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Hullo! Finally posting 'right' - finally have my computer up and running again, new hard drive in place, OS reinstalled, things getting back to normal. It'll take a few more days to dl and install all the little things that i'm missing - Photosheep, Filezilla, VLC.... And of course, all the little tweaks and settings and whatnot that made it all run and look *just like i like*.
And I need to find a decent Torrent client, since BitLord puts a completely un-removable toolbar fucking *thing* in theirs. Jackasses.
ANYway.....![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
slashthedrabble is in it's first week back from a long hibernation, and I'm...writing stuff. Wheeee!
So I thought i'd just post them all here, so they were all together on my journal, as well as over at the comm. Warning for...i guess...creepy-stalkery stuff.
The Dance
He was there. That guy. Christian had seen - and felt - the same guy at every gig for the last six months. He'd been...interested at first. Flattered. Hot guy in worn jeans and leather, long hair, scruff - blinding smile. But his eyes...like a doll. Or a shark; flat, dark - dead.
They gave Christian the heebies, and then he'd really noticed. How often the guy was just there - gigs and bars, stores and streets. There the couple times Christian'd done a rodeo that summer; the one time he'd had to go into the city.
And once post-show, Christian slipping out the back to his battered old Bronco (avoiding that guy, fucking hell), and there he'd been. Standing in the pouring rain against the alley wall, head tipped back, wet making his hair like ink poured over his head and shoulders.
Figure on their knees in the filth of the alley, and that guy's fist twisted in dark-blond hair. He hadn't even looked away, just - stared at Christian, little cat-curl of a smile on his face, watching as Christian flinched and all but ran away.
Tonight, though - tonight, Christian had had enough. Tonight, the dance ended.
Waiting
Jason rode his bike through the late-summer night, warm air flowing over his bare arms - lifting his hair. Speeding with the headlight off, drifting from one side of the road to the other, back and forth.
Slow and hypnotic curves that made him want to close his eyes and just...glide. He almost did, too, but no. Tonight he had plans - tonight was special.
Jason grinned against the push of the air, roaring down another dirt road until he came to the drive he wanted. Little, rambling house, sagging porch, honeysuckle vine, three or four acres around it. Jason parked and climbed the porch steps.
He'd never spent so much time on one person - never been so dedicated. But for eight months, he'd watched, and waited. Following Christian to bars, stores, rodeos. He'd been here, at Christian's house, countless times. Just...looking.
But he was done looking; tonight, he was going to have more. Jason checked his knife was secure in his boot - his gun in the holster under his arm. He lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke in deep - pluming it out.
Tonight, their little dance was over. Jason was going to take what was his.
Duet
Jason lit a cigarette, leaning back against the headboard of Christian's bed. It creaked as Christian jerked, fighting the handcuffs that bound him to the slatted wood. Christian's wrists were already purpling, like his jaw - like his left eye. Jason licked at his own split lip, ribs aching, headache throbbing to slow life at the base of his skull.
His boy'd put up a good fight, good enough to leave Jason hurting - and hard. Jason pulled warm smoke into his mouth, luxuriantly slow, and plumed it up toward the ceiling.
"Told you not to fight me," Jason said softly, and Christian jerked at the cuffs again.
"Let me go."
Jason chuckled, turning and squirming down the bed, draping his thigh over Christian's, insinuating a booted foot between Christian's restrained legs. His left elbow tucked into Christian's lats, left hand propping up his jaw. Jason's right hand - and cigarette - rested on Christian's chest. Idly, Jason tugged at a button on Christian's worn-out flannel. Christian flinched a little away from the smoldering cherry. His chest hitched under Jason's hand, panicky huffs of air he was doing his best to control.
"Didn't mean to get so rough on you. I just wanna talk, Christian. We never talk."
"I don't fuckin' know you," Christian said, twisting and bucking suddenly, but Jason just rode it out, rolling a little closer and pinning Christian down. He ducked down to take another drag, pulling the smoke in over his tongue and sighing it out across Christian's throat.
"That's why we need to talk. I got so many plans for you, Christian. For both of us. But we gotta iron out the details, first."
"Fuck. You."
Jason grinned. "That's one of the details."
Christian's eyes went wide and then narrow and furious, and he thrashed violently, wordlessly shouting. Jason moved, rolling to straddle Christian's hips, thighs gripping tight, and getting a fist in Christian's hair. He yanked Christian's head back sharply, bending down close, three inches away - two; bared his teeth in something that only remotely resembled a smile.
Christian froze.
"Sweetheart, you ain't gettin' away from me, no how. Now quit, before I gotta get mean."
