DVD meme!

May. 11th, 2010 08:56 pm
gyzym: (RDJ's smirk WILL GET YOU PREGNANT)
[personal profile] gyzym
Look at me, stealing this idea from everyone ever! But whatever, it's cool.

Pick a paragraph (or any passage less than 500 words) from any fanfic I've written [and include a link to the story], and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you a DVD commentary on that snippet...

All my fic can be found at my masterlist/header post, except for the first installment of that H/W grad student fic, which is here and may not go up on the masterlist until it's a complete work.

Okay: go!

Date: 2010-05-12 01:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] purple-chalk.livejournal.com
It is cruel of me and also masochistic but I want this:

“Like you care, traitor,” Sirius hears, calm and biting, and for once he doesn’t react. Regulus is right: he is a traitor. Not to his mother or his father, of course, but to the blood that courses through his veins, the blood that pours from his brother’s mouth. He wonders at the sticking power of such things, the power of blood to trap him, always, in places he doesn’t want to be, but then Regulus is curling his upper lip and leaning close, so Sirius doesn’t wonder anymore.

It is warm and too sticky, salty (like tears and seed—it’s not fair, that such things should be as saline as the ocean, that each separate drop should taste too strong of memories and regrets)—Sirius remembers belatedly that each kiss they share is tainted with the faint taste of incongruity, of incest, and does not brace himself for it. Regulus’s inherent closeness rides waves of shame on his tongue and against his teeth, and then, if only to escape the awful sensation, Sirius is pushing them, gasping, into an empty classroom.

Date: 2010-05-12 01:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gyzym.livejournal.com
Mmmm. So, I wrote this fic in two pieces--the section in which this bit lies, and then literally everything else. There was about a four month gap between the two, and I'd all but forgotten about this fic when I found it. And when I say "all but forgotten" I mean: I opened the document and went, fuck, I wrote this?

The line that assured me that I had not, in fact, copied this from somewhere and stored it in a word document during a fit of amnesia was the salinity bit, which I remembered writing.

If I'm honest with myself? This is one of my favorite piece of writing I've done in HP, mostly because it was so beyond my scope as a writer when I produced it. Everything after was better, and I don't know where this came from, but I do know it radically changed my writing...for the better, I like to think.

GAH, INCEST. HELLO AGAIN, IT HAS BEEN AWHILE SINCE I WROTE YOU.

Date: 2010-05-12 01:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] purple-chalk.livejournal.com
:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
elrhiarhodan: (Default)
From: [personal profile] elrhiarhodan
They draw the kiss out so long that by the time El breaks away Peter is licking more than biting, and the loss of contact draws a soft mewling moan out of Neal, one he's never heard himself make before. "Fucking hell, Neal," Peter snaps, in response, and Neal barely has time to worry that his tone means he's done something wrong before he's being grabbed by the hair and hauled up to Peter's mouth.

They crash together with such force that Peter lays back against the stairs and Neal writhes against him--Peter's right hand is still pulling at Neal's hair in odd, disjointed rhythms and his left hand has found its way to Neal's ass. It isn't squeezing as much as pushing, gripping, and Neal forgets to breath until Elizabeth lets out a tiny moan of her own, above them.

They break the kiss and turn to look at her together, and Neal's breath hitches when he notices she has unzipped her fly, is withdrawing a hand from her pants. "Boys," she says, a little breathless, "I think we all might be a little more comfortable in the bedroom."

Neal grins. He--god, he can't help himself, it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, Peter pushing him back and releasing his tie and standing to go to his wife. He pushes her into the linen closet door and kisses her roughly, mercilessly; Neal licks his lips in anticipation. Her jeans slip down her hips as she bucks into him and before Neal really knows what he's doing he's scrambling haphazardly up the stairs, all elbows and knees.

