Timestamp meme

[serai]

This looks interesting.


Give me one of my own stories, and a timestamp sometime in the future after the end of the story, or sometime in the past before the story started, and I'll write you at least a hundred words of what happened then, whether it's five minutes before the story started or ten years in the future.


You can find my stories at my website, The Taste of Salt, or you can look in my Memories for anything I wrote in the last year. (There's more than a few, and yes, I'm working on a site update.)


ETA: LOTR only for this one. Scratch that. Looks like the Muse is being unusually cooperative for once, so feel free to prompt from any of my stuff. (In fact, I'll take suggestions from my Haunted Memory website as well, if anybody's interested.)


I can't guarantee that you'll get anything very long (not that I write long stories anyway), but I do promise that you'll get something. I'm in a writin' frame o' mind, dontcha know. ;)


Gacked from danachan.

Comments

[layne67.livejournal.com]

'Handcuffs' - the next day, as promised by Zeke :DD

*drools*

[serai1.livejournal.com]

The steam makes tiny, shining droplets on Zeke's wrist as his hand slides down his waist, along the treasure trail to slip under the brass button of his 501's. The water is a pounding roar, white noise, canceling out everything beyond the white sizzling of the bathroom tiles. He barely notices the rough scratch of denim along his shins, then he dives into the hot waterfall.

Skin. The steam opens him up, opens his pores, his sinuses, he can feel himself hungry again by leaps and bounds. The tips of his fingers salivate; even his hair is ravenous. Wrists in his hand, arms bucking. He wonders if he could let his mind go, if the hunger could stand in for thought. Sweat in his mouth from the nape of a pale neck. Usually a fast, efficient scrubber, now Zeke absently slows his movements, distracted. Sounds.

With a gasp, he shakes himself out of the moment, out of the bright stream of images glittering behind his closed eyes. His dick strains, hard under the spray. He takes it in hand and leaning against the tile wall, jerks off quickly, with as little pleasure as he can manage, not wanting to waste any of the heat. Wanting to make it last.


His hair is still damp as he leans against the window of his second-floor bedroom, looking up the block. He watches as Casey crosses the intersection and starts towards the house. He thinks about pale skin, and how deceptive Casey's body is, how much strength waits coiled under all that shrinking passivity. He feels himself hot, poised in his tight skin, in his studied relaxation, happy. Yes, happy.

As Casey walks up the driveway towards the front door, Zeke twirls the handcuffs on one finger, and starts to grin.

[layne67.livejournal.com]

You. Are. Good.

He thinks about pale skin, and how deceptive Casey's body is, how much strength waits coiled under all that shrinking passivity

That was a perfect description of Casey.

Thank you so much.

[serai1.livejournal.com]

*grin* You're most welcome. Thank you for the nudge!

[honeyandvinegar.livejournal.com]

Oh, I loved that cuff fic... and this continuation is fandiforous. layne67 pointed me here, and I'm glad she did. I'm a major C/Z!ho, so anything I can get my grubby hands on, the lovelier life is. ;)

[serai1.livejournal.com]

Glad you like it! I did write a third part to my C/Z continuum a while ago, called Bound. If you didn't see it, it's here.

[honeyandvinegar.livejournal.com]

Awesome... would you mind if I friended you? I'm a complete and utter C/Z ho. *blush* I'll be going to bed soon, but this'll make for a fun morning read.
:D

[serai1.livejournal.com]

A bit more C/Z below!

[honeyandvinegar.livejournal.com]

Just read it... oh so fabu...!

[serai1.livejournal.com]

Glad you like it! Heh, I thought I'd get requests for LOTR fic. Well, this has knocked a couple of blocks loose. I never know when the Muse will suddenly feel like playing.

And Casey and Zeke snogging - yeah. Had to make it. ;)

[mews1945.livejournal.com]

Beautifully sensual.

[serai1.livejournal.com]

Thank you! :)

[fantasy-fan.livejournal.com]

Reunion.

And since you've so deliciously described what came before, I'd like to see what comes after. Your choice of participants.

[serai1.livejournal.com]

Timestamp, please!

[serai1.livejournal.com]

I'm working on this. Really. Thank you for the suggestion, because it's finally worked loose the block on a continuation of this story, which has lain fallow for a very long time now. If the Muse keeps cooperating, I may actually get it written. Cross your fingers!

[fantasy-fan.livejournal.com]

I have all things crossed for a continuation of this. It is a super hot premise, so well written, and deserves more!

[too-shy.livejournal.com]

Here's a choice of two, and you can decide exact timeframe. *grin*

From 'Portrait Shot,' it says "Years later."

Or, from 'Winegod,' at the end, "Later, babe."

[serai1.livejournal.com]

Nope, you gotta pick the time. I have the feeling that keeping it open will also keep it from being written, as it were.

[too-shy.livejournal.com]

Hee, OK.

Portrait Shot - 30 years

Winegod - after the public festivities are finished (at least that's what it feels like is being promised)

Thirty Years Gone (pt 1)

[serai1.livejournal.com]

"What's this?" Allison asked, and Casey turned to look at the box she'd pulled out from the bottom shelf. It was plain cardboard taped up, and its lid was thick with dust. He stepped closer as she crouched down it, brushing at the lid and then clapping her hands together to clean them off. Now the words hastily scrawled in black marker were clear, and she read them out loud - NIK N5 w/cs VIV 10+2p LNS 6 FIL.

