AE-LDWS Round 4 - Drabble Roundup
Nov. 9th, 2011 10:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eternalsojournRound 4 of ae-ldws is complete! Congratulations to winner ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
myxomycota, and runner-up darkhavens. Fabulous writers, both, and it was a great round.
I also want to extend my thanks to all entrants in this round. I felt like I was in great company and considered it a challenge trying to write well enough to stand amongst you. I hope everyone enters again for the next one; I know I am.
Title: I Always Feel Like (Somebody’s Watching Me)
Genre/Cliché: Humor
Prompt: Stalker
Word Count: up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: Eames and Arthur have an audience, and it starts to turn Eames a bit barmy
The first time Eames is only mildly unnerved. He’s kissing Arthur in the living room when he catches a glimpse of movement in the darkened hallway. He moves down to mouth at Arthur’s neck and looks, seeing the glittering eyes of Nigel, Arthur’s silver tabby, shining dully in the dark. Eames frowns at it, then turns his attention back to Arthur. Later, as he’s removing his shirt, he sees the shadow of a tail sweeping back and forth. It takes him a second to tear his eyes away.
The fourth time it happens Eames keeps stopping to check if Nigel is still watching.
“Am I not interesting enough to keep your attention?” Arthur asks archly, though his usual withering look is diminished somewhat by the tuft of hair sticking up from Eames ruffling his hands through it. He looks Eames in the eye, then starts to crane around to see what Eames keeps looking at but Eames firmly turns Arthur’s head back and kisses him.
“No, of course, sorry,” he murmurs, then sucks on Arthur’s lip and pulls him by the hips to tuck closer into the frame of his own legs, a show of strength that has Arthur forgetting all about the distraction. Nigel licks his lips and flicks his tail, eyes narrowing.
***
Arthur is in the kitchen opening a bottle of wine and Nigel sits on the arm of the chair across the room, stripes on his legs lining up perfectly. He sits, staring at Eames.
“You don’t scare me, you creepy little shitbag. I don’t care if I’m stealing Arthur’s attention away. You’ll just have to deal with it.”
Nigel blinks once, slowly. Arthur shouts Eames’s name, and Eames jumps up embarrassingly quickly. “Coming!” he calls as he sidles out of the room, back to the wall.
Title: One Is Too Many, A Thousand Not Enough
Genre/Cliché: Angst
Prompt: Empty wine glass
Word Count: Exactly 200
Warning(s): Alcoholism
Summary: Sometimes even the point man can’t find the solution
Arthur pads into the dining room, exhausted after 33 hours of travel. The glow from the laptop screen lights Eames’s face. Eames is slumped and it takes him a second to drag his eyes up.
There’s a glass at Eames’s elbow, garnet spot at the bottom, an empty bottle next to it, and a crystal tumbler with melted ice. Arthur doesn’t need them to recognize Eames’s state. Arthur sighs, breath hitching and walks over. He rubs the back of Eames’s neck and pushes the detritus away.
“Hey, ‘m not finished...” Eames mutters.
Arthur lifts the bottle and tilts it. “No, I think you are,” he says as gently as he can. Eames still hears the judgement in it.
“Are you mad at me? Don’t be mad, darling. Please.”
Arthur clenches his jaw. The worst thing is how unlike himself Eames is when he drinks — insecure. He tugs on Eames until he stands, leaning heavily on Arthur.
“I love you,” Eames says, pleading. Arthur softens.
“I love you too. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
When he drops Eames’s form onto the bed, Eames is out already, breathing far too heavy. Arthur undresses and lays down, helplessness stealing his sleep.
Title: Today is Brighter than Yesterday
Genre/Cliché: Fluff
Prompt: "Look at me. What do you see?"
Word Count: Up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: The people who know you best aren’t always the ones who’ve known you longest.
Arthur stands back slightly, just out of firing range of Eames’s dad’s heated words and Eames’s rapid-fire retorts. A few people glance sidelong but move on, the bustling airport ticking along as ever.
