House/Chase/Wilson for drabbles100
017. Brown (100)
Whether Chase is any good at poker or not, House and Wilson are playing to win, and neither of them are going to feel guilty. For one thing, it’s Chase’s idea to play strip poker in the first place, and for another thing, his brown shirt really is so hideous that it’s their duty to get him out of it. And the colour of his boxers really is doing nothing for him.
“You cheated,” he accuses them. House is still fully dressed and Wilson has only taken off his tie and one sock.
“Duh,” House tells him, rolling his eyes.
031. Sunrise (100)
It is far, far too early in the morning for this.
Screw that, it will always be too early for this.
House pulls his pillow over his head and makes loud, irritated groaning sounds, which are duly ignored, even when he increases the volume.
“For Christ’s sake!” he yells after a while. He doesn’t get a reply and absolutely nothing changes.
Contemplating taking a Vicodin overdose just to make it stop, he rolls over onto his stomach and puts the pillow back over his head again.
Chase and Wilson, utterly oblivious, continue having a [very loud] bitch-fight over the hairdryer.
057. Lunch (110)
Cuddy is, almost adorably, doing her very best to shout at House for the way he acted during clinic duty (apparently pretending to be deaf and making the patients mime out what’s wrong with them is actually very unethical- who knew?) and guilt Wilson into feeling bad about it. Neither of them are listening, or even pretending to listen. Sighing, she follows their sightline, to where Chase is sitting with Cameron on the other side of the cafeteria, and attempting to eat a wrap. Badly.
“Do you think he’d be better at blowjobs?” House asks conversationally.
Cuddy makes a frustrated noise and storms off, deciding she’ll chew them out later.
058. Dinner (105)
“Ok,” House begins, “Cameron and Foreman have gone off to their respective homes, or to their cardboard boxes, or whatever it is that they do when they’re not here, but you’re still here, Chase.”
“Ten points for being observant,” Chase mutters. He’s too tired for this.
House rolls his eyes.
“Are you planning on sitting around here moping all evening?” he enquires.
“Got a better offer?”
“Wilson’s ordered Chinese.”
Chase can read a lot into that intentionally bland facial expression.
“You think I’m so cheap I’ll put out for takeout?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” House tells him. “Want to prove me wrong?”
068. Lightning (100)
There’s a storm going on outside and the lightning has, rather inconveniently, cut off the electricity. The generators are doing their best but it’s still too dark and all in all nothing’s really going to get achieved this evening. Cuddy is striding about screaming and Cameron and Foreman are doing their best to help with the transportation of the most serious patients.
Chase wants to help too, but House tells him to shut up, and undresses him by the light of his gameboy. Wilson, leant against the glass, nothing more than a shadow, watches, hiding his blush in the dark.
081. Blind (115)
“The number of things that you refuse to see never fails to surprise me,” Wilson shouts during an argument on a wet Tuesday afternoon. House’s smirk twists.
“By all means, Jimmy,” he begins, “Please believe that I spend my time walking around with my eyes shut, but I do see every single one of your little indiscretions. For one thing, I seem to be the only person who’s noticed exactly what you and Chase do in exam room one on Thursdays, but I’m sure Julie would be interested in finding out.”
Wilson gapes at him, wordless.
“So would you like to continue telling me just how blind I am?” House smiles nastily. “Didn’t think so.”
Cameron/Cuddy for Around The Clock at femslash100
04:00 Insomnia (155)
Cameron is wandering around the house, picking things up, putting them back, wearing Cuddy’s bathrobe and looking somewhat lost. It’s horrendously early in the morning and they both have work later today, and Cuddy would really, really like to get some sleep. But she can hear Cameron walking about and looking in her kitchen cupboards and it’s getting irritating.
“Can’t sleep?” she asks.
Cameron jumps and turns around.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she says, apology written all over her face. Cuddy sighs. Now isn’t the time for the inevitable conversation about ‘relationships’ or whatever it is that they’re going to attempt to do. With Cameron, at least, nothing is exclusively about sex.
“Come back to bed,” Cuddy offers.
“I-” Cameron begins, but Cuddy isn’t going let her trash her house with nerves for the next four hours.
“Come on,” she orders. Cameron reluctantly takes her hand and they both go back to bed.
