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Mar. 1st, 2009 10:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
why_me_why_notSo, the problem with writing drabbles is that they seldom come out the way the requestor intended. And they also don't like to adhere to the standard of "drabble." However, here are the first two things I've written based on the comments to this post.
First off,a double drabble (exactly 200 words!) for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shutyourface. Brendon/Spencer, domesticity. Okay, I lied. Blame irisgirl12000. 433 words.
Brendon comes up behind Spencer and promptly dumps his entire bag of dirty laundry on top of Spencer’s pile of lights. Spencer doesn’t even have the energy to fuss at him, just glares.
“What?” Brendon tries to look innocent, but gives it up after Spencer pushes Brendon’s pile of clothes away and goes back to sorting his own. “C’mon, Spence, leave it. It’ll be there in the morning.”
“Yours will be here in the morning. My plans are to start a load of laundry, order food, and take a shower.” He glances at Brendon.
“Spencer!” Brendon whines, leaning against the door frame. “How can you want to do all that? I am so tired I can’t even believe I’m still standing here.”
Spencer shrugs. He’s tired too. “Well, I plan on sleeping for like two days straight when I finally do hit the bed. I don’t want all this shit waiting on me.” He glances up at Brendon. “And you are not sleeping beside me until you get a shower.”
“Shower together?” Brendon offers in compromise. “Help hold each other up?”
Spencer pretends to think about it. “Yeah, okay. But I’m ordering food first, so don’t try to start anything.
“I’ll order the food!” Brendon volunteers, pushing away from the door and heading down the hall, probably to find the assortment of menus that are scattered atop the fridge.
Spencer watches him walk away and then starts sorting Brendon’s clothes into his own piles. He may as well, since it’ll help make fuller loads. Besides, he knows that Brendon will let his own laundry just sit, just take Spencer’s clean shirts if he doesn’t have any of his own. Of course, the idea of Brendon wandering around the house with a pair of Spencer’s flannel pants hanging low on his hips is an enticing one, but Brendon always ends up stealing Spencer’s clothes anyway.
Spencer’s just shutting the washer lid on the first load when Brendon reappears.
“We’ve got 33 minutes until the food gets here,” he says, stripping off his clothes in the middle of the laundry room. “I think that’ll give enough time for at least a little fun in the shower.”
Spencer shakes his head, pulling off his shirt. “No. Shower, food, sleep.”
“But it’ll be Welcome Home Sex!”
“And Welcome Home Sex will be even better tomorrow afternoon when I’m rested enough to appreciate it.”
Brendon starts to protest again, but it’s ruined by a huge yawn. “Okay, but if I gotta wait then tomorrow I demand orgasms, plural. Promise?”
Yeah, Spencer doesn’t think that’ll be a hardship. “Promise.”
And the next one has to be called an untitled ficlet. 675 words forpoetrychik's request of Spencer Smith/Spencer Reid: more than a shared name. This is most definitely not what she had in mind, but it's what wanted to be written.
Spencer’s glad for Jon’s arm around his shoulder and Zack standing behind them, holding the two of them up. He could almost pretend it’s the cool air of the late night that’s causing him to shake, but the blanket he’s wrapped in isn’t doing anything to touch his chills. He barely acknowledges the two FBI agents that are talking to Zack, wouldn’t notice them at all except for the fact that one of them can’t have been much older than him. There are too many lights, too many people, and too much noise; he’s almost grateful when he finds himself being tugged away from the spot where he’s been standing since the ambulance pulled away.
It’s not until they get to the hospital and are led to a nearly-empty waiting room that Spencer lets go of Jon. He’s not sure which one of them was holding the other up, but he misses Jon’s warmth almost immediately. He forces himself not to grab him back, lets Jon wander to the window, pulling out his sidekick, probably calling Cassie or Tom or his mom.
