fullygoldy | Writing Meme-thing

gakked from

roguebitch

When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.

Well, I don't really have all that many WIPs, but I'll throw out these bits:

from an untitled CSI (Gil/Nick/Greg):

Greg lurches into Nick’s hand and shudders, but now Nick is nothing but soothing, drawing the pleasure out of him with long, sure strokes, licking and biting the back of his neck and tops of his shoulders, and whispering hot, delicious nonsense in his ear. Finally, when he feels the pressure building, he cracks open his eyes again to meet Gil’s stare. If he felt devoured before, he doesn’t have words for what he feels now. The intensity, the flush rising across Gil’s face, the tent in Gil’s pants, the way Gil’s hands are rhythmically clenching and unclenching, carefully held away from his body. It’s shocking and hot and “Ah! Nick! Oh! Ohhhh! G-Gillll!” he wails as his orgasm is ripped out of him. He’s spurting all over Nick’s hand and the nice bedspread, shocked by all the sensations coursing through him.

from a commentary for thisisbone's Two-Player Game (Casey/Dan/Stacey Kerr):

After all this time, this is still the most satisfying story I’ve read. The threesome is so realistic, and the boys seem like actual guys. In fact, all of Bone’s men read as so convincingly male, that for a very long time, I was convinced Bone was male. Silly me, I had no idea how unlikely that was.

This commentary should be posted by now, but just as I was getting ready to do it, I had an insight that I really wanted to include. Unfortunately, it sounded much better in my head, and now I've lost the thread. So I'm hoping I'll get it back soon and then Bone will think I'm a cool commentator instead of some random lurkery fangirl.

from an original smutty practice piece, Tongue-Twister:

I hope, by this time, that other lovely parts of you have been intrigued, are in fact envious of the care and attention lavished on your hapless digits. Does the back of your knee pine for attention? Shall I dip my tongue there for more exploration, or merely rub my closed lips in that silken fold? Purrrrrrr…. Lie back, sweet one, I have not yet begun to acquaint you fully with my naughty tongue. I’ll grip your hips and drag mySelf back up to re-explore the cavern of your mouth. Mated tongues—gently, slickly dueling. Does the roof of your mouth tickle when I lick it?

from the SGA Baseball AU that ate my brain last summer (Sheppard/McKay):

Now the Blues have another problem. They have this pitcher, a Canadian, that’s really upset about being uprooted from his “home” town, where he’s the local hero. Yankee Stadium may be “the house that Ruth built,” but Rodney McKay is Toronto’s golden boy, the master of the hill, with a real talent for saving his own game. His genius on the mound is legendary, but he lost his juice when his long-time catcher was involuntarily retired in 2003 as a result of defending home plate. 2004 was a terrible year for McKay. He lost a record number of games; catcher after catcher refused to partner him after increasingly disastrous outings. None of them were willing to tolerate his tirades on or off the mound, nor could they calm or settle or even handle him in the way needed to keep McKay’s performance steady. Weir’s received tons of unsolicited advice on how to handle the “Rodney problem,” and the calls for trading him have increased in volume and pitch as the season opener looms, but she’s determined to bring him back into the fold. She knows he could return to his former glory if only the Blues can acquire the right catcher. Spring training goes okay for the team, and they’re mostly looking forward to the new season in their new home, but McKay is still half of an un-energized battery.
~~~

The thing with the locker turns out to be a “thing-with-the-lockers,” where Sheppard is called upon to open McKay’s on an almost daily basis. It becomes ludicrous when Sheppard, so conditioned to reaching over and pulling the door open, starts doing it on the road as well. The rest of the team notices of course, and it becomes something of a locker room gag. Any time anyone has trouble with a door, a zipper, a button or switch, they call on Shep. His suspicion that not everything even needs his touch isn’t entirely paranoid, but being a human light-switch is a small price to pay for being in the show.

~~~

“Let’s try something else for awhile.” He didn’t let McKay’s snappish reply of “What?” faze him. “I want to try out my new gear.”

“I thought you were trying out your gear.”

“No. I mean, I want to break it in. Want to help?” He grinned his most devilish, I-dare-you grin.

McKay’s mouth twitched up on one side. “What did you have in mind?”

“Just throw what I ask for, okay?”

Sheppard hunkered down again, and signaled for [basic pitch]. McKay wound up, and just as he came over the top, Sheppard let his hands fall to his sides. The ball crashed into his chest protector. He produced another ball from his pocket and tossed it to McKay.

“What the hell..?”

“Come on Rodney. You can do better than that. I barely felt that one.”

“You don’t seriously mean for me to throw at you?”

“Of course I do. How else am I gonna get this stuff broken in? It’s so stiff I can barely move. I’ll never be able to throw out a steal with it like this.”

“You miss a steal, and I’ll have your head.”

“Exactly. Now throw me something good.”