Peter steps away from her after a long moment and quirks an eyebrow at Neal. It is then that he realizes he's forgotten to stand up, and is sitting on the top of the stairs, openly panting, watching them. Peter sighs and offers Neal a hand. Dizzily, he takes it, allows himself to be pulled to his feet and led into the Burkes' bedroom. He sees Elizabeth step out of her jeans behind him, a sly smile snaking it's way across her features, and his mouth goes dry.

"Bed," Peter barks, and Neal throws himself across it at once, looking up at him eagerly. He watches as Peter struggles to maintain a serious expression, watches as it breaks into a strange open earnestness. "You should see yourself," he murmurs, putting his palm to Neal's cheek. "It's--goddamn it, you're just--"

Neal, knowing full well how utterly unprepared Peter is for an emotional moment, gives him a small smile. For someone who has made a career of lying to people, he knows that he's not hiding his own feelings particularly well at this moment, so he turns his face into Peter's palm and licks it until he's sure his voice will be steady. Then he says "Bet I look like a happy man in a ruined suit," and before Peter can reply, Neal sucks three of his fingers into his mouth.

From - The Right Way To Ruin a Suit

THAT IS A LOT OF WORDS

Date: 2010-05-12 01:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gyzym.livejournal.com
Okay so. True story: I wrote this ENTIRE fic in an AIM chat with [livejournal.com profile] purple_chalk. It was the second thing I wrote in this fandom, following the true/false thing THAT I ACTUALLY TITLED THIS TRUE/FALSE THING because I couldn't come up with anything better. But I think I'd seen like 6 eps when I wrote Ruin a Suit, and the thing I couldn't get over was the fucking power dynamic.

This was also, for the record, the first threesome I ever attempted to portray, relationship-wise and sexually.

As such, I was--and am--ABSURDLY proud of the result. Peter with his hand wrapped around Neal's tie was the first image that came to me, and it still comes to me every time I write these three. And I was terrified of this part specifically, the transition between locations--it wasn't something I was particularly good at, in porn.

Allow me to rephrase: there wasn't much I was particularly good at with porn before I wrote this. I'd never pushed myself in that regard before, and it was a real pleasure to discover that it was something I could do. I credit most of the porn I wrote following to this fic, actually--I wanted to stretch that newly discovered muscle.

Date: 2010-05-12 02:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] speccygeekgrrl.livejournal.com
You had to expect that I would pick part of Into the Fire, didn't you?



"I seriously didn't need to see this," Mozz said. He wanted to turn away but--but couldn't. He was weak in the face of temptation. He had fallen to the sheer sexual magnetism of his own personal Adonis, damn the Greeks and all their tragedies.

And Neal was like an Adonis, even just from the waist down. There was a sculpted, ethereal quality to him, one that Mozz had always found captivating. That being said, Mozz didn't think Adonis had ever spent an afternoon in a t-shirt and nothing else, staring at his own dick in his living room mirror.

"I needed to check something," Neal said absently. He lifted his cock to look at the underside and Mozz drew in a sharp, pointed breath--even flaccid it did something strange and painful to his insides, made something in him keen.

"And you didn't lock the door first because?"

"It was urgent." Neal flicked the thing again, almost unthinkingly, and Mozz was actually going crazy, this was some kind of insane dream--

"What," he said, hoping he was keeping his voice even, "could possibly have been so urgent that taking the time to lock the door was impossible?"

Neal waved a hand. "Did you know," he said, "that sometimes people don't realize they have skin cancer because the first signs are--" he gestured broadly at the area Mozz could not seem to look away from. "I wanted to be sure."

"You don't have skin cancer, Neal," Mozzie said, wearily. "I'm sorry I ever told you about all the poisons they put in our food, okay?"

"I thought you said paranoia was healthy," Neal replied, quirking an eyebrow, and god, the bastard was making a point. He'd probably planned this, sneaky smirky little shit. Mozz bit back a scream of frustration and told Neal to get dressed, finally forced himself to drag his eyes to the ceiling, and vowed to avoid pissing the man off in the future.

