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"It's your move, Charles" The sudden sound of Erik's deep voice jarred the telepath from his reverie. Hurriedly, Charles snapped his attention to the chessboard and tried to make it seem like he hadn't been day-dreaming at all. The fact that Charles had had a little bit to drink didn't help his mind stay sharp as it happened to be that alcohol actually caused the younger man's mind to stray into all sorts of interesting thoughts--sometimes not just his own, either. The trip his mind had just recently wandered on involved the dashing man sitting across from him who was not nearly as affected by the numerous glasses of scotch as he himself was

Your name is John Egbert, and you are not Dave Strider's boyfriend. You are not a homosexual, after all. Granted, you are pretty sure that you aren't exactly heterosexual either, but it had been made very clear a long time ago that such ridiculous nonsense as labels would not be tolerated in the Strider-Egbert household. Labels belonged on boxes, and boxes were for squares. And neither one of you were particularly square, last you checked. So you laughed in the face of Dave's complete deadpan, and agreed that labels were not going to be observed as long as the two of you did live, amen. You moved into an apartment with him as soon as high s

Irreplaceable Sherlock Holmes did not trust. He did not trust and he shouldn't have trusted and he was never wrong. But, most of all, Sherlock did not feel. 3:14 "And what do you think?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow when he didn't receive the answer he'd hoped for. "Traitor," he mumbled, discarding the discussion with a wave towards the skull sitting next to him on the coffeetable. He flopped around, turning his back on the empty, accusing eye-sockets. "Well, what do you know," he mumbled into the queen-and-country pillow he'd movedstolen from that chair. He sat up with a start and moved towards the window. He'd thought it was a bluff.