tarotgal

I wrote these for Lady Korana's birthday last month. She's already read them, but this is the first time I've posted them here. There's some sneezing in several of them.


Star Wars: Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon

Qui-Gon was just finishing in the kitchen when Obi-Wan emerged from his room, stretching. “Good morning, Padawan. And happy birthday to you.”

Obi-Wan smiled a humble smile, as though he had forgotten. “Thank you.”

“For once, we have the luxury of time, not being off world on a mission. Is there anything special you’d like to do today?”

“Nothing in particular. But I would like to meditate with you this morning before we visit the training rooms. I’m feeling stiff.”

Qui-Gon’s smile was not a humble one, as he turned his back on Obi-Wan. “We can’t have that, now, can we? But, first, I’ve made your favorite breakfast.” He turned with a pair of plates, stacked high with bread and spiced pudding and perfect circles of eggs. He set them down on the table and darted away to the refrigerator for a pot of syrup and two glasses of juice he had squeezed freshly that morning.

Obi-Wan sighed through his first syrup-filled bite. “You spoil me, Master.”

“Not at all.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “You deserve something special on the day you come of age. And…” He pushed food about on his plate, having no appetite for it. “And I know of course that presents of any sort are not part of the Jedi order. But, as this is a special day… I have a gift for you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed his current bite of breakfast and darted a tongue over his lips. “Wh—“

Qui-Gon was across the table at once, with the swiftest of Jedi reflexes, unable to wait a single second later. He pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s for the first time. Obi-Wan sighed into the kiss, his lips eager for more. Qui-Gon had to pull back, though. It was his responsibility to make sure his padawan was all right with everything this meant. He cupped his hand to Obi-Wan’s soft cheek as he withdrew.

Looking back at him with wide eyes, it took Obi-Wan a few moments to recover the ability to speak. “Thank you, Master. That was more than I could have dreamed for.” He took a breath, blinked slowly, and looked his master in the eyes. “But you know that attachments to possessions are forbidden by the Jedi Code. I’m afraid that I must return this gift.”

He stood slowly, letting Qui-Gon keep hold of his cheek the whole time. Then he drew himself close to his master, hands on Qui-Gon’s sides, then around his back, as their lips locked. This time, the kiss was strong, sure. This kiss was chin against neatly trimmed beard. This kiss was nose against nose. This kiss was closed eyes and wet lips and heavy breaths that tickled their upper lips.

And when this kiss finally ended, Qui-Gon was elated but frowning. “A wise Jedi is able to evaluate, to be fair. I cannot help but notice the first kiss was not remotely equal to the second. You gave me far too much back. I feel the need to correct this oversight.” He stroked his thumb against Obi-Wan’s cheek, caressed the fine padawan braid, let his fingers rest upon the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck.

Obi-Wan’s lips parted. He exhaled softly. “I may be of age, but I am still your padawan. I agree with your judgment and will follow wherever you wish to lead me.”

As Qui-Gon took him in his arms, they both lost track of how many kisses there were and whose kisses they were. There was nothing but the sensation and the hum of something building strong between them.




Lord of the Rings: Gimli & Legolas

Gimli’s footsteps were loud as his boots struck the rock floor of the hallway. It was enough to wake Legolas from sleep as he approached their bedroom. When he slipped inside, closing the door behind him, he was smiling. He brought the breakfast tray to the bed. “Happy birth—“

Legolas’ breath hitched. “ih-ih-ihh… ih-ih!” There was a moment’s pause during which there was no sound, no movement apart from Legolas’ twitching ears. Then the elf snapped forward. “ih-ihhhTshh!”

After waiting a few moments to make sure there wasn’t a second sneeze on its way, Gimli then sat down on the bed and set the tray down as well. “Happy birthday to me,” he finished.

Immediately, Legolas’ face fell. “No… It cannot be. I thought… two days… today?”

Gimli nodded. “Unless my parents and the historians who draw up the family trees have been lying to me my whole life.”

Legolas closed his eyes. “I was going to get you a gift. I… but… I have… hh… ihhhHshhh! EhShh! IhhhShh!”

“Galu.” Gimli pushed strands of the elf’s long, blond hair from his face. “Did you honestly think you would somehow sneak out of bed, get dressed, find your way to the market, and barter for something… without me noticing, without me worrying?”

