Drabble Keeper, part 2

[thalialunacy2]

Drabble Keeper, part 1


Arthur Wanking-related (Merlin, Merlin/Arthur UST, R)

[for alby_mangroves, who said: 'know what's hotter than Arthur Wanking? Merlin watching Arthur Wanking.']

Merlin should go, and he knows it. He should pick up the washing that he so predictably dropped, turn round, and go.

But, as he stands there, watching moonlight get interrupted by Arthur's hand moving pointedly under the sheets, he can no more turn around than he can turn himself into a newt.

One, because newts are cold-blooded, which doesn't have much appeal during fall in Camelot, and Merlin's not that practiced at reversing that spell. And two, Merlin reasons, because the prince will clearly be needing the new bedclothes in a few minutes.

He barely stifles a slightly-mad chuckle, then freezes when Arthur's movements pause. He thinks frantically of any spell he knows to alleviate the pending humiliation on both their parts—although Arthur would undoubtedly aim it all at Merlin—and within moments has whispered something he hopes will work.

And it does. Sort of. He was trying to silence himself, but he's apparently silenced… the whole chamber. He can't hear a blessed thing.

Which is probably good, he reckons, because Arthur's chest is starting to rise more frequently, his mouth falling more open, and Merlin can only imagine the sounds he's emitting.

…and suddenly he can imagine nothing else. The silence around him is stifling, so his brain reflexively pieces together noises he knows of Arthur—when he takes a hit, or gives a good one, or steps into a hot bath, or… throws a chicken leg at Merlin's head.

Merlin shakes himself. Silenced or not, he needs to get out. He has no place here.

He bends down to pick up the washing, then straightens up and looks over at the bed one more time, because he's never been good at knowing when to save himself—and finds Arthur's turned his head towards him (although his eyes remain blessedly shut), and taken to biting his lower lip, which blossoms red under such ministrations.

Merlin can't help but stare. And clutch the washing to himself so tightly he feels the threads threatening to give way under his knuckles. He's about to turn around, he really is, when Arthur's hips arch up in an unmistakable fashion, and a name falls from his bitten, slack mouth.

And Merlin doesn't need to be able to hear. He knows the look of his own name on someone's lips. On Arthur's, even, especially, because it's been yelled, cursed, whispered angrily, spewn out sarcastically…

And now this.

Merlin's hand scrabbles for the door handle behind him, the silence roaring his ears. He keeps his head about him long enough to shut the door, with himself on the other side, the side that doesn't involve a prince having impure thoughts about his secret-laden manservant, before muttering the counterspell.

Noises explode around him. All the air escapes from his chest where it's been sucked in. He stands there, letting the familiar, much less heated air of the hallway wash around him. He feels his flushed cheeks, his tight skin, his thudding heart…

And he finds himself grinning.

He reaches back for the door handle once again.


Armpit-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, PG)

[accidentally prompted by alby_mangroves, who said: '[Karl's] armpits smell like manly heaven and when he smiles directly at you, your knees kind of just slide apart.']

When the first of his alarms goes off, Chris wants to kill it. He rolls towards it, filled with rage— but instead encounters a warm, scruffy body. Particularly, and here's a morning-after faux-pas for you, a decidedly masculine armpit.

Distracted from his alarm-death-wish, he rubs a little, sniffs once. Feels the hairs against his nose.

The owner grumbles something unintelligible and reaches over to slap the alarm himself. The movement is graceful, per usual, but it jostles them both just enough that Chris's top lip is now involved in the armpit action. He sniffs again.

"That must be pleasant," Karl says quietly, amusement coloring his morning voice.

Chris's lips curve into a smile. "Manly heaven," he says, his lips moving against hairs that are different than anywhere else on Karl's body. And he would know. He's done a study of that terrain. Several very thorough studies.

Karl snorts. Chris feels his palm move up his back to his neck, then stay there, warm and heavy. "You don't say."

