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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: See individual drabble.
Pairing: See individual drabble.
Feedback: Spelling errors to constructive crit., whatever.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Various BDS drabbles, with one crossover.
***
Sleight: PG, crossover with Ocean’s Eleven, Danny and Connor, for goodtwin
Flash-looking guy, but under the smooth hanging suit and the charming smile was some substance. Connor didn’t have to check the man’s eyes for the trace of hardness to know that. “You don’t believe in miracles?”
“Miracles? Nah.” The other man scooped up a coin from the bar and flipped it over the back of his hand, then snapped it at Connor.
A second after he ducked, Connor realized he hadn’t heard the tiny plink of landing. He slowly sat up to see the man grinning at him, shiny little disc held up between index finger and thumb. “Magic, on the other hand—now, that I can see.”
* * *
Reminiscence: G, Connor, for penguingal
Boston can be clear and blue and blinding fresh. But it can also be grey, misty, faded old drizzle creeping through the cracks and pooling under Connor’s feet. Murphy likes to spend the rainy days sleeping—if it’s too damn cold for their jackets to keep out—or drinking, but Connor stays standing and pressed against the window, watching the water drift.
It’s like Ireland, he thinks. And his hand wraps itself around his crucifix, trapping it in a little puddle that’s gathered on the sill.
* * *
Recovery: PG-13, Connor/Murphy, for fuzipenguin
And the next time Connor strips, Murphy can’t help but reach out and touch the new pink scars, rough ridges he burned into his brother. He has to stop and remind himself to breathe past the stink of cauterized flesh, to swallow the phantoms of blood.
Palms slide over the blurry tracks the iron left on him, catching nails on the tops of the scars. Makes him shiver into Connor, makes his knees go weak so his brother can lift him onto the counter and fuck him right there, raw and hard and fast so that afterwards he can feel every new mark. But it’s different. Doesn’t hurt the same way, because it wasn’t covering up someone else’s marks; it was making them first.
* * *
Firsthand Knowledge: PG, Murphy/Greenly, for Weirdest thing Murphy’d ever seen, and that includes what he and Connor had been up to of late. They were walking to a meeting with Smecker, a little early because lo, the last child-raping son of a bitch had considerately left the back door unlocked, and there was Smecker fucking one of his pet BPD detectives up against the alley wall.
Connor had shrugged it off, always worrying about the next thing around the corner, but Murphy just had to see what was up, what could possibly get cool starch-pressed Smecker worked up enough to risk public indecency.
So now it’s three A. M. in some bar and Greenly’s nearly snoring in Murphy’s lap. He’s heavy. Tastes like the fried onion rings from earlier. And Murphy is licking his lips and trying to catch his breath, and acknowledging that yeah, Smecker’s a smart guy.
* * *
In The Pulpit: G, Connor/Murphy, for dreamiflame
He’s been a priest in Boston for a long, long time. He’s seen many injustices rise, few fall, and he’s gritted his teeth and succored to those who are left weeping and wounded in the aftermath. After all these years, he’s learned to look beyond the letter at the spirit.
But the two of them trouble him, even as their humor delights the others of the parish, as their unique closeness makes the rest marvel. He’s seen their strength and heard their weaknesses, and he knows that they are beyond him.
When the McManus twins cross the line between flock and shepherd to kneel at the altar, his words falter a little. Because in that lies both his greatest admiration and his greatest fear for them.
* * *
Campbell’s: G, strangely domestic!Smecker/Greenly, for hermine
“Only a complete idiot would go jumping into the water in the middle of winter.” Smecker’s voice was twisty-dry and grating as usual, which meant that it was mercilessly painful to sick ears. It would have been wonderful if he’d just go away and leave the quiet to soothe a throbbing head and stuffed-up nose, but no, he stayed. Sat down.
A snuffle brought in a whiff of something delicious as well as so much snot it nearly choked off all the air. “What the fuck?”
“Chicken soup. Straight from the can, but I took the precaution of finding the one can in your pantry that hadn’t passed its expiration date.” With a long-suffering sigh, Smecker lifted a brimming spoon from the bowl. “I’m not enjoying this any more than you are, so let’s just get this over with without me having to get the plastic tube and the funnel.”
***