sirona_fics | Over to you, folks!

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Over to you, folks!

OKAY. OKAY. LAST POST TODAY, I PROMISE -- or should I say first post today, since it's after midnight here? GAH, I AM RAMBLING ALREADY. THIS WILL WORK JUST FINE, THEN.

I find myself in the strange position of having three--no, four--huge stories in the works. When I say huge, I'm thinking at least upwards of 10K, probably nudging closer to 20K and over. And I'm stumped. Just thinking about ALLLL THE WORDS I'm going to write for them makes me leery of sitting my arse down and getting to it; moreover, I can't seem to decide which one to focus on right now.

So. After much pondering, and deft enabling by

delicatale, to get my writing juices flowing I propose the following: PROMPT ME. I will write drabbles for as many prompts as I get ideas for, and that's a promise. I can't guarantee that every prompt will get filled, BUT I will do my absolute best for as long as I need this exercise. Now, it's half past midnight here right now, so this will happen tomorrow most likely, but. GO ON, YOU GUYS. I WANT TO WAKE UP TO A VERITABLE DELUGE OF PROMPTS! :D

Fandoms: Inception (Arthur/Eames), Sherlock (Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Lestrade (oh god)), H50 (Steve/Danny), XMFC (Charles/Erik), HP (Harry/Draco -- this one is for you,

altri_uccelli, if you fancy it! :))

I did this last year for Christmas, when anyone who wanted a Christmas drabble from me got one. I will very likely do that again this year, so think of this as a wee taster! :D

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EMOTIONALLY RETARDED CHARACTERS ARE THE BEST CHARACTERS.

I AM EXCITED FOR THIS ONE.

WORD. It occures to me (just now, SOMETIMES I CAN BE SO DENSE, GOOD THING I HAVE YOU TO POINT SHIT OUT TO ME) that all the characters I love to write the most -- Sherlock, Steve, Erik, the ones I find the most fascinating to explore, are all emotionally retarded idiots. THEY ARE SO MUCH FUN TO PICK APART AND STICK TOGETHER AGAIN (WITH JUDICIOUSLY APPLIED JOHN, DANNY AND CHARLES, RESPECTIVELY). ;D

...I think my struggles with trying to cobble together a sentence about how John, Danny, Charles and their ilk are like adorable glue is a sign that I need sleep....

You go to sleep, bb! DREAM OF EMOTIONALLY RETARDED BOYS AND THEIR LONG-SUFFERING PARTNERS. <3

I SHALL. ♥

Not at all! And it's almost de rigeur in Amsterdam. ;)
\o/ \o/ \o/ !!!!!!

Truth be told, I don't know about American reservists, but our reservists get called up an x amount times a year for training and/or missions. Usually a week or a weekend, but you know, Steve might get called up for longer because he's a speshul snowflake :). Coming back from that was what I had in mind, but run with it if you like, as you as he's coming home from something (I like reunions).

Yay!!! \o/

YES. I love every single character in this series and how they're all so delightful and charming and unique. <333

ME TOO <333

Yes, let it be so.

Danny unglues his eyes open. It's painful, his lashes clumped together, his eyeballs dry and sore. Something unspeakably disgusting has crapped and then died in his mouth, by the taste of it, and there's a heavy weight pinning him to the bed. He lets his eyes squeeze to a crack and peers down.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

He follows that familiar arm to an even more familiar shoulder tattoo, and there's no hiding from this -- he is in Steve's bed. Steve is cuddled to his back, holding him close like Danny's his favourite teddybear. When Danny makes an involuntary twitch, the warm, reassuring weight of Steve's arm shifts with him, settles around him again when he lies back and tries to remember how to breathe.

If this has finally happened, if he has at long last given in to the knee-buckling need to maul Steve, kiss him and hold him close and strip that clinging t-shirt off him and straddle him and grind down -- if that's what happened last night, and Danny can't remember it, there will be blood. He's not even kidding.

Steve shifts behind him, burying his nose in the nape of Danny's neck. It feels... nice. More than nice. It feels fucking spectacular, and Steve's barely touched him yet.

There's another weight pressing into him, this one much lower than the incriminating arm. Danny's skin bursts out in scalding goosebumps all over when he realises that it's Steve's cock that's digging into his ass. He finds himself, all of a sudden, excruciatingly hard. Steve's fingers dig into his bare stomach gently, scratching lightly at the furry trail leading down to where Danny desperately wants him.

"You freaking out yet?" Steve murmurs hoarsely into his shoulder, where his lips have taken up delicious residence.

"No," Danny snaps back reflexively, and then thinks about it. "Actually, that depends on what happened last night and whether or not it coincides with what I can remember of it. Did we fuck?"

Steve pauses for a long moment, much too long for Danny's poor nerves. "Not for lack of trying on your part," he says at last, sounding cautious. "I just didn't think you'd want to not remember it in the morning. So no."

The air Danny wasn't quite aware he was holding rushes out, relieved beyond words. "Excellent. Get up."

"Uh. What?"

"Get up, McGarrett, surely you know how to do that, put your feet on the floor and stand up, come on."

Steve doesn't move for just long enough for Danny to feel the way his arm tightens a little and then reluctantly slides away, like Steve's worried he won't be allowed to do that, ever again. Which is simply laughable, what with the way Danny fucking yearns for this guy, it's embarrassing.

"Bathroom, come on." He marches Steve inside, squeezes toothpaste over his toothbrush and sticks it in Steve's hand, roots around in the cabinet over the sink until he unearths a fresh one, repeats the procedure.

"Brush, what, do I have to do it for you? Brush and spit."

Steve, looking utterly bemused, does as he's told. As soon as he's done, Danny spits, too, rinses his mouth while he watches Steve do the same, and once they've spat for the last time he's on Steve like a limpet, crowds him against the door, tugs his head down and does the best he can to climb him like a fucking tree.

