help meeeeeee

[obstinatrix]

Urgh. Okay, I'm horribly See Spot Run with my writing today. And, you know, yesterday as well. Not funny. I have porn that needs to be written. And, you know, spn_summergen. (A pause while I cry about that. Okay, done.) I am 22K into a J2 AU which I may sit on until after Big Bang season but really want to get written because it's eating my brain; I owe a Sam/Dean/Cas for help_nz - and, damn, it is hard to get those three to fuck. And then there's DCBB which I'm not even thinking about. I did at least get some work done on the PhD this morning, but I'm off work tomorrow, and I reckon that means half a day for PhD stuff and half a day for J2 AU. And then possibly fictictactoe, if I can get on a roll. But apparently I do not have a roll to get on right now. SO.

Give me one of my own stories, and a timestamp sometime in the future after the end of the story, or sometime in the past before the story started, and I'll write you at least a hundred words of what happened then, whether it's five minutes before the story started or ten years in the future.

Masterlist is here.

um. someone please request something? I fail at life today.

Maybe I shouldn't sign up for the samdean_otp minibang thingy if I'm having this much trouble getting shit done. But I'm totally going to. GOOD LIFE CHOICES, I MAKE THEM.

Comments

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

OOH. "The Theory of Relativity", a week after Matt starts playing piano at the speakeasy. :D?

[obstinatrix.livejournal.com]

ooh, good choice. :D

*

Saturday night, and the speakeasy is positively crawling with people, the jangling sound of the piano barely audible above the din of laughter and the clatter of glasses. Misha ducks his head and shoulders his way through the crowd, seeking out some island of safety in which to pause and gather himself. It's always like this at the weekend, crazy for a place that's technically illegal, but then - everybody knows what Misha thinks about that. It isn't exactly a secret.

As it turns out, the first such island of quietude is the little gap left by the revellers around the piano like some bizarre sign of respect. Misha shakes himself and inhales, but given the cigarette smouldering between Matt's lips, it isn't terribly refreshing.

"Busy tonight, huh?" He has to shout to make himself heard, and the scrunched-up expression on Matt's face makes it clear that he's processing the words only with difficulty even still.

"Insane," Matt says. His hands are flying incessantly over the keys, feet pumping down on the pedals in a way more utilitarian than artistic, but it emphasises the sound, and that's pretty much all Matt can aim for at this stage. There's sweat licking the lines of his throat, glistening along his clavicle. Misha wants to lean down unprompted and lick it off. He shifts a little, glances away.

"They're loving you," he says, slowly, and it's true. Matt's fitting in excellently, as far as the general club crowd is concerned. He's fitting in fairly well as far as Misha is concerned, too, apart from the fact that his wet-dream frequency is suddenly through the ceiling, but that's an entirely separate issue.

Matt laughs a little, tips his head back. His eyes are very blue, smoky warm in the dim light, and part of Misha thinks Matt knows he's desperate to lose himself in them; let himself fall forward and be submerged. There's something about Matt that's somehow different, and Misha's bar has more than one reputation on the underground grapevine. Misha's fairly sure Matt came here for a reason; that Matt's pretty mouth is no stranger to cock. He's sure, but he's not sure enough to push it. That's what a trial period is for, after all.

"Could use a drink," Matt says. His throat has to work pretty hard to make the words heard, and it ripples all the way down with the effort. Misha wants to trace the motion with his fingers, but he's being good. For now. Besides, there's something that twists inside him when Matt smiles that he isn't ready to analyse; something he frankly doesn't want to go anywhere near. Easier just to dive back into the crowd in search of a whisky-and-soda, and relish the appreciative grin on Matt's face when he returns with it, hail the conquering hero.

"Sure thing," Misha says, shy little inclination of his head that happens before he can physically stop it. Matt's smile broadens, head tilting slightly to the side.

"Yeah," he says, and it's casual, not sultry, but his eyes are steady, unwavering on Misha's face. Misha's stomach dips a little, hot and giddy. Sure thing.

When he pours out the soda, he finds that his hands are shaking, but he doesn't think he can be blamed for it.

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

YES OH THIS OH THIS WONDER, how I go starry-eyed at this, the way Matt disarms Misha and also the way Matt is unhurried, enjoying the meander. Ahaha, and the bizarre sign of respect around the piano!

I LIKE VERY MUCH. Thank you, my dear. :D

[obstinatrix.livejournal.com]

YAY, I'm glad! You're welcome!