WIPs, the Marvel edition.
Jul. 17th, 2010 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_soaringBecause I didn't have enough on the go already, no, seriously. Three paragraphs from each, pulled from wherever my cursor landed. It's like spin the bottle! Or something.
Beneath the cut: Logan, Victor, Daken, Venom, Lester, Tony, Rhodey, and a bonus round of Optimus Prime, Greg Sanders, and Mike Keppler.
Venom/Daken
Warning prickles the back of Daken's neck the second he steps inside his room. The doors slides quietly shut and he tilts his head up to aim a smile at Mac lurking above it. "Hello. Forget which room is yours again?"
Mac's alien eyes narrow. It's fascinating to watch the symbiote twist to fit human facial expressions. Even with only half a face to work with, Mac is surprisingly more expressive than most. Lester has the market on malicious, generally accompanied by disgust or glee, but Mac manages to pack a wary, hungry sort of angry hope all in the shape of his eyes.
"I see," Daken says, unbuttoning his vest as he crosses to the bathroom. The whisper of Mac creeping along directly above his head brings a slow curl of satisfaction.
Tony/Rhodey
"I know," Tony says, flinging his other arm over the back of the seat. The racket blaring from hidden speakers dials back down past total deafness in two-point-three seconds without a command. Jarvis is up and running. Probably recording. "Saw this in a porno once, right?"
"I know you did." Rhodey gives the door an extra push to make sure it's sealed. He's sure Pepper's walked in on worse, but for all he knows, Jarvis hangs a sock on a digital doorknob for her.
"And he's staying for the show," Tony says, tail end of it lost on a shallow grunt. His head drops back and gives the seat a pat. "Front row, hot stuff."
Venom/Lester(Daken)
"You're adorable," Daken says, idly watching Mac gulp down the last of his late night snack. Somebody's going to notice that blood pool come morning. He wonders if the hot pink pump left standing in the middle of it is a souvenir for Lester, or if the synthetic leather didn't thrill Mac's sophisticated palette.
Perched on the edge of a dumpster, Lester sneers and says, "Oh, was that your girlfriend?"
Mac's chuckle is like a metal file grinding down bone, lifting the hairs on Daken's arms. "Oops." He burps up the broken half of an arrow and starts picking his teeth.
Victor/Logan
"Can't have you cranky," Victor said, his stomach shifting beneath Logan's forehead as he brushed another splinter away. His skin was slick, fever-hot, smelled of honest work and sea salt. Logan worked up a grunt, distracted by thoughts of creaking ceiling fans and an icy cold brew. They could afford somewhere better than the Cabbagetown shack they'd holed up in the day they'd jumped the train, but the thing about places like that was nobody asked questions about people like them.
Claws scratched lightly through his hair, dragging back the strands stuck to his cheek. It'd gotten too long again. He'd have to cut it soon or have their pissant supervisor breathing down his neck. "Y'done?" he mumbled, too beat to bother lifting his head.
Victor made a low noise that wasn't anything close to a proper answer. His fingers threaded through the hair clinging to Logan's nape and lifted it free, letting it fall back and lifting it again. The dog tags strung around Logan's neck clanked dully. He chuckled quietly at Logan's grateful slump. "Looks like you are."
Tony/Optimus Prime
A static mess broken by a sharp undulating whine filled the air. "What is that?" Tony asked, turning the faucet down on low. "Is that Chinese? No, I know, don't say it. That's nothing like what the Chinese are using. Decode that for me, will you?"
"Already done, sir. I simply wanted to ensure I had your full attention."
"Tony Stark," the message began, "my name is Optimus Prime," and halfway through Tony quit brushing his teeth to pay attention.
Mike/Greg
What he needs, now that it's all hands on deck clearing the fuzz out of his head to tackle Maslow's hierarchy, is a bathroom. His stomach weighs in with the suggestion of a stealthily swiped piece of bacon, and his cock's got other ideas about what he can do with it besides tinkle, but it's Mike's measured, "Last night," that stops him in his tracks.
But Mike doesn't say anything else. Just looks at him, dark and intense and weirdly not out of place with the sun streaming through the windows, and Greg stupidly says, "Oh," about a lightyear too late to stop the silence from going heavy. It'd be handy if Mike remembered to stick question marks at the end of the things he actually wanted answers to. "Totally cool."