Chris snuffles a bit. It's not a traditionally pleasant smell, but mysteries of human chemistry and all because he doesn't find it offensive. It's just Karl. So it's also just something he yearns pathetically for on the mornings—so many mornings—it's not there. "I think I read it somewhere."

"You should stop reading the rubbish Quinto links you," Karl murmurs, shifting a little, curling more into Chris's body, sliding an ankle in between Chris's calves.

"Yeah, probably," Chris mutters back. He licks his lips, once, considers the taste for a moment, then goes back for more. The hairs run across his tongue.

Karl lets out a laugh and twitches into Chris a little bit. "That tickles, Pine."

Chris chuckles, feels it rumble through both of them, and finally lifts his head and opens his eyes.

Karl's there, above him, his hair all askew, a red pillow crease on his cheek, his eyes sleepy-huge and twinkling.

"Shit," Chris manages.

"What?"

"You're in my bed looking like a porn star and that alarm is going to go off again in like six minutes."

Karl looks at him for about three seconds, then calmly reaches over and unplugs the whole thing.

Chris's lips press together as he tries not to laugh. "Really?"

"Really, really. What good is being rich and famous if you can't be late once in a while?"

And Karl's lips slide into a smile, a real smile, flirting with dimples and disaster, and Chris feels his brain fizzle down to nothing but want. He reaches over and yanks until Karl's in between his spread thighs, the solid weight welcome and heady.

"My phone alarm will go off in fifteen," he mumbles in between kisses. "So you'd better make this good."

"As you wish," Karl replies, the words quiet and fond. And he presses his smile into Chris's skin.


email-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, G)

[for norfolkdumpling, brought about by our convos on Twitter and this picture.]

(There's like a week between each email, Karl being Karl and schedules being hell.)

Do you even know how to email?
Chris

No.
Karl

In that case, I just wanted to tell you, I saw a Lord of the Rings poster yesterday.
Chris

Congratulations?
Karl

It reminded me of that time you got drunk and told stories. Oh wait, that was every time.
Also, I passed a comic book store today.
Chris

They have those in Los Angeles?
Karl

Who knew!
Chris

Every geek I've ever met.
Karl

(Surely they discuss other things. But maybe not.)

It was stupidly hot today. And I saw a Range Rover.
Chris.

Christopher.
Karl

What?
Chris

Are you just going to keep pointing out things vaguely related to my life until the end of time?
Karl

Until being so far from you stops giving me grey hairs, yes.
Chris

(This was longer than a week in between. But worth it.)

Open your door.
Karl


couch-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, R)

[for norfolkdumpling, brought about by these pictures.]

Chris sits down on the posh blue fabric gingerly, testing it a little, then settles in with a face. "This couch is really uncomfortable."

He looks up to where Karl is standing, his back to Chris, taking in the wall-hangings. Chris can just about reach his left hand, and grabs at it without hesitation.

Karl yelps, flails a little, and then lands unceremoniously half on Chris's stomach and half on the couch, legs splayed in an attempt at not plummeting to the floor. Chris has a grip on him, though, and they roll to stability. The couch is too small for the both of them, and Chris is incredibly bony, but at that moment, brains overloaded with stimuli and limbs heavy with jetlag, neither of them give a damn. "Totally uncomfortable, I told you," Chris says roughly.

Karl shifts until they're a little less awkwardly positioned. Their ankles touch. Chris smells like hair product; Karl smells like makeup. More comforting than a couch could ever be. "But it'll bring out your eyes."

Chris snorts into Karl's neck. "My contacts bring out my eyes." He brings his free hand up and rubs at one of them. "Fuck, I'm tired."

Karl reaches up and gently clasps said hand, drawing it away from Chris's face and settling it on between their chests; Chris grunts and curls around Karl even more. Karl's face dimples into a soft smile. "I know, love," he says, opening his mouth slightly and breathing in, memorizing the way Chris feels on this day, in this city. "I know."

