MEME: AU Drabble Things

[aintnoconvict]

Speaking of AUs: I am blaming Dien and her tumblr for this.

1.) Tag in with your characters.
2.) Someone else tags you with with an alternate universe setting. Inclusion of their character(s) in the AU is totally cool.
3.) Write a three-sentence fic drabble-like thing in response.
4.) You tag others with AU prompts and get drabble-things in return.

GO GO GO!

Comments

[smecker]

Paul thinks the slender, dark-haired guy he's been seeing around the clubs has pretty clearly taken way too much LSD, but it doesn't really stop him looking. There's nothing the fuck wrong with looking, and whatever spaceball prince over there's been doing, it hasn't screwed up a grace that arrests Paul's eyes despite himself, despite all the cynicism he's already learned at his tender age.

Lots of people dance in the clubs, but this guy actually dances. Not 'throws his limbs around' or 'rubs on someone's ass'-- no. There's clear classical training in the spins and the turns and the occasional hint of a plié that becomes something else if Spaceball thinks anyone's watching, that becomes instead a suddenly clumsy, ineberiated stagger and a sheepish smile, a gosh, I'm sorry...

One of these times the guy catches Paul looking. On cue the glance down and away, the flip from being fluid as water and light as Baryshnikov to being something all knees and elbows and oops. Paul curls his lip for the falsity of it. And when the other man looks back up-- a look simultaneously sly and dizzily free-from-guile-- through his curling hair, the other man sees that sneer.

Paul turns away and goes to get another drink. But Spaceball's there at his elbow as he stirs it, Greek nose and Greek hair-- or maybe Italian?-- and big eyes made bigger by rings of jet black and then his lids dusted with shimmering peacock hues. Lips a delicate pink, moving like he's trying to kiss rather than talk when he says, uncertainly--

"I, I, I don't mean to lie, it's just that it's-- safer."

Paul arches a brow for this, and arches a shoulder too and leans back against the wall with a cant of his hips designed to draw the eye-- idly testing to see if these eyes are too far gone for things like that.

They're not-- those heavily-lined eyes drop down, from his own make-up to the illusion of cleavage and the sharp arch of his hip in that super-fuckable skirt he's sporting tonight. Spaceball blushes-- who the fuck still blushes?-- and then the gaze flutters back up and lingers on his throat and Paul sees an unexpected intelligence in eyes that by rights should be big vacant pools of fried synapses.

"Who's threatening you here?" Paul answers, deciding to ignore that he's probably just been found out.

"I don't know," says Spaceball, wide-eyed, and apparently completely uncaring if Paul's girl or boy. "If I-i-I-- knew it would be a l-lot easier to avoid them? Wouldn't it?"

Paul laughs. Can't argue with that logic. He sips his drink with the careful motion needed to not smudge his lipstick, then sets the class down and puts that hand into Spaceball's hair instead, burying his fingers which can never pass as a woman's into those thick, dark curls.

"Well fuck 'em. If you want to dance you should just dance," he informs his suddenly-partner-for-the-night, and tugs them both back onto the floor.

[aintnoconvict]

Yes good, as the kids say. Lovely little bit of perfect and I am somehow suddenly reminded that Glitch and Mayland need to talk about opium. Or something ♥