Fandom: Claymore
Pairing: Helen/Deneve
Prompt: Too Damn Cold
Rating: PG-13/R-ish
Date: Sep. 21st '08

"C-c-cold!" Helen grumbled through chattering teeth, jerking Deneve out of a light doze. Then Helen was worming her way into Deneve's bedroll and glomming onto her like a leech. "It's too damn cold!"

Deneve sighed, long-suffering. "We don't feel cold," she said patiently. "Or had you forgotten? Go back to your own bed, there's no room to breathe here."

Helen's grip only tightened, one arm wrapped so securely beneath her breasts that Deneve found it difficult to inhale. "Screw that!" she exclaimed, voice muffled into Deneve's shoulder. "I feel it! Just because it doesn't hurt anything doesn't mean I can't get sick of it. All this white. It's like it's seeping through my skin. Soon I'll be bleeding white, you know?"

"No," said Deneve. "I don't know."

"Can't it ever warm up around here even a little?"

"Yes," said Deneve. "And then there are avalanches."

"And there's never enough food!" Helen blustered, unhearing. "I'm hungry! This isn't funny!"

"You're being childish. At least we're alive," Deneve said. And together, she did not say. "You eat too much, anyway."

Helen puffed unhappily, her breath warm and ticklish against Deneve's neck. But her tirade had ended, and the silence stretched out so long that Deneve began to wonder if the other woman had fallen asleep. Maybe, just maybe she would get some peace this night after all, she thought.

That was, until a sharp set of teeth began chewing on her ear.

"Hey," said Deneve. "I'm not food."

"So hungry," Helen mumbled indistinctly, tongue sneaking behind Deneve's earlobe. Deneve felt her own breath catch, despite her best intentions. The soft press of Helen's breasts shifted against her side as the woman wiggled impossibly closer. "So cold."

Deneve sighed again, giving into the inevitable. Turning to face the other woman, she found Helen's mouth with her own, thus saving her poor ear from the threat of cannibalism - but then Helen just started chewing on her bottom lip instead. She felt Helen's lean hands sliding up the curve of her back, bony fingertips feeling out the shape of each vertebra.

At a particularly sharp nip, Deneve pulled back, tasting a trace of blood. "Hey," she protested. "I said I'm not food."

Helen grumbled at the chill air between them and burrowed her face back into the curve of Deneve's neck. "Well, if you can't feed me, you can at least warm me," she said, her tongue flicking out and lapping at Deneve's pulse as if to drink up the warmth it held.

Deneve's breath hitched again, and she felt a sharp twang somewhere deep in her belly. The corner of her mouth quirked with wry amusement. "Fine," she said, letting one hand smooth down over the curves of Helen's body, fingers finding their way between Helen's legs. "But next time you get to do all the work."

---

Fandom: Getbackers
Prompt: Five Times Ban and Ginji Weren't Being Gay, No Really, They Swear
Rating: PG-13
Date: Sep 30, '08

1. The school girl outfits were a disguise, got it? So shut up about that.

2. That whole love hotel incident was part of a job. They were investigating. Not... you know.

3. When they rented that room for a few nights at that grungy motel, the single was cheaper than the double, that's all there was to it. And if Ban woke up in the middle of the night kind of - close - to Ginji, well, the A/C was busted and it was like a fucking freezer in there. And maybe Ginji's head was nestled just a little too comfortably in the curve of Ban's neck, but that guy did all sorts of crazy shit in his sleep, so that meant nothing.

4. So maybe Ban did just settle his chin back against Ginji's head after making sure he was really asleep. So what? It was cold, damnit.

5. Look. When they woke up. That was an accident, okay. They are both young, healthy, red-blooded males, and these things happen. It's a natural response! Little Ban and Ginji Juniors have minds of their own, and if they stand to attention when another body is in close proximity, it doesn't mean anything if the other bodies in question happen to be each other's.

Hey, what do you think you're laughing at? You think you can call the invincible Midou Ban-sama gay and get away with it? Yeah, fuck you too, buddy. Fuck you.