“Look at me. What do you see?” Eames demands, anger masking the defensiveness only Arthur recognizes underneath.
“Why ask me?” his father asks archly. “You’ve always followed your own agenda, I hardly believe you’re starting to care now.”
With a barely visible sigh, Eames dismisses, “Have a good flight home.”
As he turns to leave, his father calls after him, “I’ll give your love to your mother.”
Arthur doesn’t reach for Eames’s loosely balled fist, instead letting him fume.
Later, at dinner, Eames is still brooding. Arthur puts his fork down and wipes his hands on his napkin.
“You know what I see?” he says, apropos of nothing. Eames looks at him in confusion. “Whatever your dad sees, he doesn’t have all the facts. I thought you should hear it from someone who’s observed for longer than a day here and there.”
Eames’s expression reassembles into understanding, though he looks skeptical.
“I see someone who makes sure a job is done right. Every time, whether it’s your responsibility or not. I see someone who notices when I haven’t eaten, or have worked so long I haven’t noticed it’s gotten dark, and who turns on the lights for me or gets me dinner.” Arthur reaches his hand across the table and wiggles his fingers a little until Eames puts his hand in Arthur’s. “I see someone I trust with my life.”
“It’s just an old argument, poking at wounds that are scars by now. But thank you.”
“I love you, you know,” Arthur says and Eames’s surprised smile lights up his face.
“Likewise,” Eames replies, squeezing Arthur’s hand.
Title: Warwick Castle
Genre/Cliché: High school/College AU
Prompt: Hufflepuff
Word Count: Up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: Eames uses Arthur’s interests to his own advantage shamelessly during Arthur’s first Christmas break at uni.
Arthur’s cheeks and the tip of his nose are an appealing shade of pink. Eames wishes he found it less charming, given how vexed Arthur looks with his hands jammed into his armpits and white puffs billowing from his lips.
“We are actually going inside this castle, right?” Arthur asks, stamping his feet a little. Eames nearly relents and gives Arthur his gift right there, but decides to stick to his original plan.
“It is. We’ll be inside soon,” Eames says, paying their entry fee and glancing at Arthur’s Californian-weather jacket. Arthur’s been in England since just before the semester at Oxford began; surely he’ll break down soon and realize he actually lives here now.
Eames hand alights on Arthur’s elbow. Arthur glances down in surprise, a smile touching one corner of his mouth. They walk through the entryway.
Arthur’s usual stoicism falls away and he gawks at the passage carved from solid rock.
“This really is your first castle, isn’t it?” Eames asks, and Arthur nods, lips slightly parted.
Eames gently tugs Arthur along, out of the way of the people behind them and into the expansive courtyard. Arthur’s hands drop from his armpits and he turns slowly, taking in everything.
When Arthur suddenly realizes how cold he is again, curling in on himself, Eames decides this is his moment. He pulls a package out of his bag and offers it.
Arthur’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I didn’t...” he starts, but Eames just shakes his head, gesturing for Arthur to open it. Arthur does, and gapes once more.
“Hufflepuff,” he says after a pause. “A hufflepuff scarf. Did you — make this?”
Eames nods, chewing on his lip. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”
Arthur looks lost for words. Placing an icy hand in Eames’s, Arthur pulls, and kisses him.
Title: Freerun
Genre/Cliché: Action
Prompt: ravished
Word Count: up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: Eames has a competence kink.
The first time Eames kissed Arthur — no. Eames didn’t kiss Arthur; he ravished him. Thoroughly. Demanding and intense, crowding him close. Touching like he was making up for lost time. They were behind the hangar that contained the Cessna Arthur’d arranged for their getaway after the Morelli job.
Eames’s thigh pressed in between Arthur’s legs and Arthur groaned into Eames’s neck.
“Not that I’m complaining, but. Why now?” Arthur asked breathlessly, not waiting for an answer before setting to work on what would likely be an impressive hickey the next day.
