Jan. 30th, 2011
I stole this from morganoconner
These are 3 "snippets" from 3 WIP stories i have. I only picked three, because if i put down more, i'd just depress myself.
1) When Ianto returned, he wasn’t sure which was more surprising- the fact that Jack was still out for the count, or that he was not alone.
The man was in his thirties, kneeling at Jack’s side, a hand pressed to Jack’s forehead. His dark hair was tousled, as though he’d been mussing it with his hands, head bowed in a sense that Ianto could only describe as reverent, lips moving wordlessly. He was a smaller man than Jack or Ianto, though his tan trenchcoat gave him a slightly more intimidating appearance.
“Er, hello?” Ianto’s mind was racing, compiling an explanation for the well-meaning stranger who happened upon his temporarily deceased boss, and to the Retcon resting inconspicuously in his jacket pocket.
The man lifted his gaze to Ianto, eyes startlingly blue in the lamplight, solemn and searching. “I am sorry,” he stated without inflection. How the man could actually give the impression of absolute sincerity without so much a flicker of expression was beyond Ianto, but he managed it. “I was too late.”
As Ianto stepped forward, a lie and a reassuring word on his tongue, Jack surged into life with a tortured gasp, clutching at the man’s trenchcoat. His gaze focused on the man, registering, before a suggestive grin made its way to his face.
“Well,” Jack said, one brow raising in interest. “Hello there. You’re not Ianto.”
The aforementioned Welshman let out a relieved sigh he wasn’t aware he’d been holding since he arrived back on scene.
“I am not,” the man agreed, studying Jack with a straight face. “I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord.”
2) When Sam got back to his place, he was surprised to hear Jess’ laughter before he even unlocked the door.
Marc was sitting at their dining room table, drinking their coffee, and making his girlfriend laugh until tears ran down her face.
“Sam!” Marc greeted, cheerfully. “You’re home early.”
Sam looked between them, and Jess just smiled. “You left your man purse at class. Marc dropped it off.”
Sam didn’t have a man purse.
Or a bag, for that matter.
Marc grinned at Sam, eyes burning an unusual gold, and an unexpected chill swept through Sam. Something inside of him whispered about a past life, of demons and never stopping- blood and death, burning, and a hand in his.
Don’t look, Sammy.
Sam suddenly crossed the room, grabbing Marc’s arm, and pulling him out of the room.
“Forceful,” Marc said. “Kinky. You only needed to say…”
“Who are you?” Sam demanded, pressing Marc’s smaller frame against the wall. “What are you?”
“Okay, hands off the merchandise,” Marc pried Sam’s fingers from his upper arms. “Stop being a cray-cray. You ever think that maybe I just like you?”
Jess was right.
Marc was gay for him.
Sam released Marc, stepping back. “Sorry.”
Marc shrugged, rubbing his arms. “Geez, what do you pack in those gigantor arms of yours, steroids?”
“I’m sorry,” Sam repeated, lamely.
Marc was unusually silent for a moment, looking up at Sam, mouth drawn into a tight line, eyes suddenly dark and sympathetic.
“No, Sam. I’m sorry.” The shorter man turned, called goodbye to Jess, and left.
3) "That's it," the pizzaman's voice was pitched low, seductive. "Unzip your pants. The kids are still outside. Nobody'll know."
Castiel paused, brow furrowing. He hadn't recalled that line the first time, but perhaps he had been too distracted.
"Are you honestly going to protest? It's just me and you, now. I won't tell," the man's smile was disarming enough, and Castiel slid his zipper down with a low sigh.
"We shouldn't do this," Castiel informed the pizzaman along with the babysitter. "They'll be back in any minute."
"An extra tip'll seal the deal," The pizzaman grinned, and there was something in his eyes, something unstaged, raw, and purely mischievous that made Castiel's nerves stand on end, and then there was a sharp pull on his Grace. The room flooded with a new kind of light, and the unconvincing protests of the babysitter were drowned out.
When the light faded, Castiel was no longer alone in the room. He was filled with a sense of breathless awe at the sight of the pizzaman standing before him, striped shirt untucked from unbuckled ironed slacks.
Castiel supposed the feeling he had wasn't unlike the one Dean experienced when he spoke of Dr. Sexy, MD, before he was sufficiently scarred from the TVLand experience when Gabriel-
Gabriel, who had taken on the form of Dean's "idol."
Gabriel, who led the brothers to cage Lucifer through the use of Casa Erotica.
The pull he had been receiving to this particular form of entertainment, and the character he had 'learned' to kiss from standing before him. It was no coincidence.
"Gabriel," Castiel confirmed, the knowledge that his brother was somehow alive and standing before him sending his emotions into a spiral.
"Special delivery, kiddo," Gabriel grinned.
And that was when Castiel moved to punch him.
He had learned that from the Righteous Man.
So, is he happy to be slashed?
Richard: Yes! I am, and you know why? Because, you go to certain cultures and you go into the deepest darkest woods, and if their way of saying hello is to throw poop on your forehead, you let them throw poop on your forehead. So if their way of saying we love this guy and we love this character and embrace this character is to make him part of slash fiction? Slash away, babe!
How does anyone answer so...God.
Bonus: Richard (with sad puppy eyes): Ironically, I’m no longer a pivotal part of the Show.
No longer a pivotal part of the Show.
I'm not sniffling. i have the flu
Read the whole beautiful interview from Fangasm