Spencer wants to call his own mom, but he can’t. Not until he knows Ryan’s okay. He feels sick, remembering. He had walked out the back door of the venue, intent on busting Ryan and Brendon for sneaking out to smoke up without him. He wasn’t expecting to stumble upon… well, he wasn’t even sure what had been going on. He still wasn’t even sure that it had been real, except there was blood on his clothes, on Jon, on Zack. He didn’t know who it belonged to, Ryan or Brendon or the girl. The girl who said they had stepped in and saved her, the girl who hadn’t stopped talking or clinging to Zack while they waited for the ambulances. Spencer had no idea what she had said, her voice mixing in his memories with Jon’s low, urgent one as he’d talked to Brendon – Brendon had been awake, kinda, but hadn’t answered any of Jon’s questions – and with his own. He doesn’t know what he’d said to Ryan, but it was probably a nicer version of “don’t you fucking dare die on me.”
Spencer looks up when the young FBI agent sits beside him. “Hi. I’m Dr Spencer Reid.”
Spencer looks at him suspiciously. “You’re my age; how the hell are you a doctor?”
Reid shrugs. “I’m working on my fourth PhD. It’s just a different kind of successful from what you do.” He holds out a cup of coffee – there’s an independent coffee shop label wrapped around the cup, not the shitty stuff Spencer is used to getting in the hospital. “Your friend over there, Zack? He says you’re Spencer too.”
Spencer hesitates before taking the coffee in one hand and reaching out to shake Reid’s hand with the other. “Spencer Smith, yeah.”
“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions, Spencer?”
“I don’t know anything,” Spencer says immediately, shaking his head. “I didn’t even see the guy.” He had been too focused on Ryan to even notice the man who had run past him when he stepped outside.
“Hey, no, okay.” Reid leads Spencer to a quieter corner of the room and gestures at a chair, taking a seat beside him. “How about we talk about something else? I’m not familiar with your music. Your band is from Vegas?”
Spencer nods, “Not Jon, he’s a Chicago boy, but yeah. Me and Ryan and Brendon…”
“They’re going to be okay. Your friends, I mean. They’re heroes.”
Spencer wants to laugh at that, at the idea of Ryan and Brendon being heroes, and he is so going to as soon as he saw for himself that they were all right.
“Hey, so, I grew up in Vegas too. That’s two things we have in common. And I can think of one more.” He waits until Spencer looks up before he continues. “We both really, really want to catch this guy, right?”
Spencer nods.
“So, questions?”
Spencer nods again. “Yeah, okay.”
First off,
shutyourface. Brendon/Spencer, domesticity. Okay, I lied. Blame irisgirl12000. 433 words.Brendon comes up behind Spencer and promptly dumps his entire bag of dirty laundry on top of Spencer’s pile of lights. Spencer doesn’t even have the energy to fuss at him, just glares.
“What?” Brendon tries to look innocent, but gives it up after Spencer pushes Brendon’s pile of clothes away and goes back to sorting his own. “C’mon, Spence, leave it. It’ll be there in the morning.”
“Yours will be here in the morning. My plans are to start a load of laundry, order food, and take a shower.” He glances at Brendon.
“Spencer!” Brendon whines, leaning against the door frame. “How can you want to do all that? I am so tired I can’t even believe I’m still standing here.”
Spencer shrugs. He’s tired too. “Well, I plan on sleeping for like two days straight when I finally do hit the bed. I don’t want all this shit waiting on me.” He glances up at Brendon. “And you are not sleeping beside me until you get a shower.”
“Shower together?” Brendon offers in compromise. “Help hold each other up?”
Spencer pretends to think about it. “Yeah, okay. But I’m ordering food first, so don’t try to start anything.
“I’ll order the food!” Brendon volunteers, pushing away from the door and heading down the hall, probably to find the assortment of menus that are scattered atop the fridge.
Spencer watches him walk away and then starts sorting Brendon’s clothes into his own piles. He may as well, since it’ll help make fuller loads. Besides, he knows that Brendon will let his own laundry just sit, just take Spencer’s clean shirts if he doesn’t have any of his own. Of course, the idea of Brendon wandering around the house with a pair of Spencer’s flannel pants hanging low on his hips is an enticing one, but Brendon always ends up stealing Spencer’s clothes anyway.
Spencer’s just shutting the washer lid on the first load when Brendon reappears.
“We’ve got 33 minutes until the food gets here,” he says, stripping off his clothes in the middle of the laundry room. “I think that’ll give enough time for at least a little fun in the shower.”
Spencer shakes his head, pulling off his shirt. “No. Shower, food, sleep.”
“But it’ll be Welcome Home Sex!”