Eames recalled the images of Arthur hauling ass out of the building while security chased him. Previously-unrevealed parkour moves had him vaulting out through the skylight of the low office building. From his vantage point in the car, Eames watched Arthur jump to the neighbouring roof, bounce back and forth between the brick walls to the ground, leap feet first over a retaining wall, ricochet a step off the railing of the concrete stairs, then grip the roof of the car and neatly slot himself in through the open window in one smooth movement, breathing hard.
Eames’d waited a stunned beat, then roared the car into gear and peeled off to the rural airport.
The pilot had been finishing preparations when Eames dragged Arthur round the corner, devouring him with a ferocity that surprised even himself.
“Mph,” Arthur said into Eames’s mouth a few minutes later. “I asked: why now?”
Eames pulled back, using the break in kissing to yank Arthur’s shirt tails out of his trousers.
“I like a man who gives good chase,” Eames replied.
Arthur shook his head, smiling. "I was never hard to catch; you just never tried."
A half-formed thought about missed opportunities burned away when Arthur squeezed Eames’s cock through his clothes.
Title: Interrupted
Genre/Cliché: Any
Prompt:
Word Count: up to 500
Warning(s): Violence, gore.
Summary: The apocalypse is a cockblocking bastard.
Eames groaned, a low reverberation in Arthur’s ear mingled with his own. Arthur was pressing Eames to the Maserati, cool sudsy water dripping from the sponge in Eames’s hand down Arthur’s back. Shivery.
Arthur kissed Eames hungrily, tasting him. Eames had looked so delicious in his jeans and fitted white tee, hips rocking back and forth with the broad circles he was swiping to the roof of the car. Arthur had attacked him, sinking his teeth into Eames’s nape. Eames had laughed but quickly realized how serious Arthur was and caught up, turning in Arthur’s arms, allowing himself to be crushed to the car and gripping Arthur’s ass.
Arthur didn’t give a flying fuck that they were outside in full view. He was lost in flesh, couldn’t get enough, wanted to...
“Eames, I could fucking eat you. I just —” he gnawed on Eames’s jaw and Eames groaned again.
“Arthur,” he said. Then, more urgently, “Arthur.”
“Mm, Eames,” Arthur replied, pressing his erection to Eames’s hip.
“Arthur,” Eames hissed.
“What?” Arthur asked, annoyed. He continued licking the fluttering pulse at Eames’s neck.
“We’re being watched,” Eames said.
Arthur looked up.
There were hundreds of them, not twenty feet away. Surrounding them. Rambling, pallid, festering sores, decaying and swaying.
“Jesus thundering fuck,” Arthur breathed.
There was a beat, a moment of held breath before the zombies started to close in. Gaping, hungry mouths yawned wide as Arthur and Eames scrambled into motion, yanking the car door open.
Eames tried to move to the driver’s side, Arthur pushing hard behind him but it wasn’t fast enough. Hands, so many hands scratched and clawed at Arthur’s body, pulling him backwards.
“EAMES!” Arthur was half in the car, and his panicked brain couldn’t understand why Eames wasn’t trying to pull him in.
Then the car roared to life and Arthur was jolted as Eames stomped on the gas pedal. Most of the hands lost their grip and there was a thunderous series of thumps as Eames mowed down the horde.
One tenacious young girl clung to Arthur’s ankle, dragging along the ground. Arthur kicked hard, trying frantically to shake her off but it wasn’t until Eames made a sharp left that she lost her grip.
Arthur closed the door as they barrelled down the road, hands shaking.
“What the fuck... what the fuck,” Arthur said, unable to form whole thoughts.
Eames glanced over, then reached over to take Arthur’s hand in his, gripping tight.
“Are you okay?” Eames’s voice was as shaky as Arthur felt, fragile, brittle.
Arthur looked at the chunk taken out of his forearm, ragged and bleeding profusely.