---

Fandom: Slayers Try
Prompt: Five Gifts Xellos Gave Filia For Her Birthday
Rating: PG
Date: Sep 30, '08

The First Gift: the Gift of Laughter

The day before Filia's birthday, he anonymously gifts her with a full set of exploding tea cups of his own design. (On sale for a limited time! Order now and receive a FREE bonus farting tea cozy! Makes for great party favors!) Each cup features a small reproduction of his portrait artfully painted on the porcelain. He is sure she will appreciate the light-hearted reminder of the time they shared traveling together.

The Second Gift: the Gift of Even More Laughter

He sends the farting tea cozy separately.

The Third Gift: the gift of sensuality

...Along with the finest in antique erotic publications - The Secret Life of Dragons, by Madam M_____. (From the back blurb: "The ancient and majestic race of golden dragons are well known for their reserved public demeanor - but less well known for their lusty adventurousness behind closed doors. Come join us on an illuminating and educational exploration of this most secret life of dragons!") Only the best for his dear friend Filia, of course.

The Fourth Gift: the Gift of Beauty

The night before her birthday, he redecorates the entire exterior of her antique shop with hundreds of giant pink ribbons while she sleeps. He's sure she will approve of his taste. That is, if she can ever manage to open the front door again.

The Fifth Gift: the Gift of Friendship

Well before the big day, he had taken it upon himself to send letters to Lina, Gourry, Amelia, and Zelgadis, inviting each of them to attend "FILIA'S SUPER-MEGA-GRAND-EXPLOSIVE BIRTHDAY BASH!!! FREE FOOD." It was a little difficult to track them all down in time, but for Xellos, any effort is worth bringing old friends together to celebrate a happy occasion.

He waits in hiding to observe her screams of rage exclamations of surprise on discovering his thoughtful gifts, until their old companions show up at her door. And then, upon beholding her expression of abject horror pure delight, he can no longer contain his urge to sweep in and confess to all of his selfless acts of generosity.

The subsequent explosions and mass destruction are all the thanks he needs.

---

Fandom: Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen
Pairing: Snow Queen/Gerda
Prompt: wrong
Rating: R-ish
Date: April 3rd '08

The years had melted away, since the summer had come. Time is a deceptive thing, trickling past first like a gently burbling stream; then suddenly, a roaring to batter down dams. One moment everything in perfect, crystalline clarity - the next, eternity gone to meltwater.

Kay had grown strong and tall and beautiful alongside her, his smile melting the edges of their home even in the winter months. Not a single snowflake left in him, not anymore. Gerda had melted him to the core. He dotes on her now, treats her more preciously than any queen. And she is happy. Surely, this is happiness.

And yet...

"Don't you think, little one, that you might have been wrong?"

She has but to close her eyes, and there it is, like a whistle of wind through the snow-muffled silence of her mind.

Perhaps, she posits in her most secret thoughts, perhaps it is the smallest of shards of ice - not more than the smallest splinter. Perhaps in all the swirl of their dancing on that day, all those years ago, this splinter had drifted down right into her ear. Not enough to freeze her soul, not really; but enough that she could never shake off the chill. She cannot get warm, since that day. She cannot be satisfied. And the whispering voice of winter follows her where ever she goes.

"You could have had eternity."

"Liar," Gerda whispers back. "Your eternity is a lie."

"You could have stayed. You could have frozen to eternal perfection with your little Kay, and worn dresses sewn from spun diamonds, with crystal flowers for your hair, and had iced sugar candies to melt sweet on your tongue."

"Those are ridiculous things," says Gerda. "I don't want them. I am not a child anymore."

"Oh?" Pale pink lips curl into a smile behind her eyes, on that perfect white face carved from ice. "And yet here you are, the dutiful daughter, the good wife, docile as any child. You came such a long way, just a little girl, all on her own; with such strength you could have had anything..." There is a cold brush of snow against Gerda's skin; the caress of icy fingers along her jaw; the kiss of petal-soft lips against her cheek. Chill breath trickles in her ear, and she shudders. "Anything in the whole world. And all you took for yourself was one sweet little boy, one little boy to be your master in all things."

"That's not..." says Gerda, stricken. "That's not how it is!"

"Poor, foolish little Gerda. You could have had me."

"I don't want you!" Gerda cries.

