End of the Year Works in Progress Meme
Dec. 29th, 2015 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanIt's the end of the year, and while there are still two writing days left, I think I'm pretty much tapped out (for the moment). My Advent fic is FINALLY finished and with my heroic beta-reader, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sinfulslasher, so I thought I'd look through my Works in Progress folder and see what's been hanging around and worth sharing. I can't promise I'll be able to continue any of these (but there are a few I really do want to finish).
This is a variation on the 7-7-7 WIP meme – Seven Paragraphs from the Seventh Page of Seven Works in Progress. However, a few don't have seven pages, so for those, I pulled the most interesting seven paragraphs.
Enjoy!
The One Where Neal's Chasing Peter, Except When Peter's Chasing Neal
Neal licked his lips and lowered his eyelids. A blush stained the Summoner's cheeks, creating an illusion of innocence. Neal should know better, innocence was never a temptation for him.
Peter laughed. "You don't need to flirt with me, Neal."
Neal stopped and stared at him. "Then what would it take for you to let me go?"
"Seriously?"
Neal took a deep breath and they were touching again, chest to groin. "Yeah. I'm going to get another four years for this."
Peter decided to play along. "What's four years to you?"
"It's a hell of a long time in a cement cage with iron bars and someone watching your every move. A long time to be kept from the sunlight. A long time to be bored out of your mind. You should try it some time."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The One Where Neal Strips (But Not To Music)
"Get up."
Neal didn't move, except to bury his face in the pillow.
"I said, get up. Get your ass out of my bed." Woodford's normally posh accent was unpleasantly harsh, more than hinting at his East End origins.
Neal sat up, confused. "Alan? What's the matter?"
"We're done. You're booked on a flight back to New York. You've got three hours to get your ass to the airport."
"I don't understand." None of this made sense. He was supposed to be leading off tomorrow's runway show – Woodford's couture menswear line – not going back to New York.
"You safe-worded last night."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The One Where Neal Gets Jealous
But as he was waiting for his horse to be brought from the stable, the glint of torchlight on a pair of spectacles called to him. Neal nodded and instead of mounting up and riding off, he walked his horse towards the Thames and hoped that those spectacles and the man wearing them would follow.
And he did. "You fly too close to the Sun, my friend."
Neal grinned, happier than he'd been in a long time. "Not so close that my wings will melt and send me plummeting to Earth."
Moz stepped out of the shadows and Neal dropped the reins, hugging is too-long absent friend. "Where have you been?"
"You begged for information. I needed to follow several paths to find what you sought."
"And?"
"Not here. The stench of the river makes me ill. I know a wine shop close by with some decent sack. You'll buy."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The One Where Neal Discovers He's a Muggle
One of the Aurors looked like she was about to say something but Peter glared at her and she shut her mouth. As a group, they took charge of "good old Reggie", moved the statue back to its place against the wall and left the room. Four loud pops later and Peter gave Neal the all-clear. "You can come out now."
Neal stood up, brushed the dust off his pants and asked the same question he'd asked about ten minutes earlier, "What the hell just happened?"
"Would it be too much to ask you to wait until we got home?"
Neal gave him a searching look, and whatever he saw on his face seemed to quell his curiosity for the moment. "What about the Book of Hours?" Neal tilted his head towards the volume that sent them here in the first place.
"Good thinking. We do need to take that with us."
Neal, still wearing those cotton gloves, went and scooped the book up and put in in the evidence bag Peter took from his jacket. "What about the rest of the stuff here? It doesn't sound like dear old Reggie’s going to be back anytime soon."
Thoroughly aggravated with the entire situation, Peter simply said, "Call Moz. I'm sure he'll know what to do with everything."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The One Where Neal Starts to Feel Insecure
Asher looked at the class list and at the name tags each student was wearing and matched the missing spouse to the lovely brunette with big blue eyes – Elizabeth Burke. She stood at her station, apron on, notebook and pen at the ready, seemingly unconcerned that one of the required elements for participation was missing.
