jaune_chat (jaune_chat) wrote,

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November Drabble Dump

A fairly light month, as things go. About 4,000+ words of fic, all from comment_fic this time around. Some Supernatural, some Torchwood, some Firefly, and some slightly kinky Criminal Minds, all for your enjoyment!

Supernatural, Sam & Dean, turns out unicorns are real after all
Purity - Supernatural, Sam and Dean, PG-13

Sam wouldn't have expected to see one here. He wouldn't have expected to see one at all, but especially not here. A convent seemed anathema to creatures out of myths and fairy tales. But the moon was full and the light was clear, and there was a luminescent white unicorn rearing and striking at the demons who were trying to get inside. Sam could easily hear the screams of the sisters inside over the snarls of the demons, and pelted forward, flask of holy water in one hand, blessed knife in the other.

He was barely halfway there when the unicorn lowered its wickedly long and sharp horn and impaled one of the demons. It dropped soundlessly, dying with its host, and the demonic blood steamed away immediately, leaving the horn pristine as the unicorn whirled to face another foe. Sam charged in, flinging the holy water in a wide arc to distract the demons, gutting one while it was still cringing in pain, and seeing the unicorn pierce another one through the heart.

Sam and the unicorn swung blade and horn together, Sam's knife growing dull under the blood, the unicorn's horn glowing ever more brightly under the moonlight as the last demon went down, its eyes wide and confused as to what had killed it.

The unicorn turned towards Sam and stared at him with silver eyes, compassion and pity and anger hitting him with an almost palpable force. He dropped the knife on the grass as it swung its horn around, shivering hard enough that his teeth chattered.

Lore was chasing itself through his head randomly, but one line kept repeating over and over, Unicorns are the embodiment of purity, and it is purity that they protect.


Dean's voice called from the other end of the field, but Sam couldn't even make himself speak. The unicorn held its stance, its horn pointed at Sam's heart, as the doors to the convent opened and a single young nun sprinted out. She threw her arms around the unicorn's neck and clung there, sobbing. Sam recognized her as the sacrifice the demons had been after, and almost tried to speak. A twitch from the unicorn silenced him. Even his voice was not pure enough for the sister's ears.

"Sam? Where are you?"

The unicorn's ears turned in the direction of Dean's voice, and it whuffed out a breath. It turned to nuzzle the nun, and she grasped its mane, somehow managing to climb atop its back in her restrictive habit.

"Sam? Sam! There you-." Dean came running across the field from the opposite side, and froze dead when confronted with the sight of the unicorn, Sister Mary Celeste on its back, and Sam standing frozen, six inches from having his heart shish-kabobed by a creature out of legend.

The unicorn raised it head and took several steps away, shaking its head at both Winchesters. Then it was gone, racing into the forest behind the convent, leaving the field inexplicably dull and grim.

"Sam, was that-?"


Dean looked at the crumpled, almost withered bodies of the demons with silver wounds in their chests, and shuddered.

"Next time, let's leave protecting professional virgins to the professionals, yeah?" Dean said carefully, clearly weirded out.

Sam stooped to pick up the knife, the blood on the blade sticky and thick, unwilling to come off when he tried to wipe it on the grass.

"Yeah," Sam said softly, looking into the moonlit woods, trying to see one last glimpse of white and silver.

Torchwood, Jack(/any), "You slept with a centaur!?"
Centaur - Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, PG-13

"You slept with a centaur?!"

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ianto's vehemence. "Yes. It was a while ago, but that is definitely not something you forget."

"But..." Ianto looked to be in an agony of puzzlement and curiosity and queasiness. "How?"

"We had to take a little care with his hooves and all, and I had to brace pretty well, but... generally like normal." Jack's grin with disarmingly casual.

Ianto didn't have to say or protest any more, not with his jaw hanging open and him blushing hard enough to give himself sunburn.

"Yeah, he was just as big as you think. I couldn't walk right for a week. Totally worth it at the time."

"You are completely impossible," Ianto managed.

Jack winked and put his feet up on the desk, lacing his hands behind his head. "And you'll believe anything. Want to hear about the Centuri twins?"

"I'll believe anything about you, because I believe you would bed anything," Ianto grumbled, taking a sip of Jack's coffee to calm himself down.

He almost spat out the mouthful a second later when Jack's hand reached under the table to slide deep into Ianto's pocket.

"That includes curious Welshmen, in case you're interested," Jack said, arching his eyebrow suggestively.

Ianto muttered curses into his coffee for a minute straight before turning to Jack and seeing if the legends were true.