“Oh,” said Eames. “Oh, Arthur.”
myxomycota, and runner-up darkhavens. Fabulous writers, both, and it was a great round. I also want to extend my thanks to all entrants in this round. I felt like I was in great company and considered it a challenge trying to write well enough to stand amongst you. I hope everyone enters again for the next one; I know I am.
Drabbles
Week 1
Title: I Always Feel Like (Somebody’s Watching Me)
Genre/Cliché: Humor
Prompt: Stalker
Word Count: up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: Eames and Arthur have an audience, and it starts to turn Eames a bit barmy
The first time Eames is only mildly unnerved. He’s kissing Arthur in the living room when he catches a glimpse of movement in the darkened hallway. He moves down to mouth at Arthur’s neck and looks, seeing the glittering eyes of Nigel, Arthur’s silver tabby, shining dully in the dark. Eames frowns at it, then turns his attention back to Arthur. Later, as he’s removing his shirt, he sees the shadow of a tail sweeping back and forth. It takes him a second to tear his eyes away.
The fourth time it happens Eames keeps stopping to check if Nigel is still watching.
“Am I not interesting enough to keep your attention?” Arthur asks archly, though his usual withering look is diminished somewhat by the tuft of hair sticking up from Eames ruffling his hands through it. He looks Eames in the eye, then starts to crane around to see what Eames keeps looking at but Eames firmly turns Arthur’s head back and kisses him.
“No, of course, sorry,” he murmurs, then sucks on Arthur’s lip and pulls him by the hips to tuck closer into the frame of his own legs, a show of strength that has Arthur forgetting all about the distraction. Nigel licks his lips and flicks his tail, eyes narrowing.
***
Arthur is in the kitchen opening a bottle of wine and Nigel sits on the arm of the chair across the room, stripes on his legs lining up perfectly. He sits, staring at Eames.
“You don’t scare me, you creepy little shitbag. I don’t care if I’m stealing Arthur’s attention away. You’ll just have to deal with it.”
Nigel blinks once, slowly. Arthur shouts Eames’s name, and Eames jumps up embarrassingly quickly. “Coming!” he calls as he sidles out of the room, back to the wall.
Week 2
Title: One Is Too Many, A Thousand Not Enough
Genre/Cliché: Angst
Prompt: Empty wine glass
Word Count: Exactly 200
Warning(s): Alcoholism
Summary: Sometimes even the point man can’t find the solution
Arthur pads into the dining room, exhausted after 33 hours of travel. The glow from the laptop screen lights Eames’s face. Eames is slumped and it takes him a second to drag his eyes up.
There’s a glass at Eames’s elbow, garnet spot at the bottom, an empty bottle next to it, and a crystal tumbler with melted ice. Arthur doesn’t need them to recognize Eames’s state. Arthur sighs, breath hitching and walks over. He rubs the back of Eames’s neck and pushes the detritus away.
“Hey, ‘m not finished...” Eames mutters.
Arthur lifts the bottle and tilts it. “No, I think you are,” he says as gently as he can. Eames still hears the judgement in it.
“Are you mad at me? Don’t be mad, darling. Please.”
Arthur clenches his jaw. The worst thing is how unlike himself Eames is when he drinks — insecure. He tugs on Eames until he stands, leaning heavily on Arthur.
“I love you,” Eames says, pleading. Arthur softens.
“I love you too. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
When he drops Eames’s form onto the bed, Eames is out already, breathing far too heavy. Arthur undresses and lays down, helplessness stealing his sleep.
Week 3
Title: Today is Brighter than Yesterday
Genre/Cliché: Fluff
Prompt: "Look at me. What do you see?"
Word Count: Up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: The people who know you best aren’t always the ones who’ve known you longest.
Arthur stands back slightly, just out of firing range of Eames’s dad’s heated words and Eames’s rapid-fire retorts. A few people glance sidelong but move on, the bustling airport ticking along as ever.