“Mrs. Burke?”
She looked up and gave him a bright smile. “Yes?”
“Where’s your partner?”
“My husband, Peter, is running late.”
“Do you really think it’s fair to the other participants to hold up the lesson while we wait for your husband?” Asher didn’t bother to disguise the annoyance in his voice.
“Oh, we can go ahead – he’ll be here soon and can catch up quickly.” Elizabeth Burke was still smiling, but there was also an unmistakable thread of steel in her voice.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The One Where Neal's a Probie
Which was why, for the first time in five months, he was getting ready to go out. And going out meant dressing properly. Before he put on the ultra-supple, ultra-skintight leather trousers, the knee-high lace-up biker boots, the vest and cuffs and collar – all black leather and very well worn (he was no poser) – Neal had to get his body jewelry back in.
The barbell that decorated his navel slipped in easily enough, but he had trouble getting the nipple rings back in - the holes had almost closed up. By the time he’d finished, his nipples were sore and distended and he was sweating and half-hard from the pain. As he buttoned up the leather vest, Neal hissed as the satin lining chafed his irritated nubs. It felt so damn good.
It wasn’t as if he’d been celibate for the last five months. There had been plenty of opportunities for hooking up at the Academy, and after the first month, the trainees had liberty on the weekends. While D.C. wasn’t the homophobic city he’d expected, it wasn’t as wild and as raunchy as his dick liked. Getting laid wasn’t the problem, getting properly fucked was.
It was really sort of killing him. If he didn’t get soundly fucked soon, his concentration was going to be shot. If he did, it was equally likely he’d be unable to focus on anything but his sore ass and his satisfied prick. But at least that would only last for a few days, and besides – as a probie on his first assignment – it would be expected that he’d be clumsy and hesitant.
So, getting fucked was the best option.
Having learned the hard way to leave his wallet home, Neal took out his driver’s license, some cash, his Amex and wrapped a rubber band around the bundle before sliding it into a pocket inside his right boot. His phone and another twenty went into his vest pocket and his keys were on a ring attached to his belt. Of course, his gun and shiny new badge stayed behind.
Cockrans, on Fourteenth Street in Chelsea, was an institution. Neal had been there once or twice, or maybe a dozen times during his Harvard years, coming down to New York for the weekend when he couldn’t take the fakers and wannabes who’d invaded Ramjacks. In fact, the last time he’d gotten well and truly fucked – right after taking the bar exam and a few weeks before heading down to Quantico – was in Cockrans’ john, holding onto the toilet while a glorious god in a tight black t-shirt and leather pants reamed his ass and tortured his tits. The man was his dream – tall and well-muscled, but not pumped – wearing his years as easily as his well-worn leathers. The bastard didn’t even remove his aviators as he fucked him.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The One Where Neal Goes Slumming
“I guess I’ll just have to hoof it, Moz.”
His driver-cum-valet-cum-best friend got out and opened the door for him. Neal donned his sunglasses, grabbed his briefcase and got out of the car. He supposed it could have been worse. It could be raining, or a hundred degrees.
“Thanks.”
Moz nodded and Neal started up the driveway, skirting carefully around the stalled truck and at the same time trying not to get caught in the hedges that lined the narrow driveway. There was a man working on it, sweaty and shirtless as he bent over the hood. Neal could only see his back; it was strong, with rippling muscles. But those muscles weren’t courtesy of a gym – they were clearly built by constant hard work. He paused for a few seconds to admire the strength there, and licked his lips, idly wondering what that skin would taste like.
The man looked up, concern sliding into contempt and anger as he noticed Neal’s covetous gaze. But he didn’t say a word. Neal did, calling out to his friend, “Moz – can you give this guy a hand?”
“Who do you think I am? A mechanic?”