---

When the door opens, Chris is snoring. Karl looks up at his PA with a sheepish smile. She looks at him, then looks at Chris, her hands on her hips. "You're not even trying anymore!"

A rumble of protest comes from Chris, and Karl runs a soothing hand over his back. "Five more minutes?" he says quietly, putting on his best anime eyes.

It only takes a few seconds before she crumbles, throwing her hands up in the air. "Fine. Five. No more. Or I will let them in here without warning and you will be giving them a lot more than any of you bargained for."

"Aye aye, cap'n," Karl says solemnly. But he can tell she's not at molten-levels of pissed off yet because the door fwumps gently behind her. He grins, tightens his grip, and closes his eyes.

Just for a moment.


cd-related (Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, PG)

[for summerpornathon's week 2 bonus challenge, which was 'Back to the 90s.']

"Arthur." It's not a question.

Arthur's head pops up from behind the couch like a groundhog. "What?"

Merlin clutches at the cd case. "Please tell me this is actually Morgana's and it got mixed up in here accidentally."

Arthur peers, but he can't make it out. "I doubt it; she's a right nutter when it comes to her things."

"Whereas you've just left them all haphazardly in a box with the half-brained idea that you'll someday rip them all and oh my God why am I even talking about this when you own Alanis Morrisette."

"Ah!" Arthur says, delighted. "I was wondering where that had got to!"

Merlin stares at him. "What."

"What?"

"Are you secretly a 16 year old girl?"

"Would you want me to be?"

"God no. Hence this look of horror--" Merlin gesticulates with his free hand. "--on my face."

"Right, well, you've seen me naked, so wipe that snobby look off your mug and unpack the rest. I can like who I like. Angry Canadians included."

Merlin isn't convinced. Arthur huffs, and shuffles around the couch on his knees until he's face first in Merlin. He kisses him soundly. "Wizards included. Tiny animals and cute children and powerful sorcerers who snore like cartoon characters included."

"Oi!"

"Now just shut up and--" Arthur notices what's next in the jumbled up box of cds. "Ooo, Third Eye Blind!"

Merlin throws up his hands.


clothing-related (Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, PG)

[for summerpornathon's week 3 bonus challenge, which was something about costumes so consider this artist license. XB]

Arthur thinks it's a mirage at first. That's the only explanation.

"Merlin."

"What?"

"Come here."

"I'm busy."

"You're responding to posts on the bunny forum, don't even front."

"Hey, Alora's bunny is very sick! She needs my advice!"

"Yes, well, I need you to come here."

Merlin grumbles, but stands and moves towards the bed, where Arthur is sprawled out, enjoying Sunday morning, and Arthur sucks in a breath because he is not seeing things, and he is delighted. "You minx," he says,

Merlin stops his forward motion and gives him a slightly suspicious look. "Beg pardon?"

Arthur looks him up and down. "You're wearing my Arsenal jersey."

Merlin, bless him, blushes, and it's just about the most adorable thing Arthur's ever seen. He sits up and reaches up just enough to grab Merlin and tumble him down, until Arthur is pleasantly sandwiched between the incredibly expensive mattress beneath him and the cool slide of fabric covering Merlin's angles above him. It's precisely where he wants to be, pretty much forever.

"It was the only thing clean," Merlin protests amongst kisses.

"Liar."

"All right, all right," Merlin says, but that's his only admittance of guilt he gives before pressing his lips to Arthur's. As the kisses grow heated, he reaches for the hem, as if to pull it off.

"No," Arthur says immediately, tumbling them over so Merlin's on his back, flushed and gorgeous, and Arthur thinks he'll be smiling until the day he dies. "Leave it on."


privy-related (Merlin, gen PG)

[started for summerpornathon's week 5 challenge, only then I wrote a different one and this stayed like this]

"Privy, Arthur! Perhaps something to do with priv-uh-see." He lowers his voice to a mutter while he hoists up his breeches. "Tu comprends, Your Arseness?"