Christian had such blue, blue eyes. Blue as the smoke that spiraled up from Jason's cigarette, thinning and dissolving into the air.
"There, now. That's my good boy."
And I need to find a decent Torrent client, since BitLord puts a completely un-removable toolbar fucking *thing* in theirs. Jackasses.
ANYway.....
slashthedrabble is in it's first week back from a long hibernation, and I'm...writing stuff. Wheeee!So I thought i'd just post them all here, so they were all together on my journal, as well as over at the comm. Warning for...i guess...creepy-stalkery stuff.
The Dance
He was there. That guy. Christian had seen - and felt - the same guy at every gig for the last six months. He'd been...interested at first. Flattered. Hot guy in worn jeans and leather, long hair, scruff - blinding smile. But his eyes...like a doll. Or a shark; flat, dark - dead.
They gave Christian the heebies, and then he'd really noticed. How often the guy was just there - gigs and bars, stores and streets. There the couple times Christian'd done a rodeo that summer; the one time he'd had to go into the city.
And once post-show, Christian slipping out the back to his battered old Bronco (avoiding that guy, fucking hell), and there he'd been. Standing in the pouring rain against the alley wall, head tipped back, wet making his hair like ink poured over his head and shoulders.
Figure on their knees in the filth of the alley, and that guy's fist twisted in dark-blond hair. He hadn't even looked away, just - stared at Christian, little cat-curl of a smile on his face, watching as Christian flinched and all but ran away.
Tonight, though - tonight, Christian had had enough. Tonight, the dance ended.
Waiting
Jason rode his bike through the late-summer night, warm air flowing over his bare arms - lifting his hair. Speeding with the headlight off, drifting from one side of the road to the other, back and forth.
Slow and hypnotic curves that made him want to close his eyes and just...glide. He almost did, too, but no. Tonight he had plans - tonight was special.
Jason grinned against the push of the air, roaring down another dirt road until he came to the drive he wanted. Little, rambling house, sagging porch, honeysuckle vine, three or four acres around it. Jason parked and climbed the porch steps.
He'd never spent so much time on one person - never been so dedicated. But for eight months, he'd watched, and waited. Following Christian to bars, stores, rodeos. He'd been here, at Christian's house, countless times. Just...looking.
But he was done looking; tonight, he was going to have more. Jason checked his knife was secure in his boot - his gun in the holster under his arm. He lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke in deep - pluming it out.
Tonight, their little dance was over. Jason was going to take what was his.
Duet
Jason lit a cigarette, leaning back against the headboard of Christian's bed. It creaked as Christian jerked, fighting the handcuffs that bound him to the slatted wood. Christian's wrists were already purpling, like his jaw - like his left eye. Jason licked at his own split lip, ribs aching, headache throbbing to slow life at the base of his skull.
His boy'd put up a good fight, good enough to leave Jason hurting - and hard. Jason pulled warm smoke into his mouth, luxuriantly slow, and plumed it up toward the ceiling.
"Told you not to fight me," Jason said softly, and Christian jerked at the cuffs again.
"Let me go."
Jason chuckled, turning and squirming down the bed, draping his thigh over Christian's, insinuating a booted foot between Christian's restrained legs. His left elbow tucked into Christian's lats, left hand propping up his jaw. Jason's right hand - and cigarette - rested on Christian's chest. Idly, Jason tugged at a button on Christian's worn-out flannel. Christian flinched a little away from the smoldering cherry. His chest hitched under Jason's hand, panicky huffs of air he was doing his best to control.
"Didn't mean to get so rough on you. I just wanna talk, Christian. We never talk."
"I don't fuckin' know you," Christian said, twisting and bucking suddenly, but Jason just rode it out, rolling a little closer and pinning Christian down. He ducked down to take another drag, pulling the smoke in over his tongue and sighing it out across Christian's throat.
"That's why we need to talk. I got so many plans for you, Christian. For both of us. But we gotta iron out the details, first."
"Fuck. You."
Jason grinned. "That's one of the details."
Christian's eyes went wide and then narrow and furious, and he thrashed violently, wordlessly shouting. Jason moved, rolling to straddle Christian's hips, thighs gripping tight, and getting a fist in Christian's hair. He yanked Christian's head back sharply, bending down close, three inches away - two; bared his teeth in something that only remotely resembled a smile.
Christian froze.
"Sweetheart, you ain't gettin' away from me, no how. Now quit, before I gotta get mean."
Christian had such blue, blue eyes. Blue as the smoke that spiraled up from Jason's cigarette, thinning and dissolving into the air.
"There, now. That's my good boy."