Criminal Minds, any/any, "Please tell me those marks on your neck are from a vampire."
Familiar - Criminal Minds, Rossi/Prentiss, PG-13

(I have a little AU action going on here.)


"Please tell me those marks on your neck are from a vampire."

Dave self-consciously touched the small wounds for a moment, then took his hand away and shrugged.

"I had a book signing last night. Some of those people waited in line for an hour," Dave said calmly. "The blood bars were going to close before they would've gotten out."

"So you just let them take a drink?" Emily demanded. "You had no idea who they were!"

"I was just being polite."

"I do have Facebook. And you are tagged with two new pictures this morning, surrounded by a couple of young women in low-cut bustiers. They could have been anyone!"

Dave opened his mouth to protest, shut it, and spread his hands self-depreciatingly. "They really liked my books, and they were pale, Emily. Really pale, vampire pale. We didn't need new bodies on top of everything else at work."

Emily licked her lips slightly and looked away. "Ok, ok. Fine. I get it. I just wanted to make sure they weren't werewolves or ghouls or anything."

"As you have the pictures, no. And I'm sorry. Really."

Dave's sincerity finally seemed to penetrate, and Emily sighed and opened the folders on the table, examining the pictures from the latest suspected werewolf serial killer.

"Hey." Dave's fingers touched her cheek, wonderfully warm on her cool skin. "They just took a sip. I still have plenty. I didn't forget."

Emily felt almost faint with relief, and kissed him briefly on the lips, almost seeming ruddy red next to her chalk-pale skin, before moving to his neck. He helpfully tipped his head back as she sank her fangs in, covering the marks from last night with her own as she drank her morning wake-up call.

She pulled back when Dave tugged on her hair, quickly wiping her mouth as the rest of the team filed in, handing Dave a handkerchief to daub at the already coagulating wounds on his neck.

Hotchner's eyes skimmed over them quickly, dismissing the familiar scene as he turned on the projector and began the morning briefing.

Criminal Minds, Reid/JJ, D/s (either way up)
Protected - Criminal Minds, Reid/JJ, R

"You know I'll take care of you."

It wasn't a question. Simply a reaffirmation of their trust, a verbal pat on the head as Spencer held his stance, kneeling on the cushions, waiting patiently for her to say the words.

"You may."

He let his eyes focus again, seeing the sleek leather of her boot, and leaned forward to press a kiss to the cool leather, warm underneath from her skin. No slick patent leather here, just warm brown and well-made, tight to her calf. A secret that she wore under her conservative gray suit trousers for him and him alone.

She let him kiss for another minute before she snapped her fingers, making him snap to attention again. Another imperious gesture, and he was permitted to pick up the other boot and slide it onto her calf, making certain not to pinch. He made certain the leather was tight and smooth before sliding the zipper up and sealing her inside. He had to drop his hands as he finished, as much as he longed to check them both, to make certain of their perfection. Everything had to be perfect for her...

"Do you see?" Jennifer asked, turning slowly, twirling so he could see the boots from all sides, flexing with her muscles, protected, safe, and secure.

Spencer nodded, feeling that protection inside, believing it because Jennifer did, and Jennifer never lied to him.

Jennifer stopped and pulled down her pant legs, obscuring her calves and giving the appearance of proper business shoes again. J.J. stood before him, the spell broken as she tapped on the top of his head, ending the session.

Reid stood, taking the robe from the side table to clothe himself, knees popping slightly as he worked his joints back to full mobility, the nagging ache from his surgical scar only now making itself felt.

"Thank you," he whispered, and she touched him on cheek, her smile all the warmer for its relative rarity. She hadn't been able to come nearly so often since she'd taken the Pentagon job, and he'd needed this desperately.

"Anytime I can," J.J. promised. "You know I'll come."

Reid wrapped himself up in the protection of that promise, armoring his heart as she'd shown him, when she walked back out into the world he'd soon have to join again.

Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, Gun kink.
Like A Bullet - Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, R

"Move your hands."

Reid caught himself, realizing his grip was a little off, and tried to reset, fingers wrapped around each other for stability, index finger on the trigger guard, others supporting along the outside so he wouldn't shake.

"Try now."

Reid could hear Hotchner even through the earmuffs, and fired off a shot, trying to sight his target clearly and pull the trigger smoothly, no jerking. The revolver bucked in his hand, and the shot landed high, just above the paper target's shoulder.