Date: 2010-05-12 04:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gyzym.livejournal.com
It is hilarious that you picked this bit, because it was easily the hardest part of this fic to write. Every other scene came clearly to me, and I knew I needed to have a scene where Moz walked in on Neal doing something strange sans clothing, but it took me forever to figure out what. As such, I was terrified that this scene's dialogue would come off sounding forced, and was SO relieved when people seemed to find it acceptable.

Additionally? I cannot look over this fic without hearing the truly incredible audiofic in my head. Thank you again--it continues to fill me with glee :D

Date: 2010-05-12 04:27 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] speccygeekgrrl.livejournal.com
It definitely didn't sound forced at all, I love the bantery quality and how Neal is just doing it to be a pain in Mozzie's ass. xD

\o/! I'm delighted that it still makes you happy! It was a lot of fun to do, that's for sure. :D

Date: 2010-05-12 02:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] photoash.livejournal.com
I had a hard time choosing from my favorite two parts of this story but I'll choose this one:

Stupid is as stupid does

It is their ritual, after, to fuck in front of whatever Neal's stolen. It had been Kate's idea, the first time, and Neal had found it disgusting and debasing and achingly hot. They've come together in front of rare manuscripts and rarer paintings, on piles of currency and forged bonds. She never looks more alive, more with him, than these times.

"Kate," he gasps, and levers himself up to catch her nipple in his mouth. She shudders against him and they both look at the gun, still making Neal nervous on the bedside table. He lays back against the sheets after a few moments and she leans down, presses her hands into her shoulders and grinds herself down onto him. Her hair is thick and black, a corrupted halo, and he catches it and pulls.

She has always been a beautiful girl, beautiful and brilliant and a little impossible. Neal loves her for it, has never wanted anything more. Some nights, as he pounds into her, lines of Whitman and Auden and cummings slide from her lips between invectives, like water. Some nights, faced with the smooth canvas of her back, he traces Picasso into her skin with his fingernails. She has always been enough. She has always been a little more than enough, truth be told.

The last, but arguably the most important, rule of the con: know your own tells. Neal closes his eyes to Kate's face and sees another instead, heavier and more masculine, darker and maybe a little bit kinder. He feels broader, thicker fingers tracing his skin, shorter hair caught between his fingers; he hears a lower, more demanding moan.

Neal closes his eyes, and it's Peter, it's Peter he's fucking, and he knows he's as good as caught.


Because it's one of the hottest and dirtiest things ever to think of them fucking in front of the loot and that Neal knows he's completely fallen for Peter and that Kate would *know* to guess his motives from his eyes!

Date: 2010-05-12 03:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] surreal-44.livejournal.com
One of my favorite fics ever: Insomnia's Net Worth

Peter woke suddenly, starting with it. He couldn't...quite...remember--a vague image of the man who had shot him was already slipping out of his mental focus, like smoke. Instinctively, he glanced first to his left, where El usually slept, before recalling that she was still in Boston for that gala.

Then he looked to his right, where Neal, by all rights, should have been, and discovered that spot was vacant as well.

"What is the point," he muttered grouchily, "of adopting a second bedmate if you're going to wake up alone?" Yawning, he stretched--the still healing flesh from the bullet wound screamed at him, and he told it firmly to shut up. Then he stood and made his way downstairs, knowing, despite himself, where he was likely to find Neal.

He wasn't mistaken. Neal was stretched out on the couch, wearing those coke-bottle glasses he never took out of the house and one of Peter's old sweatshirts, staring at the television. Peter couldn't help but smile--Neal looked ridiculous. He cleared his throat as he stepped off the last stair, and Neal jerked his head, startled.

"Hey," he said, softly, surprised. Then he hit the mute button on the remote and added "You're supposed to be in bed."

"You're supposed to be in prison," Peter returned, "and yet, here we are." Neal just gave him a chastising look, and Peter yawned and made a scooting motion with his hand. Neal sat up and moved over, and Peter sank into the couch next to him. "Woke myself up," he admitted, "and then the bed was empty. Couldn't go back to sleep." He hadn't really tried all that hard, but there wasn't any point in telling Caffrey that.

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