. Arietis .

Fashion Revelation, CSI:Miami fanfiction

2008-12-25T03:35:09Z

Merry Christmas!

This fanfiction is a sequel to Fashion Prevention so there will be little references to it.

The badly colour-coordinated tee-shirt my mother bought me actually inspired this fic before FR. Random info!

Title: Fashion Revelation
Type: One-shot (sequel)
Words: 610
Pairing: Eric/Ryan (HardyBoys)
Warnings: Mild slash. Don't like, don't read. Spoilers only for Ryan-related wardrobe disasters.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: CBS, Anthony E. Zuiker, Carol Mendelsohn and Ann Donahue own CSI:Miami. Santa must have lost my letter this year.
Summary: Some things just can't be explained any better.
Beta: -

Fashion Revelation

"So you didn't buy the sweater?" Eric asked. Shift was finally over, and all necessary paperwork that had been piling up was taken care of; he could finally go home with a clear conscience.

"That's what I said, back in the layout room. But apparently you decided to be deaf."

The Cuban could see Ryan rolling his eyes at him without turning to look. Yup, he heard none of what the other man had said earlier. All it took was Ryan speaking the s-word and all that was in Eric's head would turn into white noise. Then again, there were other things that would cause a similar reaction in a totally different context...

Ryan pulled his hands out of the pockets of Eric's jacket, which he was still wearing, to open his locker, all the while continuing his explanation that someone had missed on the first round.

"... niece had an idea to do a theme so my mother bought us all sweaters for Christmas. Haven't actually worn it, but the AC's acting up lately so I thought I'd bring it here where it'll have its uses."

Eric closed his locker, swung his bag over a shoulder and stepped over to the younger man. "Yeah, well, you have it now?"

"It's in... here," Ryan dug into his bag and pulled out a package, wrapped simply with brown paper and adorned by a large white sticker that read 'Merry Christmas!'

"Open it," Eric said, shuffling closer behind Ryan and breaching into his personal space. "At least your mother's taste for color can't be as dazzling as yours."

Ryan gave a backwards jab at Eric's ribs before carefully tearing away the wrapping paper. The Cuban bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently and pressed tighter against the other's warm back for a better view. What emerged from within the package immediately sent Eric into a fit of laughter.

"I take back what I just said. This proves it — color appreciation is hereditary."

Ryan frowned at the sweater in his hands. It was striped light gray and faded orange with a mint-green collar and bright yellow cuffs. There was nothing wrong with it.

Eric's face was buried against Ryan's shoulder; the man could tell from the slight convulsions that the Cuban was trying to stop laughing. During this short time, Eric's right arm had snaked behind the other man's waist and the hand from said arm found its way into the front right pocket of his jeans. Being held this close gave Ryan little room to glare gratifyingly at Eric, who had finally lifted his head to face an annoyed pair of hazel eyes.

"We'll get through this, color disaster and all," the older man said with mock solemnity before leaning in to press a lopsided grin against Ryan's lips.

Slowly giving up his indignation, Ryan turned a little to make their position easier for him to deepen the kiss, while Eric's hand slipped out of the jeans pocket to anchor the younger man around the waist.

"Hey, guys." Calleigh's voice, which carried a rare tone of tiredness, broke the quiet moment for her two colleagues. Ryan's reply was muffled until Eric felt satisfied enough to release him to articulate a proper greeting.

"Hey," the Cuban smile was too wide and awake for someone who, only minutes ago, was as worn out as Calleigh looked.

The blonde ignored his obvious cheer (three guesses why. But she already knew the answer anyway). Something else had caught her eyes.

"Ryan! Did you buy that sweater?"

Eric started laughing again as he walked out of the room.

"Laugh now, Delko, mom bought you one too!"

fin.

Completed 24 December 2008, 1:29 a.m.

Crossposted:
Musings, FanFiction.Net, FicWad, CSI Slash and wolfe_delko.

Fashion Prevention, CSI:Miami fanfiction

2008-12-22T08:12:12Z

The inspiration for this fanfiction came from a badly colour-coordinated tee-shirt my mother bought me couple of weeks ago. Automatically, I thought of Ryan and his weird wardrobe choices since season6. I'm such a fangirl.
Plus, I needed something cheerful after reading all the other angsty stuff that are floating around lately.

Title: Fashion Prevention
Type: One-shot
Words: 470
Pairing: Eric/Ryan (HardyBoys)
Warnings: Slashy hints. Don't like, don't read. Spoilers only for Ryan-related wardrobe disasters.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: CBS, Anthony E. Zuiker, Carol Mendelsohn and Ann Donahue own CSI:Miami. Sadly, I don't.
Summary: Ryan, this is an intervention – uh, prevention.
Beta: -
Special thanks to lausi_gm for test-reading this and giving me the confidence to post this up. I am never asking WY to test-read my fanfics again. Ever.

Fashion Prevention

"Something's wrong with the AC today," Ryan muttered as he handed the microscope slide to Eric.

"Hn... What?" the Cuban frowned in confusion while he patted the table in search of a pen, his eyes never leaving the binocular head.