“Look at me. What do you see?” Eames demands, anger masking the defensiveness only Arthur recognizes underneath.
“Why ask me?” his father asks archly. “You’ve always followed your own agenda, I hardly believe you’re starting to care now.”
With a barely visible sigh, Eames dismisses, “Have a good flight home.”
As he turns to leave, his father calls after him, “I’ll give your love to your mother.”
Arthur doesn’t reach for Eames’s loosely balled fist, instead letting him fume.
Later, at dinner, Eames is still brooding. Arthur puts his fork down and wipes his hands on his napkin.
“You know what I see?” he says, apropos of nothing. Eames looks at him in confusion. “Whatever your dad sees, he doesn’t have all the facts. I thought you should hear it from someone who’s observed for longer than a day here and there.”
Eames’s expression reassembles into understanding, though he looks skeptical.
“I see someone who makes sure a job is done right. Every time, whether it’s your responsibility or not. I see someone who notices when I haven’t eaten, or have worked so long I haven’t noticed it’s gotten dark, and who turns on the lights for me or gets me dinner.” Arthur reaches his hand across the table and wiggles his fingers a little until Eames puts his hand in Arthur’s. “I see someone I trust with my life.”
“It’s just an old argument, poking at wounds that are scars by now. But thank you.”
“I love you, you know,” Arthur says and Eames’s surprised smile lights up his face.
“Likewise,” Eames replies, squeezing Arthur’s hand.
Week 4
Title: Warwick Castle
Genre/Cliché: High school/College AU
Prompt: Hufflepuff
Word Count: Up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: Eames uses Arthur’s interests to his own advantage shamelessly during Arthur’s first Christmas break at uni.
Arthur’s cheeks and the tip of his nose are an appealing shade of pink. Eames wishes he found it less charming, given how vexed Arthur looks with his hands jammed into his armpits and white puffs billowing from his lips.
“We are actually going inside this castle, right?” Arthur asks, stamping his feet a little. Eames nearly relents and gives Arthur his gift right there, but decides to stick to his original plan.
“It is. We’ll be inside soon,” Eames says, paying their entry fee and glancing at Arthur’s Californian-weather jacket. Arthur’s been in England since just before the semester at Oxford began; surely he’ll break down soon and realize he actually lives here now.
Eames hand alights on Arthur’s elbow. Arthur glances down in surprise, a smile touching one corner of his mouth. They walk through the entryway.
Arthur’s usual stoicism falls away and he gawks at the passage carved from solid rock.
“This really is your first castle, isn’t it?” Eames asks, and Arthur nods, lips slightly parted.
Eames gently tugs Arthur along, out of the way of the people behind them and into the expansive courtyard. Arthur’s hands drop from his armpits and he turns slowly, taking in everything.
When Arthur suddenly realizes how cold he is again, curling in on himself, Eames decides this is his moment. He pulls a package out of his bag and offers it.
Arthur’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I didn’t...” he starts, but Eames just shakes his head, gesturing for Arthur to open it. Arthur does, and gapes once more.
“Hufflepuff,” he says after a pause. “A hufflepuff scarf. Did you — make this?”
Eames nods, chewing on his lip. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”
Arthur looks lost for words. Placing an icy hand in Eames’s, Arthur pulls, and kisses him.
Week 5
Title: Freerun
Genre/Cliché: Action
Prompt: ravished
Word Count: up to 300
Warning(s): None
Summary: Eames has a competence kink.
The first time Eames kissed Arthur — no. Eames didn’t kiss Arthur; he ravished him. Thoroughly. Demanding and intense, crowding him close. Touching like he was making up for lost time. They were behind the hangar that contained the Cessna Arthur’d arranged for their getaway after the Morelli job.
Eames’s thigh pressed in between Arthur’s legs and Arthur groaned into Eames’s neck.
“Not that I’m complaining, but. Why now?” Arthur asked breathlessly, not waiting for an answer before setting to work on what would likely be an impressive hickey the next day.
