3: Harry Potter, Remus/Sirius, 140 words.

There was blood in Remus' mouth when Sirius kissed him. He could taste it swirling over his tongue and trickling down the back of his throat, tickling at his senses, and he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to press back against Sirius, and open his mouth, and let Sirius in. He didn't want Sirius to taste him, and know.

But Sirius pulled away, and Remus swallowed, trying to suck from the corners of his mouth the last remains of what must have happened. He looked at Sirius, who just looked back. The distance between him in his hospital bed and Sirius in his chair had never seemed so great.

Remus was still trying to wash away the tang of the blood when Sirius said, "I need to tell you something." Remus swallowed, but he couldn't taste anything.


4: House, Cameron/Wilson, 213 words.

For someone with a reputation like his, Cameron thought, Wilson was having a hell of a time figuring out where to put his hands, how to tilt his head, how far away he should be standing. It was almost like he was nervous, but who was she but another in a casual and meaningless line of women? Who was she but a colleague? -- and he never seemed to have had a problem with that, either before or after anything happened.

"Are you going to kiss me?" she asked finally, once he had leaned in and backed off enough times to become almost insulting. "Or is that my line?"

"Well," he said, and hesitated again. "You weren't the one with the control problem. It might make things easier."

She looked at him -- they were almost the same height, with her heels, and though it was only inches separating them, it seemed like she had to look up just to cover the distance. He wasn't even looking at her, the way a man should look at a woman he was about to kiss.

"I wonder what House would think," she said, "if he ever heard about this." Then she laid one palm flat on his cheek, and covered his mouth with her own.


5: Rome, Titus/Lucius, 204 words.

"I can't even see your face," said Lucius.

Titus reached across the blackness, and touched Lucius' cheek. Titus' fingers were rough and dry, like they had been scrubbed clean by sand and not water. It was -- strange, almost unwelcome: for although he knew the hand belonged to Pullo, he could not feel its connection.

"It wouldn't help any even if you could," Titus said. His voice was closer now; his mouth might have been no more than a hand's breadth away.

Lucius swallowed. He did not want this. He did not want to lean across the darkness and touch a shape that might be Titus Pullo, who might part his lips and sigh into his mouth; who might lick at his teeth and pull at his hair; who might share his breath, his sweat, his blood; who might move his body with him or against him, who might push or pull or both; who might have wanted this or not at all; who might say his name and shape it for his own, passing it between their lips like an unspoken secret.

Lucius did not want this, but it was past time to say it. Instead, he reached back, and Titus met him halfway.


And then the bonus, which doesn't actually feature any kissing at all: 6: Ocean's 11, Danny/Rusty, 240 words.

Danny was wearing a tuxedo when Rusty picked him up.

"Classy," Rusty said. "I hope I didn't tear you away from anything too important."

"Engagement party," Danny said, nonchalantly.

"Oh yeah?" Rusty pulled back onto the road, away from the hotel. He'd sat idling in front of it for ten minutes, thinking about what kind of asshole would build something that big and that ugly, and then how many people that asshole could convince it was high architecture; but mostly about how long Danny was going to make him wait, because he'd said he'd be right out and Rusty was hungry. "Whose?" Rusty asked.

"Mine," said Danny, and Rusty looked at him on the way back from the rear-view mirror.

"Oh yeah?" Rusty said. "How much?"

"How much what?" Danny asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Rusty could see him fiddling with something, maybe cufflinks. Maybe just his hands.

"Okay, don't tell me," Rusty said. "I can take it."

Danny looked at him, jerking his head quickly in Rusty's direction. "There's nothing to tell, Rus," he said. "It was a party."

Rusty slowed down. "Oh," he said. He thought about parking the car, but mostly he just slowed down. "It was your party?" he asked, suddenly feeling like he'd been listening in on the wrong conversation. "Oh," he said again.

"I would have told you," Danny said.

Rusty sped up again. "Don't worry," he said. "You just did."


And I'll still take impromptu ficlet requests if anyone wants to leave them. But first, I'll leave your flists alone and go like. work. or something.