commentfic roundup
May. 19th, 2009 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellownedbkupfor the J2!Domesticity meme over @ comment_away
here
the hamper is pretty rank by the time they get to it, clothes overflowing everywhere and barely a single clean thing left. jensen's been coping pretty well, despite his shuffling through dirty clothes strewn all over the floor and piling up in drifts by the walls. he really has. but even he can't stand it anymore.
he's had three cups of coffee in him and is tossing everything into separate bags when jared gets back from walking the dogs. "strip," jensen commands, not even taking his eyes off the task.
jared grins, laughing a little. "don't you want to buy me dinner first?"
"and take a shower," jensen mumbles, picking up a striped shirt that could be tossed either in the lights or the darks. he considers it briefly before tossing it in the darks. everything gets washed on cold anyway, so the colors are less likely to bleed there.
jared comes up behind jensen, dropping his clothes into the dwindling pile at jensen's feet. "is that better?"
the sound of jared's voice rumbles through jensen's chest, a shivery pause between them and the clothes suddenly heavy in his hand. his willpower isn't that strong when it comes to jared, to a naked jared that he can feel the heat radiating off his skin. jensen has to stand, to stop this from going any further.
"we've got laundry to do," he says, trying to put enough distance between them to get done with the task at hand. jared just grins and presses jensen back towards the bed.
"it can wait 'til later." jared's grin is shark-sharp, and jensen ends up falling to the bed, trembling and ready.
until he feels the wet spot beneath him and it's like a bucket of cold water. he pushes up and scrubs his hip dry. "not until we wash the sheets, at least. ugh."
here
it's wetter in vancouver in may, raining half the month and not all that hot the rest of the time. it's the best time, jared said, to plant their garden. it'll get the most natural watering that way, he had said, picking up some more Miracle Grow and another flat of tomatoes. jensen doesn't know how he found himself agreeing, but he's nodding all the same, hand full of garden stakes and head full of information about perennials and annuals and half shade and shade.
jensen's a little surprised at himself. he'd never considered it before. he may have briefly watched the infomercials on the Tomato Tree some nights (8 feet tall and tomatoes the size of grapefruits! order now!) and thought that, maybe if he spent more time in his apartment in LA, he may appreciate having that for his salads or his burgers.
but maybe it's the look on jared's face when he picks up some lavender and some pansies for the drive that has jensen so wanting to landscape their whole yard. maybe it's the look in jared's eyes when he thinks about the growing season, how they can share with some of the crew when they are all off hiatus.
ok. it may be partially that. but it's also a little bit about the power tools that jensen'll get to use-- the tiller and the mower and the saws and stuff to build their garden boxes.
here
it's been 96 hours, and jensen's sick of it. he's just a regular guy, you know? beer and steaks for dinner, soap in the shower, not a frill in sight. sure, he looks high maintenance, but that's what makeup artists are for. back home, jensen wore his glasses more than his contacts, let his beard grow hobo wild and bought new sheets when the last set had more holes in it than material.
but jared. jared had him fooled. back when jensen would just hang out, the guest room was painted white and had typical guest room quality stuff. didn't matter one way or the other to jensen after having spent so long just staying at a hotel while filming.
but jared. within 20 minutes of setting down his last suitcase, jared has out the fan of paint samples, asking if he'd rather have Vale Blue or Cloudscape as the wall color, accented by Blue Macaw (or maybe Deep Peacock) and jensen just lets his jaw drop. the samples jared was him were so close in color, he couldn't tell the difference. when he just looked at jared blankly, jared had pulled out more sample books, pointing out different wallpapers, including paintable ones if he'd decided to paint anyway.
jensen couldn't find any peace. there were samples out everywhere, and he kept waking up from nightmares where jared was chasing him down with valance and bedskirt coordinates. at day 4, he couldn't take it anymore.
"jared!" he shouted, exasperated. "how about i just sleep in your bed? you like the decorations in there as much as i do."
jared stopped, blinked and broke out in a wide grin. "well shoot, jen. took you long enough."
for comment_fic
here
ianto is born for the role of a valet. he's quiet, unobtrusive, polite and everything that is missing from this god-forsaken century, as far as jack is concerned. he's seen the different times, years of watching the rich followed by men who anticipated their master's needs before even the master knew them. saw the same in the 51st century.
he doesn't take ianto's service lightly, no matter his nonchalant speech. his eyes are too watchful to allow the movements to go undetected. he's never been the type to receive such care and handling, such respect. he was just a child, a foot soldier. ianto's actions warm an old man's heart.
