Author's Note: This was written in response to a challenge by Tierfal and Eltea on LJ. To write snippets for each pairing and let the readers guess who's who. Have fun. I will reply to anyone who guesses :D Reposted too, so sorry for those who already know the answers. Maybe you can just enjoy these again for the shortness of them all.
One True Pairing:
A scurried four feet propelling occurs while knees knock and torsos twist, each clamoring for a more firm grasp on the other before free-falling… thankfully, onto the bed. Until a barely healed split lip bleeds and the ensuing effort to become untangled results in bashing heads, curses and a dash into the bathroom that breaks the mood.
"Why now?"
The question waffles into the open, but is overrun by lustful intentions, especially with the removal of bloodied shirts. And their mouths hungrily pursue the illogical desires of their hearts before they pull away again.
"No more until… I need."
A desperate plea if he ever made one.
"I want to know why."
Again, the mood seems lost on them. Somber but direct, they take measure of each other as best they can with foreheads touching, fingers caressing cheeks and eyelashes fluttering in anticipation.
Then a shrug, hardly any shoulder movement, almost the barest whisper of feeling… more like a sparked thought registered between them.
"No day like today?"
Cute Pairing:
"You know you want it."
"You're a tease."
"Yeah? Doesn't change the fact that you want me."
The pause doesn't go unnoticed, but there's really nothing to deny. That's why they're here after all.
"Or him either."
Finally… the crux of the matter.
"So? Is this a problem?"
Panicked eyes flit between two choices. Boldly Seductive. Kindly Torturous. Before he can process what's happening, his chin is cupped and his lips are captured by a chaste but beckoningly sweet kiss. His face blooms ruby-red and he tucks his head under the covers.
"Was it really necessary to go and ruin the mood like that?"
"What? What'd I do?!"
Hot Pairing:
Arms encircle him from behind, hands scratch pinkish trails into his sides, causing him to giggle until they dig into him, bringing him to an abrupt, hard stop. A succinct warning, especially when fingertip pads walk ever so slowly further downward, relishing in their descent. He bucks under their eager attentions. Except. He is grounded by the body atop his thighs and soft, velvety kisses pressing against his lips and now his neck and omigod—but his brain functions dissipate into lust-soaked oblivion when he becomes even more spooned between the two demanding bodies. Hands, teeth and tongue… harsh and commanding but tempered by gentle stabilizing hands on his shoulders, holding on tightly as he roughly, flagrantly meets every pelvic thrust with his own.
And their whimpers, hoarse cries and muttered instructions blend harmoniously, until completely spent; they collapse in one triumphant heap. Unsure of where one stops and the other begins — they take pleasure in their own perfect alignment.
Perfect For Each Other:
A star to put the sun to shame – a golden god! And he is the moon, luminous, beautiful even when basking in the reflective glow… the shining aftermath of their combined heat. Perfection, Precision of Logic, Potency in Recognition: They have the same inhumane philosophies as their driving life force.
Opposites Attract Pairing:
His tie, crumpled at the tip, must have been sucked into the paper sorter again. It's the only thing that makes him look like the cop he's supposed to be. His youthful innocence remains unmarred by edgy anxiousness or fading optimism like the other cops around him. Just below this goofy persona, there's a champion of the weak. A lethal combatant for the side of good. An unwavering supporter of justice.
That's probably why he likes him; even possibly why he loves him.
When they stand side by side, they do look like the odd couple. The bitterness and hardened heart cannot be hidden when there's no where to blend. His purity taints every thing, every one around him. And it makes the world a better place.
So when he hears people laugh about how different they both are, he ignores them. Underneath these superficial exteriors, they are the same. They fight for the same cause. And they are worthy of attention.
Hate!Sex Pairing:
They do it for the theatrics of it all. Mostly though, they do it because they can and in their insolent egotism, they get off on it.
I Hope Nobody Ever Finds Out I Ship This:
Curiosity clashes with conscience. If your partner is willing; everything is fine, correct? So he licks his way down a slender, knobby spine arching away from his wet imprinting. Each taste revealing a new facet of how much he hates this tactile sensation, knowing it feels all wrong. And he wonders if he would feel different with someone else. Because…, despite his convincing arguments that sex is a scientific necessity for his training, he feels like he's wasting a part of himself on this interaction.
I Would Not Read This if You Held A Gun To My Head:
The tongue savored its quick taste, slowly sliding back behind the leer, wagging tauntingly in its retreat.
"Wipe that idiotic grin off your face! You haven't any idea what it makes me contemplate."
"Murder," came the rapidly gibe reply, followed by a knowing smirk and a much too familiar relaxed pose.
Super Popular Pairing:
Each tentative mouth-to-mouth kiss with hints of teeth and tongue speeds up the racing of his heart. Its pounding gets louder even as he is divested of his clothes, all layers removed that hide evidence of his tell-tale heart. The strumming rhythm must be felt by the mouth taking all of him in. And now with every new, invasive touch, he loses himself a bit more in the hypnotic vibrations.
Love… Love… Love… Love… Love… Love… Love… Love…
He wishes his hearing weren't so selective, so overwhelmed by his own heart's metronome ticking. Because he fears that while every beat brings him a little closer to ecstasy; it also brings him that much closer to heartache.
Obscure/Unknown Pairing:
He shot a man. I defended his right to protect himself. We both left drained. No one could feel victorious after such a trial. Drinks. A drunken taxi ride home. To his home. I couldn't remember my address.
Knocking heads after he dropped his keys, flurried, celebratory kisses for making it inside the house, ripped buttons kipping along the floorboards as we trip over ourselves to get to the bedroom, falling into bed; we cannot help but marvel at the rightness of it all.
Will we feel the same in the morning?