new and old, at the party. I was perfectly aware that The Boy had been kidding, and that I wouldn't actually be expected to give a speech, because humans can't understand how eloquent I am. Too bad for them, really.<br /><br />But that was all right. I didn't have time to give a speech, anyway. I had some extremely important things to accomplish.<br /><br />There were still lots more meatballs to be eaten.<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-16695204682509621382012-01-30T16:27:00.000-05:002012-01-30T16:28:03.788-05:00Rose Red 2, Chapter 2<i>Fandom: Smallville<br />Characters: Clark/Chloe<br />Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.<br />Note: This is for Toby, who has been so much more than patient. Hopefully more soon!<br /><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.livejournal.com/1371237.html">Chapter One is here.</a></i><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Rose Red 2, Chapter 2">Chloe Sullivan Kent was standing in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on Clark’s favorite meal—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans straight from the garden—when something blurred into the kitchen.<br /><br />Chloe was used to things blurring past her. More to the point, she was used to her husband blurring past her. Clark could zoom so fast he made a Ferrari look like it was standing still, and she’d lost her startle reflex long ago.<br /><br />But she did jolt with surprise when a pair of hands grabbed her, yanked her away from the stove, and shoved her up against the counter.<br /><br />A big body pushed into hers—a big and noticeably aroused body—and his mouth pressed hotly against her throat.<br /><br />“Clark,” she protested, weakly. “I’m trying to finish dinner.”<br /><br />“Don’t care about dinner.”<br /><br />"Excuse me? I've spent an hour working on this dinner!"<br /><br />"Don't care." His voice was hoarse. “Want you. Now.”<br /><br />Well. Meatloaf or no meatloaf, she couldn't really object to that. After two years of domesticity, after far too many nights of would-be lovemaking interrupted by an infant's wailing, it was kind of nice to hear, actually. What was a girl supposed to say, except <i>hell yeah, baby</i>?<br /><br />She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his hair, inhaling the hot male scent of him. “Better let me turn off the stove,” she whispered into his thick, dark hair.<br /><br />He didn’t appear to hear her. His hips were moving, pushing his erection against her insistently, and she opened her eyes, because this was very unClarklike behavior. Sure, Clark liked sex as much as the next guy-- but he liked meatloaf, too. Anyway, it wasn't like him to totally ignore her when she talked. It was almost like--<br /><br /><i>Oh.</i><br /><br />On the table, in a crystal vase they’d gotten for their wedding, sat a huge bouquet of red roses.<br /><br />“Oh, Clark,” she whispered. “You didn’t.”<br /><br />He wasn’t listening. His hands were busy undoing her jeans, and he appeared to be entirely focused on that task. She batted at his hands—gently, because batting at him too hard was a good way to break a bone or two.<br /><br />“Clark,” she said, more firmly. “You’re under the influence. Stop what you're doing, right now.”<br /><br />“I just want sex,” he grumbled against her throat. “Is that really too much to ask for?”<br /><br />“I don’t mind,” she said, “except…” She looked him over, as best she could when he was pressed up against her, and sure enough, there was a long gash on one of his arms. “You got dosed with red K from the roses,” she told him.<br /><br />“I can handle it,” he assured her, working on her jeans again.<br /><br />“Clearly you can’t.<br /><br />“Chlo.” His voice was low and sexy. “Stop talking, all right? Let’s just fuck.”<br /><br />She <i>knew </i>he was under the influence then, because Clark Kent, mild-mannered Kansas farmboy, simply did not talk that way. Ordinarily, just the sound of that word was enough to make him blush. But he was very decidedly not blushing.<br /><br />Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. She’d seen him like this before, and she knew how singleminded the red K made him. If he didn’t have sex, he’d probably go crazy or blow up or something. And since Rose wasn’t in the house, and it was just the two of them, they could do whatever he wanted, as loudly as he wanted.<br /><br />It might be kind of fun, actually.<br /><br />“Fine,” she said softly. “Let me take care of you, then.”<br /><br />She unzipped his jeans and went to her knees.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Clark braced himself against the counter with his hands and arched his back as her tongue began to stroke around the head of his cock. He heard a strangled sound rise out of his own throat, and his cock jerked eagerly.<br /><br />“More,” he muttered hoarsely.<br /><br />“Don’t be in such a hurry.” Her breath brushed over his sensitized flesh, making him shudder. “Slow is good.”<br /><br />“Fast is better.”<br /><br />She chuckled softly, and her tongue began sliding up and down his shaft. So soft and warm and wet and...<br /><br />So totally <i>not enough</i>.<br /><br />God, she was going to kill him. He was going to die, right here and right now, as a result of inadequate sexual fulfillment.<br /><br />She reached up and began toying with his balls, very gently, and her tongue slipped toward the head of his cock again. He groaned, and caught her hair in his hands, gently but firmly.<br /><br />“Chloe. <i>Please</i>.”<br /><br />She must have heard the utter desperation in his voice, because she opened her lips, and he slipped into the heat and the moisture of her mouth. It was exactly what he needed. A low moan rumbled out of his chest, and he clutched at her, begging wordlessly for more.<br /><br />She drew him into her mouth, and he struggled not to thrust, for fear of hurting her. Her mouth slipped up and down his shaft, and he groaned as pleasure built up inside him. He was hot, so hot, and he was going to come, right down her throat, and it was going to be so damn good—<br /><br />And then she yelped, and yanked away from him. Seconds-- maybe microseconds-- away from coming, he whimpered in frustrated, anguished need, but she didn't hear him. She leaped to her feet and spun toward the stove.<br /><br />“Damn it,” she yelled. “The green beans are on fire.”</lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-34881307835702462152012-01-30T16:26:00.001-05:002012-01-30T16:26:34.518-05:00Paradoxes<i>Title: Paradoxes<br />Characters: Ten/Jack, the TARDIS<br />Genre: Slash, PWP, angst, hurt/comfort. Missing scene from "The Last of the Time Lords."<br />Description: After the Year That Never Was, they're all damaged. Scars never heal entirely, but with the right treatment, they can fade...<br />Length: Oneshot, completed<br />Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Warnings: Explicit sex, some mentions of torture and rape </i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Paradoxes">*****<br />The more the Doctor worked, the angrier he became.<br /><br />“An arc welder!” His voice floated out from beneath the console, high-pitched with fury. “That sick bastard! He used a <i>welder </i>on her, Jack!”<br /><br />“I know, Doc. I’m sorry.”<br /><br />“My poor girl.” The Doctor emerged from beneath the console, his eyes glittering with rage and pain. He sat on the grating and reached up, patting the console with fierce affection. “I’m so, <i>so </i>sorry, love. I wish I could have been there to protect you. You didn’t deserve this.”<br /><br />The TARDIS offered a feeble hum in response, and Jack smiled a little at the familiar sound. “There, hear that? She’s still in there. She’ll be okay, Doctor.”<br /><br />“She’ll be functional,” the Doctor said darkly. “But that’s not the same as <i>okay</i>.”<br /><br />Jack nodded, because he of all people understood that. After the last year, he wasn’t sure any of them would ever be okay again. “Yeah,” he said, leaning over the console and working on fixing a bit of machinery that he personally had blown all to hell when he’d destroyed the Paradox Machine the Master had created from the TARDIS. “I guess that’s true for all of us.”<br /><br />The Doctor leaned back against the console, closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath.<br /><br />“I wish I’d been able to reverse time for all of us, Jack. We'd all be happier if it had never happened.”<br /><br />“It did happen, though.” Jack twirled a spanner in his hands. “Maybe it’s better if someone remembers it. History forgotten is history doomed to be repeated, and all that crap. I gotta admit, though, it’d be a hell of a lot easier if we could all just forget it all.”<br /><br />“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. All of us on the <i>Valiant</i>—and that includes this old girl—will remember every last detail.” He sighed again, and Jack wondered exactly what he was remembering. A long year trapped in an ancient, feeble body, probably. All the horrors and atrocities the Master had forced him to witness, perhaps, from the burning of Japan, to Jack’s repeated torture and deaths, to—<br /><br />Well. Sitting here and wasting time remembering wasn’t going to do either of them any good. And it wasn’t going to get the TARDIS fixed, either.<br /><br />“C’mon, Doc,” he said gently. “The faster we work, the faster she’ll feel better. Since I’m partly responsible for all this destruction, I want to get back into her good graces.”<br /><br />“Oh, Jack.” The Doctor’s dark eyes opened and gazed at him, full of affection and warmth. “You saved her. You saved all of us. She doesn’t blame you.”<br /><br />“I know.” He remembered spraying bullets at the TARDIS’ console, and shivered a little. “But <i>I </i>blame me.”<br /><br />“Yes.” The Doctor’s eyes were shadowed. “I understand how you feel.”<br /><br />There was a silence between them for a long moment, while they stared at each other, each gripping the TARDIS’ console as if to comfort her. And then, by unspoken common consent, they went back to work.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Hours later, the TARDIS’ hum sounded much stronger, and Jack could feel her presence inside his head, filled with gratitude and affection. The TARDIS, it seemed, had forgiven him. The Doctor looked up at the Time Rotor, glowing blue rather than crimson, and a faint smile curved the corners of his mouth.<br /><br />“There,” he said, patting the central column. “Feeling more yourself, aren’t you, old girl?”<br /><br />The TARDIS hummed, and the Doctor smiled a little more widely, absentmindedly wiping the oil off his hands onto his suit.<br /><br />“Thanks, Jack,” he said. “I reckon she’ll need a little extra love and care for a while, but she’ll recover.”<br /><br />“True for most of us, I suppose.” Jack looked around, frowning. “I guess we need to take her to the Rift to recharge her. I thought Martha would be back by now. I know she took her family back home, but I figured…”<br /><br />The Doctor’s forehead wrinkled, and he gazed at the blue central column as if avoiding eye contact. “I don’t think she’s coming back, Jack. At least not permanently.”<br /><br />“What?” Jack boggled at him. “Of course she is. She wouldn’t leave, not after everything that happened… everything she did…”<br /><br />He trailed off, for the first time allowing himself to imagine everything Martha had been through in the past year. He envisioned her slowly making her way across the world, step by step, risking her life with every moment as she told everyone she met about the Doctor. She’d done everything she could to save the world, made a superhuman effort, and she must be exhausted clear down to her soul. She probably desperately needed to rest. He hadn’t really thought about everything she’d been through, but of course the Doctor had, because that was what the Doctor did.<br /><br />The more he thought about it, the more he realised the Doctor was right. Martha was almost certainly going to choose to stay here on Earth.<br /><br />“Her first responsibility is to her family.” The Doctor sounded very weary, and Jack suddenly saw his young features overlaid with the wrinkled, liver-spotted countenance the Master had forced onto him, heard the croak of old age in his youthful voice. “It has to be. Just as your first responsibility is to Torchwood. I don’t blame anyone for leaving me when they must. Don’t blame anyone for getting tired, either. Saving the world’s a tough job. Sometimes people need a break. Other times they just need to go save the world some other way. But either way… they always leave, sooner or later.”