He brought his gun down and felt his shoulders slump. Ever since that long-distance serial killer case, when Hotchner had pushed his firearms certification through, he'd barely managed to squeak through on his own year after year. But barely. Oh-so-barely. It took Hotchner hours of practice to even get him there, and Reid knew it frustrated him to no end.

"Your grip is too loose."

Hotchner stepped up close behind him pressing himself to Reid's back, his arms embracing Reid's, Hotchner's hands closing in around Spencer's, adjusting the grip just so, lowering a finger a fraction of an inch there and tightening his grip just a bit.

Reid could feel his own heartrate climbing as Hotchner pressed them close together, letting Spencer feel his stance, nudging his legs and feet to stand the right way, pressing into his torso hard to center his weight correctly, pushing his shoulders to line up to the target.


Reid fired, and the shot went right through the heart.


Another shot, just a fraction of an inch below the first.

"Again." Aaron's voice was a trifle hoarse, even though the earmuffs.

The bullet went a tiny bit higher, making a ragged little explosion in the paper chest. Spencer could feel Aaron's heart as much as his own, they were so close.


Shredded paper flew wide as the bullet nicked the widening hole, and Spencer could feel Aaron's breath on his cheek, faster than normal.

"I want to use the Glock," Aaron said, his voice a trifle uneven. Spencer put his revolver on the counter and turned in Aaron's grasp. He didn't touch Aaron's shoulder holster, instead sinking gracefully to one knee, his hand trailing down the back of Aaron's leg, over the fine material of his suit.

He couldn't hear Aaron's breathing, or if he was saying anything, not with hearing protection, not this far away, but there were faint tremors in his muscles as Spencer slowly slid his hands up Aaron's ankle to touch the leather of his back-up holster. He took the piece out and slowly stood back up again, pressing the gun into Aaron's hand. Now he could see Aaron's chest moving quickly, his lips pink and a little dry.

Spencer took a step back, one hand on Aaron's back to show he was in a safe position. In a single swift motion, Aaron brought the gun up and fired the magazine dry, every shot hitting the head of the target as fast as he could pull the trigger. Spencer felt a delicious full-body shudder with every pull of the trigger, his hand unconsciously clenching and releasing at Aaron's suit jacket.

Aaron put the Glock down and pulled off his earmuffs, Spencer following suit, knowing his cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittering behind the safety glasses.

"We need to clean the guns," Aaron said automatically, handing Spencer his revolver.

"Yes, of course." That meant more long minutes with gun oil, cloths, and ramrods, cleaning everything to Aaron's meticulous standards. Including the gunpowder from their skin, the lust in their blood, and the lightning in their veins.

Spencer took off like a bullet, and Aaron was right behind him, eyes on the target.

Criminal Minds, Hotch(/any), Hiding his excitement from the rest of the team.
Lucky - Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, PG-13

It was Hotchner's self-appointed task to be the rock. Solid and unchanging, anything could be thrown at him and he would endure. He showed no emotion, kept his face still, so that people could believe they could tell him anything.

Mostly it was easy to do. He'd learned to hide what he felt from a young age. But now? This? Not possible. He caught himself caressing a button on his sleeve and stopped. His eyes wandered from the screen during a rehash of the information for the police, and he abruptly refocused. He could feel his toes curling and uncurling in his shoes, and remained seated as much as was practical.

He kept himself from checking his watch, trying to keep his concentration on the case. He let Rossi handle the interview, and let Morgan handle the press. Prentiss smoothed over everything else, and by day's end, they were ready to go home. All he had to do was to endure the plane flight home without drumming his fingers, or shifting in his seat.

If he was very, very lucky, no one would ask him what was wrong.

He had to tell Reid to never whisper hopeful experimental bedroom suggestions in his ear before work again.

Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, Massage.
Human - Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, PG-13

According to popular gossip at the BAU, Aaron Hotchner was born in a suit and tie, his spine could be used as a ruler, and he was incapable of laughing, smiling, or indeed any other expression than a neutral sternness.

Spencer Reid was one of the few who were privileged enough to know differently. He was the one that was able to get Hotchner to bend, to take off his tie, divest himself of his coat and unbutton a button or two. Then Spencer could suggest Aaron let him work out the kinks in his hands from all his firearms practice, and Aaron would roll up his sleeves to let him.

He could watch Aaron surrender like this, finger by finger, eyes drooping closed, worry lines smoothing out, neck bending to let his head loll back. Then Spencer no longer had to convince him to let himself be taken care of for once. He could easily slide Aaron's shirt away and gently push him down on the bed, letting the massage go from his fingers, to his wrists, to his arms, to his neck.

