Plei, let the poor man breathe.
(moremoremoremore)
Am, just keeping up with this is making me dizzy.
My drabble:
If Wishes Were Horses
He lay in darkness, waiting.
Soon, there would be a tap at the door - arrogant, barely polite in its brevity, a sign of her power over him.
Soon she would walk in as if she owned the place, owned his bed, his body, the soul he hadn't seen in over a century.
Soon she would run her fingers down his arms, his nipples, his belly. If she was feeling generous, she might unlock the wall-mounted restraints.
And if he survived a millenium, he might stop resenting that he wasn't her first vampire lover, and he might stop wishing Angel dead.
Thanks, Perkins, deb. No more today, I'm afraid. Need to think about what's happening.
And Victor, I'm loving it. More, please! More!
Am, I'm going to have to go back and read your story more carefully. I had to skim like mad since I'm catching up after a week of semi-grayness, but what l read I liked very, very much.
Unfortunately, I think that the HP/BtVS bug bit me and bit me hard. If I have any time this week (doubtful), I'll see if I can post anything.
Anne, if going back in the thread is difficult, they're in my LJ, too.
t /self pimp
And I'd like to see what you do with HP/BtVS. It has... potential.
Ooh! I'll try that. It'll be easier to leave comments and stuff. (Makes note to make sure that Am-Chau is on friends list if she isn't already).
Arrrgh! I had a dream that I wrote a drabble, and I think it was good (at least in my dream), and I can't remember it.
Stupid brain.
Nice drabble there, Deb.
My Sunday100, freestylin' it: Hereditary (G, Season Six)
Buffy ran a hand along Dawn's back. For a moment she was caught in reverie, remembering her mother doing this, when this year's Prada was more important than a destiny ever could be, and mom's touch brought her from crying over some boy.
Dawn shifted, and Buffy threaded her fingers through Dawn's hair, curling it around her ear. Dawn gave a tremulous smile. "Guess I'm carrying on the grand Summers tradition," she sniffled.
Buffy handed her a tissue. "Well, I can't say I haven't set a precendent," she smiled weakly.
"Why is it always *vampires*?" Dawn moaned, throwing herself backwards.
Thank you kindly, Miss Deb.
I failed to do Sunday100 again this week, because I managed to go out and do stuff instead. However, thanks to Doyle's X-Files Drabble Title Challenge, I have three to share with the class, and more to come.
Pilot
Cordelia looks out at the hand holding the knife, and wonders if the hand still belongs to her, if the mouth and actions don't seem to anymore. If it does, maybe she can make it write down some sort of clue for them to find.
It's like being trapped in a vision, only ten times worse, and she can't even tell anyone what she's seen. It pisses her off that whatever this... thing that's using her has them almost all fooled. A flash of the knife, and a soft thud, then there's no almost about it.
Deep inside, Cordelia screams.
Deep Throat
That's it. Yes. Harder. Soft, wet lips all the way to the base, chin brushing against balls. No need to breathe means no gag reflex. Superhuman strength comes in handy as well.
In a second, the fangs will come out, tearing thin lines of blood with each swallow. Riley's never gone this far, until tonight he never wanted to, but it doesn't matter anymore; there's no one who matters who'll see the marks, and he has a stake in his back pocket that says she'll never mention them to anyone.
Semen mixes with ash, and he just sits there, shaking.
Squeeze
One more girl tonight, two more sometime next week, lord knows how many more in the days to come.
Three bedrooms, one bath.
Buffy has started coming to work early and sneaking into the gym to shower. Cream rinse and shampoo live in her bottom drawer next to student files, and she keeps a razor in with her staples and paper clips.
Sometimes, it seems like there are more girls in the house than they could count on their combined fingers, even if she realizes that's impossible. They'll fit the new ones in somehow.
They always do.
They have to.