<br /><br />There was a calm acceptance in his voice that was at odds with the ancient sorrow in his eyes. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, smearing it with oil, and Jack uttered a small, mirthless laugh. The Doctor’s hair was a sweaty, spiky mess, and his suit was rumpled and stained. “Doc,” he said, “you’re a disaster area. You’d better go take a shower.”<br /><br />The Doctor looked down at himself ruefully, seeing the oil stains on his favorite suit, and nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “But listen, Jack, if Martha comes back…”<br /><br />“I won’t let her go without saying goodbye to you, Doctor. Don’t worry.”<br /><br />The Doctor nodded, his eyes still old and tired, and trudged away, disappearing down a corridor.<br /><br />Jack sat down on the grating and leaned against the hexagonal console, listening to the purring of the TARDIS, both the quiet hum in his head and the ambient noises she made. She sounded happier, if not as cheerful as usual. Well, it was too early for her to be back to her normal self entirely. She’d been through a lot this past year. Chained and raped and tortured… killed and brought back to life…<br /><br />Just like him.<br /><br />It had been a hellacious year for all of them. God knew it hadn’t been a picnic for him and Martha, but the Doctor, he thought, might have had it worst of all. A man who needed to move all the time, forced into an aged body that rendered him incapable of moving. A man who hated to be alone, isolated from his friends. A man who loved humanity, forced to watch it destroyed and trampled beneath the feet of a madman, utterly helpless to save people as they died by the millions.<br /><br />And now his reward for finally triumphing over the Master, for saving them all, was to be more loneliness.<br /><br />Jack heaved a sigh. He really hated to leave the Doctor, but he had no choice. His life was on Earth now. And even if the past year had never happened for his Torchwood team, he wanted to spend time with them, to revel in their <i>aliveness</i>.<br /><br />The Doctor, he knew, understood.<br /><br />And in a way, that made it worse.<br /><br />The Doctor understood because he’d been left so many times before. He’d outlived so many people, been left behind over and over again as his companions found new lives and new loves and new commitments. In fact, being with the Doctor seemed to paradoxically make people better suited to survive and thrive on their own.<br /><br />The Doctor had come to expect that eventually, he’d lose everyone he loved. And yet, despite his understanding, it hurt him every time a companion left. Jack could see that in his eyes.<br /><br />The Doctor had been through so much in the past year—old age, suffering, and in the end, the death of a man he’d once called friend. How the Doctor could truly grieve for the Master after everything the other Time Lord had done, Jack didn’t quite understand. But he knew better than anyone that emotion wasn’t always logical. It just was.<br /><br />And there was no doubt that the Doctor had grieved for the Master’s death—more for the friend he’d once been than the monster he’d become, Jack supposed. But inexplicable grief was still grief, and piled on top of everything else, the Doctor must be near emotional collapse.<br /><br />The Doctor was lonely and grieving, and they were all going to leave him behind.<br /><br />Something inside Jack seemed to snap, and he came to a sudden resolution. Rising to his feet, he strode toward the Doctor’s quarters.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />The Doctor had left the door to his bathroom open a crack, and steam wafted out, proof that the Doctor had indeed showered. But there was no sound of running water, so Jack inferred that he’d finished. He took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.<br /><br />The Doctor had his back to him, and was rubbing at his unruly wet hair with a big blue towel. His movements made the muscles in his back and shoulders and arse ripple beneath glistening pale skin, a beautiful and enticing sight that Jack couldn’t seem to look away from.<br /><br />He saw the Doctor suddenly go rigid, and glanced to the mirror. It was foggy, but he could still make out the Doctor’s wide, startled eyes, staring at him in the reflection.<br /><br />“Jack?” he said, as if there might be some doubt as to his friend’s identity.<br /><br />Jack found himself frozen, his mouth dry. He’d loved this man through two different bodies, for more than a century. But something about the Doctor—a certain reserve, a certain sense of distance—and Jack’s uncomfortable certainty that he himself couldn’t ever be good enough, mature enough, strong enough, had prevented him from making a move on the other man. He’d never quite dared to approach the Time Lord this way.<br /><br />He’d seduced hundreds of beings he didn’t give a damn about. But paradoxically, he’d never tried to seduce the one being in the universe who truly mattered to him.<br /><br />The truth was, though, that this wasn’t about seduction so much as it was about offering comfort and friendship and support. And love, too, if he was going to be honest about it.<br /><br />After everything he’d been through, the Doctor, he thought, really needed to be loved.<br /><br />Something deep inside him seemed to push him toward the Doctor. He managed to get his muscles working again, and moved forward.<br /><br />“Jack?” the Doctor said again, sounding bewildered.<br /><br />Jack reached up and took the towel out of the other man’s hands.<br /><br />“Let me take care of you,” he said, very softly.<br /><br />He began drying off the Doctor, starting at his hair—which was already fairly dry, and standing up in spikes all over his head—then moving down to his shoulders, across his back, his bum, and his legs. The Doctor didn’t move away, which was a victory in and of itself, Jack figured. He just stood there, letting Jack rub him dry.<br /><br />Slowly, he walked around the Doctor, gazing straight into the shocked wide eyes for a moment, and began work on the Doctor’s front. He let himself enjoy this to the utmost, revelling in every moment of running the towel over the slim, beautiful body. The Doctor, he noted, had a rather impressive erection, but Jack didn’t linger, only dried him there as everywhere else, and moved downward, kneeling to dry his feet last of all.<br /><br />And then he laid the towel aside, and still kneeling, gazed up at the Doctor.<br /><br />The Doctor, he found, was staring back. His gaze was filled with a multitude of emotions. Lust, sorrow, confusion, hurt, need—there was so much shining out of those dark, dark eyes.<br /><br />Jack reached up, very slowly, and wrapped a hand around the Doctor’s cock. The other man shivered a little, and reached out, putting his hands on Jack’s head as if to brace himself.<br /><br />“You don’t have to do this, Jack,” he whispered.<br /><br /><i>Of course I don’t have to do it, idiot,</i> Jack almost retorted, but he choked the words back, because he didn’t want to argue. He didn't want harsh words between them right now, only kind ones. The idea that the Doctor would think he was forcing himself to do this, that he didn't understand this intimacy was something Jack had desperately wanted for years, made his heart ache. Did the Doctor really not realise how much Jack loved him? Did he not realise how much <i>all </i>his companions loved him?<br /><br />Jack suspected he didn’t. And that made his heart ache worse than before.<br /><br />“I want to do it,” he answered gently.<br /><br />The Doctor didn’t say anything else, but his hands closed in Jack’s hair, and his eyes fluttered shut.<br /><br />Taking that as permission, Jack leaned forward and brushed his lips over the head of the Doctor’s cock. The Doctor shuddered, and his grip tightened. Jack opened his lips, letting himself taste the Doctor for the very first time. He tasted fresh and clean and somehow very alien. There was a slightly spicy taste to his skin and the fluid that leaked from the tip of his cock. Not unpleasant, not at all, but very definitely not human.<br /><br />Jack ran his tongue carefully over the head, exploring thoroughly, then opened his mouth and took the Doctor inside. The Doctor quaked all over, his thighs trembling, and Jack wondered how long it had been since he'd had sex. He wasn’t certain if the Master had raped the Doctor too, or if he’d left him alone entirely.<br /><br />It didn’t matter. Whatever the Master might have done to the Doctor, it hadn’t had anything to do with pleasure, only with power and anger and humiliation.<br /><br />What Jack was offering to the Doctor was entirely different-- affection and care and pleasure.<br /><br />The paradox of love before leave-taking.<br /><br />“Jack.” The Doctor’s voice was low, but determined. Even in the midst of a blow job, Jack grumbled to himself, the man just could not stop talking. “It’s been a long, lonely year for both of us.”<br /><br />Jack let him go with a pop. “I know,” he said softly. “I know, Doc.”<br /><br />He leaned forward and licked again, and the Doctor shook. “Been all alone—didn’t even have the TARDIS in my mind—“<br /><br />Jack hadn’t thought of that. When he was on board, the TARDIS was a nice comforting hum in his head. But to the Doctor she was much more. Time Lords and their TARDISes were psychically linked, symbiotic, in a way that other species couldn’t really understand. The Doctor had spent the last year not just separated from his friends, but separated from the warm mental presence of the sentient machine that he’d been attached to for hundreds of years. Jack couldn’t know for certain, but he imagined the absence of the TARDIS must have been a gaping, empty dark place in the Doctor’s mind.<br /><br />“Just saying…” The Doctor seemed to be having trouble formulating words, which presumably meant Jack was doing something right. “I don’t want you to feel like… just because we’re both lonely…”<br /><br />“That’s not it,” Jack said, although in fact it was, sort of. It was true that he was making love to the Doctor because he hated the thought of the Time Lord going off on his own after so much suffering. But there was far more to it than that. His relationship with the Doctor was complex, full of tangled emotions and interwoven history, far too complicated to put into words… especially when he was down on his knees and doing his best to bring the Doctor to his.<br /><br />“I just don’t think—“<br /><br />“Doctor,” Jack interrupted. “Shut up, okay? Just let me do this. Just once, let me do this.”<br /><br />He took the Doctor into his mouth again, first the sensitive head, and then a little more, and the Doctor made a thin keening noise, the sound of a man struggling for silence and failing. Jack could sense him holding back, trying not to thrust. He drew him in further, as deeply as he could, and lifted a hand, playing with the Doctor’s cool, heavy balls, then pressing a thumb gently against the root of his cock and caressing it in steady, slow strokes.<br /><br />“Jack.” It was no longer a question, but a muttered prayer. The hands dug into his hair, and the hips began to move, driving deeper into his mouth, but Jack didn’t mind. All he wanted right now was to draw pleasure from the Doctor, from this man who hadn’t known this sort of pleasure in far too long, who might not know it again for years to come.<br /><br />He hummed softly, letting the vibrations drive the Doctor higher, and stroked the underside of the shaft with his tongue. He sucked a little harder, his cheeks hollowing out, and the Doctor gave a long, drawn-out wail of ecstasy as his cock juddered and his body shook. He came in long spasms, his hands clutching Jack’s hair almost painfully, and Jack kept up the suction, relentless, until the last tremor of the Doctor’s orgasm had faded away.<br /><br />Finally Jack released him and sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth. He could still taste the Doctor’s exotic, spicy flavour, and he did his best to commit it to memory. Not just the Doctor’s taste, but the noises he’d made, the way he’d shivered, the feel of his fingers in Jack’s hair. Jack never wanted to forget a moment of it.<br /><br />He rose to his feet and looked into the Doctor’s eyes. The Doctor stared back. His eyes were still wide, but they were no longer dark with the shadows of nine centuries. Naked, his body relaxed, his eyes bright, he looked almost young again.