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snagged from csi_sanders1129 (again) - The Great Goldfish in the Sky
Big like space, baby
spoileralert
spoileralert
snagged from csi_sanders1129 (again)
The first TEN however many people who comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level. don't actually have to do that part, just request anyway.

1.sarahbell05 -- Ethan/Kristina
2.csi_sanders1129 -- Jason/Spinelli
3.suerum -- Diane/Spinelli
4.
5.

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sarahbell05 From: sarahbell05 Date: May 9th, 2010 09:00 pm (UTC) (Link)
You know what I'm going to request. :) Ethan/Kristina please?
csi_sanders1129 From: csi_sanders1129 Date: May 10th, 2010 02:46 am (UTC) (Link)
Jason/Spinelli. Prompt: "That's it. We're lost."
spoileralert From: spoileralert Date: May 28th, 2010 11:10 pm (UTC) (Link)
really, I hope you like it!
----------------------------


Even plastered, Spinelli is the smartest guy in the room. Slurring doesn’t help the usual babble be any more understandable, but the words are still big and complex, long vowels and syllables bundled together to mean one single thing Jason couldn’t define if his life depended on it.

Normally he would have dragged Spinelli home by now, or as soon as he saw him, but the truth, although Jason can’t always see it, is that Spinelli is a grown man. If he says no when Jason says it’s time to go then what is he supposed to do, make him go at gunpoint?

It hadn’t been too long ago that Jason probably would have done something to that effect – take the beer from Spinelli’s hand with a frown, pull him off the barstool and lead him outside with a firm hand. But now more than ever it would be the wrong thing to do . These days Spinelli is like a caged animal – no, that’s not right. He is like an animal who had been caged and let free and hadn’t known what to do with himself. And his first act of freedom was to realize he’s unhappy.

Jason doesn’t think about these things, mostly. Usually. He thinks about what he’s told, he thinks about business. He doesn’t have time for reading between the lines, or reading people period, sometimes. But ever since the week before when Sam had laid her head on his shoulder and said, don’t you think there’s something wrong with Spinelli?, he had realized that yes, she was right, there was something wrong with him. Spinelli wasn’t Spinelli, anymore, at least not the Spinelli he had thought he’d known. This Spinelli had dark wet eyes and smelled like bourbon.

Coleman’s not at the bar tonight, nobody Jason knows is at the pool table, and at this hour all the faces at the tables are drawn and turned away, unfamiliar. The only other man at the bar has a cigar that smells cheap and leaves a taste in Jason’s throat when he inhales, the kind of thing Spinelli might have once objected to if he wasn’t so busy crooning along to whatever low, sad thing it is spiraling out of the jukebox.

“Don’t you think it’s time to go home?” Jason ventured again. He plucked the bottle from the counter and moved it away, more empty than full, but there was still a full glass in Spinelli’s grip, wet along the crystal sides and his fingers and the table below with the result of drunken pouring.

“Can’t.” Spinelli said. He sounds like he’s been rubbed with sandpaper, or has chewed and swallowed one of his neighbor’s cigars. “Can’t go home again.”

If Jason had been thinking about just taking the glass from Spinelli, he doesn’t have to. Spinelli takes a gulp and chokes, sputtering out liquor and saliva and looking, rather alarmingly, like he’s going to throw up. Jason chooses to catch Spinelli as he slumps sideways, still sputtering, and not the glass that slides to a tinkering wobble on the edge of the counter before shattering on the floor, a pile of glittering wet under the bar’s dim lights.

spoileralert From: spoileralert Date: May 28th, 2010 11:10 pm (UTC) (Link)
“C’mon.” Jason grunts, and if the bartender for the night is giving him dirty looks, he doesn’t care. Spinelli is a mess, face wet and there’s even snot, but Spinelli doesn’t have the coordination to stand up without Jason hauling most of his body weight, much less wipe himself off.

Outside its cool, air sharp and brittle, each of Spinelli’s gasping breaths a puff of white. “Just…just leave me. Here.”