Sometimes you know, he thought. Sometimes a moment comes and you just know. To change lanes, to run for the train, to cross the street. To stop yourself. To stop someone else. It was just on his lips to say, "Just some old car parts." Something, anything, that would keep her from opening the lid of that box. But he said nothing, just stood there, looking at the box he'd shut years ago, shut and taped and hid away. She went ahead.

The stuff was wrapped in an old blanket, blue fuzz worn away in patches. As she pulled back the cloth, there it was, ensconced in its leather case, strap wrapped around it. The lens cases and filter box with their delicate cargo. A few film cans, their contents long since useless. The sight of them set off a rustling like the shuffle of cards in the back of his mind.

"It's my camera," he said, and the odd, flat quality in his voice made her glance up. "My photo gear." Gooseflesh crawled over his arms, and he felt the ghost of pressure over the back of his body, from thighs to nape.

"Camera?" she asked. "You? I've never seen you take a picture. When was this from?"

When, when, when... He remembered the weight of it, comforting and conspiratorial. He saw again his hands working the settings and lens - slender, smooth hands with their mutilated nails. How the world looked through the viewfinder, composed and artful instead of hostile and chaotic, and the constant game of weighing and judging how it would look when finished. The careful ritual steps of the darkroom, and its red-lit peace.

He tried on a smile, and answered, "High school. It never went anywhere. I wasn't very good, really. Put it away a couple of years into college." He chuckled a bit.

"Hey," she said, and tugged at the hem of his jeans. "A mystery. You got any of your pictures still?"

"Nah, got rid of them. Like I said, not very good." Faces half-remembered, hallways dank with peeling paint. "And not really anything worth keeping." Black hair, golden skin, evil eyes. "Forgotten it was there, honestly."

Allison made a hmm sound. "Too bad. I'd like to know what you found worth photographing back then." She smiled knowingly to herself. He opened his mouth to retort when a loud thump and raised voices inside the house made him roll his eyes and turn towards the door.

Thirty Years Gone (cont.)

[serai1.livejournal.com]

As he started down the hall towards the living room, the voices subsided to normal level. He stopped, listening for trouble, and heard none. Carmichael was laughing now. The sound was deep and husky, and again gooseflesh broke out on Casey's arms.

His old photos, high school, heartache. Dogging after Delilah, spoiled little princess bitch that she was, but the only consolation in all that painful trial. She and his camera, the only joys he had. Until...until...

Memories burst like flash bulbs in his mind, hot and invasive. Arm around his shoulders, the wet sharpness of teeth at his neck. He gasped and reached out, steadying himself on the wall. Puffs of breath in his ear, how he bent his head back, giving himself up willingly. He was trembling now, leaning his head against the cool wallpaper.

No, he thought desperately, but it was like getting caught in a rip current. The jagged splinters of light, hair and teeth and eyes, muscles bunched and straining, sweat making everything slippery. That voice, deep and husky, teasing and amused even then, when Casey could feel it against his back, how hot and hard he was. Here he was again, wrapped around Casey like a cruel protective cage, his hands so good he could make the whole fucking world disappear.

His legs gave way, and he slid down to the floor, turning his back to the wall and curling in on himself, around the spike of heat that now dominated him. Gotta get up, he scolded himself. Make it to the bathroom and take care of this. But he couldn't move, his limbs heavy and passive, his breath gasping. The light. The light was bright, burning his thighs. He closed his eyes and without knowing it, rocked back and forth. The mirror, the mirror... His hips bucked involuntarily, responding to voice and touch thirty years gone. He nearly moaned aloud at the name he'd forgotten, the name he'd made himself forget. Zeke.

Lurching to his feet, he made his hands into fists and squeezed, jamming his nails into his palms. No, he thought weakly, imploring. Something began to crumble in him; he could feel cracks running up carefully constructed walls, the approaching temblors, maybe disaster. Not now. He looked around at what he'd built, what they'd built, together. But he was only half there, the other half lost, drowning its voice in a mouth that sucked it in eagerly, bit him with a non-chalant selfishness. You were always such a bastard, Zeke. You never cared whose lives you fucked with. And now here he was, and Zeke had broken him again, broken him open to plunder. But he wouldn't be the only one broken this time.

Wiping his eyes with one hand, Casey headed for the bathroom.

Re: Thirty Years Gone (cont.)

[honeyandvinegar.livejournal.com]

Yagh!! Oh God, so angsty and alive! This is fantastic; how Casey is just so torn. Good go! :)

Re: Thirty Years Gone (cont.)

[too-shy.livejournal.com]

Oh. Wow.

I wondered whether Casey would end up with Zeke or far away or not far away but not together.

You know, I don't consider myself to be an angst fan, but your writing is so sharp and intense it doesn't matter.

...like a cruel protective cage, his hands so good he could make the whole fucking world disappear.

thirty years gone - very nice

the other half lost, drowning its voice in a mouth that sucked it in eagerly

But he wouldn't be the only one broken this time. Oh ouch!

Thank you!

Re: Thirty Years Gone (cont.)

[mews1945.livejournal.com]

You really have a clean, elegant style.

Re: Thirty Years Gone (cont.)

[serai1.livejournal.com]

Thanks. *blush* I often struggle with keeping away from the purple in my writing, so your comment really makes me feel good.

[estelanui.livejournal.com]

'One Kiss'
I so like that magic atmosphere! But what happens the day after or few days after?