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />The TARDIS hummed to herself. She wasn’t fully repaired yet, and she hadn’t forgotten what had been done to her by the Master—she would never forget—but she had regained her function, and she had her Time Lord back. And through the mental connection, she could feel that he was beginning to recover from his pain, too.<br /><br />Her Time Lord had said,<i> I reckon she’ll need a little extra love and care for a while, but she’ll recover</i>. And the same, she knew, was true of him. Both he and Jack had been terribly damaged by the events of the year-that-wasn’t-a-year-any-longer. In their way, they’d been damaged just as badly as she’d been. All three of them had scars that would never heal entirely.<br /><br />But with the right treatment, scars could fade.<br /><br />She knew enough about humanoids to understand what the two men required to begin repairs and to regain proper functioning. Love was what all sentients needed, whether they were machines or humanoids, and she knew they loved each other, even if they'd never shown it openly. She knew what was in their minds and souls, perhaps better than they themselves did.<br /><br />And that was the reason she’d spurred Jack into approaching her Time Lord. It hadn’t taken much of a mental push for him to do what he’d always really wanted to. He’d just needed the slightest whisper of a suggestion, and she hadn’t hesitated to make one. And her Time Lord had needed only an equally tiny push to accept what Jack offered, rather than running away from him.<br /><br />Jack and her Time Lord had repaired her.<br /><br />And so she would repair them.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Jack expected the Doctor to step away and get dressed, to put his armor back on, to take refuge behind his walls. But instead the other man reached up, caught Jack’s face between his hands, and leaned in, brushing his lips over Jack’s. Surprised, but not at all displeased, Jack melted into the kiss, letting his arms wrap around the Doctor’s slender waist, holding him tightly. The kiss grew in intensity, becoming wet and deep and heartrendingly sweet.<br /><br />At last the Doctor let him go, quirked an eyebrow, and went to his knees. Jack looked down at him, blinking in shock. He had the embarrassing feeling he was wearing the very same shell-shocked expression the Doctor had worn earlier.<br /><br />“Uh, Doc,” he stammered. “You-- you really don’t have to—“<br /><br />“I know.” The Doctor looked up at him. His smile was gentle, and at the same time rather wicked. “But I want to.”<br /><br />“Oh,” Jack said. He hesitated, then offered a wicked smile of his own. “Well. That's okay then.”<br /><br />It was more than okay, actually. He wasn't about to say no to something he'd wanted for years and years. And when the Doctor began, it was even better than Jack had imagined-- and over the years he'd imagined it quite a lot. It was so good he didn't have words for it. Not that he needed words anyway, not right now. He suspected the inarticulate little sounds of pleasure he was making were probably more than enough to communicate his appreciation to the Doctor.<br /><br />It was a strange thing, he thought as he dug his hands into the Doctor’s hair. Almost another paradox, really. When you knew you were going to leave someone behind… you wanted to hold them to you more tightly than ever.<br /><br />Just for a little while, he let himself hold onto the Doctor like he’d never let go.<br /><br /><i>The End</i></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-81082200936957875752012-01-30T16:25:00.001-05:002012-01-30T16:25:27.367-05:00Afterimages<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Pairing: Ten/Donna, Ten/TARDIS (sort of)<br />Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort<br />Length: Oneshot, 1850 words<br />Description: The Doctor is grieving after he loses Donna, and the TARDIS wants to help.<br />Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.<br />Note: Post "Journey's End." I know that in JE, the Doctor lost more than just Donna. But for the purposes of this fic, the loss of Donna is what he's grieving about most. Warning: Lots and lots of angst.</i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Afterimages">*****<br /><p>The TARDIS was worried.</p><p>The Doctor could feel her concern, washing over him in waves. He rolled over in bed, a little irritably, because right now he just wanted to be left alone.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he grumbled.</p><p>She didn’t agree. He got the mental equivalent of a poke. <i>You’ve been in bed too long</i>, the sentient machine seemed to be saying. <i>Get up, get up</i>.</p><p>He didn’t agree. It had only been a day since he’d dropped Donna Noble off at her mother’s house for the last time. Well, maybe two days. Three at the outside. And after everything that had happened, everything he’d been through lately, he was very, very tired. That was the only reason he was still dressed in pyjamas and curled up in bed. It had nothing to do with depression, or missing his best mate, or the lack of someone to talk to. He was just <i>tired</i>.</p><p>“Go away,” he muttered. “Leave me alone.”</p><p>The TARDIS hummed unhappily. He rolled over in bed, burying his face in the pillow and thinking about Donna. The way she’d begged him not to take her memories—the way she’d cried as he stripped them from her—the way he’d left her behind in Chiswick, and she hadn’t even recognized him, hadn’t even cared that he was leaving—</p><p>Well. Of <i>course</i> she hadn’t recognized him. That had, after all, been the idea. She mustn't ever remember him, or her mind would burn. Intellectually, he understood that. But it still hurt terribly to know that his best mate no longer remembered all the things they’d done together. It hurt to know that she’d never hug him again, or smack his shoulder, or call him Martian, or…</p><p>He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and pressed his face harder into the pillow. Not to hold back tears, but just because the pillow was nice and soft and he was still very tired.</p><p><i>Get up?</i> The TARDIS sounded almost plaintive. <i>Please?</i></p><p>“No,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Go ‘way.”</p><p>The TARDIS uttered an unhappy sigh, and for a moment there was silence, and a cessation of her anxious presence in his mind. Grateful to be left alone, he wrapped his arms around the pillow and buried his face in it harder than before.</p><p>And then a familiar but different presence brushed at his mind, and he jolted in surprise.</p><p>“What—<i>what</i>?”</p><p>He didn’t hear words, but he <i>felt</i> her there, fond and brisk and a little impatient. He could almost hear her saying, <i>Oi, Spaceman, what are you doing lying around when there’s work to be done? Get up and have a cuppa, for heaven’s sake!</i></p><p>He jerked to a sitting position, looking around his room wildly. “Donna?”</p><p>But of course she wasn’t there. No one was on board the TARDIS except him. He was all alone.</p><p>He blinked, and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead<i>. Going senile</i>, he thought grimly. <i>Or crazy</i>. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse, but neither sounded appealing.</p><p>The presence brushed his mind again, and he shuddered. “<i>Donna</i>,” he breathed.</p><p>But Donna wasn’t here. He’d left her back on Earth, in the care of her mother and Wilf. Was he really going crazy, then, or…?</p><p>A light dawned, and he looked up at the TARDIS. “How did you do that?”</p><p>He felt her give the equivalent of a shrug, which didn’t surprise him. She couldn’t explain how she did half the things she did. She just did them. Much of what was easy, obvious, and instinctive for her was impossible for any other sentient being.</p><p>But he thought he understood. She’d been in Donna’s head for a year now. She had psychic impressions of Donna—and all his other companions, for that matter—stored away in her memory banks. Afterimages of Donna’s mind, rather like the blurry but recognizable image one saw for a moment after glancing into a bright light and then looking away. She’d just shared one of those impressions with him, probably thinking it would help ease his sorrow.</p><p>“Don’t do that again,” he told her firmly. “I don’t want an… an <i>echo</i> of her. It’s not real.”</p><p>A pause, as if the TARDIS was contemplating his words, then Donna’s presence brushed his mind again. This time it was full of fondness and concern. A flash of Donna’s memories from some time when he’d been injured or sick or upset, he guessed. He trembled, trying not to get lost in the psychic impression.</p><p>It wasn’t real.</p><p>But it <i>felt</i> real.</p><p><i>Take a little more care, Martian</i>, she’d said once, after he’d been injured rather badly by a spear thrown by a primitive warrior. <i>Not that I’d miss you, but I don’t know how to fly this old tub on my own, y'know</i>.</p><p>But her hand had been stroking his hair, and her eyes had been full of affection and worry, and he’d known she cared.</p><p>Her affection brushed over him now, and he closed his eyes, letting himself feel her, imagining her hand in his hair, imagining her right here beside him—</p><p>“No.” He spoke as firmly as he could, but he knew he didn’t sound really convincing. “Stop it.”</p><p>But of course the TARDIS wasn’t listening to his voice as much as she was listening to his mind. And inside, where he couldn’t help his reactions, he was basking in the warmth of Donna’s love and care. It might be only a memory, an echo, but it was better than the bleak loneliness he’d been feeling since he lost his best friend, and the TARDIS knew it. He couldn’t hide his reaction from her.</p><p>More echoes of Donna brushed through his mind, insubstantial as gossamer, and yet so very, very real. Her compassion. Her temper. Her strong feelings of friendship for him. Unable to stem the warm flood, he fell back on the bed, shutting his eyes and letting it all wash over him. There was nothing else he could do. The TARDIS was determined, and in this, at least, she was stronger than he was.</p><p>And maybe, just possibly, he didn’t really want her to stop.</p><p>He sprawled on his back, helpless against the surge of emotions, and the memories those feelings touched off. He could easily imagine Donna there, right beside him, holding his hand and laughing with him and hugging him…</p><p>Tears rose to his eyes, but he blinked them back hard. </p><p>He lost track of time as Donna's reflected emotions lulled him, comforting him, filling the emptiness inside him. For the first time in days, he felt almost content. And then, slowly, he became aware of an emotion that shouldn’t be there.</p><p>Desire.</p><p>For <i>him</i>.</p><p>“Stop that,” he said, hoarsely. “She never—she never felt that way about me—we were just mates—we agreed from the beginning—”</p><p>The TARDIS was insistent, however, and he knew that it was the impression of a real emotion, that at some point Donna had begun to feel—</p><p><i>Oh, Donna, Donna</i>, he thought wretchedly. <i>I never knew</i>.</p><p>She’d <i>wanted</i> him, and he’d never realised.</p><p>And now it was too late.</p><p>The echo of her desire rolled through him, hot and strong and very human. This was, he thought as analytically as he could, probably an echo of a fantasy she’d had about him while—</p><p>Well. He shouldn’t be letting himself experience this particular emotion of hers. Even though she’d never know, it was still an invasion of her privacy, and very, very wrong...</p><p>“Stop it,” he said faintly, and so entirely without conviction that the TARDIS ignored him completely.</p><p>To his chagrin, he discovered he was hard, throbbing with insistent physical need. He couldn’t help it. He might not be human, but he shared the same basic drives humans did, and the afterimage of Donna’s desire, swirling around in his mind and his body, wasn’t something he could ignore. And the knowledge that she’d actually wanted him thrilled him at the same time it made him ache with the terrible grief of chances lost forever.<br /><br />He'd wanted her, but now he could never have her.<br /><br />She'd wanted him, but now she didn't even remember who he was.</p><p>The echo of her feelings, so blunt and feverish and needy, swamped him, overwhelming his precarious emotional stability and knocking him entirely off balance. He imagined her voice whispering in his ear, telling him she wanted him, telling him she <i>loved</i> him, and a desperate hunger took hold of him. He reached down and shoved his pyjama bottoms out of the way, grasped his hard, aching cock, and began to stroke himself with a frantic urgency.