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Came home early due to illness. Am cranky. Posting lots. Drinking tonnes of coffee, etc.
ANYHOO. I wrote a fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cesario, because she owns me and she got into to library school yayayayayyay. There is no TODD in this, however. Sad.
TITLE: Coming, Not Drowning
FANDOM: Law and Order: Criminal Intent
RATING: There are a couple of sexual bits. Ooh-er! R.
DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns, I borrow.
Coming, Not Drowning
by Piecesof
----
NOTES: My dear Branwyn requested hurt/comfort fic, so here it be in droves. She also said I could write Vampire!Goren, so FTW! That said - only two Australian days until NEW Goren and Eames, so here's my mandatory post-The War at Home fic before new canon slips into place. And get your mind out of the gutter - fic title is from that oh-so-pop-perfect track "Pure Shores" by All Saints that I happened to be listening to when typing this. Lame, non? Two points to me, however, for the double entendre.
-----
For Branwyn, always and forever. <3
-----
Sometimes he wished he was an addict.
Living selfishly, constantly knowing what you want and being so high when you finally recieved it. Plain and simple, if it wasn't so difficult and ugly for everyone else to watch.
He couldn't put her through him being an addict. Not her, or his mother or even his brother; because he was above that and he was above spilting himself in half for fear of his family's reproach.
But not her. He was so apart from her now, she could only be seen from a distance in his mind's eye.
---
Wiznesky's gun shot resonated through the car as she kept her eyes on the road in case they'd tear up looking at him.
She knew he'd given up smoking, from the weight gain and the way he chewed the side of his mouth constantly. The small things; never smelling the odour of week-old cigarettes when she dropped him off at his apartment, not watching him disappear into the elevator for a lunch time puff - they all gave him away without even a word.
Part of her claimed this small victory, because for once, he was an open book.
And she had to take it when she could get it, no matter how petty or insignifigant it was.
----
"Eames."
"Hmmm?"
"The light's green."
"Oh."
And on they drove, in silence.
Where they would stop, no-one knows.
---
He saw the way her hands shook as she held her weapon at Wiznesky. He saw the way her hands trembled as she took the coffee he offered, or when she picked up a fax.
His mother's hands shook, now. Ravaged by cancer, eating away at the metal inside of her, leaving her an empty carcass of a lost life with only a tired, nagging mouth left.
"I don't like hospitals."
Out of the blue, but she knew what it meant. She pulled the car into his drive way and turned to him.
"I know."
---
She perched on the edge of his couch like if she leant back into it, it would eat her alive.
She tricked herself into thinking he was going to be okay, because it was so much easier than dealing with his mindset and her own. Of having to watch him watch her; treating her with kid gloves while pulling his own hair out because he so obviously couldn't deal with her, and his mother and himself.
Standing, walking into the kitchen where he's busy making tea, she's ready for mindless small talk and useless banter and the constant push away. She is, in fact, ready for anything but him, his hands palm down on the counter and his face streaked with tears, the sobs wracking and rolling and leaving her speechless.
"Bobby..." He reached her before she reached him.
"I'm so, sorry."
Neither has to say why or what-for, because they can read each other's minds. It's their thing, and it's back, and she couldn't have said actual words anyway; through the silk of his tie and the white of his chest absorbing her emotions and words, she just breathes for a second and lets her feet dangle off the floor.
Free, for a moment.
---
He's in pain, but he's a man and this is how men deal.
In any case, that's how he'll justify it to himself when the inevitable doubt and guilt sinks in tomorrow, when he has to face her away from his kitchen and in the harsh light of MCS.
He initiated it, no doubt; pressing himself against her and she'd responded - cloudy from emotion or shock or, like him, the knowledge that this could help them forget - and finally, all at once, he could taste her.
Tiny hands, grabbing at his clothes and he placed her on the counter like a meal he was about to devour, snaking hands up around her now-bare back and using his tongue for the rest of the journey.
The circumstances were irrelevant in comparison to the sensations of here and now, the beauty of forgetfulness in the arms of the woman he cared for more than any other, overwhelming. This wasn't about shoving his dick in some broad to forget (about Ma, about his brother/father/Wisnesky/the fact he almost lost her); this was it. This was the end of so many wet dreams he'd been so embarrassed about, because you don't think about your partner like that!; the scenarios from his mind so different to the actual event, it was like the last six years hadn't existed.