so jack tells him how he appreciates it in little gestures. in the quiet way he lets their fingers brush as he accepts a cup of coffee. the over-the-top flirting jack only uses in situations where he doesn't stand a chance. in the way he turns a blind eye to the storing of a cyberman in the lower levels of the hub, praying that ianto will eventually understand that trying to save her is hopeless.
jack does all he can to show ianto how valuable he truly is.
here
murtagh holds back from tearing eragon to shreds, fighting as he can to not break his oath to galbatorix while still not killing eragon. he swears it has to do with his blood, the father he shares with the other dragon rider.
murtagh sneers, the defense his brother is putting up not enough to stop him unless he decided to give up altogether. not that galbatorix would allow that, the compulsion upon him by means of the use of his True Name. and isn't that the crux of the matter? the temptation his father's son dangles before him like a carrot before a horse. changing his True Name cannot be possible. he is what he has always been.
morzan's son. a man with no parentage to be proud of.
how they get from introductions across the aisle to pressed tightly together in the stairwell of dean's apartment just off campus and barely containing their moans is a mystery to dean. sam keeps running smooth fingertips down dean's suspenders, dragging the elastic where it's lying. dean shivers with each pass, surging up into kiss after kiss like a man drowning. god, does sam know how to kiss. uses his mouth like a weapon and sears into dean without even trying.
dean can't even bring himself to argue when sam's hands drag through his hair, a twist of fingertips that has his head dragging back and this giant's lips dragging down over jaw and chin to bite tantalizingly above the knot of his tie.
"you going to invite me in?" sam murmurs, a soft growl full of intent. dean can't say no, not when his legs are trembling weakly and he wants nothing more than to see the miles of skin that're hidden beneath saggy jeans and a polo. god, he's never hated a polo more in his life than right the fuck now.
dean drags sam into the apartment, ripping sam's clothes off and tossing them to land where they may before pushing him down onto the bed. he takes his time with his own clothes, teasing and watching sam's eyes darken with lust. it's been ages since he's tried a striptease for anyone, and it's more than gratifying to hear sam's moan. dean looks over his shoulder coyly, smirking at the picture sam presents on the bed, legs spread and hand gripping tight around his cock.
"you tryna kill me, man?"
dean can't help himself, smirking as he crawls up sam's body and straddles his hips. "you ain't seen nothing yet, sammy."
here
the hamper is pretty rank by the time they get to it, clothes overflowing everywhere and barely a single clean thing left. jensen's been coping pretty well, despite his shuffling through dirty clothes strewn all over the floor and piling up in drifts by the walls. he really has. but even he can't stand it anymore.
he's had three cups of coffee in him and is tossing everything into separate bags when jared gets back from walking the dogs. "strip," jensen commands, not even taking his eyes off the task.
jared grins, laughing a little. "don't you want to buy me dinner first?"
"and take a shower," jensen mumbles, picking up a striped shirt that could be tossed either in the lights or the darks. he considers it briefly before tossing it in the darks. everything gets washed on cold anyway, so the colors are less likely to bleed there.
jared comes up behind jensen, dropping his clothes into the dwindling pile at jensen's feet. "is that better?"
the sound of jared's voice rumbles through jensen's chest, a shivery pause between them and the clothes suddenly heavy in his hand. his willpower isn't that strong when it comes to jared, to a naked jared that he can feel the heat radiating off his skin. jensen has to stand, to stop this from going any further.
"we've got laundry to do," he says, trying to put enough distance between them to get done with the task at hand. jared just grins and presses jensen back towards the bed.
"it can wait 'til later." jared's grin is shark-sharp, and jensen ends up falling to the bed, trembling and ready.
until he feels the wet spot beneath him and it's like a bucket of cold water. he pushes up and scrubs his hip dry. "not until we wash the sheets, at least. ugh."
here
it's wetter in vancouver in may, raining half the month and not all that hot the rest of the time. it's the best time, jared said, to plant their garden. it'll get the most natural watering that way, he had said, picking up some more Miracle Grow and another flat of tomatoes. jensen doesn't know how he found himself agreeing, but he's nodding all the same, hand full of garden stakes and head full of information about perennials and annuals and half shade and shade.
jensen's a little surprised at himself. he'd never considered it before. he may have briefly watched the infomercials on the Tomato Tree some nights (8 feet tall and tomatoes the size of grapefruits! order now!) and thought that, maybe if he spent more time in his apartment in LA, he may appreciate having that for his salads or his burgers.