Spinelli’s is too drunk to do anything but be embarrassed and it’s a look that raised something uncomfortable in Jason’ s stomach, a dark knot at seeing the humiliated twist on Spinelli’s face. He slumps against the brick wall, shivering, and ducks his face under his shirt, wiping it and maybe hiding, just a little.

“Spinelli.” Times like this frustrate Jason. Words, they never come to him. “It’s fine. Let’s just get back to the penthouse.”

“I c-can’t.” There’s a crack like a crevasse, the sounds falling apart all wrong. “Everything is wrong.

Jason doesn’t want to think of the things Sam told him, things like the two of them on the couch crying. It makes him feel guilty in a way he should have expected but hadn’t, wretched almost. “Look, Spinelli….”

I know I shouldn’t have left, he’s not going to say, because it’s still a battle inside of him, knowing it was right to stay with Michael and knowing it was wrong to leave everyone else. I know you’re upset, the sort of platitude he’d never understood because it was meaningless to state the obvious like that, really. I know you’re sad about Maxie, but he probably shouldn’t because it makes him a little mad, both that she’s probably in bed with Matt Hunter right now and the fact that Spinelli is this upset over it.

“Everything…is a little wrong. But it’ll get better.” Was that right?

Spinelli’s still crying, maybe. He’s in the dark of the building’s shadow but his breaths are thick and wet. He sniffles. “Stone Cold thinks this is only temporary.”

“It is.” Jason said firmly. “That’s exactly what it is. Right now is bad but just give it a little time, Spinelli.”

“Perhaps we are only lost in translation…ition…”

“That’s it. We’re lost.” Jason said triumphantly, and deflated a bit. The look on Spinelli’s face wasn’t any better and he stumbled away the wall. He had been crying, but he let Jason put an arm around his waist to keep him up. “Just let me take you home, okay?”

Spinelli’s heaving breaths sound like he might throw up but he doesn’t, just makes a noise like he’s been beaten.

“I’m not mad.” He says, drowsy in Jason’s ear. “At Maxie or you. For. Leaving me.”

“You can be mad if you want to.” Jason offered. The SUV is looming farther ahead and Jason just wants them both in it and away from here.

“Not.” Spinelli insisted. “Just…sad.”

And that, the guilty thud in Jason’s chest told him, was worse.
csi_sanders1129 From: csi_sanders1129 Date: May 29th, 2010 12:41 am (UTC) (Link)
Very sad and melancholy but I can totally see Spin reacting that way to such a dual betrayal. Quite glad that Jason's maybe talked him down some. Really like it :)
suerum From: suerum Date: May 11th, 2010 03:12 am (UTC) (Link)

okay.......

Diane/Spinelli, prompt, "Mr. Grasshopper, do you have any idea how much these shoes cost?"
spoileralert From: spoileralert Date: May 28th, 2010 05:37 pm (UTC) (Link)

Re: okay.......

"Mr. Grasshopper, do you have any idea how much these shoes cost?"

A lot is probably a viable answer, but Spinelli can't really seem to force it out. One of those shoes is in his lap, heeled and hard bottomed, close toed, black and most importantly, pressing into a very sensitive place with a lack of subtly too great for it to be considered "suggestive".

"Oh -oh my." Spinelli says intelligently, but his hands apparently have a different line to whatever small part of his brain is still operating. They touch the gleam of material softly.

"Nobody takes the time to appreciate, Mr. Grasshopper. Appreciate the small, finer things in life. Shoes, for instance." If the Brusque Lady of Justice is a beast in the courtroom, she's an animal on the prowl here. There's something sharp in her smile, something calculated and simultaneously relaxed in the way she's spread out on the sofa of her now imprisoned employer, and yeah, she looks a little drunk but on a woman like Diana Miller, that's just fuel to the fire.

Somehow Spinelli's day had gone from moping around and trying to drown himself in orange soda (and not, purposefully, something a little stronger) to this, not that he's complaining.

