fahye | DRABBLE MEME

Yes! I have a free Saturday, so I'm finally going to do that drabble meme that everyone else did ages ago. I can do Good Omens, Harry Potter, any Milliways characters that you think I know well enough, Lost, a handful of anime fandoms...you people know what I do. Ask and ye shall receive. I'd prefer at least a pairing and an object/setting/theme/other prompt.

~

What do I do when I'm bored? I collect icons of my friends! Spurred by

cyrulean's Kelsey-icon and the fact that I've spent the past few days getting hugely ahead of myself and planning my in-three-years-time trip around the world to visit all you crazies.

Obviously some of you don't believe in showing your real self online and that's understandable. But if you do have any icons of yourself, when you request your drabble, comment using the one you like best? Even if you have to upload it for a day, to give me time to save it, and then take it down.

Yes, of course I'm planning to stalk you all.

I kid. I just have a folder of icons called 'Friends' and it needs filling up.

~

Went for coffee and Chinese and general catching-up with

not_in_denial and

tairamika today, which was lovely :)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lucifer’s mouth pulls blood to the surface on the boy’s neck, where the pulse should be.

Thom takes his hand and traces the scar with his fingertips, tentative, feeling an echo of the power that created it.

Nothing; familiar and everything.

The boy likes to lie everywhere, which is sometimes downright irritating but nothing, it seems, can be done about it. Lucifer remembers, because it’s the season for it: Hob lying close but never intrusive, touching at one point or many and occasionally opening eyes too deep and near for comfort, a sleepy smile with echoes of reverence. Thom manages to end up sprawled on top of him, tucked under limbs and pinching him in the side to make him move into a more accommodating position. Asleep too fast. Disgustingly resistant to being pushed away.

When he smiles, it’s either brief and spontaneous or he’s trying to annoy.

Thom sets his chin heavily in his hand, the elbow digging into Lucifer’s chest, and looks down at him, smug.

“I was right. You’ve been on edge for far too long.”

Lucifer won’t say that he still is, idiot boy, but he blinks up down up and it means the same thing, in the end

Thom with scratches on his cheek and lips swollen and asymmetrical and hair pushed in odd directions is in himself a work of art and magic. He tastes nothing like ricepaper. Purple power and hunger and forgetting, a taste with clean sharp edges to it. He also likes to talk, although the effect is exaggerated this night. Probably because he’s been shut up by himself and is purging the desire to babble.

Lucifer doesn’t mind, for now. He supposes that he should be indulging in sensation – not thinking – but that’s never really worked as a distraction method. Easier to think about something else entirely. He doesn’t talk himself but he listens, watching through eyes not quite closed. Thom uses his hands to make a point, traces designs on bare skin, and his rambling speech changes purpose mid-metaphor. Something about the way his mouth moves. He grins and ducks his head and suddenly the words don’t matter as much as the meaning, which is I think you’ve stopped listening, and I need you to shut me up.

When that happens Lucifer plays at sensory deprivation, catching Thom in his own trap. Eyes closed and no flicker of acknowledgement leads to a peevish grip on his shoulder, lips on his, moving in a slow rhythm.

“Bastard,” Thom murmurs idly, in between. “I know what you’re doing.”

Lucifer tucks one hand around Thom’s back and one pulling at his hair – it’s an old old game and Thom’s quick smile says that he likes the promise of tension – and speeds the kiss up.

“Really.”

“El-e-men-try,” he drawls. “Ask me how.”

Dreadful ego, say Lucifer’s lips.

Gotcha, say Thom’s.

DRABBLE MEME

and the second. uh. Lucifer and I cannot make the boy be quiet.