08:00- Heyday (110)
Cameron sometimes wonders what Cuddy was like when she was an actual doctor, not a dean of medicine, when she didn’t have to walk political lines and when House wasn’t the defining factor in her life. It’s easy enough to picture Cuddy in the white coat and take a few years off her face, but it’s harder to imagine her softer, without that streak of sarcasm and bitterness that House has carefully planted, watered, and watched grow.
But maybe, Cameron reflects one night when nothing seems to make sense, maybe Cuddy always had that hardness, maybe that edge is part of her and nothing at all to do with necessity.
Owen/Ianto for alphabetdrabble
Owen is a poor substitute for Jack, being far too skinny, far too British, and far too willing to let Ianto top once in a while, but it’s never highlighted quite how much he’s not their captain until the two of them actually fuck in Jack’s bed. Ianto is so lost and lonely that he’s grateful for the barely-there scent of aftershave on the sheets; he shouts Jack’s name when he comes. He doesn’t care enough to listen to the name Owen groans, because no matter what he tries, he’ll never be enough to fill the space Jack left behind.
Owen is unsettlingly excited about their latest trip to the countryside, to hunt down an apparent flesh-eating creature. Ianto can’t work out why, until Owen informs him of all the opportunities for sex ‘al fresco’.
“But it won’t be ‘al fresco’,” Ianto feels compelled to point out, “It’ll be cold, and there’ll be mud, and the possibility of being trampled on by livestock or a homicidal alien.”
Owen looks visibly deflated.
“God, Ianto,” he complains, “Why do you have to take everything so seriously?”
“Force of habit?” he suggests. “Never mind, we can always experiment with sleeping bags.”
Simon/Jayne for drabbles100 (shh, I can’t stop claiming things)
038. Touch (100)
Simon pretends as hard as he can that his hands aren’t shaking. It’s not as though he’s never fired a gun, and hours of patient tuition with various crew members have made him slightly more competent than he used to be, but he still doesn’t like having to handle a weapon, and he’s actually trembling with nerves.
“Calm down, Doc,” Jayne mutters, as he passes. “Don’t wanna have to be scrapin’ you off the wall.”
He squeezes Simon’s arm for a split second and keeps going without looking back.
Simon still can feel Jayne’s touch long after he’s walked away.
060. Food (100)
There’s no one in the ‘verse who can eat noodles and do it tidily (‘cept maybe Inara, but she prob’ly spent about three years leaning), but Simon seems to have made eating noodles badly into an artform. Jayne, much as he wants to, can’t take his eyes off Simon choking them down, mouth working frantically, and wonders if he’s the only one at the table seeing exactly how sexual this is.
“I’ll be in my bunk,” he announces, and no one even notices, as he picks up his own bowl and runs for it, before he does something really stupid.
Drabble tag at femslash100
Before: Shannon/Claire, 100
Before the island, Shannon wouldn’t have looked twice at Claire, except maybe to think that she needed some conditioner, or that her pregnancy smock was doing nothing for her.
Before the plane went down, Claire would have seen Shannon as nothing but an air-headed bitch (some days, she still does, but now at least she knows there’s something underneath).
Now, of course, there’s nothing but sand and some unsettlingly over-protective guys. It’s inevitable, that here, now, with nothing and no one else, they’ll turn to each other.
Claire entertains no hopes that this means anything more than cold, desperate necessity.
Perfect: Inara/River, 180
Kaylee loves it when Inara lets her dress up in her clothes, the silky robes and gowns, twirling around the shuttle and laughing. So when Simon asks Inara to take care of River for a while, eyes wide and begging (who is she to refuse?) Inara asks River if she’d like to have a turn.
River smiles and for once looks like the girl she almost is, the woman she’s trying so hard to be, and picks out something in sea green. She won’t wear shoes and the dress hangs off her skinny frame, but still, there’s something there.
She begs Inara to paint her face up for her, so Inara does.
“There,” she whispers, “You look perfect.”
River examines herself critically in the mirror for a moment. Inara thinks even Simon wouldn’t recognise her now, her hair all brushed and pulled back, lips and eyes painted up. River brushes her hands over her face and then, in a decisive movement, sweeps her fingers down, smearing colour over her skin.
“Now perfect,” she says, and Inara can’t help but smile.