</p><p>The need for release, the need for <i>her</i>, coiled inside him. He remembered the smell of her hair, the way her skin felt, the bright happiness of her smile, the warmth of her hand in his. Her emotions, her desire and hunger and lust, filled his head, and he sobbed, in mingled ecstasy and grief, as he climaxed hard, come gushing across his abdomen in long, hot spurts.</p><p>At last the pleasure faded away, and the TARDIS gently withdrew from his mind. He collapsed on the bed, vaguely aware that he was still sobbing, tears running down his face.</p><p>“Why—” He sobbed harder. “You didn’t help—you only made it <i>worse</i>—”</p><p>He felt the machine’s gentle reassurance, and her confidence that she’d helped him. And despite his pain, which felt like a barely scabbed-over wound that had been ripped open again, he knew she was right.</p><p>He’d needed to cry, to let himself grieve for everything he’d lost, to come to grips with his own feelings for Donna. To acknowledge his sorrow over not just the loss of his best mate, but the chances and hopes and possibilities that were now gone forever.</p><p>“But it <i>hurts</i>,” he whispered.</p><p>The TARDIS touched his mind, and he heard a gentle almost-voice telling him that it <i>had</i> to hurt, that he couldn’t expect to lose someone so important to him without pain. He felt her hopeful thought that it would get better, eventually. That one day he’d be able to think of Donna without wanting to scream in rage and pain and anguish.</p><p>Not today. And not tomorrow. </p><p>But someday.</p><p>She was probably right, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. He didn’t care about <i>someday</i> right now. Right now, he was drowning in grief and loneliness and guilt, and the only outlet for it all was tears.</p><p>And those, at least, the TARDIS had given him.</p><p>He cried like a child for a long, long while, grieving for the friend he'd had, and the lover he might have had. Grieving for everything he'd lost, and everything he hadn't had the courage to reach out and take. Slowly, his sobs died down, and eventually he fell asleep, tears still streaking his cheeks.<br /><br />In his dreams, he saw his own afterimages, memories of his best mate and all they’d done together. All they’d accomplished, side by side.</p><p>And yet his dreams were less than comforting.</p><p>Because in his dreams, he dreamed of Donna… and of chances lost.<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i></p></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-2376221463310090582012-01-30T16:24:00.001-05:002012-01-30T16:24:40.406-05:00Isolation<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Pairing: Ten/Donna<br />Genre: PWP, hurt/comfort<br />Description: After a week spent in solitary confinement, the Doctor needs a little comforting, which Donna provides.<br />Length: Oneshot, 2700 words<br />Rating: Adult for explicit sex and language. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.</i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Isolation">A week.<br /><br />They'd kept him in isolation for an entire <i>week</i>. <br /><br />Just the thought made Donna Noble's blood boil. The Doctor was by nature a sociable bloke. For him to be all alone, in that ridiculously tiny excuse for a cell, with no windows and no lights and absolutely no one to talk to--<br /><br />Well, it was <i>inhumane</i>, that was what it was.<br /><br />But she hadn't said so to the aliens, because she'd been lucky to manage to negotiate his release at all, and she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize it. And besides, the Doctor hadn't been entirely blameless (she really wished he'd get it through his thick alien skull that whoopee cushions and monarchs didn't mix well), and she was honestly grateful they'd allowed him to leave the planet at all. She'd learned more than she wanted to about the Zardenzan penal system over the past week, and she knew his punishment could have been a lot worse. So she remained uncharacteristically silent and tight-lipped until the TARDIS took off and left Zardenza behind.<br /><br />"Well," he said, looking at the console as if he hardly recognized it. "I suppose the first thing I should do is take a shower..."<br /><br />She thought of him stuck in that dark, small cell, barely long enough for him to stretch out in, and her heart broke for him. He looked awkward and uncomfortable, as if he could scarcely remember how to move around in an open area, and she shook her head.<br /><br />"No," she said firmly. "The first thing you should do is eat. You're skin and bones, Doctor. Looks like they hardly fed you."<br /><br />"I've had better cuisine," he said with a grim effort at a smile. "But gruel is enough to keep a man alive."<br /><br /><i>Barely</i>, she thought, looking at him. His pinstriped suit was hanging off him, and it had hardly been big enough to fit round a stick to begin with. But he had a point about needing a shower, too. His hair was greasy and fell lankly about his face, his jawline was covered with scraggly brown whiskers, and his odour didn't make her think of spices and ocean breezes, the way it usually did. He wasn't human, and didn't reek the way she would have after a week with no bathing facilities-- but he definitely wasn't clean, either. He was a fastidious bloke, and would probably feel better if he bathed.<br /><br />"Tell you what," she said. "You take a shower, and I'll bring some food to your quarters. All right?"<br /><br />"All right," he said, his voice low, entirely devoid of its normal spirit. He turned, heading for his room, and she watched him go, observing the way his shoulders drooped and his head hung. He wasn't happy. Maybe it was the lack of food, but more likely it was the week of solitary imprisonment. She didn't think solitude was good for him, somehow.<br /><br />She went to the galley and put together a trayful of his favorite things-- toast with marmalade, ginger biscuits, tea-- then carried it down the corridor to his room. When she entered, he was just emerging from the loo, much cleaner. His freshly washed hair stood up in wild disarray on top of his head, he'd shaved, and he'd discarded the old suit-- which probably needed burning at this point-- and was clad only in a dark red robe. He smelled like himself again, and she breathed in the rich fragrance of exotic spices and tropical breezes that was so much a part of his presence, and realised how much she'd missed it.<br /><br />She tried not to stare at the V of pale chest exposed by his robe, but she couldn't quite help it. He was always so throroughly covered up that any exposed skin on him was...<br /><br />Well, not sexy, not precisely. Just... surprising.<br /><br />She perched on the side of his bed, and he dropped down beside her. "<i>Food</i>," he said with immense appreciation, sounding more cheerful already, and snagged a piece of toast off the tray. It disappeared in three huge bites, and he reached for more.<br /><br />"Poor thing," she said, watching him. "You were really starving."<br /><br />"Mmmmm," he answered, devouring another piece of toast and washing it down with a large swallow of tea. "They only fed me twice while I was there."<br /><br />"<i>Twice?</i>"<br /><br />He looked at her face, saw the fury she knew must be written there, and laughed without humour. "Easy, Donna. It's all over now, and I survived."<br /><br />"Two bowls of gruel?" Rage rose up inside her, nearly choking her. "That's all they gave you?"<br /><br />"It was enough to keep me from starving." He reached for a biscuit. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, I suppose. Still, it's nice to have some real food again. Thanks."<br /><br />She watched, still seething, while he cleaned off the entire tray-- four pieces of toast and eight biscuits-- then leaned back against the carved wooden headboard of his bed with a contented sigh.<br /><br />"Are you all right otherwise?" She frowned, studying him. He was gaunt, but she didn't see any bruises or injuries. Even so, she couldn't stop worrying. "Do we need to take you to the medbay and have all those fancy machines take a look at you?"<br /><br />"I'm fine." He shrugged. "They didn't do anything to me, Donna. Nothing at all. That's the whole point of solitary confinement. They just... left me."<br /><br />There was a grimness in his tone, but his face was expressionless. "You must have been miserable," she said softly.<br /><br />"Nah." He tried to smile, but she knew him well enough to know it wasn't really sincere. "Brain the size of a planet, y'know. I had plenty to think about."<br /><br />"I can't imagine you all cooped up in that little cell," she said with a shudder. "You're always so... active." She'd almost said <i>hyper</i>, but bit it back. Right now he didn't look hyper, not exactly, but there was something about him...<br /><br />He looked like something was simmering underneath his skin, a sort of repressed energy bubbling just beneath the surface. Maybe he needed to go to the console room and do some tinkering, or read in the library, or something comforting and familiar along those lines. Or maybe he just needed to relax a bit.<br /><br />He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, as if basking in the comforting hum of the TARDIS. "It's good to be home," he said softly.<br /><br />"I bet it is, Spaceman." She smiled a bit, because it was good to have him home. "You look tired."<br /><br />"I <i>am </i>tired." He didn't open his eyes. "Stupid, yeah? You'd think the last thing I'd be after a week alone would be tired. But I couldn't sleep properly in that place. It was so... it was so small and confined, and it made me twitch-- almost literally climbing the walls-- I just <i>couldn't</i>--"<br /><br />His voice rose, the first hint he'd given that he wasn't really as calm as he was trying to pretend. He cut himself off, but not before she'd noticed the high, almost panicky note in his voice.<br /><br />He'd been a lot more stressed by his isolation than he wanted to let on, the poor bloke.<br /><br />"Maybe I should go, then," she said. "Let you sleep."<br /><br />"No." His eyes snapped open, and he looked at her with imploring dark eyes. "Don't go, Donna. Don't leave me."<br /><br /><i>Of course</i>, she thought. The absolute last thing he wanted right now, after a week of enforced solitude, was to be alone. "Okay," she said, as soothingly as she could manage. "I don't mind staying."<br /><br />"Do you think..." He kept on staring at her with big eyes, and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "You didn't hug me when you rescued me, Donna. Do you think maybe you could hug me now?"<br /><br />She'd been too intent on getting him off Zardenza to even think about hugging him. But she knew that the Doctor very much enjoyed being hugged. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he put his arms around her and squeezed so hard she thought her ribs might be in danger. But she didn't protest.<br /><br />He pressed his face into her hair and sighed, and held her against him for a long, long moment.<br /><br />At last he let her go. She straightened up, and smiled at him.<br /><br />"Want me to lie down with you?" she offered.<br /><br />"Would you?"<br /><br />He looked both very pleased at the idea, and a little shy. That was no surprise, as the two of them had never slept in the same bed before. Under normal circumstances, she never would have dreamed of offering, and would have smacked his head right off his shoulders if he'd suggested it. But this was a special situation. She wasn't going to make him try to sleep all by himself, not after everything he'd been through. Not if he was more comfortable with her beside him.<br /><br />She stretched out on the bed next to him, pulling the covers up over her. She was wearing jeans and a knit shirt, which were comfortable enough to sleep in. He wriggled around, burrowing down under the covers and stretching out his long legs, then pulling the quilt up to his shoulders. He looked warm and cosy and almost happy, and she reached out a hand and caressed his cheek, very lightly.<br /><br />His eyes instantly fluttered shut, and a soft moan of pleasure rose from his throat.<br /><br />She yanked back her hand, startled by his reaction. She'd touched the Doctor in friendly, affectionate ways before, and not once had he responded with a--<br /><br />Well, a sex noise.