A shrug. A sniffle. “I… ihhh…” His ears had barely stopped twitching since he woke. Gimli reached up with a finger and stroked one of them, trying to soothe it. But the sneeze wouldn’t stop. His cold was far too intense for that. So he pulled a hanky out of his pocket with his other hand and pressed it to his elf’s nose. “h’Ihshphhhhh! ihh-h’shxxfffff!” Legolas breathed into the hanky and smiled. “This is still warb-sniff! Warm.”

“So is breakfast.”

Legolas looked down at the tray but didn’t make a move to eat anything. Gimli knew it wasn’t what he was used to, but it wasn’t so easy getting fresh fruit here in the caverns.

“Have a bite of bread for me? Because of my birthday?”

A bite of the roll. Another sniffle. “I am sorry.” He set the rest of the roll down.

“No need to apologize. How do you feel?”

“All I feel like doing is sneezing. And sleeping. Not normal for an elf.”

Gimli reached up and traced a path around one of Legolas’ ears, his fingers brushing through smooth, silky hair and against the tight braid woven in, disappearing among the rest of the soft gold. He had braided that himself; it had taken months for his thick fingers to braid so elegantly, but Legolas had been patient, affectionate, loving about it. “You are no normal elf. But you are the only elf I want in my bed. You are the only elf I want for my birthday.”

“eh… ihh-IHShihhh!” Gimli picked the handkerchief up again and held it in front of Legolas’ face. “ihhh-h’tShchhh! Sniff! Even though I… ihhh…”

“Even though,” Gimli said, tenderly, pressing the hanky against Legolas’ twitching nose.

“ih-Hshihh!” Legolas fell forward, into Gimli’s arms. Gimli set the breakfast aside in order to crawl under the covers. Immediately, Legolas wrapped his arms around the dwarf and nuzzled his face into Gimli’s hair. “Sniff! So warm. How sniff, sniff how are you always so warm?”

“Must be my love for you.”

Legolas shook again, and Gimli could tell right away it wasn’t from a sneeze. The elf was laughing—softly, lightly.

Gimli smiled and stroked Legolas’ arm as he wrapped them tight around him. There was no better way to spend a birthday.




Supernatural: Sam & Dean

“Are we seriously not going to talk about this?”

Dean looked up from what remained of his breakfast: bits of egg that had scrambled too loose and jam that hadn't made it onto his bread. “About what?”

Dean knew perfectly well what. Sam's voice was full of annoyance. “Dean--”

Holding his hand up both stopped Sam before the sentence had really started and signaled to their waitress that they were ready for the check. “Not now, Sammy. It's too early for a heart-to-heart.”

Sam laughed. “You've been up all night driving.” Sam had managed a few hours of sleep in the passenger seat of the Impala during the night, waking up at random intervals to find Dean was going through a drive-in to get a soda or filling up the tank at an all-night gas station or just driving along the interstate, theirs being the only car for miles at a time. At least a half dozen times during the night Sam had asked when they were going to stop. There was no case, no urgent destination, no need to drive straight through the night to get to anywhere. Each time, Dean's answer had been the same, flat 'In a while.' But it seemed he was still waiting for that 'while.' It had taken almost half an hour of Sam's stomach rumbling for Dean to finally pull off the road to find an open diner for breakfast. Sam had eaten voraciously, but Dean had barely touched his food. Sam knew the date had everything to do with it.

“Fine.” Dean suppressed a yawn. “Then it's too late for a heart-to-heart.”

“Well, when do you suggest we talk about it? Because it's obvious it's bothering you.” Sam leaned forward, arms crossed upon the table.

Dean followed a deep sigh with a long sip of coffee. He put the cup down and inspected its contents as if he expected the coffee to magically reappear there without the waitress's assistance. “What would you have me do? Order a doughnut and ask for them to put a candle in it so the whole damn place can sing happy birthday? We don't do birthdays, Sammy. We especially don't celebrate them for people who are dead.”

It hurt, hearing him say it like that, like he was just one of hundreds of people they knew who had died. It wasn't a shock to remember that Dad was dead, but the reminder still hurt, today more than ever. “I know, but this is Dad's first birthday since he died. I can't help thinking about him today.”

The waitress finally came by with the check. She topped off their coffees as she took Dean's plastic. Dean concentrated on draining his cup, apparently not wanting to reply, so Sam sat in silence, fingering his empty sugar packets and trying not to remember the image of his father's body going up in flames on the funeral pyre.

Dean got the credit card back, scribbled a name that was not 'Dean Winchester' on the receipt then led the way out of the diner to the car. Once they were in it, though, Dean didn't start the car right away. He ran his hands over the curve of the steering wheel the way Dad used to do when it was cold out and he was waiting for the car to warm up a little before driving it. Without taking his eyes off the dashboard, Dean said, “He wanted us to be hunters, Sammy. He wanted us to pick up where he left off.”