There was no "GorenandEames" here - he was Bobby, she was Alex and they could have met in a bar in the middle of the night in 1998, instead of a squad room surrounded by butchy cops; for once, it didn't matter.
She groaned against his hair, and he knew she was crying. Not for her, or him, but for his mother and Wiznesky's family who had nothing like they had at this very second. For the bitter realities of tomorrow and later, that would arrive, pounding down the door, once they'd come and were panting, sweating in each other's arms.
Tomorrow, they'll deal with you-and-me, continue facing their demons that won't just disappear because they finally tripped over the thin blue line. But at least, tomorrow, each other will have a better understanding and the knowledge that for once, they don't have to go about it alone.
And that is freedom, if only for a moment.
---
Fin.
---
Now, I go and LOL at VDO's sudden teeth change in Season One.
ANYHOO. I wrote a fic for
cesario, because she owns me and she got into to library school yayayayayyay. There is no TODD in this, however. Sad.TITLE: Coming, Not Drowning
FANDOM: Law and Order: Criminal Intent
RATING: There are a couple of sexual bits. Ooh-er! R.
DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns, I borrow.
Coming, Not Drowning
by Piecesof
----
NOTES: My dear Branwyn requested hurt/comfort fic, so here it be in droves. She also said I could write Vampire!Goren, so FTW! That said - only two Australian days until NEW Goren and Eames, so here's my mandatory post-The War at Home fic before new canon slips into place. And get your mind out of the gutter - fic title is from that oh-so-pop-perfect track "Pure Shores" by All Saints that I happened to be listening to when typing this. Lame, non? Two points to me, however, for the double entendre.
-----
For Branwyn, always and forever. <3
-----
Sometimes he wished he was an addict.
Living selfishly, constantly knowing what you want and being so high when you finally recieved it. Plain and simple, if it wasn't so difficult and ugly for everyone else to watch.
He couldn't put her through him being an addict. Not her, or his mother or even his brother; because he was above that and he was above spilting himself in half for fear of his family's reproach.
But not her. He was so apart from her now, she could only be seen from a distance in his mind's eye.
---
Wiznesky's gun shot resonated through the car as she kept her eyes on the road in case they'd tear up looking at him.
She knew he'd given up smoking, from the weight gain and the way he chewed the side of his mouth constantly. The small things; never smelling the odour of week-old cigarettes when she dropped him off at his apartment, not watching him disappear into the elevator for a lunch time puff - they all gave him away without even a word.
Part of her claimed this small victory, because for once, he was an open book.
And she had to take it when she could get it, no matter how petty or insignifigant it was.
----
"Eames."
"Hmmm?"
"The light's green."
"Oh."
And on they drove, in silence.
Where they would stop, no-one knows.
---
He saw the way her hands shook as she held her weapon at Wiznesky. He saw the way her hands trembled as she took the coffee he offered, or when she picked up a fax.
His mother's hands shook, now. Ravaged by cancer, eating away at the metal inside of her, leaving her an empty carcass of a lost life with only a tired, nagging mouth left.
"I don't like hospitals."
Out of the blue, but she knew what it meant. She pulled the car into his drive way and turned to him.
"I know."
---
She perched on the edge of his couch like if she leant back into it, it would eat her alive.
She tricked herself into thinking he was going to be okay, because it was so much easier than dealing with his mindset and her own. Of having to watch him watch her; treating her with kid gloves while pulling his own hair out because he so obviously couldn't deal with her, and his mother and himself.
Standing, walking into the kitchen where he's busy making tea, she's ready for mindless small talk and useless banter and the constant push away. She is, in fact, ready for anything but him, his hands palm down on the counter and his face streaked with tears, the sobs wracking and rolling and leaving her speechless.
"Bobby..." He reached her before she reached him.
"I'm so, sorry."
Neither has to say why or what-for, because they can read each other's minds. It's their thing, and it's back, and she couldn't have said actual words anyway; through the silk of his tie and the white of his chest absorbing her emotions and words, she just breathes for a second and lets her feet dangle off the floor.