"S-Shoes are nice." Spinelli agrees hastily, although he's not really looking at the shoes anymore. With those tailored pants pushed up to half calf he can see these little white socks, thin and folded over. They're snug against bone and skin, the bump of ankle and stretch of arch, soft and almost slippery where his hands cups the back of the shoe, three fingers on hard material and two on softly covered tendon. Shoes are nice, and feet too, which isn't something he'd ever thought about before but, well, what his body is lacking in alcohol it's making up for in adrenaline he hasn't had since getting stuck in a shooting crossfire, nerves jittery just from the way Ms. Miller looks at him while she licks her lips.

It might be something in the way he’s on his knees, sitting on his own feet and yet he doesn’t feel low, or small, because it only takes his hands to cover and hold and caress her foot, which he does with no prompt save the heavy expectant gave leveled at him.

His heart races in a thump thump thump that feels like it might actually be rattling his ribs when his fingers hit the metal catch, shaking as they pull the strap free and loose and the shoe falls away at his little tug, sucking all his breath away when it finally falls away from the heel, slides away from the toes.

The socks are – decoration. The shoes too, although maybe that’s not the way he would ever describe them to Diane. Vestments, that’s more like it.

Socks slide off easy enough, just a pinch at the loosest fabric in the front and he can pull them away, feeling dizzy with each centimeter of bare skin revealed.
spoileralert From: spoileralert Date: May 28th, 2010 05:37 pm (UTC) (Link)

Re: okay.......


Gorgeous, Spinelli thinks when he finally drops the sock, staring at the full figure in all its naked glory, at just about the same time that Diane lets out a long, airy sigh and flexes her whole foot, pulls in her toes ,curls up her foot like a flower blooming in reverse, and it’s just so – damn hot. Spinelli can feel the roll of the bone beneath his thumb at the ankle and some hard ball of want hits him right in the chest, knocks the sense out of his mind.

Spinelli feels dirtier than he did anytime he’d ever had sex, or watched porn, but in a good way. One glance shows him Diane’s smile, a bit softer when he looks at it now and they’re sharing this, just between the two of them. It’s not for him, not for her – it’s for both of them.

He lets himself take a breath and closes his eyes. Just the feel is enough, almost too much even, his fingers on that delicate, smooth arch, perfect in its dip, breathtaking in its curve. There’s the jut of the ankle, so cute – just as smooth as the rest, a round resting place for his thumb to lay and caress.

“Spinelli-“ Diane says, sounding dazed and quiet from up above, like maybe she’s farther away than a lean, but at the same time they could very well be the only two people left in the entire world.

There’s the toes, also, and he does have to open his eyes for them, all curled right in their spots. The nails gleam in their clear polish, neat and trim – beautiful- and they wiggle happily when Spinelli breathes over them. He cradles his hand beneath the Achilles’ tendon, feels it flex against his palm – strong with sinew but so, so vulnerable. He sort of wants to lift it so he can press wet, open-mouth kisses to the sole, right in the middle, right where his tongue can slide out and tough that intimate, virgin spot, the one that’s worn fine threads for years – and that’s not a thought he can ever remember having in his life, almost shocking in its suddenness.

“Oh Mr. Grasshopper – “ Diane purrs, and there must be a dumb look on his face because her eyes are laughing, but her hands reach down to pet his hair, sharp fingernails trailing across his cheek. “You and I are going to have so much fun.”
suerum From: suerum Date: May 28th, 2010 07:14 pm (UTC) (Link)

Yes, the are...

Going to have a LOT of fun, mutual toe stretching, toe curling, foot enhanced fun!!! I think that Spinelli might indeed possess a heretofore unsuspected foot fetish but then again who wouldn't develop a full blown one under such intimate and exquisite circumstances? This is so beautiful, so detailed and the reading of it is to immerse oneself completely in the delicate exclusion of the moment. The individual words are polished stones lying at the bottom of a rippling stream and you reach carefully down to touch and caress each one, to absorb and indulge in their imagery, carefully repositioning each one before moving onto the next. They are Diane and Spinelli, Brusque Lady of Justice and Mr. Grasshopper and nothing and no one exists except this time, this place and their unfolding discovery of one another.

As always, I stand in awe of your effortless command of language which you use to draw indelible pictures of beautiful complexity within my mind. I will never look at a foot encased in a shoe and sock in quite the same way again. Sequel!
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