There’s a question
There’s an after
When
It’s done
(really, really done)
The lights are off and the curtains are drawn
The projector screen turns black and our hearts attempt to steady their beats
When it’s done
Oh lord.
What am I doing.
It’s been months since I’ve written anything.
This new one’s probably kind of a nerdy concept. Cough.
I got the idea the last minute, the day before I flew back to Canada for school. This was what happened. Writing on an envelope. And continued on the plane. Hoped to finish it, but never did. Inspiration still doesn’t strike. Not surprising, since it’s school time. Going to publish the partially completed stuff here:
(Working Title: Enterprise to Captain Specter), based on a prompt on the kinkmeme @ LJ
Suits/(light)Pushing Daisies Crossover. But what would be a better present for Harvey’s birthday than the Pie Hole’s finest pie, with Mike’s own twist? Gift for Pei Yen.
Inspired by her fanart
He admitted to feigning a pretty admirable eye-roll when Mike, settled down at the booth’s seat opposite him on that day, his hands splayed on the table, popped the question.
“So what is it, are you proposing to me now? Is that why we’re having dinner in a quaint, colorful restaurant?”
Modern-day Spring Awakening.
got inspired the second I saw this. Managed to write 60% of it and suffered a ridiculously long writer’s block until 2 months later. Finally finished. First story finished this summer. Whew.
Private Lesson
“Ohh…”
He blinked.
“Yes….yes, oh, faster—f—“
A hand shrunk from the laptop’s black keyboard, face turning in the direction opposite of the screen. Short, frequent breathing escaped his lips. Arms automatically hugging his knees against his chest on the chair, hazel eyes frantic. Oh. God. Oh God.
“Ohhh—-fuc—“
Moritz Stiefel lifted his eyes from the laptop’s screen, peering back to the bed behind the chair he was sitting (cowering on, more like). His best friend, and perhaps the only confidante he had in the world, the school’s not-so-secret rebel, Melchior Gabor, half-lay on the mattress, an arm behind his head on the pillow, another holding up the cell he had been gazing at for the last ten minutes.
No, Moritz. Stop.
Focus.
Oh God.
He drew in a shaky breath. “M-Melchi…” Damn his stuttering! Melchior turned on his side to face him, an elbow propped up on the mattress, cell still gripped firmly in the other hand. “Yeah?” And the way he asked back! The simple question! Moritz almost wished he hadn’t stopped…’educating’….himself and called Melchior out of whatever he was doing (He shouldn’t look. No. Of course not.).
It itched. Moritz stared at Melchior’s face, mouth agape, hands shaking a little. He shouldn’t be like this. But that face. Playfulness and confidence danced in those eyes. A smirk looked ready to break out from those pair of lips.
He realized, with a jolt—but then, weren’t any other realization he had experienced, ever?—he had kept silent for too long when Melchior got up from the bed and was standing behind the chair.
A hand touched his shoulder. The slightest, lightest touch, and Moritz jumped. He glanced back, heart thumping. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t right to be too anxious. Maybe it wasn’t right to—but what?
Read more here @ Archive of our own.
