drunken post-it: Herc/Iolaus

Yes, I said Herc/Iolaus. I am now fully obligated to write a 500 word min. on each of the following: Sam/Dean werewolf story - one turns and takes the other down, Lew Ashby/Hank (Californication) wherein there is dubcon or noncon; and now courtesy of our GNO, HERCULES AND THE AMAZON WOMEN and more alcohol than I want to admit to drinking,  I am to write Her/Iolaus with insatiable as a prompt. Herc has to be wearing that brown suede shirt he wore in Amazon, not the yellow (that's my contribution to the prompt).

 Now all I have to do is figure out how to remember to spell Iolaus' NAME tomorrow.

WIP meme

Post a sentence (or two or a paragraph, whatever) from as many of your WIPs as you want, with no explanation attached. Snagged from lustmordred

see me use some fandom names for my characters:) - though two in fact really ARE those characters, being a fan fiction story


"This? You want this, then?" the vampire asked, and slid his hand over him again, gripping tight. Jared throbbed in his hold, and the vampire smiled. "You want to come, don’t you?” The vampire bent and touched his tongue to Jared. Jared’s cock burned sharp, like frostbite gone deep but not yet numbed. He shook on the edge of orgasm.

“What do you want?” Jared gasped.

“I don’t know yet,” the vampire said. “I know I want this.”

-----

That same afternoon the landlord came to tell him his dad was dead—shot right outside of the Lobster Bar. Nobody knew exactly why—the local who’d killed him was so drunk he barely remembered getting into the argument to begin with. The cops had come to the house twice to tell him the news, but nobody ever answered the door. The landlord figured Zach had already skipped out. He was awful sorry, but he had to have the rent. He couldn’t afford to run a charity. Couldn’t be helped.

That’s how Zach came to be introduced to sex—legs weak and trembling, heart numb and scared out of his mind while the landlord bent him over the couch and took it out in pay. Even though it hurt like hell he didn’t cry, not until later that evening when he walked to the bar where his dad died. He stood under the glow of the red neon lobster on the sign above and sobbed until he felt hollow and more alone than he’d ever felt in his life.

-----

Seth rammed his mouth over Xander’s and kissed him. He wrapped a hand around his jaw to hold him still, fisted his other hand into his hair and held him immobile, Xander’s body wired and trembling against his. Seth’s mouth moved over Xander’s slowly and just as slowly let him go. Seth breathed into the side of his face, “It’s too late. You want me to leave you here but I can’t, I can’t.”

Xander turned his head away, jaw tense. A tear ran down his face and when Seth tried to kiss him he jerked away. “We don’t have any clothes on and they’re watching us. Fuck. Look at them,” Xander said, breathing out heavily. He laughed, and then his breath caught in his chest and he sobbed. “I’m so tired of all this.” His face smoothed as he stared out at them. He reared up, pulling against the two men holding his arms. “You getting off on us, you fucking asshole perverts?”

-----

Something’s wrong. He’s wrong. Why is he here?

Rachel’s heart lurched. She ran to Juliana. Eric’s head whipped around. His pallor was pronounced and his lips reddened as if wind-burned. He smiled. His teeth were very white. His eyes were light, clear glass, utterly without feeling. She couldn’t look away. A voice spoke in her head. It wasn’t hers.

You’re mine.

Rachel shuddered. The birds flew up in an explosion of clapping, whirring wings, and suddenly she could move. She held out a hand to Juliana, willing it not to shake. “Time to go.” Juliana looked through her at something only she could see.

----

“I didn’t want to come the last time you called for help, back at the lake house,” Lund said, his face twisted with anger and maybe a sliver of horror, self-revulsion at what he was doing. “I wasn’t going to come. Bracke did and he’s dead. There’s no one to help you now. As long as you’re here, people keep dying.”

“If he’s a monster, what are you?” Clay tried to say. He opened his mouth, but of course he had no voice. Couldn’t talk without air. He didn’t even know who he was talking about, Tom or Jason.

Lund pushed him underwater again.

He wasn’t going to try to breathe. He wasn’t. It hurt, his lungs hurt. His eyes were open, the water pressing cool against them, greenish, particles floating before him.

Don’t breathe. No air no air no air.  His chest was so heavy. Black spots gathered, more of them every second, the green water fading behind them.

He wanted to see Tom. Remembered his face, what he looked like trying to tamp down all his feelings, as if Clay would laugh in the face of them, or maybe as if he had to keep them from Clay because they were something that might hurt him. Hurt them both.

-----

In the early spring the trilliums and the fire pinks, the brown jugs and the jack-in-the-pulpits stretched toward the sun, blooming on the forest floor beneath the leafless trees. The cool spring winds swept down the mountain and away to the wide-open world beyond graduation, only three months away.

The winds reached into Samuel and dug in, loosed strange, disorienting dreams of black skies and blood-red clouds, spring storms and sharp teeth. Brought sullen headaches that refused to go away and made it hard to study. He put it down to the pressures of deciding what to do after school, where to go to college, and told no one of his dreams.