carmilla: Lister sadly drinking a cocktail.  Caption reads 'Million miles from home' (Lister: Homesick)
SUMMARY: “Poor things,” she’d said. “Poor silly things. Leaving the city of dreams.”

Dave remembers when the neighbours moved house. )
carmilla: (Default)
The street is deserted, but you can feel the prickle of eyes on the back of your neck. It’s past three in the morning; you breathe dew instead of air. A slight breeze stirs the velvet drapes that serve as doors as you pass them. Darkness drips from the eves of buildings like moisture from the roof of a cave, leaving long stalagtites of shadow in its wake. The tramp of your boots echoes on the worn cobblestones, rude and out of place, and the fog rushes out and swirls around your feet to muffle them into quietness.

You must be quiet.

The breeze tugs at your sleeve impatiently, motioning you forward. You are at the door; the door you passed without seeing yesterday and many days before. Until a stranger met you at your club, and bought you drinks, and trickled red-tinged dreams of glory into your ear. Lastly, he whispered the name of this place. Where to come, when.

The door opens at your touch. A pale, featureless mask floats in the darkness behind it.

“Ah, you’re right on time.” The masked voice smiles. “Come in.”

The night reaches out a tendril, and pulls you into its heart.
carmilla: Aubrey and Maturin playing their instruments (Aubrey/Maturin)
Medically speaking, it was advantageous for a man of Jack’s weight and height to have his upper back routinely massaged. That was the excuse the first time; they scarcely needed one anymore. Stephen swept his long, slim fingers across the bared skin, stroking gently over the shoulders and applying expert pressure to the bulky muscles of the upper arm. Jack’s breath came in spurts; the noises he made in the back of his throat were highly gratifying.

Stephen smiled as he worked. He knew well the power and the gentleness of Jack’s overlarge hands. And it was his turn next.
carmilla: (Slash)
"Bald men are sexy," Clark said to Chloe, blushing when he realised that Lex was standing right behind him.

Lex quirked an eyebrow, laying a casually possesive hand on Clark’s shoulder.

“Really?” he said, in a tone of innocent inquiry. “Do enlighten us.”

“Well, there’s – there’s – Captain Picard from Star Trek. He was sexy, wasn’t he?”

“I suppose so. And?”

Chloe was getting the distinct feeling that she was no longer a part of this conversation.

“And… um… the lead singer of Right Said Fred.”

“Clark! I’m impressed by your knowledge of music trivia. Anyone else?”

Clark turned his sweetest smile on him.

“Hmm… I’m not sure. No-one springs to mind.”

Lex’s answering smile swayed dangerously close to Clark’s lips. Clark’s breathing quickened.

If Chloe hadn’t been sure what was going on before, she knew now. She blurted an excuse and left as soon as possible.

Lex grinned, dropping a kiss on Clark’s shoulder.

“Whatever happened to breaking it to her subtly?”
carmilla: (M*A*S*H)
It could have been the alcohol, but he was fairly sure it wasn't. Dear Lord, he hoped it wasn't.

Because here was this beautiful woman (he was pretty sure she was beautiful, if he squinted slightly) talking to him. That was a rarity, if not something entirely new.

When she sat back for a minute, stretching her arms, making her shirt crease across her front in an extremely interesting way, that could almost have sealed the deal by itself. But then she did something better.

She leaned in close, and whispered those magical three little words.

"I vote Republican."
carmilla: (M*A*S*H)
It was the end of the beginning. An unnatural silence fell in the Swamp. It wasn't as if they had never fought before, but this fight was - harder. Symbolic of something bigger.

Hawkeye felt Trapper's words straining with the weight of representation. Heard him rant about his damned risk taking, how he was stupid to risk his reputation, their safety, knew what he was actually saying.

The rift would be healed, with soft words, soft touches, caution. An end to those first heady days, their feeling of invulnerability.

They would continue. But they both knew the honeymoon was over.
carmilla: (Snape/Harry)
The hand on the back of his neck flared hot as the long incantation came to an end. There was a moment of stillness, and then the pressure on his nape eased.

"You can open your eyes now, Sev."

Harry's voice, soft and low and rough, seemed to have a new quality to it he hadn't heard before, although he couldn't tell exactly what it was. He obeyed, looking cautiously around the room. There didn't seem to be anything different there. Then Harry came from behind him, cradling something in his arms that looked as if it was moving.

"Say hello to her."

It was a snake; a large and beautiful one, although Snape wasn't quite sure of its species. Feeling a little foolish, he said, "Hello."

"Niccce to meet you," the snake replied.

Snape stared.

He kept on staring as Harry said something to her, quietly, and put her back in her tank. Then he pulled him into a long, lingering kiss.

"Ssso," Harry hissed in his ear when they finally broke apart, "do you like your birthday pressent?"

There was only one reply to that.

"It's jussst what I alwayss wanted."
carmilla: (Default)
Zabini, Blaise. That was the last of them. Snape watched the procession trailing away, black, silver and green, and fought the urge to cry. Or scream.

"Fuck the Ministry's orders!" he'd yelled. "These are our students! Merlin's beard, Albus! These are our children!"

Steely eyes fixed on his, sad but resigned. "They are also their parents' children, Severus." That had been that.

They were boarding the train, now. No parents to collect them. They weren't allowed within sight of Hogwarts.

Death Eaters in training, Weasley had sneered, and Potter had nodded.

If they hadn't been before, they would be now.
carmilla: Buffy and Giles standing together (Buffy/Giles)
WARNING: It's called Epitaph, and yes, Buffy and Giles are dead before the fic starts. I don't think of this as an unhappy story, though.
NOTE FROM 2009: OK, this isn't really a story so much as a 'ship manifesto disguised as a story. There's nothing much wrong with it, but unless you're a 'shipper it's really not that interesting. I think I did the same thing rather better in 'The Truth About Buffy and Giles'.

Yours was the greatest love story I have ever known. )