Climb up, over the top; survey the state of the soul.

(OhgodIcan'tbelieveIpostedthis)

Three brief Wake of Wings (that is to say, Drake-and-Finbar) moments: Scrabble and the Undead (with Theron & Co), Sex and Libraries (Dead Inside universe), and Sunday Mornings (post book 2). I make no excuses for any of them, though I may be forced to commit ritual suicide from embarrassment.

For the record, I still can't get over the Scrabble. And Theron doesn't know when to let an argument drop. Brenon, as usual, just wants to pretend he's never met any of these people before in his life.

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(there is no i in team; we were never all that good at spelling)
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"Brat! Come on, I've figured out where we need to go from here- what are you doing?" Drake burst into the kitchen of Theron's house-slash-office-building, wielding a sheaf of papers.

Finbar sat with Theron, Brenon and Stella at the kitchen table, playing Scrabble. "You mean the gate crystal? One of Theron's old contacts found the last working plane gate for us yesterday. M-O-R-O-N, on a double word score, with the M on a triple letter, plus A-M for am: 30 points."

Drake gaped, realized he looked ridiculous, and switched to a glare instead. "Then we can leave whenever you're ready to stop playing Scrabble with the undead. Jareth would be proud to see you following in his footsteps."

Theron glared back while Finbar ignored him. "Whatever you have against Scrabble, you can just leave it at the door, McFarrow. As long as you're in my house, you'll respect my board games. Now sit down and be quiet, and for the last time stop trying to work your necromancy on me, it won't work. The game's almost over, anyway; there aren't anymore tiles in the bag."

Bren hid his face in his hands. "I have nothing to do with any of this. Stell, it's your turn."

Drake crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, irritation written clear across his face. Stella hummed tunelessly and ran her fingers over her tiles. "Let's see...ooh, this one's appropriate. Z-E-A-L-O-T-R-Y. Z on the triple letter, O on the triple word, fifty points for using all my tiles, and another 17 points for turning "quips" into "equips"...that's 187 points, and I'm out of tiles. Game over!"

Everyone, including Drake, stared at the board. Stella rocked back and forth in her seat, still humming.

Bren tossed the remains of his tiles on the board with a dejected sigh. "Hells. I still had a J."

Theron just looked smug, and glanced sidelong at Drake. "And how many of your zombies can do that, McFarrow?"

Drake made a strangled noise of frustration. "That's it! We're leaving," he shouted, and slammed the door behind him as he stormed out.

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For the record, Stella cheats. She cheats like nobody's business, and no one suspects her 'cuz she's blind and crazy.

And now, Dead Inside, redux!

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(books are good for reading, among other things)
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"Seriously though, where in the city haven't the two of you had sex? I need to know where it's safe to stand."

Silverlock looked thoughtful. "That's...difficult to say."

Drake's brow furrowed in thought. "Zombietown?"

"Right, right. Too distracting. And the thirteenth floor."

"Ah, yes. Of course. But only because someone forgot to see that it was furnished, and I'm not a fan of concrete floors." Drake glanced significantly at Finbar, who gave him a look of such disgust, every soul within a two hundred foot radius felt slightly uncomfortable and shameful on Drake's behalf.

"Nor am I," Silverlock said. "I do think that's it, though."

"Yes, that does seem to be it."

Finbar's expression smoothed out. "You mean to say you had sex in the library?"

Silverlock shrugged. "Well, it's not like anyone else was using those bookshelves at the time."

"Come on, Old Son. Sex in the stacks is traditional. You've been to college, you should know these things."

Finbar smiled a wicked smile of unholy glee. "I'm telling Aislin." He snapped his fingers and opened a gate, and was gone before either mage could react.

Silverlock looked at Drake. Drake looked at Silverlock.

"Well, shit," they said in unison.

They opened gates of their own; it was only a matter of time before Aislin found them, but they could still do their best to stave off the inevitable.

"It's been a pleasure working with you," Silverlock said gravely, a half-smile turning up the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah. Nice knowing you, too." Drake grinned and waved, and stepped through his gate.

In another part of the city, a cry of terrifying rage rose up from the library, flattening buildings and knocking over innocent passers-by in a three block radius.

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I think Aislin makes them do community service for a few months as punishment, after she finishes beating the crap out of them. Possibly a daycare is involved? Blaine is amazingly unsympathetic, as is Finbar.

And I make no excuses, but I may possibly deny this ever happened. Porn! Unadulterated sap! Drake being utterly whipped!

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(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens)
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Early morning sunlight filtered into the kitchen, warming the tiles beneath Drake's feet. He stood at the stove, contemplating the pan warming on the burner; a carton of eggs and various other culinary sundries sat out on the counter beside him. His thoughts turned to the boy (not hardly a boy, anymore, but youth was relative) still sleeping in their bed, and he smiled, the brief expression uncharacteristically gentle.

It was one of those bright Sunday mornings when he found himself with nothing better to do than cook breakfast for the two of them. He was rather fond of days like these, though he was loathe to admit that to anyone but himself.

Finbar wandered into the kitchen, barefoot, hair askew, and clad only in boxers. He yawned hard enough to crack his jaw, then latched onto Drake from behind with a grunt.

"Good morning to you, too."

"Mm-hm." Finbar leaned against Drake, his voice a low, sleepy rumble in his chest. He nuzzled at the juncture of Drake's neck and shoulder, and bit down on the tendon there, gnawing gently.

Drake shivered slightly. Finbar's hands slid under his shirt, warm against his bare skin. "In case you hadn't noticed, Old Son, I'm cooking."

"Yeah." Finbar moved his attention upwards, leaving a trail of bites along Drake's neck. He paused at the other man's ear to gnaw for a bit, while his thumbs traced lazy circles upon the muscles of Drake's abdomen. "But I'm hungry now."

His hands stilled on the edge of the stove. Any coherent thoughts that might have been floating through Drake's mind fizzled into nothingness at the sound of those words in his ear. His eyes slid closed and his head tilted back, giving Finbar better access to his neck and jawline. "Breakfast?" His voice came out more strained than he'd have liked.

Finbar reached around him to turn off the burner. "Order take out later." His teeth scraped against the corner of Drake's jaw, the rough hint of stubble burning his skin.

Drake shivered again. "Oh. Right." In addition to his many other talents, the boy was clearly brilliant. "Good plan."

"Mm-hm." He tugged Drake back towards the bedroom, his teeth working steadily at the fragile skin behind Drake's ear.

Drake, eyes still closed, allowed himself to be led.

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FATALITY. *hides under a rock, never to emerge again*