“Moz – ”
“Okay, okay.” Neal didn’t turn back to see if Moz was actually going to assist, but he heard the Bentley’s door open and shut as he walked away.
sinfulslasher, so I thought I'd look through my Works in Progress folder and see what's been hanging around and worth sharing. I can't promise I'll be able to continue any of these (but there are a few I really do want to finish).This is a variation on the 7-7-7 WIP meme – Seven Paragraphs from the Seventh Page of Seven Works in Progress. However, a few don't have seven pages, so for those, I pulled the most interesting seven paragraphs.
Enjoy!
The One Where Neal's Chasing Peter, Except When Peter's Chasing Neal
Neal licked his lips and lowered his eyelids. A blush stained the Summoner's cheeks, creating an illusion of innocence. Neal should know better, innocence was never a temptation for him.
Peter laughed. "You don't need to flirt with me, Neal."
Neal stopped and stared at him. "Then what would it take for you to let me go?"
"Seriously?"
Neal took a deep breath and they were touching again, chest to groin. "Yeah. I'm going to get another four years for this."
Peter decided to play along. "What's four years to you?"
"It's a hell of a long time in a cement cage with iron bars and someone watching your every move. A long time to be kept from the sunlight. A long time to be bored out of your mind. You should try it some time."
The One Where Neal Strips (But Not To Music)
"Get up."
Neal didn't move, except to bury his face in the pillow.
"I said, get up. Get your ass out of my bed." Woodford's normally posh accent was unpleasantly harsh, more than hinting at his East End origins.
Neal sat up, confused. "Alan? What's the matter?"
"We're done. You're booked on a flight back to New York. You've got three hours to get your ass to the airport."
"I don't understand." None of this made sense. He was supposed to be leading off tomorrow's runway show – Woodford's couture menswear line – not going back to New York.
"You safe-worded last night."
The One Where Neal Gets Jealous
But as he was waiting for his horse to be brought from the stable, the glint of torchlight on a pair of spectacles called to him. Neal nodded and instead of mounting up and riding off, he walked his horse towards the Thames and hoped that those spectacles and the man wearing them would follow.
And he did. "You fly too close to the Sun, my friend."
Neal grinned, happier than he'd been in a long time. "Not so close that my wings will melt and send me plummeting to Earth."
Moz stepped out of the shadows and Neal dropped the reins, hugging is too-long absent friend. "Where have you been?"
"You begged for information. I needed to follow several paths to find what you sought."
"And?"
"Not here. The stench of the river makes me ill. I know a wine shop close by with some decent sack. You'll buy."
The One Where Neal Discovers He's a Muggle
One of the Aurors looked like she was about to say something but Peter glared at her and she shut her mouth. As a group, they took charge of "good old Reggie", moved the statue back to its place against the wall and left the room. Four loud pops later and Peter gave Neal the all-clear. "You can come out now."
Neal stood up, brushed the dust off his pants and asked the same question he'd asked about ten minutes earlier, "What the hell just happened?"
"Would it be too much to ask you to wait until we got home?"
Neal gave him a searching look, and whatever he saw on his face seemed to quell his curiosity for the moment. "What about the Book of Hours?" Neal tilted his head towards the volume that sent them here in the first place.
"Good thinking. We do need to take that with us."
Neal, still wearing those cotton gloves, went and scooped the book up and put in in the evidence bag Peter took from his jacket. "What about the rest of the stuff here? It doesn't sound like dear old Reggie’s going to be back anytime soon."
Thoroughly aggravated with the entire situation, Peter simply said, "Call Moz. I'm sure he'll know what to do with everything."
The One Where Neal Starts to Feel Insecure
Asher looked at the class list and at the name tags each student was wearing and matched the missing spouse to the lovely brunette with big blue eyes – Elizabeth Burke. She stood at her station, apron on, notebook and pen at the ready, seemingly unconcerned that one of the required elements for participation was missing.
“Mrs. Burke?”
She looked up and gave him a bright smile. “Yes?”
“Where’s your partner?”
