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28 February 2010 @ 08:48 pm
Gakked from here and there. WIP meme  
Here is my wee contribution the fic WIP meme that's started going around. There are actually a couple more WIPs that I wanted to list but they're not in any real shape to show here. There's Farscape, SG-1 and one crossover. And I better not be getting any more bright ideas in my head because some of these I've been working on for way too frelling long and I want them done. *g*

Please to be expecting all manners of roughness and NSFW stuff amongst these.

1. Head resting on her arms, she jerks up when someone suddenly is clapping their hands together and shouting, “Rise and shine, time for a Sunday afternoon drive through the countryside.”

“It’s Sunday? Feels like a Thursday to me.”

“Yeah… well. I’m going stir crazy and we’re still four days out before we hit the next system.”

“So we’re…”

“Going for a joyride. Come’on.”

He opens the canopy on his module and Dani stops and freezes. Crossing her arms, she flatly refuses to get in when he steps away from the ladder

“I’m not getting in the spaceship equivalent of a fucking soap box derby car.”

John narrows his eyes at her. “How many fucking ‘spaceships’ have you built? I designed her, I fucking built her myself. None of that contracting shit. And after I got here in one piece, because of her I might add, I was able to modify Moya’s systems to her design. She can outrun any of the fucking toys you guys got back home. So you do not knock my module. Now get in so I can show you what she can do, dammit.”

She rolls her eyes. “Get stuck on the other side of the fucking universe only to find that guys are still calling their cars *her*. Fine, we’ll go on a happy family joyride in the family station wagon.”

Once she’s nestled in the backseat, Dani tries not to let butterflies in her stomach take over and shuts her eyes as the canopy seals and John alerts Pilot, “Pilot, Farscape One is prep'd to exit the hanger.”

“Outer doors are released to your control, Commander.”

“Thanks, Pilot. We shouldn’t be too long, our guest is already looking a might green and I haven’t even started the roller coaster yet.”

“Am not.” Dani is looking out the side window, staring at the line of transport pods that will probably never be used by anyone - ever. The likelihood that they’ll all end up dead and spread out as dust across a large section of the galaxy was getting higher and higher in probability. She doesn’t even try to guess the odds, that was Sammy’s department.

John snorts and steers them clear of Moya.

They sit in silence for several minutes before Pilot’s voice announces, “Moya’s sensors are picking up...”

“...already know, Pilot. If Moya is feeling skittish, you might want to step back a few more feet. This is going to be a big’un.”

“Moya and I appreciate the warning, Commander.” Dani’s heart leaps a little in her chest at the sight of Moya moving further and further away from them.

“Don’t worry, our girl isn’t gonna leave us,” John assures her and points off to his right. “Take a look over there.”

Dani leans forward, almost crawling in his lap trying to see just as the wormhole flared into life. She gasps at the enormity of its size. He’d shown her one a few days earlier, but this - this was.... “My god...” She falls back in her seat. Even the Ori supergate had nothing compared to this. And it’s growing. No, they’re moving closer to it’s mouth.

“...it’s full of stars,” John whispers a heartbeat before positioning the module and diving in.


2. “How are you feeling, Cameron? More like your old self, or should I say your younger self, I hope. The grey was very distinguished on you, but aesthetically speaking it didn’t quite fit.” Silky fingers trace feather-like lines across firm skin, from shoulder to shoulder, that had been bronzed after years of working under the hot sun. “Though I must say - the years have been far kinder to you than some (our old acquaintances) I see.”

“You know what they say about a healthy lifestyle.” His surprised that his voice remains steady and doesn’t crack. It's first time he's spoken since the cargo hold of the Achilles.

Ba’al chuckles. “Yes. One of the things I've come to appreciate after living amongst the Tau’ri for so long is your obsessive drive for perfect beauty,” he says.

He can't figure out where Ba’al is going with his small talk, the words aren't quite making sense as they work their way through the dark that continues to follow him from his cell, clinging.

