Jack/Renee blue

leigh57


Out where the dreams are high

Straight to the valley of the great divide


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Was it good for you, too?
Annie as Angel
leigh57
Apparently, I will find posting this el jay as good as having sex.

It's a rainy Monday and I have a billion boring domestic things to do, so I would love some thought distraction while I work on that. Thus, stolen from lowriseflare:

Leave me a character/pairing for one of the fandoms I write in (or that you think I should), throw in a prompt, and I'll write you some sentences.

This entry was originally posted at dreamwidth. If you wish to leave a comment, please do so wherever it makes you happy.

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Jack and Renee, something to do with a boat, possibly swimming, and possibly a dock off of which you can practice diving. MAYBE THEY ARE SHOWING TERI HOW TO DIVE, because she's a little waterbug. And also then there's a boat and some sunset.

Wtf? I'm supposed to write all that in "some sentences?"

Bwah. Well, we shall see what I can do. Hee.

OMG THIS FACE IN THE ICON. SEE THAT'S THE FACE WE SAW LAST NIGHT.

Okay okay take 2, because that former prompt failed at brevity.

Jack/Renee, freezing cold.

Hee. Well I didn't say I wouldn't try to write it. But I'm gonna do the short ones first, okay? And then maybe that one later if I have some time to do a tiny bit of planning during my domestic boringness:)

This one is easier to handle in "some sentences." You're a rockstar.

Freezing Cold (aka, I fail at brevity)

It’s easy to stay awake when he’s struggling, spitting snow away from his face and thrashing to figure out a way to undo the fucking cords that cut his wrists and chafe his ankles.

After half an hour with no success, it’s harder.

He stares at the growing white patches of skin on his hands and thinks, I should have worn the long-sleeved one.

The numbness is brief.

When it passes, it’s as if everything’s been put in reverse; his skin burns everywhere the snow touches, and he’s not shaking anymore.

Maybe he could close his eyes for a few seconds.

He does, and there’s a strobe-light toggle between reality (freezing to death in an off-the-main-road ditch in the middle of nowhere) and fantasy (the pillowed warmth of his own bed, down comforter and Renee’s hot skin).

He’s kissing her goodnight when there’s no picture left at all.

+++++++

It’s all a bunch of words and sounds.

He can’t make them form relationships.

damage

authorization

needs fluids

do what you want, i’m not leaving

should have worn the long sleeves

maybe another day


+++++++

His eyes open on the fourth try.

The room is dim, and there’s a creepy halo around objects as they wiggle into focus.

Renee’s curled into a chair, barefoot with her legs underneath her, holding a magazine he can tell she’s not reading.

She looks up the moment he moves his neck. “Hey. Are you really here this time or are you gonna start talking about skiing flamingos again?” She stands up and pads the few steps to his bed. Her fingers slide into his hair, thumb rubbing his eyebrow, and he can see her lip trembling.

“How-” He coughs, hard and painful, and it doesn’t stop. Renee grabs for a glass of water beside the bed and puts one hand behind his head to make it easier. After a few clumsy swallows and deep breaths, the coughing subsides.

“Go back to sleep,” she says. “We can talk later.”

He shakes his head. “How did you find me?”

“I didn’t. Chloe did.”

“But that doesn’t-”

“Jack, stop talking. I made some educated guesses. Chloe took it from there.” She leans over and puts her lips to his cheek, palm over his heart. “You’re not well enough for me to kill you yet, but you will be.”

He nods, giving her the best half-smile he can manage before his eyes close themselves again, as if there’s no relationship between his desires and their actions.

He falls asleep again to the squish and rustle of Renee rearranging, settling into the chair.

They are too awesome for me to write them, but here is my feeble attempt.

a/n: This exists in the universe you started here, but just sucks unlike yours:)

************

“I tried really hard not to want you here.”

He smiles. “I tried really hard not to want to be here.” Her thumb massages a muscle in his shoulder. There used to be a knot there. “Didn’t work,” he adds.

“For me either,” she whispers. He can feel her eyelashes blink on his chest.

She’s pressed against him everywhere, skin that’s almost luminous, red hair that’s hers, that’s real, that slides over her cheekbone and slips through his fingers.

If he were the type, he’d be embarrassed by how easily he could cry, right now.

But this place is so weird that crying isn’t the only thing he could do right now.

Even after that (and oh gods, the pleasure of her body again, under and over him, everywhere), he’s getting hard when she readjusts, her bare thigh firing on his skin.

(Apparently, he’s now a composite of every incarnation of himself that’s ever existed, including the 17-year-old version.)

Still, that’s not what he wants most.

“I heard you.” He clears his throat to unstick the words. “All the time.”

He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s smiling. “What did I say?”

“All sorts of ridiculous shit,” he retorts, and she rewards him with a smack to the stomach (which he doesn’t care about) and a peal of laughter (which is what he wanted).

That’s when he realizes what it is, what’s causing the sting in his eyes and the ache in his chest.

He’s never heard her speak, never heard her laugh when there wasn’t something lurking behind the sound -- hysteria, melancholy, fear.

Now it’s pure.

“Say something else,” he murmurs.

“Like what?”

“Like . . . anything.”

She’s quiet, thinking. “We could get up.” It ends like a question mark. “There’s this trail I want to show you. It takes a while to get there, but the flowers at the end-” She stops.

He waits.

“Also, I love you.”

He can’t speak.

“Is that what you wanted me to say?”

