Disclaimer:  Nothing belongs to me save for the wonderfully useless drabbles.

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The Following are By Madison Square

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Challenge by Buttons14:
Snitch/Jack
Cinnamon
Soccer
75-100 words

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Cinnamon
[exactly 100 words!]

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Jack smells like cinnamon.  Logical, because after every soccer game Snitch plays Jack stands by holding plates on cinnamon cookies.

"Good game, Snitch," he always says.

Once when Snitch was sick Jack brought two dozen minus five cookies to him.

"How's football?" Snitch wheezed.  Jack thought of rolling on grass with boys in tight uniforms, grabbing for balls, blushed bright red.

"Feeling okay, Jack?" when he didn't answer.

"Extremely heterosexual, thank you."

Snitch smiled.

The burnt cookies are gone.  Snitch suspects Jack eats them himself; burnt or no, cinnamon of any kind is good.

And Jack always smells like cinnamon.

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End Cinnamon

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Challenge by Strawberry Shake:
101 words
black poodle
Blink/Mush
Rock concert
Hershey's chocolate kiss

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Kiss
[101 words]

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Rock always makes Mush happy.  Right now he's in The Rosebud and a crazy band, Black Poodle, is playing.  Wants to order a crazy chocolate martini where they stick cocoa along the rim of the glass, plop a Hershey's kiss into the ambrosia.  So he does.

The lead singer has a patch over one eye, and pleasantly blonde hair.  He sees Mush, eyes lock.  The song is over, he mouths, kiss.  And Mush can't tell if it's a question or answer or request or maybe he just wants his drink.

When the gig is over, Mush can find out himself.

Kiss?

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End Kiss

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Drabbles

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Lipstick and Blue Eyeshadow
[Warning: prostitution, cross-dressing, excessive use of the 'f' word, etc.  (And, now, you shall see how truly strange I am)]

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Rough day, Cowboy?

Cheshire Cat grins widely.  He owns the joint.

The roughest.

Reckon you'll be wanting the best tonight, then?

A nod.

Higher price, though.

I don't care.

Cheshire is ecstatic.  Kelly always was his favorite customer.

You'll have to pay upfront for this one.

Confused eyes.

I thought you said this was the best.

That's why you pay upfront.  Customers tend to forget to leave after it's done.  I don't want to go bankrupt.

Oh.

A crinkling of paper bills and jangling of change.

This enough?

Cheshire nods and points at the wooden stairs.

Very last door to your left.

Thanks.

Cheshire's teeth flash in the dim light.

No, thank you.

=

The door creaks open and Kelly struts in, already unbuckling his belt.  This better be fucking heaven-sent.  He hadn't had a great day.  He deserved it, right?

Make this good, whore, he grunts.

A pause and Kelly's finished undoing his belt.

Cowboy?

Kelly looks up, startled, brown eyes narrowing.  No one calls him Cowboy anymore.  No one but Cheshire.

He hears a low chuckle.

On the bed someone is draped against the headboard, ankles crossed, holding a cigarette lazily to a candle flame, the only source of light in the small room.  The candle sits atop a tiny table.  Behind the artful blue eye shadow and shimmering cheeks and deep red lipstick, Kelly can still tell it's a boy.  He brings the cigarette to his lips and cocks an eyebrow.  Kelly notices a daisy-chain crown over his hair and when he narrows his eyes the boy just shrugs.  He's wearing nothing but a black slip dress and blows a smoke ring in Kelly's direction when he stares.

Hi there, beautiful.

Kelly blushes.  He's not used to man-whores.  This one looks oddly familiar, though.  He has sandy brown hair and startling blue eyes and Kelly thinks that if he looks at his eyes anymore he'll never be able to figure out who the boy is because all he'll see forever and ever are those blue orbs.  So he looks somewhere else.

Around the room, a glimmer of reflected light blinks at him.  There, in the corner, a black and gold cane.

Spot?

Damn, you've got me.

Kelly sputters.  Spot takes a long drag on his cigarette and straightens his crown of daisies.

Want a stick? he says suggestively.

Kelly feels himself grow hot.  He looks away and talks at the cane.

What happened to you?  You disappear for a year and some and now you're—you've—have you gone insane?

A little, Spot admits.

What the fuck happened?

No need to shout, Cowboy.  He sucks on the white stick.  Can we get one with it?

No.

Kelly walks closer to the bed, realizes his belt is undone, and stops.  How did you get like this, Spot?

It's none of your fucking business, he growls, angry for the first time in months.  Anger is such an odd feeling and it rejuvenates him.  It brings him to his feet so that he is nearly pressed against Cowboy.

Kelly notes with detached satisfaction that he is still taller and steps back.

What?  Spot smirks.  Can't take any physical contact?  He drops his cigarette to the floor and Jack almost is afraid that the wooden planks will catch fire but nothing happens.  Spot stomps on the ashes with excessive force.  Kelly notices burn marks on Spot's upper arms.  He wonders if there are any more under the black fabric.

Fuck you.

That's what you're here for.

Before Spot can say anything else Kelly has him slammed up against the wall and his hands are wrapped around his slender neck.  There will be bruises in the morning.  The candle light makes the shadows dance over their faces.  Somewhere along the way the daisy crown has dropped to the floor and it lay there, forgotten.

You're fucking gone, aren't you?

Spot doesn't answer.  For some reason this infuriates Kelly more.  Soon there is a tangle of arms and legs as the men tumble and grapple and punch (and in Spot's case, bite).  They hit and growl and pound against the floor and the people below them must think they're having a hell of a good time.  Somehow Jack manages to throw Spot onto the bed and he climbs over him and draws his fist back.  Spot just lies there, breathing heavily and waiting, the dress ripped in several places and slipping off his shoulder.  And Jack can't do it.

I'm gonna kill you, he says in a threatening manner.

I'm waiting, Spot whispers.  Come on, then.

Kelly hesitates.  He sees Spot's blue eyes and his swollen lips and wants to inflict as much pain as possible.

Spot smirks again and Jack shudders.  Spot's arms snakes out and tips over the candle on the table next to them.  The flame goes out and hot wax spills onto the floor.

You can kill me better in the dark.

Jack crushes his lips against Spot's and it's okay because that's all part of the job.

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End Lipstick and Blue Eyeshadow

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Challenges welcome.

Shoutouts:

Buttons14:  Thanx for the challenge!  I hope you liked Cinnamon.  It was actually kind of weird writing it, 'cause you NEVER see ANY Jack/Snitch.  Hehe.  And I got one hundred words!  In the beginning there were 25 extra words…hehe.

Strawberri Shake:  ::is glomped:: (whenever I type out glomp, it always first comes out as 'glimp' and it's very strange).  Blackmail is the best, and I LOVED your challenge.  Aww, Blinky and Mushie.  Hehe.  Thanx!

Padfootismyhero:  Thank you!  Sux that you're grounded though.  I hope your parents are nice and might let you off early.  Ta ta!  Thanx!

Song Birdy:  Yay!  Thanx!  Hope you liked this one, but it was a tad bit absurd and disturbed (alright, a LOT).

SpotLover421:  ThanQ!  Yeah, FF.net does wonky things and cuts off people's reviews and eff's up stories a lot.  But in the end it's all good.  Thanx for the review!

Review?  Please?