“I know, Dean.” But they didn't have anything to hunt right now. They had nowhere to go.

“I'm heading toward the roadhouse. Only place I could think of going. Maybe Ellen will have something for us? But, even if she doesn't, I just wanted to be around other hunters, you know?”

Sam nodded as Dean started to back out of the parking spot and navigate through the parking lot to the main road. “Okay.”

They didn't talk about Dad again. They didn't talk about anything. Dean played one of the Metallica tapes and occasionally banged his hand against the dashboard at key moments in the songs. Sam tried to stay in the moment and not lose himself in thought.

But when Dean stopped for gas the next time and went inside to grab a couple snacks from the convenience store, Sam leaned over and called out through the open driver's side window, “Hey, bring back a newspaper?”

Dean paused, a few feet away, his back to the car. Then he shot a grin over his shoulder and nodded. It only took about fifteen minutes of driving down the road before Sam looked up from the newspaper with a “Get this...”




Torchwood: Ianto & Jack

“Good morning, Sir.”

Jack’s head shot up from the paperwork on his desk, eyes wide to see Ianto standing in the doorway to his office with a tray of tea. “Ianto? What are you doing here?”

Ianto looked hurt as he headed to Jack’s desk and set the tray down. “I’m doing my job, Sir.” There was light congestion in his voice, but mostly it just sounded deeper.

“I mean, what are you doing here this morning? I thought you would stay home today. Yesterday you were practically sneezing your brains out.”

Ianto poured the tea from the kettle into the two cups. “Ah, and you were worried that would mean I’d forget how to make tea?”

Jack smiled one of his smiles where one side of his mouth quirked up higher than the other. He stood and pulled Ianto’s arm, drawing the man around the desk and parking Ianto on his lap. “We don’t have anything going on right now. You didn’t have to come in today just to make me tea.”

“I realize that,” said Ianto, softly. He cleared his scratchy throat and leaned instinctively into Jack, draping an arm around him loosely to hold himself close. “But I wanted to. I…” He trailed off, nose tickling.

Jack held tighter to Ianto and leaned over a little so he could grab the tissue box that sat at the far corner of his desk, beyond his many papers and the tea Ianto had just brought. Ianto reached at the same time, grabbing a tissue from it before Jack had even brought it halfway across the desk.

“hah-Umphtchh! Excuse—ahhrrrr!” he cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

Jack stroked Ianto’s back.

“Your doctor is… well, you don’t know where he is, do you? And Gwen’s off on holiday with Rhys somewhere warmer than Cardif. And everyone else is… you’d be lonely without me here. And I’d be lonely back at my flat without you. I don’t want to be lonely on my birthday.”

“Wait, you have a head cold and it’s your birthday and you came to work to pour me tea?”

“I came to work to be… be with… excuse me… I have to…” He cupped a tissue to his face. “hahhh-Hmphshhhh! Umphshihhh!”

Jack rubbed his hand up and down Ianto’s back again sin sympathy.

“It’s important to me to sniff to not let you down, even if I’m a little ill. Sniff! It’s only a slight head cold, Jack.”

“Slight? You can’t stop sneezing.” Jack shook his head. “It’s important to me that the ones I care about are taken care of.” He pressed a kiss to Ianto’s neck, the closest bit of skin he could reach. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m going to take you home and give you the best birthday a tea boy with a cold could ever have.”

“And what would that entail, exactly, Sir?” He leaned his head against Jack’s, his cheek against the top of Jack’s head.

“I’ll start with putting you to bed and go from there.”

“There’s a lot we can do in bed.”

Jack smiled into Ianto’s suit jacket. “Yes, there is.”

“I... I'm... ex... huh...” Ianto took another tissue and folded it over his nose. “huh-Umphshhhh!” He blew his nose and then looked down at the tissue in his hand as he politely folded it up and dropped it into the trash. “Jack... you said you don't get ill. Why do you have a box of tissues on your desk?” Jack's answer was a kiss to the spot just above the knot of his necktie. “Did you get these for me, knowing I'd be at work this morning, Sir?”

There was another kiss. Then Jack picked up the tissue box and pushed it into Ianto's chest. “Keep these for the drive to your flat. The first of many birthday presents.”

Ianto had a feeling that Jack knew far more than he was letting on, especially when he pushed aside a pile of personnel files and grabbed a backpack on the way out of his office.