“I was going to interrogate you, find out how you came to be in aboard the Achilles, but taking into account the difference in your age since the last we met - I realized that the rest of your team is no longer with you; that you somehow managed to escape my corrective measures and tenaciously continued on in order to attempt and assassinate me. The means that allowed you to do this are unimportant for now and we shall have all the time in the world to discuss the matter.”


3. When they all emerged, the two humans move in opposite directions and putting as much distance between the two of them, both giving D'Argo a look of betrayal. The Luxan gave them the rest of them a weary look and pointed at the one that had walked off toward Moya's hammon side. “That is John,” then pointing toward treblin, he said, “and that is Robert.”

“How did you get them to agree?”

“I had them flip a coin. It was rather amusing to see their expression when I suggested it. For some reason, the humans believe they have a monopoly on the concept. Robert muttered that rock, paper, scissors is a better way to decide,” rolling his eyes, D'Argo informed them that John stated that it wouldn't do them any good since they would just continue to end in a stalemate and the only reason they liked it was because they were the only ones that win.


4. Dani answers the door wearing just a pair of boxers, not hers, and a sportsbra. Daywear for the fashionably unconscious. She eyes the beer and pizza in your hand, snorts and walks back inside. Come on in, the water's fine. “Your choice of drink is a bit on the watered down side, Jack,” she says picking up a bottle of Tequila before sitting down in a chair and throwing one leg up over the side.

“Yeah. Someone decided to raid the corner store a few days ago for a bar mitzvah.”

“And here we thought we had it bad with the almost dying and dealing with the Fucktard Brigade, a pack of drunk thirteen year olds is a whole hellova lot worse,” Carter pipes up from her place at the dining room table that substitutes for a workbench.

They're on standby and Mitchell's learned that you don’t stand on formality in your own house (even when your CO drops by for a house call) so he doesn't stop the steady of steam he's built up lifting himself over and over on the crossbar notched into the doorframe of one of the bedrooms. He's stripped down to only a pair of fatigue pants, sweat dripping down the sides of his head as he stares off into space. You doubt Mitchell's even bothering to count; he's too far off into his own head.

Teal’c's watching Mitchell, even while finishing what's probably his tenth set of reps, making sure his commander doesn't push himself too far or become too lost in his own head running through a bad mission that no one could fix.


5. There's nothing standing between them, both out of steam now that the shouting has dwindled to glares and the attempt to catch their breaths. Neither is sure of what exactly they're fighting over, but both know the remnants lie with P4M-328.

Mitchell has it figured that Jackson is just pissed over being wrong about the place, how to handle the locals. He'd lay bets on it.

While Daniel knows that he's letting disappointment after disappointment get to him, taking his frustration out on the one person that won't call him on it. “Listen,” he starts slowly, trying to curb his temper long enough to stop this from escalating to something that'll continue beyond the walls of Mitchell's apartment and off-world, “there really isn't anything we can accomplish here, arguing over what we did or should have done…”

“Just chalk it up to a bad mission and call it a day and onto the next one?” Mitchell crosses his arms and continues to glare, although without as much intensity.

“Something like that.”

“And that we should at least call it a win in the fact that we scared them so badly that they probably dismantled the gate and are tucked away from any Prior that might want to come calling?”

Daniel's face is still lightly flushed as he nods. “Yes, exactly.”

“Fine by me…,” Mitchell states, taking a step back, agreeing to the verbal cease-fire. He likes Jackson, thinks - knows - he's one of the smartest men he's met but sometimes he wants to take his notebook out of his hands and knock him upside the head to get him to look around at the rest of the team and see that they're all driving themselves into an early grave as much as he is.

6. The water steams in the large bowl on table beside the bed while I dip the washcloth in once, twice, before wringing it out and giving it a little flip to spread it out against Jackson’s back. Running it up and down slowly, re-wetting the cloth every now and then to maintain its heat.