But now there is a long and elegant hand slipping between her legs, and her thighs are falling open, even as she denies it; cold, cold fingers are pressing into her flesh, burning as only ice can burn. She jerks up into the touch with a gasp.

Laughter, sweet and silvery as breaking glass: "Liar."

And she wakes, shivering, tears drying on her cheeks, her desire damp on her thighs. She presses her legs tightly together against the ache, clutching at herself, muffling her face with her pillow to stifle her sobs.

---

Fandom: Soul Eater
Pairing: Death The Kid/Patty/Liz
Rating: R-ish

"Kid," Liz murmured huskily into his ear. "Come on... Do it..."

Patty lay beneath them, a pretty blush spreading across her cheeks, then slowly down her neck and over the pearly mounds of her breasts. Kid gazed at them admiringly; so large and supple, tipped with pale pink, rising and falling slightly with her breath...

Kid froze. "W-wait a moment," he said, looking closer. A creeping sense of horror was dawning on him. He leaned closer, laying his head momentarily on Patty's abdomen so that he could see their shape more accurately.

"Oh no," he gasped.

"What? What's the matter?" asked Liz.

"One of them." Kid swallowed. "One of them is slightly larger than the other." He counted his breaths, struggling not to hyperventilate.

"Huh?" Liz asked. "That doesn't matter, does it? Come on -"

"No! This is horrible! The balance is all wrong! What are we going to do?!"

"Hey," Liz said. "Are you saying my sister's breasts are horrible?! No woman's breasts are perfectly symmetrical, you asshole!"

Unhearing, Kid reached out and poked at the larger one in morbid fascination. Slowly, it began to expand.

Liz yelped as Kid knocked her off the bed in his haste to scramble back. Patty began poking at her own breast, laughing, the sound reminiscent of a donkey braying. "Wah, wah, look, it's getting bigger!" she cried happily; every time she poked it, the rate of its expansion accelerated.

"Stop!" Kid cried, blood curdling in his veins. He tore at his hair in abject terror. "No more! Please! I beg of you!"

But it kept growing and growing, and Patty kept poking and poking. Soon it had filled up the whole room, knocking books off tables, pictures off walls - and all the while Patty's constant, absurd laughter! Kid wriggled beneath the wall of flesh, suffocating, choking - no breath to scream -

"Wah! It's so big!" Patty giggled.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Kid hit the floor.

Liz came running into the room, followed closely by Patty. "What is it?!" Liz shouted, bleary eyed and reeling from side to side. "Are we under attack?!"

Slowly, Kid removed his arms from over his head and lifted it, looking around cautiously. The room was not a sea of flesh, he noticed. He took in first the girls' pajamas, and then his own. No one was even naked.

"A... A dream?" he said. "It was a dream?"

"What? You woke us up for some stupid nightmare?"

Kid leapt to his feet and rushed over to Patty, reaching up to cup her breasts and squeeze them experimentally. "It was a dream, right?!" he cried desperately. "They're the same size, right?!"

A fist connected with his nose, and he fell to the floor in a splatter of blood. "What the hell were you dreaming, you idiot?!" Liz shouted.

Patty guffawed, slapping her thigh and pointing at Kid twitching on the floor. Liz took her hand and led her from the room. "Come on. We're going back to bed."

"Huh? We are? But what was he dreaming about?"

"It's best not to ask, Patty," said Liz. "Best not to ask."

---

Fandom: Tactics
Pairing: Haruka/Kantarou
Prompt: Wings
Rating: NC-17
Date: April 4th '08

"Haruka... Ah! Haru-ka-ah-ahhn!"

His idiot master twists his name into a ridiculously melodramatic mewling; and he keeps calling it, over and over, each a little invocation of the name-bond. It's irritating. It's distracting. It's driving him insane and it's always. like. this.

Kantarou arches up under him, the dim light catching and refracting in his hair like stray beams of moonlight. He tosses his head back, baring the long, smooth line of his throat. The tendons in his neck pull taut, his Adam's apple moving beneath the skin as he swallows, calls out his servant's name again. "Ah, Haruka! Ha-ru-mmmph!"