"Excuse me?"

Merlin shakes his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he steps up to the chamber door. "Nothing."

"Nothing."

Merlin opens the door, and does one of his 'who, me?' grins. "Nothing… Sire?"

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Are you drunk?" He moves in as if to sniff at Merlin, then remembers where they are and thinks better of it. "No matter. You empty my chamberpot, Merlin. Also, may I remind you, you are my manservant."

"You may remind me, and you do, fairly often," Merlin says, ducking easily past Arthur.

"Merlin."

"Sorry, Sire."


drinking-related (Merlin, gen PG-13)

[for summerpornathon's week 5 bonus challenge, which had a drinking theme. The song in question is 'Piano Man' by Billy Joel.]

It's tradition. One of those traditions that started three years ago, maybe, but you really can't remember, because you're all thirty-something and those days of starting seem inexcusably long ago, even when they were just last week. And you're never really sure who started it, because they all could've, at moments in their lives, moments you were mostly there for and can see on each other's faces. And you never know who's going to start it because you can look around at all of them, all the people you call family, standing on a porch or around a kitchen counter, fags in hand on a bad day, eyes narrowed by drink and smoke and tiredness, arms slung over shoulders and around waists: huge Perce next to tiny Gwen, Gwaine's slightly sweaty hair and Arthur's drink-slack jaw, Leon's benevolent smiles and Elyan's protective eye, and you see them all swaying to the inescapable one-two-three, and you find you are, too. And then you will raise your glass with them, and bellow it out: 'THEY'RE SHARING A DRINK THEY CALL LONELINESS / BUT IT'S BETTER THAN DRINKING ALONE.'

Because it is.


color run-related (Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, PG)

[for summerpornathon's week 6 bonus challenge, which was just the prompt 'colours.' Accompanying visual aids can be found here and here.]

They went without Arthur, because he was a stubborn arsehole who insisted that fun should be clean and probably not quite that public. And he missed a truly great day. Lancelot's laughter was pure joy, and Gwaine's delight at getting to throw shit at people and not hurt anyone had Merlin laughing for hours. Afterwards, they felt free, and well-used, and full of good things.

When Merlin got back to the house, as Arthur insisted they call it, Arthur eyed him, took in his sweaty dirty colourful glow, then disappeared into his study for a good hour.

Finally, Merlin knocked on the door. Which was locked. "I'm busy," Arthur said stubbornly.

Merlin rolled his eyes, waved his hand, and pushed his way into the room. Once he reached Arthur's chair, he leaned over, grasped the arms, and swiveled it until Arthur was forced to make eye contact with him. His jaw was tight.

"What part of 'I'm busy' don't you understand?"

Merlin pursed his lips, then climbed right onto Arthur's lap, straddling Arthur's thighs. "I understand you're busy feeling like you missed the birthday cake."

"Merlin..."

Merlin kissed him, quickly, using his best method to get right to the point, to get through all of Arthur's emotional constipation and nobility and other assorted baggage. Touch is its own magic, and it worked every time. Arthur exhaled into his mouth, his body coming up to meet Merlin's, his hand warm on the back of Merlin's neck. "Next year," Merlin said against his lips.

The hands around him tightened. "Merlin..."

"Next year.You can wear a hat, and sunglasses. No one will recognise you."

Arthur pulled back, sighing. "They know you, though."

Merlin waggled his fingers and his eyebrows. "I could glamour myself, take care of that right quick."

Arthur studied him. "Won't that tire you?"

Merlin shrugged one shoulder.

"You'd do that? For... you know."

"For you?"

"Merlin--"

"I simultaneously abhor and adore that you continue to ask that question."

"I know, and I'm sorry, I just--"

Merlin stopped him with a kiss. "Arthur. It's alright. It's who you are, and I happen to love you." He pulled back, putting their foreheads together. "Next year?"

There was a moment's hesitation, but then Arthur nodded shortly. "Next year."