“Lean your head down,” I tell Jackson quietly, losing myself in the task; taking in every inch of exposed skin. Jackson does as he’s asked, his head falling forward. A soft sound of enjoyment escaping him as hot cloth rests against his neck, a small trickle escapes and runs down the side.

The bedroom window is still open and despite the sultry air in the apartment (Colorado sultry has nothing on the Carolinas set on slow melt, but it’s still sitting at almost uncomfortable), the breeze coming through the open window has a chill to it and I feel the subtle shiver that runs through Jackson. Man was not made for livin’ in the north, catching myself smiling at the observation I ask if my gracious host was comfortable.

“Yes, feels good as a matter of fact,” Jackson’s voice is a low rumble, his shoulders and neck more relaxed than when we began.

7. Standing center stage, neither of them look anywhere but the floor, hands clasped in front of them, relaxed, trusting him implicitly. Stopping beside Colonel Mitchell, Teal’c rests a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gently presses. He immediately kneels at Teal’c’s feet.

Kefflin’s look of disinterest vanishes when Teal’c takes his knife from its sheath hidden beneath his sleeve and presses it into Daniel’s hand. “Remove his shirt,” when he speaks, his normal deep tones carry easily around the room. Every eye now trained on the three of them.

Daniel pokes the tip of the blade into the course material, the razor edge easily slicing downward. He doesn’t look up when he raises the knife up to Teal’c in the palm of his hand, never taking his eyes from Colonel Mitchell’s bare shoulders and neck.

8. Screams and Scorpius. Tocot on the floor barely reaching up and releasing one strap binding him to the table. His head is buzzing. Flashes of light. Harvey stating that he needs to die. Ignoring the bastard until he's ready. He needs to see Aeryn one last time before he picks up his pulse pistol again, either in revenge or self-destruction. Finding his way to the frozen grave yard, he watches in silence as Grunchlik runs a disgusting finger across the glass of Aeryn's cryopod, murmuring, this other hand groping between his legs as he licked his lips.

John can't see anything else, the rage he'd felt when Scorpius left him alive on operating table resurfaces and a low growl builds in his chest, his eyes search furiously for anything that could be used as a weapon and spots a shaft, covered in frost in the corner. It had been used to lift the pod onto the anti-grav beds for transport after Aeryn's funeral. He lifts it over his shoulder like a spear and shoves it as hard as he can through the traitorous alien's back, gritting his teeth with the effort and ignoring the bastard's pleas for help from Tocot. He wants to tell him that no one's going to answer but he's still broken. Probably will be for the rest of his life, but this fucker will never touch Aeryn and that's all that matter's at that moment.

9. He sits down in the chair opposite from Jackson, tries to get his thoughts together because he has no fucking clue what’s going on. The best he can figure is to start with the basics. “So how you feelin’, Jackson?”

“Sober.”

“Anything else?”

Horny.

“Anything else? Like for example, any alien probes, microbes, or parasites floating around in that body of yours? Because the way you were back at the bar I was pretty sure I’d have to shoot witnesses if you started humping the waiter on the countertop.”

“No, but I was looking forward to Jimmy boy sticking his probe in my body.”

He didn’t just say that. He did not just say that.

“Okay, maybe I need to call this in after all because I clearly didn’t just hear you say that because you do not typically fuck guys.”

“Excuse me? Are you trying to say that I’m a lesbian? Yes, you do need to go get some help because you are obviously gone completely fucking insane. Did you not just see and hear me ready to go off with one James Mason, Waiter Extraordinaire and college student? Because I was. I was planning on fucking him and sucking his dick until his eyes bled and you had to go and rush me out of there on some false pretext to apparently accuse me of being a lesbian. Give me my goddamn phone, Mitchell.”

Originally posted at http://kazbaby.dreamwidth.org/776314.html. You can comment there using OpenID.|comment count unavailable comments