Free, for a moment.
---
He's in pain, but he's a man and this is how men deal.
In any case, that's how he'll justify it to himself when the inevitable doubt and guilt sinks in tomorrow, when he has to face her away from his kitchen and in the harsh light of MCS.
He initiated it, no doubt; pressing himself against her and she'd responded - cloudy from emotion or shock or, like him, the knowledge that this could help them forget - and finally, all at once, he could taste her.
Tiny hands, grabbing at his clothes and he placed her on the counter like a meal he was about to devour, snaking hands up around her now-bare back and using his tongue for the rest of the journey.
The circumstances were irrelevant in comparison to the sensations of here and now, the beauty of forgetfulness in the arms of the woman he cared for more than any other, overwhelming. This wasn't about shoving his dick in some broad to forget (about Ma, about his brother/father/Wisnesky/the fact he almost lost her); this was it. This was the end of so many wet dreams he'd been so embarrassed about, because you don't think about your partner like that!; the scenarios from his mind so different to the actual event, it was like the last six years hadn't existed.
There was no "GorenandEames" here - he was Bobby, she was Alex and they could have met in a bar in the middle of the night in 1998, instead of a squad room surrounded by butchy cops; for once, it didn't matter.
She groaned against his hair, and he knew she was crying. Not for her, or him, but for his mother and Wiznesky's family who had nothing like they had at this very second. For the bitter realities of tomorrow and later, that would arrive, pounding down the door, once they'd come and were panting, sweating in each other's arms.
Tomorrow, they'll deal with you-and-me, continue facing their demons that won't just disappear because they finally tripped over the thin blue line. But at least, tomorrow, each other will have a better understanding and the knowledge that for once, they don't have to go about it alone.
And that is freedom, if only for a moment.
---
Fin.
---
Now, I go and LOL at VDO's sudden teeth change in Season One.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
STOP WRITING ME FICK WHAT BREAKS MY WEE BRAIN.
Okay, don't stop doing that, my brain deserves breaking for it is Fun.
*HUGS THEM BOTH* Just... ow.
(Also, how scarily appropriate is this icon like.. ever?)
From:
no subject
I DON'T MEAN TO BREAK YOUR BRAIN. I just open WordPad and start typing and put bad pop music on and HELLO.
Coming soon: a fic in which Goren is a vampire and Eames is not! WILL SHE GO OVER TO THE DARK SIDE? Is this fic teh lame (yes, but ALL FANDOMS need sexy dark vampire fic, man)?
(he's all like *STARE* "turtlenecks are hot.")
From:
no subject
*STARES*
"Stop that and answer me. We're having a discussion about this, otherwise I'm opening a window and it's three in the afternoon."
"Well, I would understand if you didn't want this cursed life of-"
"Stop that."
"Yes, Eames."
"I'll think about it. Get me coffee."
From:
no subject
think I just cameneed to lie down a little. *cough*From:
no subject
Not that this is a bad thing, mind. Mmm. Oh, Eames...
From:
no subject
Expect an e-mail. Unrelated.
From:
no subject
I am expecting email. *waits*
From:
no subject
!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!
YOU WROTE IT OMG. *EXPLODES*
That was exactly what I needed to brace me for a crazy ass morning of talking to crazy ass library school people on the phone.
*loves you forever*
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I'm going to put you in my closet with a typewriter, and just feed you new episodes of CI when they come on. And you shall amuse me endlessly! Huzzah!
From:
no subject
From: (Anonymous)
Thanks much!
Looks good! Very useful, good stuff. Good resources here. Thanks much!
G'night
From: (Anonymous)
Thanks much!
Looks good! Very useful, good stuff. Good resources here. Thanks much!
Bye
From: (Anonymous)
yuopkio
Luogo interessante, emozionante in qualche modo! ;)
http://vismod.media.mit.edu/people/health/bakhtear/@top/vicodin/buy-vicodin-online.html buy vicodin online
G'night
From:
no subject
I need recs. Real bad.
From:
no subject
There really isn't much I'd rec. I feel really horrible for admitting that, but bar our mutual CI-fans, it's kind of cliche and by the numbers.
Oh man. I am going to be struck down for my bitchness.