Merlin grinned.


guilt-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, PG-13)

[for this prompt on fuckyeahurbine: karl felt sick after the whole neutron ordeal and turns out he was actually coming down with something. filming that day is canceled and when chris turns out it's because karl is sick he makes sure he is taken care of.]

Chris doesn’t like guilt. No, scratch that, Chris fucking hates guilt. Even, well, fake guilt. It washes away the same, stains him the same color, gets him to this same hallway where he’s got his right hand raised and paused in front of a door while his left hand clutches a Sav-On bag like his life depends on it.

He breathes in, reminds himself he’s a God damn grown-up, and knocks.

"Yeah," comes from within. Chris tries the door, and is only mildly surprised when it opens. Karl is slightly forgetful and slightly— well, naive is the best way Chris can put it. Chris who spent his whole life learning to lock doors even with full daylight and a cop across the street because you just never knew. He tries not to think about Karl’s breezy attitude about locked doors. The doorman is sweet, but Chris’s mom could probably take him down without much effort.

He pauses at the landing to toe off his Chucks. “It’s Chris,” he calls out.

"Yeah," comes back, and he can hear the hoarseness now. "Larry warned me."

"That bastard," Chris says with zero heat as he wanders into the modest living room of the suite and finds Karl on the couch, surrounded by wadded up tissues and looking like death.

"He’s watching out for me," Karl says, crooked smile on his face. The smile grows when he sees what Chris is holding. "Just like you are, I see."

"Well, sure." Chris doesn’t meet his eyes, busies himself with getting out the OJ and Nyquil and Emergen-C and eighteen bottles of distilled water.

Karl chuckles. It’s a wet sound and Chris winces. “Paying penance, then.”

"Forgive me, Father, for I have been a dickwad."

"Really?"

Chris straightens up from putting the things on the coffee table. “…kinda?” He shifts his weight. “I mean—”

"Hey." There’s a hand grabbing at his wrist, and Chris looks up, meets Karl’s gaze. "Come here."

Chris clears his throat. “I’ll catch it. Whatever it is you have.”

"Then we’ll consider your penance paid, all right?"

Chris grins. Really grins, for the first time that day. His chest feels significantly less weighed down.

He leans down, frames Karl’s pale, unshaven face with his hands, and presses their lips together. “Deal.”


shoe-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, PG-13)

[for this prompt on fuckyeahurbine: karl is exhausted from filming almost human and chris let's him crash at his place in LA.]

Karl’s shoes look really good in his foyer.

Chris notes this on his way to get the paper. The grey dawn has dawned, but it’s early enough that the air has a general sort of quietness, interrupted only by garbage trucks and joggers panting by. He’s tempted to stay out and have a cigarette, but he’s in only his pajama pants and that’s a hard sell, once he’s back inside where his cigarettes actually are.

After all, he has Karl Urban’s shoes.

And his jacket, thrown on the back of the couch. And his shirt, which Chris picks up from the hallway floor on his way back to the bedroom, left there in a haze of exhaustion-fueled adrenaline where normally they both wouldn’t be so untidy and cliche.

He stalls out at the bedroom door, shirt in his hand and his intention of cleaning up the rest abandoning him at the sight of Karl in the bed. In his bed. The blankets cover all of him, and he’s on his stomach so his face is all smushed, but Chris is still riveted to the sight.

That is, until he drops the paper and shirt to the ground and climbs in with him, starfishing across Karl without preamble. Karl grunts, but easily moves until they’re a pile of comfortable, if somewhat stinky, limbs. “What time is it?” Karl murmurs, because he does have a flight to catch.

Chris frowns, grumbling, and turns his head into Karl’s neck. “We have an hour.”

Karl blinks open one eye. “Until the alarm?”

"Until the apocalypse. Or the alarm."

Chris practically feels Karl thinking, then suddenly he’s feeling Karl roll them until he’s settled in between Chris’s thighs. “Well, hello,” he says.

