carmilla: Rimmer and Lister in their respective bunk beds. Caption reads 'Bunkmates' (Rimmer/Lister)
Being a mechanoid, Kryten just didn’t understand how humans could have such lapses in memory regarding their own pasts. Take Mr. Lister, probably his favourite human ever. Despite the fact he’d done little but argue with Mr. Rimmer for the entire time they’d been together, as soon as Mr. Rimmer had left he’d started to miss him. Started to talk about him, talk about the good times, whatever they were supposed to have been. Started to dream about him; and despite Kryten’s best efforts, it seemed those dreams were persisting. He was depressed.

Kryten hated to see Mr. Lister sad, especially for such an irrational reason. After all, Mr. Rimmer had only ever been perfect for Kryten himself: obnoxious, unpleasant, a total smeee – well, anyway. Entirely unthreatening, unlike the woman on board now. With Mr. Rimmer on board, Kryten had been safe as Mr. Lister’s best friend. After all, there was no way Mr. Lister could ever have fallen in love with him. And yet, Mr. Lister persisted in his stubborn depression; for some unaccountable reason, he wanted Mr. Rimmer back.

At times like this, Kryten was glad he wasn’t human; at least there was nothing wrong with his memory.
carmilla: (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern)
Guildenstern’s face was buried in the crook of Rosencrantz’s neck, his arm flung heavily across his chest. Rosencrantz stirred, rolled over until they were lying nose to nose.

“It’s morning,” he observed, sleepily, “assuming, naturally, that when we went to bed it was night.”

“I don’t remember,” said Guildenstern, unconcerned, and his hand twisted in Rosencrantz’s hair as he leaned forward and kissed him.

For one moment, in the sunlight and the rumpled bed and the unruly tangle of limbs, there was perfection. Then the peace was broken.

Somebody was banging on the window. Someone who was calling their names.
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: (Default)
"Hey, Little Red Riding Hood!"

Remus ran down the dormitary stairs to catch up with Sirius. He caught him by the arm and spun him around, the better to admire his bright red dress robes.

He himself was dressed in faded cloth-of-gold, so that between them, they would make up the Gryffindor house colours. Sirius noted with a smile that, in his hurry, he’d buttoned it up wrong, making the whole thing look lopsided. Quickly (because if he stopped to think about the fact that he was undoing Remus’ buttons, they were going to be even later) he sorted them out. Then together, they raced through the corridors towards the Great Hall.

Right outside, Remus stopped him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Sirius pressed their foreheads together with a wicked smile.

“Quite sure, Moony dear.”

And arm in arm, they went in to the Valentine’s ball.
carmilla: (Palmer)
“Hey hey! I don't use lard just for tea!" Palmer grinned, winking suggestively at Heidegger.

Heidegger blanched.

“No?” He tried his level best to sound nonchalant. “Perhaps you use it in sandwiches as well?”

“Well, yes,” Palmer admitted. Then, with what could only be described as a leer, he leaned closer. “But I can also think of more... creative things to do with it. I think you know what I mean.”

Heidegger was horribly afraid that he did. He was about to make any excuse he could and get the hell out of there, when he saw Scarlet hanging about, trying to catch his eye. She was wearing her cleavage dress, and that always meant trouble.

With a sigh, he did the only thing he thought might possibly put her off. He kissed Palmer.

When they broke the kiss, he watched Scarlet’s hastily retreating back, and listened to her screams, with a certain amount of satisfaction. What the hell, he thought, resignedly. Maybe I can get him to reconsider the lard.
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: (Generic slash icon)


"What the hell are you doing?" yelled Griffin, disentangling himself from Demian's arms.

The beginnings of Demian's apology for who knows what imagined offence were quickly cut off by Griffin's reassurances. He glared up at me, attempting to preserve what remained of his dignity by means of a bedsheet.

“Honestly! Surely you’ve learned by now that when we lock doors around here, it’s for a reason.”

“Griffin,” I drawled, happy to have the upper hand over the supercillious bastard for a change, “surely you’ve learned by this point that it takes more than a locked door to thwart the Master’s will.”

He drew his arms up, protectively.

“I have not disobeyed him.”

“Oh, but you have. I was entrusted with teaching this one about his new body. That means that what you were doing” - I crossed the floor to stand directly in front of him – “is my task.”

I captured Demian’s chin in my hand, looking deep into his wide-opened eyes.

“And I intend to see it through.”

I pressed those parted lips with a kiss, and Griffin could only watch me do it.