Eames recalled the images of Arthur hauling ass out of the building while security chased him. Previously-unrevealed parkour moves had him vaulting out through the skylight of the low office building. From his vantage point in the car, Eames watched Arthur jump to the neighbouring roof, bounce back and forth between the brick walls to the ground, leap feet first over a retaining wall, ricochet a step off the railing of the concrete stairs, then grip the roof of the car and neatly slot himself in through the open window in one smooth movement, breathing hard.
Eames’d waited a stunned beat, then roared the car into gear and peeled off to the rural airport.
The pilot had been finishing preparations when Eames dragged Arthur round the corner, devouring him with a ferocity that surprised even himself.
“Mph,” Arthur said into Eames’s mouth a few minutes later. “I asked: why now?”
Eames pulled back, using the break in kissing to yank Arthur’s shirt tails out of his trousers.
“I like a man who gives good chase,” Eames replied.
Arthur shook his head, smiling. "I was never hard to catch; you just never tried."
A half-formed thought about missed opportunities burned away when Arthur squeezed Eames’s cock through his clothes.
Week 6
Title: Interrupted
Genre/Cliché: Any
Prompt:
Word Count: up to 500
Warning(s): Violence, gore.
Summary: The apocalypse is a cockblocking bastard.
Eames groaned, a low reverberation in Arthur’s ear mingled with his own. Arthur was pressing Eames to the Maserati, cool sudsy water dripping from the sponge in Eames’s hand down Arthur’s back. Shivery.
Arthur kissed Eames hungrily, tasting him. Eames had looked so delicious in his jeans and fitted white tee, hips rocking back and forth with the broad circles he was swiping to the roof of the car. Arthur had attacked him, sinking his teeth into Eames’s nape. Eames had laughed but quickly realized how serious Arthur was and caught up, turning in Arthur’s arms, allowing himself to be crushed to the car and gripping Arthur’s ass.
Arthur didn’t give a flying fuck that they were outside in full view. He was lost in flesh, couldn’t get enough, wanted to...
“Eames, I could fucking eat you. I just —” he gnawed on Eames’s jaw and Eames groaned again.
“Arthur,” he said. Then, more urgently, “Arthur.”
“Mm, Eames,” Arthur replied, pressing his erection to Eames’s hip.
“Arthur,” Eames hissed.
“What?” Arthur asked, annoyed. He continued licking the fluttering pulse at Eames’s neck.
“We’re being watched,” Eames said.
Arthur looked up.
There were hundreds of them, not twenty feet away. Surrounding them. Rambling, pallid, festering sores, decaying and swaying.
“Jesus thundering fuck,” Arthur breathed.
There was a beat, a moment of held breath before the zombies started to close in. Gaping, hungry mouths yawned wide as Arthur and Eames scrambled into motion, yanking the car door open.
Eames tried to move to the driver’s side, Arthur pushing hard behind him but it wasn’t fast enough. Hands, so many hands scratched and clawed at Arthur’s body, pulling him backwards.
“EAMES!” Arthur was half in the car, and his panicked brain couldn’t understand why Eames wasn’t trying to pull him in.
Then the car roared to life and Arthur was jolted as Eames stomped on the gas pedal. Most of the hands lost their grip and there was a thunderous series of thumps as Eames mowed down the horde.
One tenacious young girl clung to Arthur’s ankle, dragging along the ground. Arthur kicked hard, trying frantically to shake her off but it wasn’t until Eames made a sharp left that she lost her grip.
Arthur closed the door as they barrelled down the road, hands shaking.
“What the fuck... what the fuck,” Arthur said, unable to form whole thoughts.
Eames glanced over, then reached over to take Arthur’s hand in his, gripping tight.
“Are you okay?” Eames’s voice was as shaky as Arthur felt, fragile, brittle.
Arthur looked at the chunk taken out of his forearm, ragged and bleeding profusely.
“Oh,” said Eames. “Oh, Arthur.”
