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When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Nicky meets Greggy
“You are my second.” He was informed by a cold, distant voice, and then out of nowhere a big grin split the kid’s face. “But I like you better.”
“Well…thanks.” Nick was not grinning back because the guy had a nice smile, no matter how much he wanted to. “You had a little to drink?” he asked gently, making a rude sound when the other man shook his head in the exaggerated way that people did when intoxicated.
“I gave the wine away for a ride.” And even the kid was frowning at how that one didn’t make a bit of sense. “I just want to sleep now. I am allowed to dream.” He leaned forward to insist and swayed dramatically. His hand came out and Nick nearly jumped back from the groping hand. It settled on his thigh, but before he could sigh in relief and try to remove it, it was followed by the kid’s face and then half his body.
“Um…” Nick was red, he knew he was. The guy had probably passed out against his leg for all he knew. He wasn’t talking anymore, just resting, hot and heavy on Nick’s lower body, his head—and his mouth—sinking lower. “Come on, man…” Nick tried, his throat constricting.
Will Scarlett, I wuvs ya
“Where?” His voice seemed as weak as the woman’s that he had first pretended to be. He could not end his question even, nor seem to start it, and he pushed his head up to prove that he was not so weak.
It was no monk that touched his body now; well-muscled shoulders and arms had hefted swords before, and white lines showed the marks of battle. A French knight was bent over him, hands warm and spreading across Will’s chest, his hair a mass of neither yellow nor red that hid his face from Will’s view.
“Scarlett,” the word had been tossed between them when Will had hidden here, after the man’s introduction to Robert. How like Jon, Will had thought at the time, to bring the one person that Will feared even more than his own father directly to the one place Will had thought himself safe.
“Your name is Scarlett,” the Templar had not asked him, had merely waited beyond the line of trees surrounding the small grove until somehow he had been satisfied with Will’s silence. Then he had stepped forward, frowning, though Will had turned away from him. It was not for him to answer to a mere knight if that was the man’s rank, even if it had been Will who had lied.
“William.” His name was the growl of a beast in the mouth of this man, and Will blinked his dry eyes and focused on the tongue dipping at his navel instead of the remembered heat of that first breath at his neck.
Etienne
The urge to laugh was almost overwhelming, and Etienne directed his gaze elsewhere to enjoy the pleasure of the small victory, swinging his eyes back up at the sudden, easy flow of Parisian, as clearly spoken as if Louise or Suzette themselves had been before him.
“And before I got a chance to introduce myself….” The false regret had not been learned in any schoolroom, and if Etienne had made himself hide his enjoyment of this, then the boy would not dare, making a show of his straight, even teeth, the strong column of his throat as he threw his head back and laughed softly.
Obviously I have too many WIPs, and that's without getting to the notes on new things (in the crypt again, it smells like death, can't see, but plastic fangs still pricking his palm, and he feels fear, fear of Ray) or of course,
Chapter 23
René would need another bath. The thought was strange and did not belong here, in this moment, but James did not feel the heat steal across his face, and did not look away from René’s closed eyes, seeing the dark rings beneath the cream-white lids, his mind still clouded with confusion. René trembling at the first splash of water over his head, fighting the gentlest of touches, telling James he must not look upon him with love.
What visions René beheld behind his eyes now did not pass his lips and he made no move to stand. James dropped his gaze, his hand tightening against his will to see the volume of René’s blood that marked the floor, the wicked lines that had been cut across the flesh of René’s lower arms.
Nicky meets Greggy
“You are my second.” He was informed by a cold, distant voice, and then out of nowhere a big grin split the kid’s face. “But I like you better.”
“Well…thanks.” Nick was not grinning back because the guy had a nice smile, no matter how much he wanted to. “You had a little to drink?” he asked gently, making a rude sound when the other man shook his head in the exaggerated way that people did when intoxicated.
“I gave the wine away for a ride.” And even the kid was frowning at how that one didn’t make a bit of sense. “I just want to sleep now. I am allowed to dream.” He leaned forward to insist and swayed dramatically. His hand came out and Nick nearly jumped back from the groping hand. It settled on his thigh, but before he could sigh in relief and try to remove it, it was followed by the kid’s face and then half his body.
“Um…” Nick was red, he knew he was. The guy had probably passed out against his leg for all he knew. He wasn’t talking anymore, just resting, hot and heavy on Nick’s lower body, his head—and his mouth—sinking lower. “Come on, man…” Nick tried, his throat constricting.
Will Scarlett, I wuvs ya
“Where?” His voice seemed as weak as the woman’s that he had first pretended to be. He could not end his question even, nor seem to start it, and he pushed his head up to prove that he was not so weak.
It was no monk that touched his body now; well-muscled shoulders and arms had hefted swords before, and white lines showed the marks of battle. A French knight was bent over him, hands warm and spreading across Will’s chest, his hair a mass of neither yellow nor red that hid his face from Will’s view.
“Scarlett,” the word had been tossed between them when Will had hidden here, after the man’s introduction to Robert. How like Jon, Will had thought at the time, to bring the one person that Will feared even more than his own father directly to the one place Will had thought himself safe.
“Your name is Scarlett,” the Templar had not asked him, had merely waited beyond the line of trees surrounding the small grove until somehow he had been satisfied with Will’s silence. Then he had stepped forward, frowning, though Will had turned away from him. It was not for him to answer to a mere knight if that was the man’s rank, even if it had been Will who had lied.
“William.” His name was the growl of a beast in the mouth of this man, and Will blinked his dry eyes and focused on the tongue dipping at his navel instead of the remembered heat of that first breath at his neck.
Etienne
The urge to laugh was almost overwhelming, and Etienne directed his gaze elsewhere to enjoy the pleasure of the small victory, swinging his eyes back up at the sudden, easy flow of Parisian, as clearly spoken as if Louise or Suzette themselves had been before him.
“And before I got a chance to introduce myself….” The false regret had not been learned in any schoolroom, and if Etienne had made himself hide his enjoyment of this, then the boy would not dare, making a show of his straight, even teeth, the strong column of his throat as he threw his head back and laughed softly.
Obviously I have too many WIPs, and that's without getting to the notes on new things (in the crypt again, it smells like death, can't see, but plastic fangs still pricking his palm, and he feels fear, fear of Ray) or of course,
Chapter 23
René would need another bath. The thought was strange and did not belong here, in this moment, but James did not feel the heat steal across his face, and did not look away from René’s closed eyes, seeing the dark rings beneath the cream-white lids, his mind still clouded with confusion. René trembling at the first splash of water over his head, fighting the gentlest of touches, telling James he must not look upon him with love.
What visions René beheld behind his eyes now did not pass his lips and he made no move to stand. James dropped his gaze, his hand tightening against his will to see the volume of René’s blood that marked the floor, the wicked lines that had been cut across the flesh of René’s lower arms.