<br /><br />But then again, he'd never been starved of human contact for a whole week, either.<br /><br />Sympathy flooded her, and she reached out and stroked his cheek again. He turned his face into her hand, and made a soft whimpering sound.<br /><br /><i>Poor thing</i>, she thought, imagining him all alone in the dark, with no one to talk to and nothing to do. All that manic, hectic energy, trapped in a dark, tiny cell, barely able to move. He must have been so lonely, must have felt so trapped...<br /><br />Without any conscious decision on her part, she found that her hand was in his hair, her thumb stroking over his too-high cheekbone, and he was making desperate little sounds of pleasure, moans of need and want that really couldn't be described as anything except sex noises. He sounded like she was touching...<br /><br />Well, the sounds he was making were totally out of proportion for the simple caress of her hand against his face.<br /><br />He'd obviously been starving for touch. And that didn't surprise her, not really. He was a touchy-feely sort of bloke. Always hugging, holding hands, bumping his shoulder against hers. He seemed to need physical contact the way most people needed food and air.<br /><br />And obviously being without any sort of physical contact for a week had driven him just about barmy.<br /><br />She let her hand move down, stroking his freshly shaved jawline, and down along his throat, and he tilted his head back, granting her access. She ran her finger along the sensitive area just beneath his ear, and he groaned in what sounded like pure sexual ecstasy.<br /><br />She kept running her finger back and forth between his ear and his collarbone, and he twisted beneath her hand, writhing against the mattress and making low growling sounds in his throat. Either Gallifreyans were ridiculously sexual creatures-- and she'd never before seen anything to make her believe that he was any hornier than the average human-- or he was simply terribly starved for touch. <br /><br />All that energy she'd sensed bubbling beneath his skin, she realised, had been sexual energy. The pure, basic need for physical contact. He might be a highly evolved alien, but he apparently had needs that were just as primitive as any human. And being all alone for a week had brought those needs boiling to the surface.<br /><br />"Maybe," he muttered, sounding as if he were forcing the words out through a fierce act of will, "you should go."<br /><br />"I don't think so," she answered, and lowered her head, brushing her lips over the spot she'd just been caressing. He shuddered violently and cried out, as if she'd put her mouth somewhere very intimate. She opened her lips and let her tongue touch him there, and he trembled and sighed and moaned.<br /><br />"Donna-- oh, <i>Donna</i>--"<br /><br />He'd rolled onto his side to encourage what she was doing. She shifted so she was behind him, and began brushing kisses over the nape of his neck, while her hand slid down his front. His hips jerked, offering himself to her in a surprisingly unsubtle suggestion, and she took the hint, shoving his robe out of the way and gently taking him into her hand. He was swollen with need, and when her fingers wrapped around him, he gasped out a word she'd never imagined she'd hear him say.<br /><br />"<i>Fuck</i>."<br /><br />She smiled against the back of his neck, because the idea of making the proper Time Lord forget himself to such an extent was rather entrancing. Very slowly, she began to stroke him, and his hips moved urgently, driving into her hand.<br /><br />He felt just like a human, like smooth satin over granite, except his skin was a bit cooler than a human's would be. The scent of spice and ocean breezes grew stronger, and the taste of his skin beneath her tongue grew more... well, alien. Not salty, as a human's skin would be, but more like cinnamon. She decided she quite liked it. She let her tongue tease his earlobe and his throat and his jaw, and at the same time her hand moved on his cock in a slow, deliberate motion.<br /><br />"Please--" He was gasping out the word, over and over again. "Please, Donna-- please, let me-- <i>please</i>--"<br /><br />She refused to move her hand any faster, and his pleading trailed off into frantic sobs. His whole body vibrated with need, and he twisted and arched, desperately seeking release.<br /><br />"Soon," she promised softly.<br /><br />"I can't... I can't wait..." He turned his head toward her just a bit, his face contorted with hunger, his eyes wide and desperate. "Ahhhhh, Donna. <i>Please</i>."<br /><br />Unable to refuse when he needed it that badly, she moved her hand a little faster, and watched as his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth dropped open. "Oh, fuck, <i>fuck</i>," he whispered again, and then a long sound rose from his chest, a deep, resonant groan of pleasure and release, and he came hard into her hand and all over the sheets, his body shaking with the force of his climax.<br /><br />At last his muscles all relaxed, and she let go of him, wiping her hand against the sheets, and wrapped her arm around his waist. He curled up, letting her spoon against his back, and his arm draped across hers. She breathed in his unique fragrance, then pressed her ear against his back, listening to the distinctive pounding of his double heartbeat.<br /><br />There was a long silence. At last he spoke.<br /><br />"I didn't mean--" He sounded hesitant, and a bit embarrassed. "I didn't mean for that to happen, Donna."<br /><br />"Neither did I." She shifted slightly, and kissed the back of his neck again. "But I'm glad it did."<br /><br />"Yeah," he said, his voice blurred with sleepiness. "Me too."<br /><br />The TARDIS sensed his growing exhaustion and dimmed the lights-- low, but not to complete darkness-- and Donna wrapped herself around the Doctor, reassuring him wordlessly that he wasn't alone any longer. His body relaxed, and his arm grew heavy on hers, and moments later she heard a soft buzzing snore, and knew that he was fast asleep.<br /><br />She closed her own eyes, grateful to have him back, and fell asleep with her arm around him.<br /><br />It felt strangely right.<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-48027253573453475092012-01-30T16:23:00.001-05:002012-01-30T16:23:45.731-05:00Incompatible (Remix)<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Pairing: Ten/Donna<br />Genre: Fluff, humour<br />Length: Oneshot, 1350 words<br />Description: The Doctor has made an error, and now he is suffering the consequences.<br />Rating: PG (warning for mpreg)<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.<br />Note: I don't think you can technically "remix" your own story, but I didn't quite know what else to call it. I had two entirely separate ideas for this, and since there was no way to do them as a story and a sequel, I wrote them up as two different stories. Both follow from "Compulsion," but both are intended as AUs.<br />Thanks to babydee1 and pipersmum for helping me with a bit of Britspeak!</i><br /><br /><a href="http://ellyfanfiction.livejournal.com/1384854.html">Incompatible (original version)</a><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Incompatible (Remix)">*****<br />"Doctor?"<br /><br />Donna Noble paused at the door to the loo, blinking in shock at the startling sight of the Doctor kneeling in front of the toilet, his lanky body limp with misery. Slowly and painfully, he lifted his head, and she saw that his hair, which could ordinarily best be described as fluffy, was sticking to his face, damp with sweat. His face was so pale that his freckles stood out in bold relief.<br /><br />"Donna," he said, rather miserably. "I don't feel too good."<br /><br />"Oh, blimey." She crossed the tile floor and sat down next to him, patting his shoulder gently. "You're <i>sick</i>."<br /><br />"Welllll..." He looked embarrassed. "Not exactly."<br /><br />"Then what's wrong?"<br /><br />"Um... remember last month, when we... well, remember that resort we went to?"<br /><br />"Of course I remember," she said with a fond smile. "How could I forget?"<br /><br />"Well..." He paused to swallow, looking like he might just be about to sick up again. "Remember how I said we had incompatible DNA?"<br /><br />She nodded, patting his shoulder.<br /><br />"I was wrong." <br /><br />"What?" She stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean, Doctor?"<br /><br />He looked back at her with big, sorrowful eyes. <br /><br />"I'm pregnant," he said.<br /><br />She burst out laughing.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Several minutes later, she was still giggling, and the Doctor looked very, very annoyed.<br /><br />"Let me get this straight," she said. "Time Lords... have... a <i>uterus</i>?"<br /><br />"It's not called a uterus," he muttered defensively. <br /><br />"Don't care what you call it, Sunshine; if there's a baby growing in it, then it's a uterus." She looked at him, chortling, but he was so clearly unhappy that she couldn't help but feel sympathy. She tried to choke back her laughter. "Poor thing. Is this how it always works with your people?"<br /><br />"Well... ordinarily we grow our children on the loom. But in the occasional case when an... error... is made, then... yeah. This is how it works."<br /><br />"And we made an error."<br /><br />"Several of them, as I recall." He groaned, and retched into the toilet some more. "Oh, Rassilon. No wonder my people went in for asexual reproduction. This is absolutely <i>disgusting</i>."<br /><br />"Don't worry," she said, patting his shoulder. She could feel an echo of his nausea through their mental bond, and yeah, it <i>was </i>disgusting. Totally. "Morning sickness doesn't last forever."<br /><br />"It'll go on for about six months," he said, hanging his head miserably. "Gallifreyan pregnancies are slightly longer than human ones."<br /><br />"Oh, yeah? How long?"<br /><br />"Twenty-one months."<br /><br />"Oh. My. God." She gaped at him. "You have to carry around a baby for almost <i>two years?</i>"<br /><br />"Well, I'm already a month along." He sighed. "So call it twenty months from now till I deliver. Advanced brains require a longer gestational period, you see."<br /><br />"And exactly how..." She looked him over thoughtfully. "I don't quite recall seeing... well, how exactly do you deliver the baby?"<br /><br />"You really do not want to know."<br /><br />She decided he was probably right about that, and patted his shoulder sympathetically instead of pressing for detaills. "How are we going to get you through this, Doctor? I'm no obstetrician, and we can hardly check you into a hospital in London. But you can't give birth by yourself on the TARDIS, either. What are we going to do?"<br /><br />He frowned for a moment, then his expression lightened.<br /><br />"Martha," he said. "Martha Jones. If I get all the literature I have on Gallifreyan obstetrics to her, she'll have plenty of time to learn all there is to know about it by the time the baby's ready to be born. She can be Earth's leading expert on the subject."<br /><br />"Earth's <i>only </i>expert on the subject, you mean. Okay. That sounds like a plan." She watched as he turned back to the toilet and sicked up some more, and frowned, swallowing uncomfortably against the nausea she could feel emanating from him. "Are you absolutely <i>certain </i>you're pregnant?"<br /><br />"Checked myself in the med bay. The results were conclusive." He sighed. "We're going to have a baby, Donna."<br /><br />She couldn't help the delighted smile that broke over her face. "I don't mind. I love babies, and there's no one I'd rather have a baby with."<br /><br />He gazed up at her, all dark eyes and hopeful expression. "Really?"<br /><br />"Really," she told him, and gently brushed the hair off his damp forehead. She refrained from adding that the absolute best part of this situation was that she was going to get a baby without having to be the one who went through pregnancy. She could tell through their mental bond that morning sickness was a symptom she'd just as soon never cope with.<br /><br />He looked mournful. "But I'm going to get so... huge."<br /><br />"That," she said, looking at his skinny form, "I'm actually looking forward to seeing."<br /><br />"How exactly can I save worlds if I'm waddling? I'm going to have backaches! Swollen ankles! Varicose veins!" He groaned. "I'm going to be the Pregnant Oncoming Storm! Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it? The Oncoming Storm is not supposed to be <i>pregnant</i>, Donna!"<br /><br />"You'll find a way," she said, stroking his hair. "I have faith in you. You'll manage it somehow. But by the end, you're going to have to resign yourself to doing a bit less running, for sure."<br /><br />"The Daleks will laugh at me."<br /><br />"Doubtful. They don't have much of a sense of humour."<br /><br />"The Sontarans will mock me."<br /><br />"You've mocked them for being short often enough. Turnabout is fair play, if you ask me."<br /><br />"I'm going to be useless," he said with a moan, "absolutely <i>useless</i>. I might as well just resign myself to spending the next twenty months knitting booties, or something."<br /><br />"Hey." She smacked him on the shoulder, very gently, so as not to upset his stomach any further. "Do you seriously think the entire female population of Earth becomes useless when they're pregnant? That every woman on Earth just sits down and knits booties for nine months?"<br /><br />"Well... no. Of course not."<br /><br />"Then quit your whingeing," she said tartly. "If Earth women can find a way to carry on when they're pregnant, then a Time Lord can manage it, too."<br /><br />"I just..." He lowered his head and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "I had quite a few children, Donna, but they were all... loomed. I've never actually been pregnant before."<br /><br />"I'll help you through it." she said, gently stroking his hair. "Don't be scared, Doctor."<br /><br />He lifted his chin with an attempt at his usual arrogance. "I'm not scared." He caught her eye, apparently saw she wasn't fooled, and dropped his head again. "I'm terrified," he admitted in a small voice.<br /><br />"It'll be okay. I'll be here to hold your hand and help, the whole time. It's the least I can do, considering I'm the one who got you up the duff to begin with."<br /><br />She saw the slightest curve of his mouth. "That was really all my fault, Donna. You asked-- and I told you it was safe--"<br /><br />"You made a mistake." She patted him. "But not a bad one, not really. I've always wanted a baby."<br /><br />"Yeah." He lifted his head, and his eyes went unfocussed and distant, as if he was seeing other times, and children from long, long ago. "Babies are nice. Very, very nice."<br /><br />"Well, babies are nice when you have them with the right bloke." She reached down and took his hand, squeezing it. "And you're definitely the right bloke, Doctor."<br /><br />He paused, considering that, then brightened.<br /><br />"Yep." He popped the P, and offered her his cockiest smile. "I am, aren't I?"<br /><br />"You egotistical prawn." She whacked at him, very gently, and he chuckled.<br /><br />"Well," he said, looking a little more cheerful. "So much for our agreement about not mating, eh? I mean, we already pretty much blew it to smithereens, honestly, but this kind of puts the capper on it, doesn't it?"<br /><br />"Yeah, it does," she said, and grinned, feeling very, very cheerful herself. "It really does. You have to give us credit for that, I reckon. When we mate... we <i>really </i>mate."<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-68451291354332809932012-01-30T16:22:00.000-05:002012-01-30T16:23:01.973-05:00Incompatible<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Pairing: Ten/Donna<br />Genre: Fluff, humour, romance<br />Length: Oneshot, 1250 words<br />Description: The Doctor has made an error. Donna is suffering the consequences, and she is displeased.<br />Rating: PG<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.<br />Note: This is a sort of followup to "Compulsion," in which the Doctor said he and Donna had incompatible DNA, and a few people pointed out that Time Lords and humans have been known to interbreed in canon. Also, this is for missbuterfly, who really wanted "Compulsion" to wind up this way. This is, however, not intended as a true sequel to "Compulsion." Call it an AU ending, if you like.</i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Incompatible">*****<br />"You said we had incompatible DNA."<br /><br />The Doctor cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Well... perhaps <i>incompatible </i>was an overstatement."<br /><br />"An overstatement. Really."<br /><br />"In fact, it might have even been... um... entirely incorrect."<br /><br />"Oh. Really. I'm <i>shocked</i>."<br /><br />The Doctor cringed slightly at Donna's sarcasm. Her tone, he thought unhappily, was so sharp he could have used it to shave with. <br /><br />"I do make mistakes upon occasion," he said with dignity.<br /><br />"So do I." She glared at him. "<i>Like shagging idiot Time Lords who don't think they need to use condoms!</i>"<br /><br />He winced at her words, and the volume with which they were delivered. "I'm sorry, Donna. Really, really sorry. I honestly didn't think--"<br /><br />"Yeah, you obviously weren't thinking." She groaned. "Neither was I, apparently."<br /><br />"I'm sorry." He knelt next to her on the floor of the loo, where she was currently worshipping the great and benevolent porcelain goddess, as she had poetically expressed it. "It probably happened because of the mental link we developed. I s'pose I should've used protection, just in case. Next time--"<br /><br />He broke off as she heaved and retched into the toilet. "Next time?" she repeated thickly when she was through. "Are you kidding me? Do you honestly think I will ever, <i>ever </i>let you touch me again?"<br /><br />"I know you don't want to hear this," he said, "but women almost always survive morning sickness. Even morning sickness of the Gallifreyan variety."<br /><br />"Are you telling me that Time Lords have extra-special, super-duper, ultra-strong morning sickness?"<br /><br />"Well..." He coughed uncomfortably. "There was a very good reason we usually had our children via an asexual process."<br /><br />"Because the men in your society got tired of being screamed at by violently ill women?"<br /><br />"Something like that, yes." He reached out awkwardly and patted her shoulder. The physical contact allowed him to feel a bit of her nausea through the telepathic bond they'd developed. It felt... unpleasant. "Try not to focus on the sicking up, Donna. Focus on the positive instead. Just think, we're going to have a ginger baby."<br /><br />"Maybe." She gagged into the toilet again, and he clamped his jaws and swallowed hard, trying to ignore the echo of her feelings in his head. "Unless we have a baby with messy brown hair sticking up all over its head. The poor child."<br /><br />"It'll be ginger," he said with absolute confidence. "It'll be gorgeous."<br /><br />She looked at him, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and smiled, just a little. "You really think so?"<br /><br />"I really think so." He touched her hair gently. "Gorgeous... just like you."<br /><br />The truth was that she currently wasn't at her most lovely, with her hair hanging stringily around her face, sweat beaded on her forehead, and huge dark circles under her eyes. But even though the Doctor was hardly an expert on women, he was bright enough to realise that he didn't need to mention any of that. Donna was gorgeous. Absolutely. <br /><br />Well, sort of. If one stretched the definition just a tad.<br /><br />She smiled at his words, and he realised with a touch of surprise that even hunched over the toilet, her hair hanging limply and her skin pale and damp... she really <i>was </i>gorgeous.<br /><br />"A beautiful little baby," she whispered. "Not such a bad mistake to make, really."<br /><br />"Exactly!" he said brightly. "You'll have a gorgeous little ginger baby in your arms in just twenty months."<br /><br />She froze. "In just <i>what</i>?"<br /><br />"Twenty months. The gestational period is twenty-one months, and you're already a month along, so..." He caught sight of her face, and trailed off. "Oh. Well. Yes. That may seem a bit long, from the human perspective, but you see, a Time Lord brain is significantly more complex, so..."<br /><br />"Never touch me," she said firmly, "ever, <i>ever </i>again."<br /><br />She turned back to the toilet and began retching again, and he held her head, feeling somewhat queasy himself. "But--"<br /><br />"<i>Never again!"</i><br /><br />He sighed. "Ginger," he said under his breath, "and probably really, <i>really</i> loud."<br /><br />"Oi! I heard that! Don't you think you're already in enough trouble, Sperm Lord?"<br /><br />"I said I was sorry!"<br /><br />"Good. Say it every day for the next twenty months, and I might just forgive you."<br /><br />"You'll forgive me before that," he said optimistically. "Most women stop having morning sickness after the first six months or so."<br /><br />"Oh, thanks for that information. I'm so very happy to know that. So I can look forward to six months of puking up my insides? That's absolutely <i>spiffing</i>."<br /><br />He stroked her hair with gentle sympathy. "I'll have to keep an eye on you-- make sure you don't get dehydrated, or develop an electrolyte imbalance. But don't worry, Donna. I'll take good care of you."<br /><br />"Just because I'm pregnant with your baby?"<br /><br />"Of course not." He heard the hurt in his own voice. "Don't I always take good care of you, Donna?"<br /><br />"S'pose so." She leaned her head against his chest. "A little <i>too </i>good, sometimes, or I wouldn't be in this mess."<br /><br />"Actually," he said, "this was caused more by you taking care of me, as I recall." He squeezed her, very carefully, so as not to upset her stomach further. "And it was brilliant."<br /><br />"And so were all the times after." She sighed, and then drew back and smiled at him, just a bit. "Doctor. We're going to have a <i>baby</i>."<br /><br />"A ginger baby with a big mouth."<br /><br />"No. A Time Lordling with spiky brown hair and a tendency to babble."<br /><br />"There's an old Gallifreyan saying," he said, drawing her back to his chest. "Only time will tell."<br /><br />"Yeah." She sighed. "Lots and lots and <i>lots </i>of time. During which I'll swell up to the size of a planet."<br /><br />"Only a small planet. And you'll still be gorgeous, the same as you are now. There'll be a bit more of you for me to admire than usual, that's all."<br /><br />"You're deluded."<br /><br />"Am not. I'm a Time Lord. I see basic truths of the universe that your tiny little human brain can't perceive. And one of those basic truths is that Donna Noble is <i>always </i>gorgeous."<br /><br />She rolled her eyes. "Definitely deluded. But I reckon that's not such a bad thing." She pressed her face against him, and he had the unworthy thought that he hoped she wasn't wiping off anything, well, <i>yucky </i>on his beloved brown suit.<br /><br />Oh, well, he reflected. Once their little ginger baby was born, there would be plenty of yuckiness on his suits. He hadn't been a father for many years, but he certainly hadn't forgotten all the rather disgusting baby byproducts. They weren't the sort of thing anyone could forget.<br /><br />And yet, oddly, he found he was looking forward to the experience, more than he'd looked forward to anything in a long, long time.<br /><br />"I can't wait to see you that way," he said. "I think you'll look lovely."<br /><br />"I think I'll look like an overinflated beach ball. I can <i>definitely </i>wait. Not that I have much choice in the matter, anyway." She sighed. "Twenty months? Really?"<br /><br />"Twenty months," he confirmed. "Even though the baby's half human, the gestational period will still be twenty months."<br /><br />She sighed, and patted her abdomen, which of course showed no signs of pregnancy yet. "I suppose it's worth the wait."<br /><br />"Of course it is. Babies are wonderful."<br /><br />"Even half-human babies?"<br /><br />He looked into her eyes, and smiled.<br /><br />"A baby that's half you, Donna," he said softly, "is the most wonderful thing I can imagine."<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-71145358898880359862012-01-30T16:21:00.000-05:002012-01-30T16:22:10.314-05:00The Still Hour Is Come<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Characters: Ten, Donna<br />Rating: PG (warnings for angst and the loss of children)<br />Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, introspection<br />Length: Oneshot, 1800 words<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.<br />Note: The title and one line in the story are from "A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London," by Dylan Thomas. Spoilers for "The Doctor's Daughter" and "Forest of the Dead."