"So noisy!" Haruka growls, hand clamped over his master's mouth. "Don't you ever shut up?" But his claws - his claws are extending, pressing dangerously against Kantarou's flesh, and it's like an itching just under the skin that he can't shake off, can't hold back -

He moves his hand away.

Kantarou looks up at him with his big, wet, mock-wounded eyes, pouting. "How can you say that!" he whines. "So cruel, Haruka-cha-aaan!"

Kantarou clutches at the blankets beneath them, scrabbling for purchase, and Haruka grunts in satisfaction at the result of his renewed thrusting. Anything to shut him up.

And for a few moments, Kantarou doesn't manage anything beyond a few desperate gasps and whimpers. He tosses his head back and forth, whining as he lifts his hips up into each thrust, biting down on his bottom lip. Haruka isn't sure, but he thinks he hears a half-formed "please" as Kantarou throws his arms over his shoulders, slender fingers clawing at the nape of his neck, his back, the base of his wings.

The wings had been out from the start - Kantarou, as he so often did, wanted to see them, to touch them. Haruka scoffed at the ridiculousness of it, but complied with his master's wishes. He will, of course, never admit even under threat of death to how much he likes it. To the shivers that shoot down his spine at the feel of Kantarou's fingers combing through their feathers. To the warmth that rumbles through his belly at the sight of the dark shadows they cast over his master's white skin. He would, in fact, most likely inflict severe bodily harm on anyone who might suggest he finds this other than a tiresome chore. But Kantarou always looks at his wings, eyes widening with such honest, almost childlike awe, and each time Haruka's feathers ripple with pleasure, wings flexing outward with pride -

A tengu will always be a tengu, after all.

Haruka bites down at the soft junction of throat and jaw, pounding into his master furiously. He tastes a trace of blood, and knows that later Kantarou will scold him for leaving marks; but for now the man can only call Haruka's name over and over in an uncontrollable rush, like a mantra - like a prayer - a wild, panicked sound that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with impending climax. There is never any fear, not even when these claws and these fangs press against his flesh - such delicate flesh, so easy to rend straight from the bone, so mortal...

(Stupid master.)

"Haruka!"

It cuts through him like a knife, jolting right up through the base of his spine, tingling through his fingertips and through his toes -

"Haruka!"

- and it's more than he can take, he can't hold this back much longer -

"Haruka!"

- and Kantarou is arching up and shuddering, there is liquid, molten heat spilling between them, and Haruka slams into him one last time with a vicious growl and lets himself go.

It is a while before he is even vaguely sensate again. He is lying on top of his master, face pressed into the crook of the man's neck. (He must be very heavy, he thinks; but Kantarou is not complaining.)

"Ha-ru-ka-chan," Kantarou murmurs, sing-song, stroking his fingers through the downy feathers on the underside of Haruka's wings, and Haruka thinks: I will never get any peace. "Are you still awake?"

Haruka mutters one word, and to his eternal chagrin it comes out as an endearment -

"Idiot."

---

Request: The Etched City, "Beth, the crocodillian baby and its slave prostitute mother"
Words: 232
Rating: PG
Date: Jan 07, '08


It had the body of a crocodile and the head of a man, and a lotus blossom grew out from its belly like a parasite. Its face was noble and stately, a face that expected devotion as merely its due.

She had intended the thing for her bestiary, but she could think of no name to give it. Looking at her sketch, she imagined its leathery hide printed in vivid emerald ink, its face olive-skinned and blue-eyed, framed in hair of darkest sable, and she asked it what its name was. It stared back silently and would not tell her.

So next she drew out its parentage: a river god with the body of a man and the head of a crocodile, and a proud Lusan whore. The mother was very young, hardly more than a child, but the world had aged her prematurely and her face was lined and haggard. Her eyes, however, were clear, her gaze hard and cold as steel. These were the eyes of a queen.

She imagined the girl's dusky body made all of river silt, shifting and flowing as the currents passed through her, and wondered whether she would be proud of the strange fruit that had dropped from her womb, or horrified.

In the end Beth found no name for the creature, and, losing interest, discarded it; but she kept the sketches of the whore.