"It's colder today," Ryan replied, waving his pen in exasperation that he even had to explain before pushing it into Eric's hand. "It wasn't like this yesterday. And it's boiling out there today so it can't be the weather."

Eric stood away from the microscope and began jotting down his findings with a chuckle, "Wolfe, I get it that it's boring. Filling in paperwork for a teenage bomb terrorist wannabe's failed first attempt and then more paperwork from a week before... But 'The lab is cold'? You can do better than that."

"But it is!" the younger man reiterated as he flipped through their case file aimlessly. "Look, even Natalia's wearing her coat."

"Isn't Boston colder than Miami?" Eric raised his eyebrows at his colleague before steering his eyes onto the rest of the bomb fragments on the table.

"I did move here."

Eric murmured something incomprehensible as he stretched his arm for the tweezers that were at the other end of the table, closer to Ryan, who picked it up easily with his right hand. The hand hovered above the Cuban's open palm for a second while he fidgeted on the spot and with a metallic clap, he put it back on his side of the table at a surprisingly accurate right angle to the edge, turned swiftly and made to leave the room.

"Wolfe! Where're you going? The AC's centralized, you can't-"

"Locker room. I'm getting a sweater-"

Eric's mind ceased to function and he heard none of what Ryan was saying next because he had pulled off his lab coat along with his dark brown jacket and shoved the latter into the other man’s hands before said person realized what was happening.

"What's this?" Ryan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at Eric.

"I'm not cold. You wear it." At Ryan’s pointed look, he confessed, "There's little I don't like about you, but your sweaters top that list."

Hesitating for a moment during which Eric turned back to the table, Ryan slowly slipped on the thin jacket, still warm from the other man's lingering body heat. The next breath he took brought in the scent of Eric's cologne and fabric softener- and if he concentrated hard enough, a hint of the Cuban espresso they had that morning.

Ryan shrugged inwardly as he tugged the dark collar tighter against his neck before putting his lab coat back on. At least he now had a legitimate reason to wear something of Eric's during work.

But he was still going to ask him later about that "list" of his.

fin.

* AC: Air-conditioning/conditioner

Completed 13 December 2008, 3:55 p.m.

Crossposted:
Musings, FanFiction.Net, FicWad, CSI Slash and wolfe_delko.

UPDATE: This fanfiction now has a sequel!

All Will Be Right, Torchwood fanfiction

2008-11-26T04:18:44Z

I think I'm biased towards Toshiko simply because I'm also Asian. There was just so much emotion in this scene even when she wasn't talking, and I hope my fic has done it — and her — justice.

Title: All Will Be Right
Type: One-shot (droubble)
Words: 200
Character(s): Toshiko, team Torchwood 3
Warnings: Character death. Huge spoiler for Series 2 episode 13. Don't like, don't read.
Rating: Gen
Disclaimer: BBC and Russell T Davies own Torchwood. I don't.
Summary: Toshiko knows. And she is rarely wrong.
Beta: -

All Will Be Right

She felt cold, but he was warm — burning, shaking.

She could smell the sharp tang of antiseptic and medicine, and Owen's clean scent from their lime extract handwash. It was heady and impersonal and familiar and comforting; more home than home. She managed to ignore the taste of iron at the back of her throat.

There was white, fluorescent-blue, and the man who always called her name the proper way — the man she had enslaved her time to. Her leader. Friend.

She barely felt a trembling hand on her knee while the distant sound of badly controlled breathing reached her ears.

She could not save him but the two of them had averted yet another catastrophe and kept people safe. Kept her family safe.

It was all right, really. She hoped he could see it in her eyes because she had no strength left to speak. Tomorrow the sun would rise, it would be just another day in good old Cardiff, and the world would be none the wiser.

She forced a smile, trying to reassure her captain, who was doing the same for her even as she began to lose focus of his face.

All will be right, really.

fin.

Completed 24 November 2008, 09:35 p.m.

Crossposted:
Musings, FanFiction.Net and on other Torchwood communities like W H O A.

The Last Person, Torchwood fanfiction

2008-11-10T09:19:05Z

I'm a Jack/Ianto fangirl at heart, right from the start, even before I started watching Torchwood. For some reason, my mind never stopped picking up bits of slash even if it might not have been implied. Although, this little scene seemed pretty implied to me.

Title: The Last Person
Type: One-shot
Words: 100
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, tiny mention of Lisa
Warnings: Slashy hints and mentions of canon m/m lip-contact. Don't like, don't read. Spoilers for Series 1, episodes 4 and 6.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: BBC and Russell T Davies own Torchwood. Sadly, no matter how many tantrums I throw, it will never be mine.
Summary: Ianto could not remember.
Beta: -

The Last Person

Who was the last person you snogged?

"It was Lisa."

Wind. Awkward silence. Jack broke his own stare.

Lisa was the right and incorrect answer. Ianto was certain Jack had done something, when he was revived and lying in his captain's arms. What exactly, no one knew. Not even him. Lisa was all they knew.

When Jack stared at him again, it was Ianto who looked away.