Wire-tight muscles relaxed under the pushing and stroking of Spencer's hands, the way smoothed by scentless oil, clear and glistening. Down his back, that iron spine becoming loose and pliant, draped over Spencer's bed instead of imitating one of its posts. Lower still, clothing stripped away, all professional, if loving, glutes and hamstrings becoming flesh instead of wood and cables. Calves no longer knotted, feet sensuously freed of their loafer prison, twitching fitfully in appreciation, echoing the nearly-inaudible groans of thanks from farther up the bed.

Then Spencer would take his hands away, and Aaron would sit up, a relaxed and normal human being, tired and smiling.

And all Spencer could do was smile back, take him in his arms, and keep him human as long as they could.

Firefly, Mal, "His emotions are contradictory."
Forked Heart - Firefly, River + Simon + Mal, PG

"His emotions are contradictory."

Simon kept meticulously polishing and arranging his tools as River spoke, brow furrowing slightly as he tried to follow her line of reasoning. As usual, he gave up about halfway through.


"The captain."

Occasionally, River made a blinding amount of sense. Simon lifted his head to see Mal in the cargo bay, arguing with Inara about something or other.

"Don't leave. Stay. Want you here. Not like this. Love you. Hate those that see you as an object. Can't say it. Isn't proper. We're too good too bad for each other."

Simon's hands stilled on his instruments as River's voice changed pitch, sliding into a sing-song as Inara stalked away, and Book wandered down from upstairs, earning a wrathful glare from Mal as Inara disappeared into her shuttle.

"You're what I left behind. Not needed. Not wanted. Bad reminder. Not who I used to be. Can't be that anymore. Too weak to survive that way. Your book couldn't lift me up. Too wise. Too knowing. See right through me. Push at my scars, pull, I'll push back. Have to. Law of the universe. My laws. I just made them up. My own Good News."

River breathed out and then in again, blinking a few times. Then she looked up at Simon with a solemn expression.

"He has a forked heart. Simon, is there a way to fix that? Do you know who can?" she asked.

Simon stood up straight, leaving his instruments where they lay, and deliberately didn't look in Mal's direction, because he knew Mal was drilling a hole in the back of his head with his glare. Captain and shelterer, one breath away from pitching them both out into the black if anything went wrong.

"Maybe, River."

"Maybe is good. All doors are open with maybe." River watched Mal without fear as he stalked up the stairs, and gave him her shiniest smile.

Firefly, Mal/Inara, Urge to break the rules
Say It - Firefly, Mal/Inara, R

Dating a Companion was complicated. That was what Kaylee had said (at least when Mal was close enough to overhear). Mal hadn't ever asked Inara about it, because that would have brought politics and rules and all sorts of unseemly things into the conversation. He would have spoken his mind a little too sharply, and she would have done the same. They'd end up arguing, and he'd have an urge to kiss her right when he was calling her a whore for the eighty-fifth time in their association, and then she'd look up at him with her eyes just glittering in rage, and he knew he had to stalk out of her shuttle in a huff before he did something so stupid not even the Shepherd would be able to forgive him.

But something about the last job had changed that. Jayne was getting stiched up by the Doc, Wash was getting them the hell out of atmo, Kaylee was holding the engine together with spit and wire, and the rest of the crew was dealing with the mess they'd left in the cargo bay. Mal said he'd check in with Inara, as she'd slid her shuttle back into Serenity about five seconds before they'd had to burn out of Whitefall's orbit.

He didn't knock. He'd rarely done so before, and saw no reason to start now. She could almost always tell when he was coming in anyways. He expected her to be putting things in order from the rough take-off, or resetting sequences in the cockpit, or even possibly ready to clock him upside the head with a teapot, though that might have been more River's game than hers.

Instead she was standing in the precise center of her waiting room, glowing with red, from her dress to her jewels to her cheeks. Well, that had been the other possibility, that she was going to flay him alive with her temper. He opened his mouth to defend himself before she could get up and going. But her first words stopped him completely.

"What is it going to take, Mal?" she asked, her voice so calm it threw him off-guard.

"Take? Take for-."

"What's it going to take to get you to consider slowing down and giving them a chance to rest? The crew is running on empty and they can't keep doing this over and over and over again!" She took a few steps closer to him, enveloping him in a cloud of some subtle sweet scent that was not helping him think clearly.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mal asked heatedly. "We need the money, Inara. This ship don't fly without fuel and whatever little bits Kaylee needs to keep her in the air-."

Inara stopped him by pressing a finger to his lips, and her other hand to his shoulder.