He touches the soft tips of her fingers and lets himself grin. “One of the things, yeah.”

Wow, that article is so interesting. More thoughts (if I remember) coming later when my brai isn't all fuzzy, but, prompts:

• Finnick/Annie, hope (hey, "or that you think I should" is included in the meme instructions :P)

• Jack/Renee, aurora borealis

Totally included in the instructions! Quick canon thing because I know you'll know and I don't. What's the situation exactly when Finnick and Annie wind up together after the fucked up Quarter Quell. Like, just give me the setting, because I don't remember specifically how they were reunited, blah blah blah. I'm more than happy to try a few sentences, but I hate violating canon.

God, I have so many issues after last night's rewatch that my own icons are making me flail. I fail.

They were reunited together in Mockingjay, when a rescue team went into the Capitol to save Peeta, Annie, Johanna, and Enobaria, who'd all been captured by the Capitol after the Quarter Quell (the other three actually from the Arena, and Annie because she'd been taken to the Capitol as a way to hurt Finnick). Peeta, Johanna, and Annie were brought back to District 13 (they didn't get Enobaria but figured she probably wasn't kept, since she was from District 2) and Annie runs toward Finnick, wearing only a sheet (ugh, fucking Capitol), and they crash into each other and fall against a wall, clinging to each other.

And awww, no fail! *hugs*

I truly fail at Hunger Games fic, but whatever!

At first she hardly speaks, even when they’re alone.

Finnick keeps the war inside, caught between his desire to hear her voice (so palpable he can squish it between his fingers and play with it when he wakes up in the middle of the night to listen to her breathe) and the determination that no one will push her to do anything, ever again.

Besides, she communicates in other ways.

Letting him sort the tangles in her long dark hair, section by section. (He holds the hair above each knot firmly before he pulls; there’s already been enough pain for a hundred lifetimes and he’s not going to make more.)

Eating the food he pretends not to want. (His mind doesn’t want it. He wishes his body were as easy to convince.)

Touching him always, no matter what they’re doing, a hand on his knee under the table or an ankle looped under his in the dark.

Finally one night, her words surprise him in the grey quiet.

“Do you remember that story you told me when we first met?” She swallows like it takes effort to remember how to do do this; he holds his breath. “The one with the giant fish and the guy who would only wear striped shirts?”

He’s so happy he’s shaky inside, but he steadies all of it into submission and says, very solemnly, “That is a completely true story.”

She giggles against the pillow. “I don’t think so.” His heart throbs out joy until he’s lightheaded. “But will you tell me again? Maybe you can convince me this time.”

“Maybe?” He pretends to scoff, high on hope. “It’s not even a question.”

And he fills the silence with his own words, all the while waiting for the moment when the damn story is finished, just so it will be her turn to talk.

WHY ARE YOU SO PREDICTABLE?

:P

Mmmkay.

Whatever, I even said a naughty word.

They're watching TV late one night, half-empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and Renee's foot bouncing restlessly against his leg, when she says out of nowhere, "I found a pair of handcuffs when I was unpacking this afternoon."

Which is how he wound up like this, stretched out naked on the cool cotton of their bed, arms tethered above his head, metal brushing his wrists.

He'd figured that at worst, it would send him off into one of the flashback trips; at best it would leave him too shaken and scared to well, get anything out of the experience.

But now he can smell her perfume, hear (and feel) her breathing, shallow. Her tongue is sliding up the inside of his thigh.

And it turns out that all he wants is for her to put his goddamn dick in her mouth.

When she finally does, he lifts off the bed (reaching for more) and makes some kind of noise.

She's laughing and licking at the same time. In the split second before he shuts his eyes and gives himself over, he's already thinking about her turn.

Re: Whatever, I even said a naughty word.

YOU TOTALLY USED A DIRTY WORD.

This is *awesome*. You are a (porn) star.

Re: Whatever, I even said a naughty word.

In the split second before he shuts his eyes and gives himself over, he's already thinking about her turn.
ajhfjkahfjkaf JACK WHY ARE YOU SO SELFLESS EVEN DURING SEX

(edit: I say this with love/in a good way, just in case that was unclear. :P)

Edited at 2012-05-14 07:03 pm (UTC)

Re: Whatever, I even said a naughty word.

Sweet Jesus.

I'll review this elsewhere. Because seriously, my reaction is too embarrassing for LJ.

I request Jack/Renee Handcuffs/her turn.

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Jack/Renee, badminton (because of the comment cybertoothtiger made about the pattern at the bottom of this icon about it looking like a badminton net, haha)

Hehe, okay. And it does look like a badminton net, doesn't it? Also, am I the only person bothered by the presence of the N in that word? Like, do you know anyone who says it that way? When I say it, it comes out "badmitten."

You're such a DORK.

God, most of these wound up about sex anyway!

I fail.

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OMG. Have you seen this?!?

Epic Tea Time with Alan Rickman. It's way slow motion, but it's hilarious. A good waste of 6+ minutes, if you have it. Just drink the damn tea, Alan!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=tV1JDW43kUE

Also, Katniss/Gale: the one where they totally tried to make out and discovered they were better as friends (before the first book).

OMG, that is hilarious and awesome. Drinking tea should never look that sexy.

Photobucket

Also, you guys what are all these THG prompts? LOL. I read these books all in a week and the canon all mashes together in my head, so I'm bound to screw it up. But okay, a few sentences I can probably figure out if I go back and look a little. Hee!

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