</i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="The Still Hour Is Come">Donna finds the Doctor in the TARDIS library, seated on the leather sofa, staring off into space. They'd dropped Martha off on Earth, and headed back into the Vortex, and then he'd silently left the console room. She imagines he wants to be alone, but she doesn't think solitude is what he really needs right now. So she sits down next to him.<br /><br />He doesn't turn his head, doesn't say hello, doesn't acknowledge her presence in any way.<br /><br />"You all right?" she says.<br /><br />He glances at her, and tries to smile, without much success. "Oh, yeah," he says. "I'm all right. I'm always--"<br /><br />"Don't," she says sharply.<br /><br />He blinks at her.<br /><br />"You're not all right. Stop saying you're always all right."<br /><br />He bristles slightly, and lifts one eyebrow, a lordly alien looking down on a small and inferior human.<br /><br />"You did ask," he says coolly.<br /><br />"Yeah, and it was a stupid thing to ask. Of course you're not all right." She notices that his hands are knotted into fists, resting on his thighs. Unintimidated by his chilliness, she reaches out and puts her hand on one of his. It remains fisted, so hard the knuckles are white. The rest of him, she realises, is just as tense.<br /><br />"I'm fine," he says. He turns his head away, staring blankly at nothing.<br /><br />"Oh, you are not." She watches him. His face is expressionless, and he's dry-eyed, but she feels tears burning her own eyes. She knows so little about him, but on Messaline, in just a few terse sentences, he'd told her so much. Once upon a time, he'd had children, children he misses so fiercely he can hardly bear to mention them.<br /><br /><i>When I look at her now, I see them. The hole they left, all the pain that filled it</i>.<br /><br />And now the loss of Jenny is yet another hole, filled with pain and grief and heartbreak. In a way, she's sorry she encouraged him to think of Jenny as his daughter, because now the girl is only another loss for him to mourn. One more loss, piled upon so many others.<br /><br />And yet... well, how could she have done anything else? Jenny had been part of him. And he'd <i>needed </i>her, he really had.<br /><br />She knows he's not just grieving for Jenny, but for all the children he's lost. How many? She has no idea. Strange, to think of him as a father. Somehow she'd imagined he'd always been footloose and fancy free. She'd never guessed that somewhere in his long life, he'd stayed on a planet long enough to raise children.<br /><br />She can't imagine having children, and then losing them. Tremendous joy, and then terrible anguish. She can't imagine the pain he must be going through.<br /><br />"Jenny was lovely," she says at last. "A wonderful girl."<br /><br />His expressionless mask slips, very slightly, and he blinks. "Yes," he says hoarsely. "She was."<br /><br />Jenny <i>had </i>been wonderful. No surprise there, as she'd been genetically all Doctor. He's pretty wonderful too-- not that she'll ever tell him that. But Jenny had been full of life and intelligence, sparkling with it, lighting up any room she was in, and lighting up the Doctor, too. Donna can still clearly see his delighted smile when he hugged his daughter and told her she was brilliant.<br /><br />And now she's gone, and there's a still, quiet void in her place.<br /><br />Donna remembers her own voice: <i> She'll help you. We both will.</i><br /><br />She thinks unhappily that Jenny would have done him so much good. A family member to care for. His own flesh and blood. She knows he's terribly lonely, though he never says so. She can feel how much he misses his own people. Jenny could have helped fill those holes inside him with joy instead of pain. She could have.<br /><br />But now she's just become another loss for the Doctor. And the only person he has left to comfort him is Donna. She promised to help him cope, and so she will. But she's unhappily aware that she is woefully inadequate to the task. She's not family, not a lover, not even one of his own people. Only a friend.<br /><br />A line she heard once at a funeral rises in her mind: <i>After the first death, there is no other</i>. It's true for the dead, she thinks, but what about the living? What about the people who survive the deaths of their loved ones? They have to deal with death over and over again.<br /><br />The Doctor has lived long enough to suffer loss upon loss upon loss. She can't imagine how that feels, not really. She's already lost her father and her grandmother, and if she lives to a reasonable old age, she knows she'll lose still more people she loves.<br /><br />But to lose all of one's children-- one's loves-- one's entire <i>species</i>--<br /><br />It's beyond her comprehension. No wonder his eyes look so ancient and sorrowful sometimes. The wonder, she thinks, is that he can smile at all.<br /><br />He's still sitting there, stiff and blank and tight-lipped, and she can't stand it any more. She just can't. She slips toward him on the sofa, pressing against his side, and wraps her arms around him in a fierce hug.<br /><br />A shiver runs through him, but he doesn't turn toward her, doesn't respond, doesn't hug her back.<br /><br />"Donna," he says, with only the slightest tremor in his voice. "I'm perfectly fine."<br /><br /><i>Idiot man</i>, she thinks, not without affection. He might be an alien, but he's much like a human male this way. Determined to pretend everything's okay, that he's too tough to break, that he can cope with his sorrows all on his own. Determined to tell himself he doesn't need anyone to help him through this.<br /><br />But she knows he does.<br /><br />She leans her head on his shoulder, and presses closer. He's still rigid, all closed in on himself. It's rather like hugging a stone, but she knows he needs comforting, no matter what he wants to believe.<br /><br />She remembers his voice: <i>When they died, that part of me died with them. It'll never come back. Not now.</i><br /><br />She thinks of another piece of his soul dying, deep inside him, and her heart aches for him. She wants to somehow magically comfort him, to take all his sorrows away, but this is all she has to offer. There's nothing else she can do for him. She sits there, her arms around him, holding him tightly, her head on his shoulder. For long moments, he doesn't move.<br /><br />And then, slowly, he shifts, turning toward her. His arms come up and wrap around her waist, and he lowers his head, pressing his face into her shoulder. She lifts a hand, stroking his hair, and he shudders, and makes a small sound of pain and grief.<br /><br />She holds him while he mourns.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Donna is curled up in a big wing chair in the TARDIS library, her arms wrapped around her legs, her face pressed into her knees, when the Doctor pokes his head in. "All right there?" he asks.<br /><br />"I'm fine," she says, without looking at him.<br /><br />There's a pause, and then the sound of his Converse-shod feet stepping nearer.<br /><br />"No, you're not," he says. "I shouldn't have even asked. It was a stupid question. Of course you're not all right."<br /><br />"I'm <i>fine</i>." She sighs against her knees, trying not to remember her time in the Library computer, and failing miserably. "None of it was real, Doctor."<br /><br />His footsteps come closer. She doesn't open her eyes, but she is nonetheless aware that he's kneeling next to her chair. His hand drops gently onto her shoulder.<br /><br />"It felt real, though," he says gently. "Didn't it?"<br /><br />It had felt terribly real. Despite the strange way time had leapt and tumbled and hiccuped, it had seemed utterly real. When she closes her eyes, she still sees her happy life, and the bright, beautiful faces of her children.<br /><br />Except they hadn't been children at all.<br /><br />She remembers Miss Evangelista's voice: <i>Your children were never alive. They're not real.</i><br /><br />She knows it's true, that they were only computer programs, electronic data. Illusions. But she remembers tucking them in, kissing them goodnight, telling them stories...<br /><br />She curls up a little more tightly in the chair, clinging to her memories, the memories she can't bear to let go. The Doctor's hand is on her shoulder, but she can barely feel it. She's back in her cosy little house, with her family, holding two warm, small bodies, kissing soft rosy cheeks good night...<br /><br />"I'm sorry," he says, stroking her hair. "So sorry, Donna."<br /><br />"It wasn't real," she whispers. "It was never real."<br /><br />She tries to push her sorrow away, because she is guiltily aware that her grief can't compare to his. He lost a real, flesh-and-blood daughter, and before that, he lost real children and real loves and real people. It isn't the same thing, it really isn't, and she has no right to weep for the minor losses she's suffered when he's gone through so much worse.<br /><br />"It was real to you," he answers. "And that's all that matters."<br /><br />She thinks of her children. Joshua and Ella. So beautiful, so sweet, so brilliant. They were never real, and in a way, that makes their loss that much more tragic, because she has nothing real to recall, no little curls of baby hair to look at and cry over, no photos of birthday parties and family vacations to make her smile, no tiny booties carefully packed away in a trunk in an attic somewhere. All she has to hang onto is the feeling of being their mother, the way they felt in her arms, the happy sound of their laughter.<br /><br />And now they're gone, all gone, and she can never see them again except in her dreams.<br /><br />It's so quiet here without them, so empty. So still.<br /><br />She remembers the Doctor's voice: <i>The hole they left, all the pain that filled it</i>. She understands now, more than she ever wanted to. The Doctor is right. Joshua and Ella were real to her, and so the grief she feels is real too. Just as real as the Doctor's sorrow at losing his daughter. It's different, and yet... it's the same.<br /><br />In a strange way, her loss is just as real as his. There's a hole inside her, filled with nothing but pain.<br /><br />His hand brushes through her hair, very gently, and she knows that the Doctor understands. He doesn't think her losses are insignificant or irrelevant or less important than his own. He understands what she's going through, as no one else could.<br /><br /><i>When they died, that part of me died with them.</i><br /><br />Oh, yes, she thinks. He understands.<br /><br />Despite her best intentions, a choked sob escapes her. The Doctor puts his arms around her, the same way she put her arms around him when he lost Jenny, and gently pulls her off the chair, into his lap.<br /><br />She buries her face in his chest, and lets herself mourn.<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-77357766069877024632012-01-30T16:20:00.001-05:002012-01-30T16:20:37.553-05:00Two Friends, One Bed (Doctor Who version)<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Pairing: Ten/Donna<br />Rating:: PG-13 (implied sexual content)<br />Genre: Fluff, humour<br />Summary: Two friends, one bed, lots of sexual tension. That's about it, really.<br />Length: Oneshot<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.<br />Note: Way back in 2006 I wrote a little Smallville story entitled "Two Friends, One Bed." I was inspired to try a DW version of the same idea after watching "The Shakespeare Code," only with Ten/Donna. Dialogue only (in the mode of my original SV story), which I realise is not everyone's cup of tea. </i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Two Friends, One Bed">"You're sleeping on the floor, Sunshine."<br /><br />"Oi! How come I don't get the bed?"<br /><br />"Because you're the one who can't drive."<br /><br />"I can drive just fine. The TARDIS sometimes has a mind of her own, that's all."<br /><br />"Look, Spaceman, all I know is that I was promised a nice holiday on the golden beaches of Alamarasha, and instead I wound up on a planet that's so primitive they're still using chamber pots for plumbing. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough... now we're stuck here, 'cause you broke the TARDIS."<br /><br />"Didn't break her, not really. Just haven't quite figured out what's wrong with her yet. She ought to be taking off, but for some reason, she won't."