Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Requested by: orangeokapi13
Summary: But she only wanted to…! (Parody)
The music flows from his fingers like chardonnay from the neck of a bottle. It charms her, spinning through her mind in an intoxicating whorl of life and sensuality. She sneaks up behind him, taking advantage of his attention to the full embodiment of the song. Her dainty hands reach up behind him…
He whirls around, catching her wrists in a vice of a grip, hissing all the while. Something about his face and how he’ll never allow her to see it. How could she possibly dare to reach for his mask?! How could she?!
Christine manages to calm Erik down and tells it to him straight.
“Erik. I don’t care about your face. It wasn’t your mask I was reaching for.”
Erik’s eyes flash with hope.
“It wasn’t?” He’s a wounded puppy.
“No, of course not silly. I only wanted to strip you of that already gaping shirt and marvel at the Apollonian beauty of your stone-hewn, chiseled abs of Sex.”
“Oh. Well if that was all…” Erik reaches for the remaining buttons.
“Oh Erik, you’re such a dear.”
Fandom: Prison Break
Requested by: pamalax
Summary: “Alex. Give me the gun.”
“Alex. Give me the gun.”
I am surprised. She has managed to keep the panic that is in her eyes out of her voice. I say nothing. I am out of words. I keep the gun. I imagine that says enough alone.
“Things are bad. They have been bad for a long time. I don’t know when they will change. You don’t. But there is one constant here Alex, and that is that things do change. We can make them change. And we don’t have to change them with a gun. You don’t have to. Not anymore.”
The gun is out of words. I speak.
“Nothing in my life has ever been as easy as this.”
I watch as her panic dies and anger is given life in its place. She is yelling now.
“Easy, is it? Easy to take your own life and leave me behind? Easy to leave our son? He’s seven years old, Alex. How will I tell him his father didn’t want to be with him anymore?” Malice stirs in the depths of Pam’s eyes and she strikes out, her voice lowering to a hiss. “How do I tell him that his father would rather be in hell than with his own son?”
I want to turn the barrel on her for what she’s said. What will it matter anyway? In a minute I will be dead. On the way from its place against my head to point at her own, the gun falters and falls. My fingers have a mind of their own. My entire self has a mind of its own and I am shaking and shaking and shaking and I think maybe I will die anyway. I watch her malice die and I don’t know what is there now, but I can’t see her eyes anymore and her arms are holding me and her lips are in my hair and I shake as I pull her to me.
Fandom: Prison Break
Requested by: pellamerethiel
Summary: Two men find will in each other.
Sona Penitentiary is always buzzing – whether it be night or day. Its many parasites wandering, hardly aware but clashing constantly, rotting away day by day, night by night. The spared fall – blade to the gut, plain lethargy to stagnation to oblivion. Withstanding its reality takes more than most men have.
In a shady corner, two men prevail. Animal instinct from the outside, human survival from in. They no longer know how long they’ve stayed. It does not matter – they will not be here much longer. They pass whispers, kisses, swallow moans - holding back from those who won’t survive. This is their fight.
Requested by: kansasspice
Summary: House has his fun. Chase plays along. Cameron…is Cameron.
The roses gripped in House’s fingers contrast as sharply with the man as the thorns do with the roses themselves.
“Flowers Cameron? How did you know it’s my unbirthday? What am I not now? Twenty thousand or so?”
Cameron is plainly taken aback.
“I didn’t give you flowers.”
“You didn’t. Chase did.”
House drops the flowers to the table, not bothering to watch the silky petals settle into place post-fall. He limps back to his office to be met by a pair of hungry lips.
“Flowers House?” Chase fits out around kisses.
“You bought them for me.” House’s grin is sly.
Chase nips his ear, moaning loudly to be sure it reaches the conference room. “I always knew you were a romantic.”
Requested by: skinny_bacon
Summary: An accident.
I am not hurt - not even a scratch - but jarred. The sun shines mercilessly down onto my face, and I shine back. There is no warmth in its kiss, and I am not warm for it.
Blood is everywhere. Its heady scent fills my nostrils and stirs nothing. A part of me, the part that is not dazed and broken, feels pride. Even when so much is sprung on me at such an unexpected time I am left feeling nothing. I have trained myself well.
I have to get out of here. No one around is conscious enough to notice the sun jangling off my exposed skin in shards of glimmering light, but the emergency crew will be here soon. I leave my totaled car behind with a twinge of sadness and head for the woods, forcing the desperate moans and muffled cries for help from my mind. People will die. I cannot always be the doctor.