"This isn't for you," she said quietly, a kind of intensity in her voice that set him back on his metaphoric heels. "This is for the crew. There's no one that needs me more than you right now."

Mal got his voice back about three minutes later, after Inara had kissed the stupid out of his mouth and left him feeling about as red as her dress. He thought about speaking, about saying she'd made it very clear, in no uncertain terms, that she'd never serve him or any member of the crew for any reason.

And then he realized he hadn't finished his argument with her, and wondered if he should do that before things went any farther. But then Inara was running her hands through his hair, and hugging him hard, and kissing him again, and he could feel her shaking through all the layers of silk and thought that maybe he wouldn't say anything about broken rules. Because then he'd have to take his lips away from hers and risk saying something so stupid that the Shepherd might as well just bounce him out the airlock, and why would he want to go and do a thing like that?

So he helped her break the rules, his and hers. There was tea, and water baths, silk, and warm oil, warmer skin and words that weren't arguing, and he said without saying that he was more than a lot sorry for calling her low-down dirty names and she proved to him more than he'd ever dreamed that she should be on a five-star Alliance luxury cruise ship and not on his battered boat. But this was where she'd chosen to be, rules be damned, and that's where Mal had to be, regulations be hanged, and that was more than either of them could stand.

And that was all right too. The names he'd called her meant the same thing as her hands shaking, and they couldn't ever break that rule to say it out loud.

Firefly, crew, There's a mouse aboard Serenity.
Awful Lot Of Nothing - Firefly, Kaylee and crew, PG

When Kaylee wakes up in the engine room, it's with the vague feeling of hearing something in the ship. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she stumbles into the galley, where one of Jayne's knives is buried halfway into the table, and Jayne himself is turning over every dish and chair, looking for something, cursing to scorch the air. Shaking her head, not quite awake yet, Kaylee shuffles through the galley and heads past the crew quarters.

"Honey?" Wash calls, a note of panic in his voice. "Have you found it yet?" Wash was huddled atop his chair at the pilot's console while Zoe swung her shotgun back and forth, slowly stalking around the cockpit.

"Not yet dear," she said, teeth clenched shut.

"Uh Zoe? What's going on?" Kaylee called up the stairs.

"Nothing you need concern yourself over, sweetie," Zoe said tightly.

Kaylee shrugged and climbed down the ladder into her own quarters. A quick face wash and change of clothes later, she climbed back up (Zoe and Wash still arguing over having not found "it" yet) and walked towards the stairs that headed down past the infirmary. The captain was banging around in his quarters, muttering to himself and apparently flinging everything to and fro.

"Captain? What's all the ruckus?"


Kaylee just sighed and walked downstairs. Something caught her eye as she came off the last step, and she spied Book, sitting in the corridor outside his room, which was very firmly shut, very casually reading his Bible.


"It's fine, Kaylee," he said with a kind of brittle casualness.

Brow furrowed, Kaylee turned towards the infirmary, where Simon was crouched atop the operating table-chair in the middle of the room, a heavy probe in one hand, eying the floor with suspicion.

"Uh, Simon? What's going on?"

"Nothing!" he said quickly, eyes nailed to the floor.

"Awful lot of nothing going on around here," Kaylee muttered.

She stepped into the cargo bay, intending to look for some tools she'd left there, only to hear a faint shriek from upstairs. Gasping, she ran up, hearing another faint shriek from Inara's shuttle, and burst in to see the Companion clutching a robe to her, standing on her bed, staring at the floor.


She gasped when she saw Kaylee, and tried to calm herself. "I'm-," she swallowed. "Sorry, Kaylee. I think I saw a mouse." Firmly taking control of herself again, Inara took a deep breath and wrapped her robe around her.

Suddenly everything Kaylee had seen this morning made sense. "Well, maybe I can help you look for it-." Kaylee stopped herself when she heard a faint giggling coming from out in the cargo bay. "Just a sec," Kaylee said, and ducked out of Inara's shuttle.

Looking down, Kaylee could see River standing in the middle of the floor, a tiny furry body running over and over her hands and arms, occasionally stopping to sniff nose-to-nose with River.

"River?" Kaylee called softly.

"Such a vast disturbance in a little package." River looked up. "Like me."

Kaylee smothered giggles behind her hand as River put the mouse on her palm like a trophy and began to skip through Serenity's corridors. The string of shouts, curses, and shrieks began not long after, and Kaylee had to cling to the railing to contain her whoops of laughter.
Tags: criminal minds, drabbles, fic, firefly, supernatural, torchwood

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