but maybe it's the look on jared's face when he picks up some lavender and some pansies for the drive that has jensen so wanting to landscape their whole yard. maybe it's the look in jared's eyes when he thinks about the growing season, how they can share with some of the crew when they are all off hiatus.
ok. it may be partially that. but it's also a little bit about the power tools that jensen'll get to use-- the tiller and the mower and the saws and stuff to build their garden boxes.
here
it's been 96 hours, and jensen's sick of it. he's just a regular guy, you know? beer and steaks for dinner, soap in the shower, not a frill in sight. sure, he looks high maintenance, but that's what makeup artists are for. back home, jensen wore his glasses more than his contacts, let his beard grow hobo wild and bought new sheets when the last set had more holes in it than material.
but jared. jared had him fooled. back when jensen would just hang out, the guest room was painted white and had typical guest room quality stuff. didn't matter one way or the other to jensen after having spent so long just staying at a hotel while filming.
but jared. within 20 minutes of setting down his last suitcase, jared has out the fan of paint samples, asking if he'd rather have Vale Blue or Cloudscape as the wall color, accented by Blue Macaw (or maybe Deep Peacock) and jensen just lets his jaw drop. the samples jared was him were so close in color, he couldn't tell the difference. when he just looked at jared blankly, jared had pulled out more sample books, pointing out different wallpapers, including paintable ones if he'd decided to paint anyway.
jensen couldn't find any peace. there were samples out everywhere, and he kept waking up from nightmares where jared was chasing him down with valance and bedskirt coordinates. at day 4, he couldn't take it anymore.
"jared!" he shouted, exasperated. "how about i just sleep in your bed? you like the decorations in there as much as i do."
jared stopped, blinked and broke out in a wide grin. "well shoot, jen. took you long enough."
for comment_fic
here
ianto is born for the role of a valet. he's quiet, unobtrusive, polite and everything that is missing from this god-forsaken century, as far as jack is concerned. he's seen the different times, years of watching the rich followed by men who anticipated their master's needs before even the master knew them. saw the same in the 51st century.
he doesn't take ianto's service lightly, no matter his nonchalant speech. his eyes are too watchful to allow the movements to go undetected. he's never been the type to receive such care and handling, such respect. he was just a child, a foot soldier. ianto's actions warm an old man's heart.
so jack tells him how he appreciates it in little gestures. in the quiet way he lets their fingers brush as he accepts a cup of coffee. the over-the-top flirting jack only uses in situations where he doesn't stand a chance. in the way he turns a blind eye to the storing of a cyberman in the lower levels of the hub, praying that ianto will eventually understand that trying to save her is hopeless.
jack does all he can to show ianto how valuable he truly is.
here
murtagh holds back from tearing eragon to shreds, fighting as he can to not break his oath to galbatorix while still not killing eragon. he swears it has to do with his blood, the father he shares with the other dragon rider.
murtagh sneers, the defense his brother is putting up not enough to stop him unless he decided to give up altogether. not that galbatorix would allow that, the compulsion upon him by means of the use of his True Name. and isn't that the crux of the matter? the temptation his father's son dangles before him like a carrot before a horse. changing his True Name cannot be possible. he is what he has always been.
morzan's son. a man with no parentage to be proud of.
how they get from introductions across the aisle to pressed tightly together in the stairwell of dean's apartment just off campus and barely containing their moans is a mystery to dean. sam keeps running smooth fingertips down dean's suspenders, dragging the elastic where it's lying. dean shivers with each pass, surging up into kiss after kiss like a man drowning. god, does sam know how to kiss. uses his mouth like a weapon and sears into dean without even trying.
dean can't even bring himself to argue when sam's hands drag through his hair, a twist of fingertips that has his head dragging back and this giant's lips dragging down over jaw and chin to bite tantalizingly above the knot of his tie.
"you going to invite me in?" sam murmurs, a soft growl full of intent. dean can't say no, not when his legs are trembling weakly and he wants nothing more than to see the miles of skin that're hidden beneath saggy jeans and a polo. god, he's never hated a polo more in his life than right the fuck now.
dean drags sam into the apartment, ripping sam's clothes off and tossing them to land where they may before pushing him down onto the bed. he takes his time with his own clothes, teasing and watching sam's eyes darken with lust. it's been ages since he's tried a striptease for anyone, and it's more than gratifying to hear sam's moan. dean looks over his shoulder coyly, smirking at the picture sam presents on the bed, legs spread and hand gripping tight around his cock.
"you tryna kill me, man?"
dean can't help himself, smirking as he crawls up sam's body and straddles his hips. "you ain't seen nothing yet, sammy."