"Hello," Karl replies with a grin.

The hour stretches out in front of them. Chris grins right back.


morning breath-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, R)

[for this prompt on fuckyeahurbine: I want sleepy sexy times.]

Karl feels the bed shift through the haze of sleep, and reaches out sleepily, grabbing at skin when it becomes obvious that his bedmate is trying to exit said bed. “Hey, wait,” he grumbles.

Chris’s chuckle is a bit off, and Karl cracks open an eye. Chris is kind of hunched over, just enough. “I gotta—” And he gestures towards the en suite.

"Pee?"

Chris cannot lie to him, a fact Karl blatantly exploits. “…brush my teeth.”

Karl wants to laugh, but knows it’ll send Chris out of the bed even faster. “Cheater.”

"What?"

"I’m not exactly springtime fresh, here."

"Yeah, but I don’t care—" Chris stops, realizing where Karl’s going with this, then shrugs.

"You think I do?"

"I think you’re insane if you don’t," Chris says with a disbelieving noise. "I smoke, for God’s sake, and— Ooof."

That last is made when Karl yanks at his arm, knocking him off balance and into the rumpled, sleep-smelly blankets. Karl’s on him in a flash. “What if,” he says, kissing his way up Chris’s jaw as Chris tries to get out of reach, “I’m really just a dirty old man, and I like it?”

Chris laughs like he can’t help it, the jaw Karl’s examining orally tilting down as the rest of his head tilts back, and Karl grins. He loves making Chris laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

"As a heart attack," Karl murmurs cheesily as he reaches Chris’s lips, which he then captures unapologetically.

And he’s not lying; there’s something real about it, raw and basic and besides, people never, ever taste as bad as they think they do.

His hands trail down Chris’s pale, pale sides, tracing moles and scars he’s halfway to memorizing. He reaches Chris’s pajamas and slides under without worry, even as Chris twitches away. “I kinda do have to pee,” Chris breaks away to say, turning his head so his words don’t land on Karl’s face.

"I know," Karl murmurs, reaching up with his other hand to turn Chris’s mouth back to his. He doesn’t stop his exploration of Chris’s pants, though, just shifts it a little, loosely fisting the base of his cock, then cupping and lightly massaging his balls, then sliding gently along the perineum.

"You’re—" Chris sucks in a breath, a breath which is mostly Karl’s breath. "You’re really weird."

Karl chuckles. “Yeah.”

"But." Chris pauses, and Karl’s pretty sure he’s about to get rejected, at least for the moment— but then Chris is twisting, moving until they’re on their sides and face to face and Chris’s hand is mirroring Karl’s. Karl’s gasp washes over Chris’s face and Chris tilts his head, then grins. "But I’ll allow it."


cooking-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, R)

[for this prompt on fuckyeahurbine: Oooh oooh seeing as I’m on a diet and like to torture myself, please may I have Urbine cooking each other delicious food?]

They’re sprawled on the couch watching soccer when Chris’s stomach rumbles. Audibly.

"Well, fuck," Chris says, ever erudite. "Thai sound good?"

"You cooking?"

"I usually only cook to woo women."

Karl snorts. “How’s that going?”

"I eat out a lot." Chris waits a beat, then leers his best leer. His eyebrows practically waggle. Karl shakes his head, but he’s laughing. "See what I did there? Huh? Punny!"

Karl reaches out and pushes at Chris’s face with an open palm. “Yes, yes, you’re very clever.”

Chris gets his thinky face on. “I could, I guess. I think I have some steaks in the freezer. And cauliflower. I’ve got this wicked thing I do with cauliflower.”

"Oh, really?" Karl says, his own leer springing up.

"Yeah," Chris says, ignoring the entendre for the moment. "It involves curry."

"Hmm, sounds like something my kids would turn up their noses at."