<br /><br />"She's probably annoyed with you because you keep using that mallet on her. I've told you a hundred times--"<br /><br />"Look here, Miss Ginger Know-It-All, I was using that mallet on her long before you were born."<br /><br />"And she's probably bloody tired of it by now. I would be."<br /><br />"She knows it's a sign of affection."<br /><br />"Is that what you call it? Look, Doctor, if you ever use a mallet on <i>me</i>--"<br /><br />"Not much danger of that. I'm not feeling a lot of affection for you right now, to be perfectly honest. This floor is <i>hard</i>."<br /><br />"Oh, you're such a whinger."<br /><br />"I'm serious. It's like sleeping on rock. No, wait... it <i>is </i>rock. Are you really going to make me sleep on a stone floor all night?"<br /><br />"Oh, for heaven's sake. Stop with the crying and the whimpering already. You sound like an old spaniel I once had. He was a whinger, too."<br /><br />"But it's <i>hard</i>. And <i>cold</i>."<br /><br />"Oh, <i>fine</i>. Come up here. But you bloody well better stay on your own side of the bed, Time Boy. If you put your hands anywhere near me--"<br /><br />"My hands are tired. So is the rest of me. And I don't actually make a habit of accosting my companions, anyway."<br /><br />"Good. Because I am not at all interested in being accosted."<br /><br />"Fine. That's just fine."<br /><br />"Perfect."<br /><br />"Wonderful. Brilliant. Marvellous."<br /><br />"Look, Spaceman, could you possibly stop pretending to be a thesaurus and shut the hell up? Some of us need some sleep."<br /><br />"Yeah. If you don't sleep, you get grouchy. Wait a minute... don't you <i>ever </i>sleep?"<br /><br />"Oi!"<br /><br />"Ow!"<br /><br />"Be glad it was only my pillow. If I had that mallet you use on your poor ship--"<br /><br />"Wouldn't want to use that on me, Donna. It's a sign of affection, remember? I might get the idea you're <i>accosting </i>me, or something."<br /><br />"You and your ship have a really odd relationship, do you realise that?"<br /><br />"As opposed to you and me. Why are you always so tetchy, anyway?"<br /><br />"Tetchy? I'm not tetchy. You're just extremely irritating."<br /><br />"Oh, so it's all <i>my</i> fault you're always yelling at the top of your lungs?"<br /><br />"Yes, it is. No one but a saint could help yelling at you, and I'm no saint."<br /><br />"<i>Tell </i>me about it."<br /><br />"Do you really want me to hit you with this pillow again?"<br /><br />"Aaarrrghhh. You are absolutely the most irritating companion I've ever had. Remind me again why we didn't get separate rooms?"<br /><br />"Because there's supposedly some sort of weird monster running loose out there, and you were afraid to be on your own."<br /><br />"I was afraid for <i>you</i>, actually."<br /><br />"Sure you were."<br /><br />"I really have no idea why I keep putting up with you, Donna. You're mouthy, you're annoying, and you're somehow managing to take up three-quarters of the bed."<br /><br />"As skinny as you are, you don't need more than a quarter of it, anyway."<br /><br />"I'm entitled to half. Move over."<br /><br />"Oi! Quit shoving! <i>What</i> did I say about your hands?"<br /><br />"My hands are not doing anything except pushing you over a bit."<br /><br />"Your hands do not belong on my bits, Martian!"<br /><br />"That is not what I said. Not even remotely. I said-- oh, never mind. Just shove over, will you?"<br /><br />"No. I won't. You're the size of a stick, and you don't need that much space. You're just being a pain."<br /><br />"Fine. If you really want to cuddle up so close to me..."<br /><br />"I'm moving! I'm moving!"<br /><br />"Much better. Ahhhhhh."<br /><br />"Your arm is now on top of me, Spaceman."<br /><br />"I was just stretching."<br /><br />"You're done stretching, and you're still on top of me."<br /><br />"Just my arm. I was worried you might be chilly."<br /><br />"There's a blanket."<br /><br />"Thin, poor excuse for a blanket, if you ask me. I'm just looking out for your welfare, Donna. I'd hate for you to get cold in the middle of the night."<br /><br />"Like your skinny arm is going to keep me warm. It's about as big round as a pencil."<br /><br />"Well, how about if I do <i>this</i>?"<br /><br />"The rest of you isn't that much bigger than a pencil, either."<br /><br />"Thanks for that. Thanks, <i>so </i>much."<br /><br />"Still... this is a little warmer, I will admit."<br /><br />"Better than the blanket?"<br /><br />"A bit, yeah. And speaking of bits... what's this?"<br /><br />"Ohhhhh. <i>Donna</i>."<br /><br />"<i>Oh </i>yourself, Spaceman. Don't think I'm accosting you, or anything. Just doing my part to help keep us both warm."<br /><br />"And you are doing a wonderful job. Brilliant, really. Absolutely spectacular."<br /><br />"Alien, you talk too much. Do us both a favor, and quit talking, or I'll have to hit you with a mallet."<br /><br />"Ah, I knew it. An undeniable sign of affection, that. You do like me, don't you?"<br /><br />"Well... maybe a little bit."<br /><br />"Come on. Admit it. You like me."<br /><br />"Oi! Who said you could take my clothes off?"<br /><br />"Just admit it."<br /><br />"Fine. I like you. But just <i>like </i>like. It's not like I fancy you or anything."<br /><br />"I like you too, Donna Noble. You're very, very annoying sometimes, but I do like you."<br /><br />"I guessed that, what with you taking my jumper off and all."<br /><br />"I'm going to work on your jeans next. You have a problem with that?"<br /><br />"Not really, but you're wearing so many clothes it's going to be morning by the time I have all yours off."<br /><br />"Don't worry, Donna. I'm absolutely worth the effort."<br /><br />"Ha!"<br /><br />"Don't believe me?"<br /><br />"Well... you'll have to prove it to me."<br /><br />"Oh, I plan to, Donna Noble. I definitely plan to."<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-11880372379592432132012-01-30T16:19:00.001-05:002012-01-30T16:19:46.018-05:00There Will Come Soft Rains<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Character: The Doctor<br />Rating: PG<br />Genre: Angst, introspection, vignette<br />Summary: Life goes on. This is not always a comforting thought.<br />Length: Oneshot, 240 words<br />Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.<br />Note: Just a tiny barely-more-than-drabble.</i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="There Will Come Soft Rains"><i>...And not one will know of the war, not one<br />Will care at last when it is done.<br /><br />Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,<br />If mankind perished utterly;<br /><br />And Spring herself when she woke at dawn<br />Would scarcely know that we were gone.</i><br />-"There Will Come Soft Rains," Sara Teasdale<i> </i><br /><br />He emerged from the TARDIS, into the golden dawn of an alien planet. A sun was just rising above the horizon, sending hesitant fingers of silvery light upward. He craned his head back and looked up into the gilded sky, where a few stars still gleamed against the brightening daylight. <br /><br />He couldn't see Gallifrey, of course. It wasn't there any longer.<br /><br />His own sun was gone. His life, his people, his world. All gone. Blown apart by him in a violent cataclysm, his last desperate effort to end the Time War and save the universe. Gallifrey was lost to him forever, and he would never again see it except in memory.<br /><br />And yet on this planet, and on millions-- <i>billions</i>-- of other worlds, life went on, untroubled by Gallifrey's passing, unconcerned by his loss, unaware and uncaring that his species had passed into history.<br /><br />It was spring here, and the sweet fragrance of flowers filled the air. Azure leaves rustled in the warm breeze, birds sang, and lizards scampered through the bluish grass. Life in all its joyful abundance continued.<br /><br />He stood gazing upward, long after the sun had risen and the stars were no longer visible. Dark clouds rolled in, obscuring the sapphire sky, and a soft rain began to fall. Still he didn't go back into the TARDIS.<br /><br />He stood there, staring up into the sky, and let the rain wash over his face like tears.<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i><br /></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25257311.post-1050909366105458602012-01-30T16:17:00.002-05:002012-01-30T16:18:26.456-05:0045 for a Moment<i>Fandom: Doctor Who<br />Characters: The Eleventh Doctor, Donna Temple-Noble<br />Genre: Angst<br />Description: We move on, even when we don't want to.<br />Length: 600 words<br />Rating: PG<br />Disclaimer: These characters are the property of BBC.<br />Note: Written in memory of my husband, who would have been 45 this year. The title is from "100 Years," by Five for Fighting.</i><br /><br /><br /><lj-cut text="45 for a Moment">She looks older.<br /><br />She's sitting alone at a table in a rather nice restaurant, in a pool of sunshine, looking over the menu. Seated in a dark corner near the back, he studies her, making sure not to make eye contact. Silly, really, since he's wearing an entirely different face, and there's not a chance in the world that she'd recognise him even if she still had her memories of him. But being stared at by a stranger is likely to make her uncomfortable, and that's the last thing he wants, today of all days.<br /><br />Older. Yes, definitely older. Not old, not yet, but not young, either. There are silvery glints in her mass of ginger hair, and more lines at the corners of her eyes than he remembers. Her figure is a little rounder than it was, and there are grooves on each side of her mouth. She's older... and yet she's still beautiful.<br /><br />It's been ten years since she was on the TARDIS, by her personal timeline. Somewhat less for him, but still far too long. He wishes he could have her back. After all this time, he still misses her terribly.<br /><br />But he can't have her back, and he knows it. Some decisions can't be undone. Some things can't be changed. But that doesn't stop them from hurting.<br /><br />And yet, he wishes...<br /><br />The door opens, and her husband walks in, with two small children in tow. A girl and a boy. He's kept in contact with her grandfather, and he knows she named them Joshua and Ella, though of course she doesn't know why she chose those names. She doesn't recall that she had two "children" by those names in a virtual reality. She shouldn't remember those names at all, but some things, he supposes, are too important to ever be suppressed completely.<br /><br />The children squeal and rush to her, and she opens her arms and hugs them, beaming. Shaun Temple pauses next to her and grins down on her. His eyes shine with love as he looks at her.<br /><br />"Happy birthday," he says.<br /><br />She laughs, and pats the seat next to her. He squeezes into the booth beside her, rather than sitting across the table from her, and puts an arm around her. She puts her head on his shoulder, and the kids crowd into their laps. They're the very picture of a perfect family.<br /><br />Donna Temple-Noble is forty-five years old today. And she's happy. No one could look at her bright smile as her family surrounds her and doubt it. She's <i>happy</i>.<br /><br />Human lives are so short, their lifespans but a moment compared to his, and yet, he thinks, in a way they make up for it, simply by the sheer amount of love and joy and delight that they manage to pack into the few brief years of their lives. Humans are amazing.<br /><br />Donna is amazing.<br /><br />He gets up and saunters in their direction. Next to their table, he pauses. "Did I hear him say it was your birthday?" he asks.<br /><br />She looks up at him, smiling, <i>glowing</i>. Even if her memories were intact, there's no possibility she could recognise him. He's just a stranger, a slender young man in a tweed jacket and a bow tie, a mass of unkempt dark hair falling over his forehead.<br /><br />"Yes," she admits. "It is."<br /><br />"Birthdays are cool," he says, smiling back at her. "Happy birthday."<br /><br />"Thanks," she says, and turns her attention away from him, and back to her family, where it belongs. He's only a stranger to her now. He's not what matters most in her life any more. Her husband and her children are the center of her world now. And that, he thinks with a touch of sorrow, is how it should be.<br /><br />He walks on past, and goes out the door, leaving her behind.<br /><br />Again.<br /><br /><i>-The End-</i></lj-cut>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2