(no subject)

[erastes]

Heroes is coming to the BBC this summer! I am really looking forward to it. Yes, I know we have Torchwood, but it's been a long long time since we had Buffy or Angel or any really meaty sci-fi/fantasy thingie on - specially one that is twice the length of Torchwood. Plus better news is that the BBC have already bought series two, without having shown series one! Squee!

It's bloody freezing here, even if it finally has stopped raining *stops building ark.*

If anyone wants a kissing drabble in line with that meme "Give me two characters, and I'll write their first kiss" Then ask. Make them characters I know - No het and no squick. It's a bit pointless asking for Rafe/Ambrose as all you'll get is the Standish excerpt. However I could give you first kisses from Fleury, Rafe, Ambrose, Achille, Francis Trenberry, or anyone from short stories you might have read. Or fandoms I know (few...) In fact it would be more interesting to write Give me ONE character, and I'll write their first kiss. Then I get to chose who they kiss! I also reserve the right to use said snog scene in any book or story I may write in the future. You'll get an acknowledgement if I do, though.

And yes, I've done my 1000 words. My poor protag is feeling quite verbally squashed.

Yay! Lunch! *scoffs*

Comments

[wildestranger.livejournal.com]

Jack/Ianto? *tries to lure you into fandom*

And yay for Heroes - it's been very frustrating hearing all about it and not getting to watch the boytouching. ;)

[erastes.livejournal.com]

When he’d been dead to world and he wandered dead-brained, dead eyed, dead-voiced around the hub, doing his job - more cyber than human. More shell than substance.

The others – and that was the irony of it – started to notice him, their curious stares feeling like nothing more than warm lasers on the target between his shoulder blades.

He’d stood, numb and empty before Jack’s desk – waiting for the tirade that never came. Just a sigh and a susurration of serge. “You disappointed me, Ianto.”

“I know, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.” Jack was too close, too piercing, too knowing. Ianto closed his eyes, hating the self-flagallation in Jack’s eyes.

Warm lips touched his. Just for a second. Like a jolt of something like life, just a shared heartbeat and a empathic moment, lost in the turning, turning as Jack moved away. There was nothing said aloud, but the words Be sure of it. were there in his mind as if Jack had reached in and written them in words of fire. Ianto had never been more sure of anything in his life before.

He took his first real breath. And life began again.

[leatherdykeuk.livejournal.com]

Heroes was my favoutite series.

[cbpotts.livejournal.com]

I am not in the fandom at all, but I'd love to hear about the first kiss of whoever the person is that made all your male bits and female bits melt that you posted a few days ago (I'm assuming he was from HP)

[wildestranger.livejournal.com]

Gnah. Oh baby. *fans self*

And this is why you are a great writer of homoerotic romance. :)

[ejab62.livejournal.com]

I know you deleted the story and it probably is somewhat 'off limit' because of that and blablabla but I'd LOVE a first kiss story from Magnus (oh please, let me remember his name correctly). The vampire you created who, of course, fell in love with Lucius. Remember him? Sincerely loved his character and how
he dealt with being a vampire.

Is that all right?
*Refrains herself from begging. Just.*

[semioticwarrior.livejournal.com]

I want to know all about Fleury's first kiss. With whomever it was with.

The heck with a drabble. I want Fleury to have his own book. You know he wants it too. ;)

[schmoo999.livejournal.com]

Hee..you will love Heroes I am thinking. It was a wonderful serial type show..kept the twists coming and just a fun show! Living comic book all around.

Can't wait to read what you think!!

:)

[erastes.livejournal.com]

Hmm. Lucius Malfoy. Consummate Slytherin and most maligned Potter character. And my favourite bad boy in the whole wide world.

A challenge! Very oblique chan, as I don't know your preferences but this is my backstory of Lucius - that he had this relationship with his father.
-----------------

Severus talks to him of mothers, as they lie languid and sated in the willow’s strobing light, and Lucius is poisoned by a woman he’s never met, robbed of kisses he’s never felt.

He wonders what it would have been like to cling to soft, yielding flesh, instead of the hard planes and muscled arms; to have tipped up his eager parted lips for a mouth, sweet as mead, not one redolent with port and Cuba and to hear a voice, an octave higher than one he ever heard--tell him what a good boy, good boy, good boy (such a beautiful boy) he was.

[bloodrebel333.livejournal.com]

The first time Fleury kissed a man. Something he still dreams about.