"It’s awesome, I swear." Chris moves to get up, but Karl pulls him back down, not ready to leave the bubble yet. "Have you ever?" he hears Chris ask, but he’s kind of focused on running his fingers along Chris’s stubble.

"Had curried cauliflower?"

"Used food during sex."

Karl smiles. “Course. Haven’t you?”

Chris shrugs. “Yeah, but not in a long time because it kind of sucked. Turns out there is such a thing as too much chocolate syrup. Besides, my favorite food is pasta. There is nothing sexy about pasta.”

"Oh, I dunno, there’re those tube-y things."

"I said sexy, not Freudian."

"That’s fair."

"Steaks are sexier."

"Mmm, meat." Karl grins, then kisses Chris on his smart mouth. He adds a slap on the ass for good measure as Chris finally heaves off the couch. "All this talk is making me hungry. Get back in the kitchen."

Chris salutes with one finger, grinning. “Where will you be?”

Karl grins back. “Buying chocolate syrup.”

Chris’s laugh echoes through the house.


photographer AU (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, PG)

[from this prompt: 'I think I'd really enjoy a photographer!Karl and model!Chris AU' at jim_and_bones]

Karl Urban has been taking pictures of immensely beautiful people for twenty years and he has never once--ever--uttered the words 'The camera loves you.'

And it's not that he's not a guy to give compliments (although he's honestly not that great with words and sometimes ends up just smiling and flushing a lot--but the dimples, they work for him, what can he say?), but that one seems so... patently untrue. Cameras are mechanical instruments, and although they work better in some hands than others, like any other instrument, they are still, at the end of the day, lifeless. He'd rather give direct compliments, about coloring and angles and charisma and who knows, whatever comes to him. He's pleasant to work with and has had very few complaints, is the point, even though there are things he just does not say, even though they're probably expected of him.

Until today. Until it occurs to him that he cannot say what he really feels, here, as he watches this green, grinning, gregarious, gorgeous model slipping on his jacket--his own, shabby but beloved, infinitely unfashionable jacket--after having wiped off his makeup and his alluring bedroom eyes expression, leaving behind only teeth and blue, blue eyes a mile and a half wide.

And Karl's fingers twitch around his camera. He's got a little ache in between his ribs. He wants something from this kid. Beyond the obvious, even. He wants to sit Chris down, in a restaurant or somewhere, near a window, near dusk, just to see the light play across his stubble. He wants to see what he looks like against the sheets, the pillows, the morning sun through the smog. He wants to say, you're perhaps the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, and just like that and maybe I could love you.

But instead, as Chris comes to shake his hand, job well done and all that, he can only say, 'Thanks, mate. The camera loves you,' voice rough, and watch as Chris rubs the back of his neck and looks down at the ground.

But then Chris looks up, and holds Karl's gaze, and maybe, Karl thinks. Maybe he heard it anyway.


sweater-related (Star Trek RPF, Chris/Karl, PG)

[from this picture and a prompt at jim_and_bones: 'It's definitely [a sweater] you want to steal and be wrapped up in.]

'Have you seen my sweater?'

Quinto's eye-roll is of epic proportions. 'Pine.'

'The one my mom made me,' Chris clarifies.

'Oh, the nubby brown one?' Zach busies himself with his phone. 'No idea.'

Chris looks at him, eyes narrowed, but then shrugs. 'I mean, winter's nearly over, so whatever, but if I've lost it I will feel like the worst son in the history of the world.'

'I'll buy you a trophy.'

'Thanks.'

---

'Katie,' Chris says into his phone a few days later, 'how bad should I feel that I've lost that sweater Mom made me for my 30th birthday?'

'Are you kidding? That thing was ugly.'

'Well. Fair. But.'

'Pretty bad. You should feel pretty bad.'

'Thanks.'

---

He forgets about it for a while, because it becomes March and then April and his life is just that kind of a merry-go-round.

But then he gets an email from Zach, with just one line--'Do I get a finder's fee?'--and a photo attached.