“My husband, Peter, is running late.”
“Do you really think it’s fair to the other participants to hold up the lesson while we wait for your husband?” Asher didn’t bother to disguise the annoyance in his voice.
“Oh, we can go ahead – he’ll be here soon and can catch up quickly.” Elizabeth Burke was still smiling, but there was also an unmistakable thread of steel in her voice.
The One Where Neal's a Probie
Which was why, for the first time in five months, he was getting ready to go out. And going out meant dressing properly. Before he put on the ultra-supple, ultra-skintight leather trousers, the knee-high lace-up biker boots, the vest and cuffs and collar – all black leather and very well worn (he was no poser) – Neal had to get his body jewelry back in.
The barbell that decorated his navel slipped in easily enough, but he had trouble getting the nipple rings back in - the holes had almost closed up. By the time he’d finished, his nipples were sore and distended and he was sweating and half-hard from the pain. As he buttoned up the leather vest, Neal hissed as the satin lining chafed his irritated nubs. It felt so damn good.
It wasn’t as if he’d been celibate for the last five months. There had been plenty of opportunities for hooking up at the Academy, and after the first month, the trainees had liberty on the weekends. While D.C. wasn’t the homophobic city he’d expected, it wasn’t as wild and as raunchy as his dick liked. Getting laid wasn’t the problem, getting properly fucked was.
It was really sort of killing him. If he didn’t get soundly fucked soon, his concentration was going to be shot. If he did, it was equally likely he’d be unable to focus on anything but his sore ass and his satisfied prick. But at least that would only last for a few days, and besides – as a probie on his first assignment – it would be expected that he’d be clumsy and hesitant.
So, getting fucked was the best option.
Having learned the hard way to leave his wallet home, Neal took out his driver’s license, some cash, his Amex and wrapped a rubber band around the bundle before sliding it into a pocket inside his right boot. His phone and another twenty went into his vest pocket and his keys were on a ring attached to his belt. Of course, his gun and shiny new badge stayed behind.
Cockrans, on Fourteenth Street in Chelsea, was an institution. Neal had been there once or twice, or maybe a dozen times during his Harvard years, coming down to New York for the weekend when he couldn’t take the fakers and wannabes who’d invaded Ramjacks. In fact, the last time he’d gotten well and truly fucked – right after taking the bar exam and a few weeks before heading down to Quantico – was in Cockrans’ john, holding onto the toilet while a glorious god in a tight black t-shirt and leather pants reamed his ass and tortured his tits. The man was his dream – tall and well-muscled, but not pumped – wearing his years as easily as his well-worn leathers. The bastard didn’t even remove his aviators as he fucked him.
The One Where Neal Goes Slumming
“I guess I’ll just have to hoof it, Moz.”
His driver-cum-valet-cum-best friend got out and opened the door for him. Neal donned his sunglasses, grabbed his briefcase and got out of the car. He supposed it could have been worse. It could be raining, or a hundred degrees.
“Thanks.”
Moz nodded and Neal started up the driveway, skirting carefully around the stalled truck and at the same time trying not to get caught in the hedges that lined the narrow driveway. There was a man working on it, sweaty and shirtless as he bent over the hood. Neal could only see his back; it was strong, with rippling muscles. But those muscles weren’t courtesy of a gym – they were clearly built by constant hard work. He paused for a few seconds to admire the strength there, and licked his lips, idly wondering what that skin would taste like.
The man looked up, concern sliding into contempt and anger as he noticed Neal’s covetous gaze. But he didn’t say a word. Neal did, calling out to his friend, “Moz – can you give this guy a hand?”
“Who do you think I am? A mechanic?”
“Moz – ”
“Okay, okay.” Neal didn’t turn back to see if Moz was actually going to assist, but he heard the Bentley’s door open and shut as he walked away.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-12-30 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-12-30 01:57 am (UTC)<333333
no subject
Date: 2016-01-04 12:45 am (UTC)