[cbpotts.livejournal.com]

Woo! Intriguing -- and very deft handling of a taboo. I love "rendolent with port and Cuba", that's flat out brilliant.

[erastes.livejournal.com]

Never off topic - Magnus will resurface somewhere - characters are never lost.

Here you go. at first I had the characters here the other way around but then I suddenly realised that it was supposed to be Magnus' first kiss - so it's Grigor who "makes" him. Hope you recognise who Grigor is....

---------------------------
One was warm, or one was dead, out on the Steppes. It was a rule they lived by, unspoken, learned by instinct. In the frozen, remote monastery at Verkhoturve, Grigori Yefimovich pins the blond neophyte against the wall and wonders at the light in Magnus’ endless-ice eyes.

“Kiss me, Magnus,” Grigor breathes, his voice like warmed frost against Magnus’ ear, “kiss me, and I shall show your God.”

The sensation is like a plunge into a glacier; his soul spirals upwards and he can hear the angels singing as their tongues meet. Grigor seems to grow in his arms and Magnus realises too late, as the blood trickles down his neck and his limbs lose their weight, that angels do not sing for the damned.

One was warm, or one was dead, out on the Steppes, they said. But now, as he staggers through the snow, fleeing the monastery the mad dark laugh, he knows he’s not warm, or dead.

[erastes.livejournal.com]

ah now. that's sad. his first male kiss is actually mentioned in Standish, but it seems right that he'd still dream about it,
------------------------------

It's been many years since the dark of Newgate, but when he sleeps too long and too late, the dream resurfaces. At first, it's bright and busy. A tamed colt, soothed under the doctor's gentle hands. A young fool, given hope and occupation, kept busy, out of mischief. The doctor’s voice comes slowly from the past.

"Keep that tied tight, Fleury, keep out of the light and we might save his arm."

"Crush the pepper with the lungwort, mix with urine-yes yours, foolish boy, who else?"

"That’s right, pull the ankle to the left… then right.”

“You did well, Fleury. You did well.”

Then the doctor bends and a slender arm enfolds him and the man – ”a man, ma, a man!” – “You’ll go to hell, Fleury me son, you’ll go to hell” presses him back against the wall and there’s need and want in every muscle – and pain in his eyes as Fleury fights like the wildcat he is and flees his cell.

And now, in this New World, he wakes in the dark with two names on his lips, one dead, one alive – but both forever beyond his reach.

[erastes.livejournal.com]

She was fourteen, she was, all lavender ribbons and hitched up skirts. Fleury followed her like the older boys did, although he wasn’t as sure why he did as the others seemed to be. She threw them all off, she did – said she was born for better than common boys with dirt on their legs and no hopes of advancing beyond the Pale. She’d laugh at their flowers and their ribbons (but she’d take them just the same) and the only one she’d kiss was little Padraig Fleury, to his eternal shame. Her lips were wet and her breath was bitter like porter but he put a hand on her tit and squeezed her there, bold as brass, and she laughed and squeezed him back and told him to come back when he was a man. Her da said she’d gone to America – but Fleury saw him selling a bunch of lavender ribbons to the ragman – he bought one himself, left Dublin that night, never told, never went back, and never touched porter in his life again.

[semioticwarrior.livejournal.com]

::SIGH::

Beautiful!

[ejab62.livejournal.com]

Beauty! Sad but stronger because of that.
You know how sometimes your eyes seem to get glued to a certain piece of text? I got that with:

"angels do not sing for the damned." and
"he knows he’s not warm, or dead."

Grigori is a good name. Is he a metaphor for Voldemort?

[erastes.livejournal.com]

thank you!

and this is the real grigori!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grigori_Rasputin

[ejab62.livejournal.com]

Ah damn, I should have known! *Headdesk*
See? That is what happens when you're focussed merely on a particular fandom!

Stupid stupid stupid...

[upstart-crow.livejournal.com]

Assuming you prefer to write a male's first kiss? Ok, here's a challenge.

Cornelius Fudge.

*wicked grin*

[erastes.livejournal.com]

serves me right!!!
---------------------

Cornelius has never been kissed like it, not before, not since. A smothering warmth, full of sneezy talcum powder and a tang of something sour but sweeter, something just forgotten. Something vital.

Mrs Fudge tries, in her starched apron and the ridiculous nursemaid's hat he makes her wear when he gets "like this" but she can't - frankly - see the appeal.

Still, she thinks, it makes him happy...