A photo that is a pap shot of Karl in a very familiar-looking brown sweater.

'Son of a bitch,' Chris swears into the air. His face is a little hot. He's one swipe away from a phone call when he thinks to check the time, and swears again.

He sends a text, instead. I can have my mother make you a sweater of your very own, you know.

He gets the reply weeks later. I'm rather partial to this one, thanks.

He can feel his teeth in his smile.

Comments

[alby-mangroves.livejournal.com]

I CAN'T FIND IT!!! WHERE IS IT WHERE OH MY GOD I NEED IT

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

lol oh shit you weren't supposed to see this yet fdjsakl;jlfdsa

GIVE ME A MINUTE OKAY

[alby-mangroves.livejournal.com]

LOLOLOLOL ILY

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

SERIOUSLY I EVEN TAGGED THE BOX THAT SAID DON'T PUT ON FLISTS OR RSS FEEDS. YOU'RE LIKE A NINJA.

[alby-mangroves.livejournal.com]

IDEK - the update showed up in my box and all...

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

oh goo, sorry :( you'd think i'd do this stuff correctly, having had a livejournal for nearly ten years now. pft.

[alby-mangroves.livejournal.com]

WHOA!!! I'm squirming in my seat, Jesus! I love that you made it canon and with magic, and just EVERYTHING! Arthur is always so reserved and proper- tell me it's not hot when he loses control a little bit. I loved this, thank you <333

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

GOOOAAAAALLLl! :D <333

(and fuck yes, totally hot. I just. I want to write ALL THE THINGS about Arthur. All of them. Damn it.)

[sangueuk.livejournal.com]

Well, I love that cockrel if it's going to keep you awake and writing such delish prose. Actually, you have my sympathies but I think you'll get used to it and your brain will just shut out the noise after a couple of days. Hopefully.

Meanwhile, in the world of the well satiated reader of Urbine, let me just hump your leg for THIS WAS SO FUCKING PERFECT! A lovely sense of intimacy with the ever grateful Chris and mildly amused Karl you write so well. I also have a kink for man armpits, sweet smelling ones, natch, but oh MAMMA they're so hot.

I LOVE YOU!

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

lolol i was up before the rooster was, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless! ;) Hopefully though yes that will happening with the nightly thump-thump. Or I'll just gain a caffeine addiction and a permanent grumpy-cat expression. Either way. XB

YESSSSS. The intimacy is exactly what I was going for, as I do not share your love of the armpit of man lol, but I do miss that sense of closeness.

I LOVE YOU RIGHT BACK. <3

[norfolkdumpling.livejournal.com]

HNNGHHHHHHHHHH. Karl and his MANLY EVERYTHING. I fully sympathise with Chris - if I got that close to him I'd bloody superglue my nose to him so I never had to forget how he smells. And that's creepy and weird, but it's been that kind of day and you already know I have no shame, so.

ILU JR AND YOUR URBINE FLOATS MY BOAT LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS <3333333333333

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

MAAANNNNLY. Even *I* would sniff him up and down, you bet your bippy.

ILU 2

and there should be more coming today (ahahaha PUN INTENDED) so I'm glad you like it. <333333

[january-snow.livejournal.com]

<3

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

♥
ty bb

[supasass.livejournal.com]

Mmmmm, loving the snuggly, hairy, comfy, intimate morning nomness between Chris and Karl. With added essence of Karl's armpits. When you're attracted to someone, it's definitely a very awesome place to be ;)

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

i love it -- those are exactly the feelings I was going for. Thank you! <3

[norfolkdumpling.livejournal.com]

Oh my heart. *sigh* I love that they email back and forth (well really that the whole cast do) and this is so perfect. Ugh JR - how you do that? ♥

Thank you for my pretty drabble to go with the pretty Chris all over my Tumblr this morning. ILU.

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

YOU'RE MY INSPIRATION BB. That's how I do it!

He was very pretty and VERY all over, lol.

You are welcome. <3333