That night, after escaping Death by Cannibalism with a plethora of bruises, cuts and frazzled nerves, Ianto pretended that forgiveness and comfort were all he wanted to feel when Jack held him close.

fin.

Completed 7 August 2008, 11:15 a.m.

Crossposted:
Musings, FanFiction.Net and JackxIanto.

Perfect Sense, CSI:Miami fanfiction

2008-05-13T15:24:18Z

I had the sudden inspiration for this when I randomly recalled the ending of Season6 Episode4 during a much, much later episode. My mind works in a very strange way.

Title: Perfect Sense
Type: One-shot
Words: 700
Pairing: Eric/Ryan (HardyBoys)
Warnings: Slashy hints. Squint hard to see it. Don't like don't read. Minor spoilers for Season 5, episodes 22 to Season 6, episode 4. My beta says it doesn't get in the way of the fanfic, though.
Rating: It's a hair-breadth away from Gen! And here I was, thinking that I lived in the proverbial gutter.
Disclaimer: CBS, Anthony E. Zuiker, Carol Mendelsohn and Ann Donahue own CSI:Miami. I don't (sadly).
Summary: For everything he could not understand, there is another that he knew crystal-clearly.
Beta: WY, at the risk of loosing his het-ness. I thank you for your courage.

Perfect Sense

He stalked out of the bar, threw himself into the driver's seat of his Hummer and slammed the door closed. Two quick breaths and a longer, deeper one later, he deemed himself stable enough to do something other than holding the steering wheel in a death grip.

Flipping open his cell phone, he selected the unread message and typed a quick reply, 'Am still coming over like we planned. See u in a while.'

He was just sending it out when his equally flustered colleague climbed in the front passenger's seat. An understanding passed between them without needing to speak, and he started the engine.

"He said he wanted to see who Speed really is," Calleigh's southern drawl deepened in anger, her voice startlingly loud in the soundless vehicle. "We've talked so much about him- so many good things about him. Dan got curious and... it all spiraled."

She was not making up excuses for the person who had them so worked up. She knew he needed to know why. Habits of the job, he snorted inwardly.

They drove on in silence, while the lack of noise brought forward other thoughts. Why did Cooper have to commit fraud with their dead friend's credit card? Even Ryan did not stoop to that level.

Their newest team member had suffered- and survived- the brunt of the team's attitude when they mourned the loss of Timothy Speedle back then. It had definitely been worse and more damaging than what the lab tech had gotten, considering he only heard stories about Tim.

And of course, all the times he himself had laid it on Ryan, clearly showing displeasure that some skinny brat from patrol was taking his best friend's place. The shorter man had fought back, just as hard, to prove his own worth rather than about being good enough to fill in someone else's shoes. Not once, did he disrespect the memory of their fallen friend.

Although they had gotten over their differences long ago, he recognized (yet again) how unfair he had treated him those few years back. Sure, Ryan always gave him an opening by not stepping down, but he was not the one who almost always looked for a petty fight to pick.

Relief and respect flooded through his tired mind when he now understood that Ryan could have retaliated in the most hurtful way possible, but did not. He was certainly glad that it meant one less bump in their already rocky history.

They made a stop at lab, and he watched Calleigh leave to pick up her car. After waving goodbye, he pulled out his cell phone and had his thumb hovering over the speed dial for only a second before snapping it shut and stuffing it back in his pocket. He needed to have familiar comfort right now. They could talk later.

Finally reaching his destination, he took the brief elevator ride up, brisk walked to the right apartment door and got inside, all in record time.

The person on the couch barely even reacted when he collapsed onto it, leaning back against the side of that warm body.

"Shift was over long ago."

"Cal and I had to take care of something."

"Nothing against protocol, I hope. Or it's going to take the whole lab instead of two people to process one person next time."

Eric closed his eyes and smiled at the deadpanned voice. "You'll be back soon."

"Funny, that's what I tell myself every morning to get me through the day."

The crisp sound of pages being turned filled the air for a long moment until the darker man interrupted, "Hey."

"Hmm?"

Releasing a sigh and greedily soaking up the heat from the body that he had his spine aligned to, Eric stated, "I'm glad you're you."

Ryan stopped his hand on the page in mid-flip and turned to raise an eyebrow at the dark head resting on his shoulder, "I'll pretend that made sense."

He gave no answer, but Eric's mind relaxed along with his grin as he pressed his back to the other man's side. Troubled as their history had been, at least it allowed Ryan to make perfect sense to him.

fin.

Completed 12 May 2008, 02:40 a.m.
(Timestamped because I'm geeky that way)

On an off-tangent note, I like the idea of the team being close enough to Eric for him to know their numbers without using the cell phone's contacts list, but Ryan being even closer for him to be just one press of the button away. I don't use speed dial, but I memorise my closest friend's numbers and not use the stored contacts list. It's a strange sentiment, but it's my way of maintaining the fact (to myself) that she means enough for me to bother knowing her numbers.

Crossposted:
Musings, FanFiction.Net, FicWad, CSI Slash and wolfe_delko.