Both of Mike's eyebrows swoosh up.
Beneath the cut: Logan, Victor, Daken, Venom, Lester, Tony, Rhodey, and a bonus round of Optimus Prime, Greg Sanders, and Mike Keppler.
Venom/Daken
Warning prickles the back of Daken's neck the second he steps inside his room. The doors slides quietly shut and he tilts his head up to aim a smile at Mac lurking above it. "Hello. Forget which room is yours again?"
Mac's alien eyes narrow. It's fascinating to watch the symbiote twist to fit human facial expressions. Even with only half a face to work with, Mac is surprisingly more expressive than most. Lester has the market on malicious, generally accompanied by disgust or glee, but Mac manages to pack a wary, hungry sort of angry hope all in the shape of his eyes.
"I see," Daken says, unbuttoning his vest as he crosses to the bathroom. The whisper of Mac creeping along directly above his head brings a slow curl of satisfaction.
Tony/Rhodey
"I know," Tony says, flinging his other arm over the back of the seat. The racket blaring from hidden speakers dials back down past total deafness in two-point-three seconds without a command. Jarvis is up and running. Probably recording. "Saw this in a porno once, right?"
"I know you did." Rhodey gives the door an extra push to make sure it's sealed. He's sure Pepper's walked in on worse, but for all he knows, Jarvis hangs a sock on a digital doorknob for her.
"And he's staying for the show," Tony says, tail end of it lost on a shallow grunt. His head drops back and gives the seat a pat. "Front row, hot stuff."
Venom/Lester(Daken)
"You're adorable," Daken says, idly watching Mac gulp down the last of his late night snack. Somebody's going to notice that blood pool come morning. He wonders if the hot pink pump left standing in the middle of it is a souvenir for Lester, or if the synthetic leather didn't thrill Mac's sophisticated palette.
Perched on the edge of a dumpster, Lester sneers and says, "Oh, was that your girlfriend?"
Mac's chuckle is like a metal file grinding down bone, lifting the hairs on Daken's arms. "Oops." He burps up the broken half of an arrow and starts picking his teeth.
Victor/Logan
"Can't have you cranky," Victor said, his stomach shifting beneath Logan's forehead as he brushed another splinter away. His skin was slick, fever-hot, smelled of honest work and sea salt. Logan worked up a grunt, distracted by thoughts of creaking ceiling fans and an icy cold brew. They could afford somewhere better than the Cabbagetown shack they'd holed up in the day they'd jumped the train, but the thing about places like that was nobody asked questions about people like them.
Claws scratched lightly through his hair, dragging back the strands stuck to his cheek. It'd gotten too long again. He'd have to cut it soon or have their pissant supervisor breathing down his neck. "Y'done?" he mumbled, too beat to bother lifting his head.
Victor made a low noise that wasn't anything close to a proper answer. His fingers threaded through the hair clinging to Logan's nape and lifted it free, letting it fall back and lifting it again. The dog tags strung around Logan's neck clanked dully. He chuckled quietly at Logan's grateful slump. "Looks like you are."
Tony/Optimus Prime
A static mess broken by a sharp undulating whine filled the air. "What is that?" Tony asked, turning the faucet down on low. "Is that Chinese? No, I know, don't say it. That's nothing like what the Chinese are using. Decode that for me, will you?"
"Already done, sir. I simply wanted to ensure I had your full attention."
"Tony Stark," the message began, "my name is Optimus Prime," and halfway through Tony quit brushing his teeth to pay attention.
Mike/Greg
What he needs, now that it's all hands on deck clearing the fuzz out of his head to tackle Maslow's hierarchy, is a bathroom. His stomach weighs in with the suggestion of a stealthily swiped piece of bacon, and his cock's got other ideas about what he can do with it besides tinkle, but it's Mike's measured, "Last night," that stops him in his tracks.
But Mike doesn't say anything else. Just looks at him, dark and intense and weirdly not out of place with the sun streaming through the windows, and Greg stupidly says, "Oh," about a lightyear too late to stop the silence from going heavy. It'd be handy if Mike remembered to stick question marks at the end of the things he actually wanted answers to. "Totally cool."
Both of Mike's eyebrows swoosh up.
