IT'S ALIIIIVE

Happy Pride!!!!! I knew I hHAD to do a SFA Pride Month drawing,, this series has been so incredible and so queer and I love it so much <3333

Timelapse and closeups under the cut vvv

Instead of writing something new for the @come-what-may-challenge prompts I sorta took it as a kick in the butt to work on some WIPs, and it's been working quite delightfully! Here's what's been cooking:

hidden

And by the end of the conversation, Gunny’d mostly talked himself into the job. That if the Corps was gonna keep him, this’d be the way to do it. He just wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be kept. If he was still enlisted, he was back to square one. Keeping the mess hidden until he could escape for the occasional brief release. But maybe if he could keep Jason somehow, it could be worth it.

orbit

Where it’d seemed like everything was starting to pull together into a steady orbit, now he felt yanked in a hundred directions. Surprise and hurt and confusion and embarrassment. The whole time Jason had known Vic was military, and hadn’t said anything about himself? Should Vic have known? Could he have?

silver

There was a temptation to call the whole thing—the job, the trial, Tiner—something like a miracle. Seeing him then had been an omen, but a good one, a silver lining to the whole affair. Proof that Vic was going the right way. The fact that they’d all coalesced into a single place should by rights make things easier. Both of them, well, presumably, interested in the same thing, running along the same tracks, with the same sword hanging over each of them.

smoke

And as the blood rushed back into his hands, the spiral of confused emotion didn’t, or not exactly. He felt flushed out, and god could he use a smoke... But at least there was distance now, the heaviness of limb and the sluggish pace of thought putting his anxieties at a remove.

static

Unfortunately, it’s not like that feeling was particularly uncommon, especially lately. At least here, leaving JAG, it was easy to fall back on procedure, let Gunny drive. Respond politely to the colonel, confirm their meeting for next week, knock off a salute here and there as he headed back to the Bronco. But once he’d pulled the door closed, it felt like he’d slipped out of radio range, head filling with static.

music

Open

But his thoughts kept pulling back to that night, the next morning. The feeling of unfinished business. An open docket in the inbox.

Secret

By now it was routine, calling from the phone in the day room. And maybe he’d gotten a little careless, but in the enlisted barracks you had to fake a degree of privacy even out in the open. Imagine it for yourself and tune out your fellow bachelors, to keep from going crazy. Plus it’s not like he ever talked directly about anything—honestly the worst it’d gotten was talking about the trial and that was no great secret.

Glass

Til...all this it’d felt like Vic was in charge of it, but now...maybe he was on the other side of the glass. Maybe it had a hold on him.

Fire

Jason’s low chuckle was like the crackle of a hearthfire.

Window

So much for shutting the window on that heat (always pushing, this guy). Vic tried again.

Underground

The pull he felt to keep chatting, the thrill of getting to talk to him like this, even if they had to keep it wrapped up, underground, was powerful. But the receiver was solid in his hand. Hardwired to the day room, the barracks, the job, the UCMJ.

Feral

Jason’s eyes gleamed half-feral, pleased, “I promised I wouldn’t get you in trouble–” then he was dropping the phone back to the cradle and standing to attention. The ghost of the aching, perfect pantomime dancing in his eyes as the admiral’s voice crackled over the intercom

Grace

By the time the morning light could grace the spare walls of Vic’s regulation hovel, the dark of night had taken its toll.

Crimson

Vic swallowed hard, glanced furtively to the door, to the bullpen, by some miracle managed to keep his jaw from hanging open. Worried he’d be blushing crimson by the time he was due in with the admiral.

Golden

Because without having to look at the guy all day long, with the karmic scales of his service once more balanced...he’d be golden. Right?

Paper

But he just slid down to his biceps, squeezing appreciatively, “You get these pushing paper?” Jason managed, half-breathless, “I’ve got hobbies.”

Thread

The hiss of static across the line was roaring, no longer a yoke to the world, the reality that wanted to keep Vic from what he wanted. Suddenly it was a thread binding him to Jason, dragging him back into that warmth.

Quiet

Aside from the lack of light and a quiet sort of hunger, the first thing he really registered was that his back was cold. It sent a chill of, what, disappointment? through him. Putting him in mind of empty beds and lonely mornings.

Ruin

Drunk instead on this. The sweat disappearing into the collar of Jason’s shirt. The way his eyes tracked heavily across him, and always that grin. Several times Vic thought about ducking in to kiss him, but it’d ruin the view.

Crooked

Tongues and hand slipping deep at the same time. That knuckle, crooked finger whatever, wide, insistent.

Honest

Jason’s head tipped, and after a moment’s pause he murmured, “I know, I got a couple minutes, honest—Admiral’s still on line two. Would you?”

Bone

He hung up and collapsed, not just bone tired, heavy, defeated. Mumbled into Vic’s collar, “It’s 11:35. I guess I gotta get going.”

Silk

Tiner nodded and Harriet pulled the jumper aside a little further. It brought her back to high school, her stupider days. (There were more silk scarves in her past than were strictly fashion choices.) Not this bad maybe.

Unspoken

Keeping his reluctance unspoken, Vic said, “I better hang up.”