28 to Create Day 1: “something forgotten” | Jason/Terry (aka Gamer Boys in Love), 468 words
Jason hasn’t seen this game in a long time. He didn’t even know he still owned it, actually; he figured it got lost somewhere in the move from college dorm to off-campus apartment to trashy little shithole they could barely afford once their parents stopped subsidizing their lives and now to their slightly-better-than-the-shithole-but-far-from-glamorous apartment slightly closer to Jason’s job.
(They literally referred to their last place as The Shithole for the entirety of their lease. They call the new one The Ass because it’s a slight step up.)
He pulls the game out of the box, shifting back onto his haunches while he turns it over in his hands. He can’t believe he still has this. Or maybe it’s Terry’s; he’s long-since lost track of what is his and what is his boyfriend’s, so maybe he brought it with him when he moved from New York and has kept it ever since. It seems like the kind of thing Terry would do.
YULETIDE. Lots of fics in lots of small fandoms and I am just so, so happy that this exists! I loved writing fics for my recipient, the pinch hit I picked up, and one random treat, and I loved my present, too! And most of all, I loved all the awesome fic that came out of this year, and so I am making a rec list.
Fandoms behind the cut are: 10 Things I Hate About You/Bring It On, AO3 Tags/Meta, Being Human (US/Canada), Black Books, Caprica, Cougar Town, Dexter, Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Happy Endings, The IT Crowd, Knitting (Anthropomorfic), Love Actually, The New Normal, The Newsflesh Trilogy, Phineas and Ferb, Pitch Perfect, Pushing Daisies, Redshirts, and Threesome. There’s a bit of everything, including gen, het, slash, femmeslash, and OT3s, so something for everyone! YAY!
omg i love this i love everython
I want fanfic. Now. Please? PLEASE? GOD PLEASE? I’ll trade you. IDK what but I will.
There is silence on the other end of the connection. (Of course there is, Jesus Christ, he had not meant to say that.) On screen, their characters are hovering, rocking back and forth from ball of the foot to heel, waiting for a command. Jason feels like he’s going to vomit, and so he does the only sensible thing and shoots the shit out of Terry’s character.
“What the — ” Terry starts, and then, “God damn it, Jase, we were having a moment.”
“You let your guard down, you die,” Jason says, throat dry. “This is war, son. There are no moments in war.”
“Motherfucker,” Terry mutters, but he sounds absurdly fond. “That your definition of gentle?”
WHY MUST YOU HURT ME IN THIS WAY
doesn’t help that i’ve been in a situation eerily similar to this
“This is so much more than a paintball game, Mr. Stark. This is a battle—last agent standing gets the prize.”
Olympics/Swimming RPF, Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps, NC-17, ~2700 words
Rules are rules, and Ryan won. “Maybe you were too chicken shit,” Michael says, with a companionable shoulder bump that doesn’t feel companionable at all, races down Ryan’s side and spine instead.
The four of them, plus Thor and Clint and Selvig and Darcy, are hoisting their drinks in the air and proclaiming their love for a good draught of ale and a good fight when Tony has a brilliant idea, and says, “Jarvis, I think it’s time these guys heard ‘Tubthumping,’” and twenty seconds later the Asgardians lose their fucking minds.
Thor comes up behind him and lifts him off his feet. “Tony Stark!” he booms. He sets him back down, spins him around, and clutches him to his extremely broad chest for a second before he suddenly lets go and Tony almost falls down.
“Who is the warrior immortalized in this song?” Thor demands to know. “The one who gets knocked down repeatedly, yet cannot be kept down? We must hear of his resilience again!”
So Tony puts the song on repeat, slings an arm around Pepper, and sits back to watch the show as the Asgardians—and a few people who are definitely not Asgardians—stomp their feet and shout along, fists and beer mugs pumping in the air. Darcy almost gives Hogun a black eye with her elbow. Tony thinks he sees Volstagg weeping into his beard.
— Semaphore, DevilDoll
Okay, here’s the thing:
Everyone expects Captain America to say ‘copulate’ instead of ‘sex,’ to run away screaming when anyone so much as pecks him on the cheek, and overall be die-hard vanilla.
Which, okay, he is sometimes, he certainly was at the beginning of- of whatever the hell this thing is that they’re doing, but Steve’s always been a fast learner.
Since you didn’t specify HOW he learns how to dance, have an EVERYONE TEACHES STEVE DANCING fic.
“I don’t know how to dance,” he admits one afternoon when Tony’s ranting about having to attend a charity ball.
The entire team stares at him.
“There are literally no words for my horror at this revelation,” Clint proclaims, and the rest of them nod (even Bruce).
Steve blushes, “It’s not that big of a deal. I just never had the time, with the war and all.”
Tony purses his lips and Natasha frowns. Thor smacks him heartily on the back, “I shall teach you some traditional Asgardian dances my friend!”
It turns out Asgardian dances are actually just rousing drinking games with the odd, very unsteady jig here and there. Which is how Steve finds himself (and the team) trying to duplicate Thor’s wobbly dance steps.
“You put your right foot here,” he says, and the attempt to do just that by the rest of the (very drunk) team and Steve looks pretty comically like a dizzy line dance. “And then put it back out,” Thor instructs, and they mimic him. “And then you shake it before turning around like so,” he shakes his right foot and spins in a little circle.
“This is the fucking Hokey Pokey!” Tony protests, but follows suit with the rest of them. Bruce and Clint have at this point dissolved into giggling as they spin around and show no signs of stopping.
