Drabbles, Double Drabbles, Snips, and Other Shorty Bits
by Rae
Nocturne
(added
6/22/07)
Inspired
by a contestant on America's Got Talent
Starsky
said, "I want to be the love of someone's life. I don't think
it's a
lot to ask."
Then he
got shot and almost never had the chance.
Hutch
finally brought him home, and took up watching him sleep. One
night,
almost nodding off himself, he remembered what Starsky had
said. It woke
him up, and for the first time in nearly two months,
he
grinned.
He didn't
stop to think about consequences.
"Hey,"
he said.
Starsky
opened an eye. "What? Morning?"
"No,
but . . ."
Starsky closed his eye.
"I can do that for you," Hutch said.
Limerick inspired by one of Marcy's zine challenges
Two cops in a car is way cool
Except when they follow the rule
That boy/girl is fine
But they don't walk that line
So they banter and tease til they drool.
How Starsky Got His Rings
(LOTR crossover)
Pitch dark, damp and cold. He could see absolutely nothing. Where were the others? He could hear nothing but some faint drips a little distance in front of him. Wherever in front of him was. Something smelled very bad. Not like dead, worse than dead. He shivered. He lifted himself onto hands and knees, not daring to stand, not knowing what was overhead, or underneath either, for that matter.
He moved forward a little, the feel of cold rock under his hands and knees. Forward again, or backward, for all he knew, and his left hand touched something alien. Something small and round. He picked it up and it felt smooth to his touch, silky, almost fluid. Not knowing what else to do, he slipped it on his finger—the only one it would fit—the pinky. He took another shuffling lurch forward, scraping his right knee, and found another, much the same in size and shape, but with a textured surface to it. Some kind of writing, maybe, or a design, and without thinking very much about it, he pushed it on to join the other.
"What have I got on my fingerses," he wondered idly. . . .
еееееееееееееееееееееееееееее
Black Holes (inspired by Nik)
I died, you know. I
wasn't supposed to come back, but you, you're like one of those black holes.
Nothing you want escapes you.
I never believed all
that crap about the Light, though you probably think I did. But you, you're the
light. It's real, it's you. I could see you, you know. It's why I came back.
I just need a little
time. New York, it ain't home anymore. That's you. That's why you don't need to
worry.
You, Hutch, you're the light, and I can see you from here. Feel you from here. I'm coming back. I'm coming home.
еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее
Part 1: in which Starsky gets a Word a Day calendar for
his birthday and
discovers
a new way to torment Hutch
"I like
your manly paps," Starsky said, "I'm going to slurp the one nearest
to my labia."
"Labia?"
Hutch said. "Paps? I thought you understood that this is a male/male
relationship."
"Labia
means lips, doesn't it? I got lips." He began to demonstrate their various
abilities. "Paps are breasts. We got breasts." He pressed his hard to
Hutch's.
"Yeah, and you've got a tongue, too, which I
plan to bite off next chance I get."
"If you do, I won't be able to lave your
bollocks." He moved downward, and showed Hutch why that would be a bad
thing.
Part 2: in which Hutch tries to rectify the snituation
"I think you meant situation," Hutch said.
"So what if I did? You have plans for rectification?"
"Give me that fucking calendar. Now."
"I love it when you go all troglodyte." Starsky turned over, onto his belly. "So where's my rectification?"
Something about the way the flickering candlelight leaped and played at the base of Starsky's spine . . . Hutch got an idea.
"Don't move," he said.
Starsky groaned.
"Don't groan, either."
Starsky tried to turn over.
"I said don't move."
Starsky put his head back down.
"Pucker up," Hutch said.
еееееееееееееееееееееееееееее
Absolution (inspired
by molo)
We had long years of knowing
that one minute wasted was a lifetime of regret. But then we made a deal: no
guilt, no regret.
I agreed for him, but
God, Hutch, you were right. I'm not too thrilled about being left behind here,
buddy, pal.
You're still here in
everything I see and touch. But I've lost the sound of your voice, the feel of
your hands.
Yesterday I found his
book. His journal, he called it. I thought, God, I don't know if I want to know
his thoughts.
But inside, all he
wrote was "I love you."
еееееееееееееееееееееееееееее
And this limerick is
also inspired by molo
There was a blond cop from Nantucket
So hung that his partner can't fuck it
And when he walks by
His partner goes shy
But he says it's ok to just suck it.
еееееееееееееееееееееееееееее
Foreplay
Flowers and candy got them smiling. Candlelit dinner and then a nice slow massage got them ready. Sometimes if he threw in a soft "I love you" he got a very satisfactory response, but sometimes he got more than he bargained for—or less.
But they were girls. So instead he showed up with a grin and two tickets to that afternoon's Dodgers game, and when Starsky opened the door he said only "Ready to go?"
Starsky said, "You sure know the way to man's heart," and tossed his smile in Hutch's direction.
He'd gotten what he'd bargained for, and more.
еееееееееееееееееееееееееееее
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