June 18th, 2003

Carravaggio

just right...

Long, long, looong day at work yesterday. I spent pretty much 75% of my day at work yesterday. Didn't watch any tv aside from bit of Relic Hunter which was on as I ate, and it was Scorpy: This is Your Life on Farscape so I figured I'd watch it as I got ready for work in the morning, which I did.

I was so fried Relic Hunter was cheesy fun. I wondered why all the Irish in 1000AD were all dressed exactly like Normans. Bro said they'd just seen the latest fashions from Paris. Turns out the Bayeux Tapestry isn't a historical document at all, but an early issue of Vogue. Silly us. Picking RH apart for historical accuracy is like shooting fish in a barrel so we stopped because it wasn't fair and we didn't want to appear po faced. Please note that we mocked with love and we realise it's a cheap and cheerful show, and not to be taken seriously. We sat back and started counting out the Oirish cliches. Guiness, check. Pub, check (Nigel even attempts to play darts, bless). Oirish music, check. Oirish accents, check. Big knitted jumpers, check, and so on. Act 3, trapped in a cave/tomb. Act 4, trash historical site/relic in hilarious chase/fight scene. I wince, in spite of myself.

Poor old Nige, though, always being bitch slapped, beaten up, humiliated and generally treated like dirt and Bro swears there's a sweep in the history department on whether poor Nige will ever get lucky. The constant protestations as to his hetrosexuality amuse, too. Nigel, dear, if you're that uptight about it, well, you know what they say - grin.

Being fried I start thinking about other put upon associate professors/grad students (well, okay, one in particular), especially those with grouchy bosses. I start imaging a sidekick lounge ala The Tick. It amuses me waaay too much so I set off to read another chapter or two of some books and then zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

This morning I'm deliciousy punchy, the way being overtired sometimes can make me think of things I'm not supposed to be thinking of, the way it just opens the door to the muses and concentrating on dull repetitive tasks is just about impossible. It's fun like this, but being fried is like being drunk: it's a very tiny margin between too little, just right and too much. Today it's juuuust right, and I've already written a JP3 sex scene in search of a story. Too bad I actually do have dull, repetitive tasks that require my attention (such as it is) or I'd be able to write more. What a waste, me all looped and no time to exploit it.


  • The Bayeux Tapestry
  • Fans bid Peck farewell

  • BadClark

  • Wes

  • Alexis

  • So You Wanna Write a Slash Sex Scene. Have You Done Your Homework?

  • American Historians Would Do Well to Get Out of the Country
  • Cañon City
  • Guide to the Dinosaurs of Colorado
  • The Dinsosaur Depot

  • Paleontology

  • K-Paleo

  • Fossil sites

  • World Paleontological Society
  • Fort Peck

  • Fort Peck

  • Fort Peck

  • Jordan Montana

  • Jordan MT

  • Jurassic Park 3

  • Bunnies on Acid

  • Jurassic Park 3 Fan Fiction

  • Alan & Billy

  • JP3 vids

  • The Joy of Slash

  • Marvel Magic
    • Current Mood
      silly silly
    Carravaggio

    JP3 fic rated MA Mature adults only m/m slash PWP WIP

    No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
    Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains adult themes
    Title: a sex scene in search of a story
    Series: Jurassic Park III
    Status: WIP?
    Author/pseudonym: Hellblazer
    E-mail address: havisham06@yahoo.com
    Rating: MA
    Pairing: Alan Grant/Billy Brennan
    Date: 18 June 2003
    Disclaimers: The characters of Dr. Alan Grant, Billy Brennan, et al. are the
    property of Universal Pictures, Amblin Entertainment and (in Alan's case)
    Michael Crichton. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
    Warnings: may contain slash, H/C, violence, m/m hanky panky, drug use, nudity, coarse language, horror, dodgy research, adult themes
    Spoilers: Jurassic Park III
    Summary: a sex scene in search of a story

    He'd slept through the tossing and turning, he was just to it. So long as they slept in separate beds at opposites ends of their motel room it didn't bother him, it left him free to play in his own field of nightmares.

    It was the muffled cry that had woken him. That animal sound of pain that had instantly brought him to his senses. He rolled on his side to listen to the creaks in the springs as the bed's occupant thrashed again, accompanied by a mewling whimper that not even he could ignore.

    Swearing again that he was getting too old for this he pushed himself out of his nice warm bed, trod quietly across the generic carpet in bare feet to edge himself onto the bed slightly.

    Grabbing two bare shoulders firmly he shook them, hard.

    "Billy! Wake up!" he hissed.

    Billy snapped awake, gasping for a breath, heart racing. There was no need to ask him what he'd been dreaming about, it was there in his eyes.

    He smoothed the sweat stained face and murmured that it was just a dream, that they were safe now, that it was all over.

    His duty done he tried to move away but a firm hand grabbed his wrist hard and held him there. His eyes tracked from the hand that had locked around him to the eyes, those wild frightened eyes, and he knew what Billy wanted, what Billy needed.

    He sighed and slipped himself under the covers, wrapping himself around Billy, feeling him tremble quietly, soothing and petting as though trying to calm any frightened animal. Usually it was enough and Billy would slip off to sleep in his arms, but not tonight. The dream had ripped through Billy and he needed to touch, he needed to feel he was still alive.

    Billy's mouth opened his and the first stroke of tongue lit the fire he tried to ignore most days, that he wanted Billy, that he needed Billy, that he couldn't touch him enough as he would like. The gnawing hunger never left him and here, under the cover of darkness, he gave into it, a fierce animal scrabbling rutting, a stark demonstration of beating hearts and burning skin that they were still alive. They struggled to hold and touch and feel their hunger, stripped of anything but raw emotion. Billy wrapped around him and he was inside Billy and they rocked together, faster and harder and not hearing the steady creak of the bed beneath the roar of blood in their ears.

    He covered Billy's mouth with his hand, not wanting him to cry out, and with eyes locked and one, two, three final deep and rolling thrusts he held Billy so tight for a moment, then relaxed down on top of him, feeling Billy pump warm sticky heat against his stomach.

    He smiled, curling against Billy, happy to be all warm and sticky, gently nuzzling and kissing his face. Billy watched him now, with eyes filled with love and relief now, replacing the wild fear that had raced through him. Tenderly he kissed his young love on the brow, closing those eyes, and easing him down into a dreamless, sated sleep, still curled together.

    He enjoyed this, sleeping with Billy in his arms, breathing in his scents, tasting his sweat. Only a sense of decorum and things left unspoken kept a distance between them. His life should have told him to treasure the things he had and to hold them close, and he tried to, as much as possible. The social mores and violent of his own species, that was the only reason to keep Billy at arms reach, and only as much as he felt he needed to. Right now, he didn't care. Right now he wanted nothing more than to feel the soft silk strands of Billy's hair tickle his cheek and to fall asleep, breathing in deep the scents of his lover, listening to his heartbeat, beats that grew louder and deeper into dreadful footsteps as he slipped down into his own dreams of that hellish place.


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      ditzy ditzy