June 19th, 2003

Carravaggio

JP3 fic rated MA Mature adults only m/m slash PWP WIP #2

No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains adult themes
Title: Here there be Dragons
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
Notes: Going out on a limb here, ahem, as the boys deal with the scars from Isla Sorna

He didn't wake again until the early morning sun had sliced diagonally through the gaps in the blinds, tickling exposed skin, and the clock radio violently erupted into a shrill beeping like a miniature air raid siren.

Alan thumped the little beast viciously, then he realised he'd slept, still curled with Billy, and he peeled himself away from the athletic male form pressed up against him.

Billy stirred at last like some fairytale character waking from a spell. He smiled and yawned, stretching, as content as a cat, whereas Alan had that vaguely embarrassed air that he always had as if he'd been caught by anyone but Billy sleeping in the wrong bed, or maybe it was just the memory of the furious night before that made him blush. Fusty professors just weren't supposed to do those sorts of things.

Billy was giving him that grin, the one that quickly snapped his discomfort into irritation. It was so easy for Billy, he'd never had to grow up being ashamed of who he was or what he was. Billy had escaped the deep ingraining indoctrination that taught that every desire, every wish, every touch, every taste was wrong, that sex itself was wrong and if one had to sin it was best done as a quick joyless fumble under the cover of darkness. Billy was free to express his love and it was there in every part of him, and Alan envied him that.

Add into the mix Alan's own unease of the ethics of their relationship and the fact that they were deep in the Montana badlands and it explained why he both admired and feared Billy's openness.

He worried, perhaps more than he should. Billy had already been called a fag to his face more than once by the locals, probably just because Billy was both pretty and educated, but it was enough to make Alan standoffish and buttoned down when they were in town, almost ridiculously so. The last thing either of them needed was Billy being beaten up and left for dead just for his lifestyle choices. Alan didn't think his heart could take it.

More than that, Alan thought Billy had suffered enough for his youthful follies. It was bad enough he'd had to pimp their adventures to the media to pay Billy's medical bills. Enough was enough and all Alan wanted was the quiet life.

The Kirbys had been decent and had sold their own stories, sending Alan the money in payment for services rendered. Alan had used it to keep the dig open another summer. He thought the familiar, the routine, might be a good thing for both of them. To a large extent he'd been right.

As he stood pondering life and waiting for the kettle to boil, a lone teabag draped forlornly over an empty cup, waiting, he realised Billy had beaten him to the shower again.

Well, he wasn't about to stand on ceremony after last night. Billy turned at the sound of the shower door sliding open, surprised and smiling, welcoming him into the tiny shower stall where there was no real option but to press up close to each other. Billy passed Alan the soap, turned and closed his eyes, tilting his head back in bliss as Alan began to soap his back.

Sometime later found Alan still scowling at the kettle, waiting for it to boil again on a fresh pot of water. He cast an eye over to Billy as he waited, watching as Billy sat on the very edge of the bed, tucking each leg under his chin in turn and typing his boot laces with teeth and fingers.

"One day you'll be too old to do that," Alan observed wistfully.

"Then it'll be time for velcro and hush puppies," Billy grinned back at him, teasing.


There was a good twenty years between them and it would always be between them, even in jest. Not that Alan minded. He knew what he'd been getting into when he let Billy steal his heart. Well, he hadn't known all of it certainly - Billy was nothing if not full of surprises, good and bad - but Alan had never loved anyone as fiercely or completely as he loved Billy in his life, and he accepted the differences that made them who they were, annoying though they may be.

The only thing that struck cold in Alan's heart was the nagging thought that while Billy was the one great burning love of his life, the one he'd finally decided to reach out and grab hold of, he was afraid that for Billy he was just a passing phase, something that Billy would outgrow as his career moved on. It was a stupid fear, but it was one that whispered to him in the quiet moments and he wouldn't be the first professor to have made a complete fool of himself over a charming and talented student.

The kettle finally boiled and Alan peeled off a smug, self satisfied grin towards Billy as he made his first cup of tea for the morning, breathing in the vapours deliciously.

While Dr Grant completed his tea making ceremony, stirring anticlockwise and carefully wringing out the tea bag and disposing of it as though it were a deceased mouse by the tail, Billy was busy strapping on the hook of an arm he'd been left with before pulling on his shirt.

The naval surgeons on board the ship they'd been evac'd to had been good, but they'd been trained for expediency over delicacy and they'd chosen to save Billy over saving his left arm. It had been just about bitten off and mangled so badly as he'd been attacked that even if they had been able to save it he'd have never have had the use of it any more, anyway.

It was just something they'd learned to live with. To be honest, Billy seemed to have bounced back from his injuries quickly, the way healthy young men did. The deeper unseen scars, the nightmares and those terrible words that Alan had spoken, the words that could never be taken back as much as he wanted to, the words that had caused Billy to nearly throw his life away, those were the wounds that worried Alan the most.