Thor frowns, “Nay. I do not know what this hokey of the pokey is, but it is not the same as this traditional Asgardian dance.”
When everyone has sobered up the next morning (except Steve who was never drunk in the first place), Bruce and Clint corner him in the gym with a tape player. And, okay, a tape player? Even Steve knows those are both outdated and “uncool” seeing as how tapes are not the collectors items that records have become.
“This is a real dance,” Clint says as he starts the music.
The tune is in some language Steve can’t quite decipher (it might be Spanish, but the words are said so fast he can’t really tell) an the beat is at a pace he’s largely unused to hearing.
“Just copy what we do,” Bruce explains, “It’s a bit hard to explain.
So Steve does, standing between Clint and Bruce through a series of movements that start with their hands out in front of them. Steve really doesn’t get the point of putting his hands on his own shoulders, or head, or hips, but he does like the part where you jump and face the other direction.
“You don’t put your hands on your butt, Clint!” Bruce objects when Clint adds in another step halfway through the second verse, thoroughly confusing Steve.
“I can put my hands on my butt if I want to. I thought we were just keeping this PG for Steve. He doesn’t have to look at my hands on my butt if he doesn’t want to.” Clint pauses, considering, “Although I have no problem if he does. I have a very nice butt if I do say so myself.”
“The Macarena should stay PG, Clint,” Bruce scolds.
“I think it’s about a girl seducing a bunch of guys,” Clint argues.
Bruce rolls his eyes, “It is not.”
“How do you know! You don’t speak Spanish!”
“Neither do you!”
Steve only learns half of the Macarena, but he’s pretty sure that the rest of the song has the same steps, so that doesn’t matter.
Natasha is the one who coerces him into the mansion’s ballroom on Wednesday. “The boys are just going to teach you stupid things, so I guess it’s up to me to show you what actual dancing is like,” she sighs, as though it’s a burden, but the fond amusement in her eyes says otherwise.
So far, the Waltz is Steve’s favorite. The steps are a bit more complicated than his previous (strange) dancing experiences, but he gets the hang of it fairly well after a bit. “This is the classic stuff,” Natasha tells him as he leads he across the dance floor, “You won’t use it often, but it’s a good idea to know it if you need to seduce evil mafia heads in a limited amount of time.” Steve wonders if she has actual experience with such things, but decides it’s better than to ask. “Slow dances also help hides concealed weaponry better,” She goes on. “Club dancing risks the exposure of knives you might have stashed.” Steve is not going to ask any questions save for the innocent, obvious one.
“What’s club dancing?”
“Ah, that one is not something I’m going to show you. Too sexual,” Natasha says with a wave of her hand and Steve blushes. Maybe this club dancing isn’t a sort of dancing he needs to know.
Or at least he thought so until Tony dragged him to a local club a few days later. “They’re all teaching you that sissy shit,” Tony complains, “or worse, the 90s. No one should have to learn that, it should have stayed dead.”
“The Macarena?” Steve asks. Tony glares at him.
“We do not speak its name here on the real dance floor, Steve.”
The club is a whirl of lights and sound, the pulse of music overshadowing any actual lyrics. Tony pulls him out under the flashing, colored lights and Steve would have sworn he was drunk just from the strange, otherworldly feeling of standing there, swaying with the thrum of the music around them, except that he knows full well that he can’t get drunk.
“Okay,” Tony says, resolutely like he’s convincing both himself as well as Steve that this is a good idea. “This one isn’t too hard to comprehend, it’s just basically a lot of touching and moving with the music, so feel free to experiment. Or freak out. Whichever.” Tony’s hands fall to Steve’s hips, gliding over his sides and up his back to follow his spine a ways before stuttering back down. Steve shivers from head to toe and Tony grins. “Take a look around,” he says over the music, “Decide what appeals to you and try it.”
Steve does so, eyes scanning the crowd. To him, it rather just looks like sex with clothes on, though he does notice that it has a beat to it. The modern world is really weird, he thinks as he places his hands on Tony’s hips and spins him, positioning him back to front. Tony lets out a surprised, approving sound. “You gotta have rhythm to it too, Steve,” he teases, reaching back to curl a hand over the back of Steve’s neck. “And put some hip into it. It’s all about the hip.”
“Is this supposed to be as, uh, dirty as it looks?” he asks, lips near Tony’s ear so as not to be overheard.
“Only if you want it to be,” Tony smirks.
There’s a bit of everything in this sort of dance, the slow moving steps of the Waltz, the hand action of the Macarena, and the playful beat of Thor’s Not-The-Hokey-Pokey Asgardian dance. Steve digs his fingers into Tony’s hips before he traces them up the line of Tony’s body, one hand moving to splay wide over the arc reactor. And Tony’s right, it is mostly in the hips, the twist of them to the hum of the music and the grind to match the pulsing of the lights.
Tony throws his head back and groans, Steve watching the entrancing arch and coil of his body. “Yeah, okay, no more dance lessons,” he says breathy and tense, “You have sufficiently turned this into exactly what it looks like.”
“Mmmm,” Steve hums in agreement. “Wasn’t that your goal?”
“Dear lord,” Tony growls, “Yes, but if I don’t get off this dance floor right the fuck now I’m going to be charged with public indecency. Again.”
Steve grins, “How fast can you drive?”
Tooooooooooooooony. Bruuuuce, all of you, and Thooor. XDDD