Steve makes a surprised sound, but he gets with the program admirably quickly, with a stifled eye-roll that Danny graciously ignores.

"And to think you're usually so good with words," Steve says, dead-pan, which has no effect on Danny whatsoever considering the way Steve's clinging to him, hands closed firmly over his ass.

"You wanna talk? Now? Fuck you, I have better uses for my mouth. And this time we'll both remember it."

Predictably enough, Steve's pretty happy with that.

-----

His arms hurt. So do his shoulders, his whole fucking body is on fire from the stretch of his hands tied above his head where he's hanging from a hook bolted into the ceiling. And thug #1 is swaggering closer, a vicious smile on his face that promises Steve another round of pain in the not-too-distant future. Steve's alone, and they're asking questions, but he'll be damned if he gives up his team. Over his dead body, never mind that that might happen sooner than he'd anticipated.

Just as the thug is reaching for his hammer, there's a soft thock on the far side of the warehouse, the upper half-floor that had been deserted when Steve had climbed through the window, before he'd been caught and strung up like a piece of meat. The thug in front of him jerks -- there's a fucking arrow through his neck, long and wickedly sharp. The thug keels over with a faint gurgle, hands scrabbling over his neck before his eyes roll back into his head and the wet sounds die away. Almost before he's stopped twitching there's another thock and the ropes binding his wrists slither down his arms, sliced clean through. He drops to the floor, lists a little until he gets his bearings, and looks up.

He almost can't believe his eyes. Danny stands there like a fucking avenging angel (god, they must have drugged him, what is he even thinking), longbow drawn and arrow cocked, eyes narrowed on the space behind the nearest crate. Before Steve can even move, Danny's let loose two arrows in quick succession, and there are two almost instantaneous thumps from behind it. Steve peeks around the corner and sees thugs #2 and 3, the latter still with the pliers in his hands, arrows straight through both their skulls, dead before they could even open their mouths to shout.

Which is fortuitous, because there are twenty more where those three came from, on the other side of the warehouse, close enough that the sound of a gunshot would alert each and every one of them.

Frantic waving catches his eye, and he looks up to see Danny signal for him to go round the back and slip out of the side door. Steve knows there's another guard there, but he trusts Danny, always, with his life and everything else, so he complies, hobbles to the door with his knees still aching fiercely, only to see the sentry laid out just like the others, an arrow straight through his heart. Steve opens the door a crack and slips out into the inky night, hugging the wall and looking around. More movement, and he watches Danny crawl out of the tiny window above him and jump lightly to the ground, bow secured to his back. Danny signals for him to follow and lopes away; Steve follows clumsily, legs shaking a little from hours of hanging down. Danny keeps pace, assesses him with sideways glances that Steve would normally resent the fuck out of, but are now simply reassuring. Danny's here. He has his back.

Finally, they reach the warehouse in the next lot over, round the corner and then at last Danny stops, pins him to the wall, runs slightly shaking hands all over him, fingers searching out injuries and broken bones.

"Danny, I'm all right," Steve rasps, has to catch Danny's arms to stop his feverish exploration, rubs small circles into the muscles tight with the strain.

"Goddamn it, Steve," Danny whispers back, clenching his hands into fists over Steve's hips.

"Where's the back-up?" Steve asks, more to keep Danny talking than actually wanting to know. They're probably surrounding the place as they speak, if Danny went in.

"Ten minutes away," Danny says. Steve stares.

Danny strolled right into a warehouse teeming with bad guys, armed only with a longbow and a bunch of arrows, and took out every single thing in Steve's path to getting out of there, all without waiting for back-up. Steve feels a little faint.

"Wow," he manages.

"Yeah," Danny says, shooting him a look. "Don't get used to it. ...Really don't get used to it."

Steve's grinning so hard, blood's pumping all the way through his body, and he wants to shove Danny against the wall and kiss him until neither of them can breathe, wants to have those arms and shoulders over him, wants Danny above him and around him, wants Danny to hold him down and take him, as hard as Steve can stand, and then some.

Later, he promises himself. For now, he draws Danny in, presses their foreheads together, breathes in the light huffs Danny lets out, terrified and relieved at the same time. Steve knows, because that's how he feels, too.

As soon as this thing is over, he's taking Danny to the firing range and making him teach him how to do that. And it might be a good idea if they're alone, because keeping his hands off Danny when he's like that, focused and competent and incredible, well, that's a full-time job in and of itself.

For now, there is Danny's breath over his lips, Danny's scent in his lungs, and it's everything Steve will need in this life and the next.

Oh, I really like this :) The way that Danny's so worried that he just doesn't remember, and then it's that Steve wouldn't do anything when Danny wouldn't remember it... \o/ :D

I'm with Steve - the thought of Danny like that... UGH. HOT.

Eeeeeeeeee, yay~!! =^_^=

aakshg;lkashdflkhjaklsdghalksjflkas yeeeeeeeessssss!!

Eeeeeeeee! This is adorable!

Such an amazing ficlet. I loved the beginning ("if that's what happened last night, and Danny can't remember it, there will be blood", that's totally something Danny would think) and Steve being all considerate and knowing best (of course Danny would want to remember every single detail) and tightening his arm around Danny because he's afraid he may have changed his mind.

You got them down perfectly. <3

Oh.

*stares at screen trying to come up with a coherent comment and fails*

Oh, yay! \0/ Excellent, I'm so glad! <3 Steve knows his Danno! :D

♥!

Yay! <3

Oh, fantastic! <3 I'm so happy you think so! \0/ They are such boys in love, it's easy! :D

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Over to you, folks!

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Bamf!Danny, 1/2

Bamf!Danny, 2/2

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