Alan glanced up from his tea to find Billy before him, smiling at him, full of love and sunshine. Daylight banished the monsters. At least, they liked to pretend it did.

Billy's hand fulttered down his spine lightly and Alan stood aside to let Billy wrestle and clatter with the coffee tin, using Archimedes principal to lever up the lid with the end of a teaspoon. Billy had a proper model hand, his Ken Doll attachment as he called it, for special occassions, but Billy, being practical, preffered his hooked claws that could be used to grapple with things and prise things open.

A friend of Billy's from MIT had been inspired to try and design a new arm for Billy that worked from chips, but Alan himself often thought that if ownership of InGen wasn't so deeply mired in legal bullshit, to prevent any obvious lawsuits from surfacing, that somebody might use the technology to grow Billy a new arm. It could be done, it should be done. Nevertheless Billy had adapted and he could now managed most daily tasks without a second thought.

This was why Alan loved him. Oh yes, there were the good looks, grace and charm and that impish sense of humour, but above all Billy was a survivor, and there was precious little that he let get him down. Except those words, those terrible words that Alan could never take back, those words that Billy wore as a scar in an empty sleeve, every day, for the rest of his life.

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Carravaggio

billy don't be a hero...

Another loooooong day and night. Watched bits of Charmed and bits of Angel (the Here's Wesley! episode) and bits of Tipping the Velvet which is still more oooer than plot, and it only was put on as background noise as there was nothing else to interest me. I thought you never know, might pick up an idea I can use in a fic later.

Still with the sex scene in search of a story. Some of my fics start with a sex scene, but a lot of my stories start with ideas, like I have this image of Ezra crouching over a dead body and annoucing that folks in the small town usually killed from passion, this guy was killed for pleasure, this is a city killing/killer. Although suspect #1, being a shifty city boy, Ezra employs the lattest 1870s crime solving techniques. Think Homicide/CSI/L&O meets the Old West. It's pretty much a gen story, so into it I will slip one of my SSISOAS. :) Ditto the idea about the fortune teller whom Ezra dismisses as a crock, he's pulled that trick himself, but spookiness ensues.

On aside, I just love how the back of my Homicide box set is a reasonably accurate facsimilie of a police report, and yes I've seen a few in my time, back when I was the Coroner's Clerk. It was my job to turn pages and pages of notes into a jazzy one line description of the cause of death, not unlike those movie reviews in four words. In fact exactly like those movie reviews in four words. I loved that job. too bad the pay sucked.

Still burbling on about Jurassic Park 3. Slashiest. Film. Ever.

Peeked at the Alan & Billy list. I noted the usual suspects. I bet they all spewed when they saw me log on. I shhall strip mine the list and depart, I promise. I know now I'm not wanted, I get the hint. Found a JP database anyway which has answered most of my daft questions, so who needs imperious fan matriarchs, anyway. Insert Nan's speech about being so sick of all the backbiting and bitchiness and how she's going to just explode from the tedium of it all here. That bit of Tipping the Velvet I did like. That bit I want as my sig line - grin.

Alas poor Sam. All these years, nay, decades, nearly my whole life, and now he's finally been slapped with the slash brush, though I have this hazy niggling remant of a thought that I might have I slashed him when I was in highschool. No, I am not about to revisit my highschool journals to check - grin. I can't remember if it was a fic or a story outline or even just a daydream and I certainly can't remember in what context but I feel deep in my heart I've slashed Sam before, back in highschool. Scary stuff, especially as back then I didn't even know there were slash rules to break - grin. It was just me, lone pervert, scribbling away in my notebook. Funny how things haven't changed a jot.

The idea of those American Sam Neill fans trying to track down his episodes in The Sullivans amuses me no end. Tragically, you can actually get The Sullivans on dvd, but the Mel Gibson episode, alas, not dearest Sammykins.

Technically though I shouldn't own JP3 because it fails my three cute guys rule, but I'm willing to let it slide on occassion. Somewhere in the mighty mess that is my room lurks my copy Event Horizon. Crap film, but it does feature Sam, Sean and Jason, though I usually pop it after Sean goes pop. One of these days I'll compare it with my other space marines. It was one of the first dvds I ever bought, I remember snagging it back when I was still down in Chinatown, a lifetime ago now, it seems.

Best go...I must be very wicked for my work is never done :)


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  • Science > Earth Sciences > Paleontology > Art > Artists

    • Column 8 (SMH)
      June 18 2003
      An Australian president of the United States? Viewers of Monday night's episode of the TV series 24 saw Alan Dale, aka Jim Robinson from Neighbours, aka US vice-president Jim Prescott, affirmed as the president.

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