---

Fandom: Vassalord
Title: Two For the Price of One, or, Charley's Worst Nightmare
Pairing: Johnny/Rafelle/Charlie
Warnings: R/NC-17
Date: Feb 08, '07

“Hey – nnh – a little deeper, would you?”

“Stop complaining. I know what I’m doing. You have to pace these things.”

“Well, your ‘pacing’ is shit, Johnny-boy.”

“My pacing would be perfect, if you’d stop interrupting.”

“Stop – oooh – stop making excuses. Cocksucking bastard. Have you been getting ass-fucked so long you’ve forgotten how to treat a lady?”

“I don’t see any – fuck – any lady here. I only see an old hag.”

“Should you really be saying that, when you’re wearing the same face?”

“I wear it better.”

“Well, you – ah! – you seem pretty hard-up for this old hag.”

“Live with that fucking cock-block for over a century and see if you’re not hard-up for anything with a hole.”

“You talk too goddamn much. Here. Move this way a little.”

“...Oh – Jesusfuckinghellshityesss...”

“See? I told you my way was better.”

“Nngh.”

“...Johnny?”

“Mmngh...?”

“Your Cherry-boy is standing there in the doorway.”

“Mmn... Cherry?”

“Let him watch. Maybe watching turns him on.”

“Unn... Hey, Cherry – ow ow ow hey watch it, not that far! – wanna come join us?”

“Come on, boy. Two for the price of one. What do you say?”


Charley woke up, screaming.


“Shit, Cherry, what the hell!”

Charley’s heart felt like it was going to crawl right up out of his throat and catapult itself from his mouth to flop horribly around on the bed. He clutched at his chest as if to keep it anchored there.

“Man, give me a break. You really drank me dry earlier, the least you could do is let me sleep.”

No, no, no, Charley did not feel what he thought he felt. His... He was not... could not be...

“Hey... You okay? Cherry?”

The sound of his master’s concern barely registered. He was. After that, that nightmare. He was – aroused.

Charley thought he might vomit. He prayed fervently to God, Jesus, the Blessed Virgin, and every saint he could think of to make it go away. It didn’t.

This couldn’t get any worse.

“Nnh... Eh? Johnny? What’s wrong with Cherry?”

Charley froze. Abject terror overcame him. Knowing, absolutely knowing it was the worst thing he could do, having seen the awful horror movies his master so loved to watch and knowing – he was helpless to keep his head from turning, oh so slowly turning, toward the source of the voice.

And there she was, his master’s face, his master’s eyes, his master’s lips, all softened by femininity, blinking sleepily up at him. They had Charley sandwiched between them, the sheets all twisted and damp and tangled around their limbs. Charley stared at her, blood pulsing in his ears. And in his...

“Hmm...? Hey, Johnny, your boy’s got some impressive stamina. He’s already raring to go again.”

Johnny made a sound very close to a whimper. “You take care of him this time. I don’t have anything left!

“Pathetic. Well, I don’t mind. I’ll take one for the team.”

Her mouth curling into a leering grin, Rafelle reached out...


Charley woke up, screaming.


“Shit, Cherry, what the hell!”

Sweat poured down Charley’s face in cold, sticky rivulets. His chest wheezed as his lungs struggled for air.

“Man, give me a break. You really drank me dry earlier, the least you could do is let me sleep.”

Charley clawed his way out of the bed before he could hear anymore, kicking wildly at the sheets entangling his legs, refusing to think, refusing to see.

“Cherry?! Hey, Cherry!”

Clutching his head, Charley staggered from the room, heedless of his master’s voice calling out behind him.

Johnny sat looking after him, bewildered. What the hell had gotten into him, all of a sudden?

A moment later the bathroom door opened, steam billowing out of it in thick clouds. The vaporous haze was all that obscured the form of the naked woman who subsequently emerged, drops of water glistening as they traced over the voluptuous curves of her body.

“Was that your boy’s voice I just heard? What was that all about?”

“Shit if I know. He just screamed and ran out of the room.”

Rafelle stood toweling off her hair thoughtfully. “Huh. Probably had a nightmare or something, I guess.”

---
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lim⋅i⋅nal ho⋅ri⋅zon

–noun
a place only seen through a green door.

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