“And Welcome Home Sex will be even better tomorrow afternoon when I’m rested enough to appreciate it.”
Brendon starts to protest again, but it’s ruined by a huge yawn. “Okay, but if I gotta wait then tomorrow I demand orgasms, plural. Promise?”
Yeah, Spencer doesn’t think that’ll be a hardship. “Promise.”
And the next one has to be called an untitled ficlet. 675 words for
poetrychik's request of Spencer Smith/Spencer Reid: more than a shared name. This is most definitely not what she had in mind, but it's what wanted to be written. Spencer’s glad for Jon’s arm around his shoulder and Zack standing behind them, holding the two of them up. He could almost pretend it’s the cool air of the late night that’s causing him to shake, but the blanket he’s wrapped in isn’t doing anything to touch his chills. He barely acknowledges the two FBI agents that are talking to Zack, wouldn’t notice them at all except for the fact that one of them can’t have been much older than him. There are too many lights, too many people, and too much noise; he’s almost grateful when he finds himself being tugged away from the spot where he’s been standing since the ambulance pulled away.
It’s not until they get to the hospital and are led to a nearly-empty waiting room that Spencer lets go of Jon. He’s not sure which one of them was holding the other up, but he misses Jon’s warmth almost immediately. He forces himself not to grab him back, lets Jon wander to the window, pulling out his sidekick, probably calling Cassie or Tom or his mom.
Spencer wants to call his own mom, but he can’t. Not until he knows Ryan’s okay. He feels sick, remembering. He had walked out the back door of the venue, intent on busting Ryan and Brendon for sneaking out to smoke up without him. He wasn’t expecting to stumble upon… well, he wasn’t even sure what had been going on. He still wasn’t even sure that it had been real, except there was blood on his clothes, on Jon, on Zack. He didn’t know who it belonged to, Ryan or Brendon or the girl. The girl who said they had stepped in and saved her, the girl who hadn’t stopped talking or clinging to Zack while they waited for the ambulances. Spencer had no idea what she had said, her voice mixing in his memories with Jon’s low, urgent one as he’d talked to Brendon – Brendon had been awake, kinda, but hadn’t answered any of Jon’s questions – and with his own. He doesn’t know what he’d said to Ryan, but it was probably a nicer version of “don’t you fucking dare die on me.”
Spencer looks up when the young FBI agent sits beside him. “Hi. I’m Dr Spencer Reid.”
Spencer looks at him suspiciously. “You’re my age; how the hell are you a doctor?”
Reid shrugs. “I’m working on my fourth PhD. It’s just a different kind of successful from what you do.” He holds out a cup of coffee – there’s an independent coffee shop label wrapped around the cup, not the shitty stuff Spencer is used to getting in the hospital. “Your friend over there, Zack? He says you’re Spencer too.”
Spencer hesitates before taking the coffee in one hand and reaching out to shake Reid’s hand with the other. “Spencer Smith, yeah.”
“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions, Spencer?”
“I don’t know anything,” Spencer says immediately, shaking his head. “I didn’t even see the guy.” He had been too focused on Ryan to even notice the man who had run past him when he stepped outside.
“Hey, no, okay.” Reid leads Spencer to a quieter corner of the room and gestures at a chair, taking a seat beside him. “How about we talk about something else? I’m not familiar with your music. Your band is from Vegas?”
Spencer nods, “Not Jon, he’s a Chicago boy, but yeah. Me and Ryan and Brendon…”
“They’re going to be okay. Your friends, I mean. They’re heroes.”
Spencer wants to laugh at that, at the idea of Ryan and Brendon being heroes, and he is so going to as soon as he saw for himself that they were all right.
“Hey, so, I grew up in Vegas too. That’s two things we have in common. And I can think of one more.” He waits until Spencer looks up before he continues. “We both really, really want to catch this guy, right?”
Spencer nods.
“So, questions?”
Spencer nods again. “Yeah, okay.”
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Date: 2009-03-02 03:51 am (UTC)♥
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Date: 2009-03-03 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 03:53 am (UTC)Yay!!!! That was awesome! :) Thank you so much! :) I absolutely love it as well as the Brendon/Spencer! :) great job!
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Date: 2009-03-03 02:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 04:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 05:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-03 02:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-03 02:45 am (UTC)