1.

Title: Monday

Rating: PG

Pairing(s): None

Word Count: 618

Warning(s): None.

Summary: For the Turks the week starts on Monday.

Dedication: To the people that still think the week begins anew each Sunday. IT DOESN’T!

A/N: I blame this one on my PASSIONATE LOATHING of Mondays. They are a HORRID thing.

Song: Young Magdalene composed by Hikaru Nanase, from the anime Chrno Crusade.


---


An audible sigh never passed the man’s lips. Regardless of whether Reno had just blown up his paperwork again and the mess was lighting the interns in the halls on fire, or if he had just been given another week’s worth of paperwork to be done in a day. Tseng never sighed.

The weeks always dragged along, and once the weekend came by, with that blessed day of Sunday trailing the very end, it most certainly skipped by too fast. And though being the first one to wake up at five in the morning, and being the one to get to work early and bring the office to life was unpleasant, still he did not sigh.

The Turks had long fallen into a pattern, as those who have the same job do after years of working there. Every day had its own mood and problems. And though he should have been irked that it happened every single Monday, Tseng merely shrugged it off and didn’t bother to watch the clock.

Rude would drag himself in about half an hour past due, his usual silence tainted with a grogginess that was shown in the unusually larger cup of coffee he cradled in his arms as he entered the office. With a nod to his boss, he would pick up the papers dealt out upon his desk and get to work.

Elena came in an hour after the bald Turk, more awake and peppy than anyone in their right minds should have been on the first day of the week. Her outfit was dosed in a new fragrance, as could be expected, and her hair was freshly trimmed, her dazzling smile just about blinding.

Which could have explained why Rude refused to remove his shades even during the in-office hours of their job.

Hours would tick by and the two men couldn’t care less about their missing comrade. Elena was the only one who frequented glanced at the clock, but even those became less common as she sank into the files that awaited her signature and review.

And then… at long last… Reno would stride in, elegant disarray and a wink at Tseng who was calmly signing away upon one of a great mass of papers on his desk. Rude would raise an eyebrow at the redhead before receiving a devilish grin in response.

“Reno! You’re four hours late! Don’t tell me you got drunk again,” Elena chided, piping up and piercing the orderly silence of the room.

“What’s it to ya, ‘Lena? Not like you don’ join me sometimes,” came the easy response and a grin. “’Sides, Tseng doesn’t mind, now do ya Tseng?”

To this the Wutian Turk remained silent. Reno smirked and threw himself down into his chair and kicked his feet up on his desk.

“Told ya, ‘Lena!”

The blonde Turk was frowning and huffed quietly, getting ready to say something before she was interrupted by a loud bang. Reno nearly fell back in his chair, pitching forward instead after a moment to glance at the huge stack of files that had appeared miraculously upon his desk.

“Wha—?!”

But his answer was soon given as Tseng suddenly swept up in front of his desk again and dropped another load of paperwork on the red head’s desk. The same sound was made and Tseng disappeared.

“What! TSENG! Come on man! I was just kidding! Seriously! Tseng! Tseng I’m not doing this paperwork! Tseng damn it! Listen to me!”

The Wutian Turk silently stepped out of the office, shutting the door on Reno’s incessant shouting. A barely visible smile etched itself onto his lips and he breathed a pleased sigh.

Okay, so maybe Tseng did sigh sometimes.

passionate loathing of mondays...

Itu, I think I love you.

xD

Join the club.

Ah, and I think I'll update sometime in the middle of next week. See if I can keep the updates on a weekly basis. *Nodnod*

Don't we all?

Now wheres the R rated smex?

In the fourth drabble. xD

*Makes mental note to write more smex.*

Anyways. I'll post the second one later tonight and maybe I'll see about putting up a couple more later on~

I can assure you that most everyone hates Mondays. Except maybe for those little kids who get to stay home every day, watching cartoons and eating cookies. Oh well!

I enjoyed the 'drabble'. It brightened my day up a bit and made me laugh.

Hoping for more! ^-^

*Gasp!* My drabbles brighten people's days!

*SHINE!*

I'ma go post another now! *Dance!*

2.

Title: Sudsy

Rating: Erm… let’s just rate it R for safety.

Pairing(s): None

Word Count: 826

Warning(s): Nudity

Summary: After a long day, all a certain Turk wants to do is relax and take a long bath.

Dedication: To my best friend Alice, who probably holds the record for greatest number of extremely long baths within a DAY (let alone a WEEK). I love you Al, just… yeah, nevermind.

A/N: Dude… this turned out to be more pron-ish than I thought it would. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear!

Song: High on Life sung by Rasputina, from their album Frustration Plantation Bonus CD.


---


There was something about just that first step into hot water that sent shivers down her spine. How it felt different if the water was still pouring into the tub, or if she had shut it off and it now sat still and steaming, waiting for her. When her toe first touched the warm and smoky water after standing so long on the cold tiles of her bathroom, it sent a shock through her body that, she was sure, she sometimes just imagined and never really felt. She would quickly withdraw her foot and step back onto the cold floor before cautiously lifting it up again and then slowly putting her toe back into the tub of water just a couple of inches from brimming over the sides and spilling all over her clean floor.

The lights were usually dimmed, because she wanted a soft and relaxing atmosphere after a long day of paperwork, or babysitting her work partners, or being out in the field, taking care of something or other for the President.

When she slipped her foot into the water, her leg soon sliding completely into the clouded liquid that embraced her limb like a strangely cool lover in the midst of heated play, it was all she could do not to bite her lower lip and shiver again. But soon another leg followed and then she turned to face the wall where various bubble baths and soaps lined the edge.

Lying down into the water was also a strange procedure, with her body tense with excitement and Goosebumps already racing up her legs and arms and breasts. But she sank down into the water at last, letting out a surprised gasp and hissing breath that sent a violent tremble through her body, swishing the water slightly.

She would gulp and shiver and sink down further into the tub, her legs sliding forward, knees bending slightly, and her head tipping forward for fear of ducking under the steaming water too quickly. But at last her short blonde hair would tickle the back of her neck and water would kiss at it wholesomely and she would jerk forward slightly, remembering that it was nothing to get scared of.

But it was the exposure of wet, heated skin to cold air that sent another gasp past her lips and her arms fervently thrown around her breasts as she sunk under again. She would massage her nipples in hopes that they would warm up after that cruel twist from hot to cold and then back again.

Trying to sink as far under the water as she could to press her body away from that chilly air, her head would fall back and at last her hair would drift lazily through the water. That warmth was all it took, her hands gliding over her belly and sides, down her legs as they explored the entrancing touch of skin beneath the hot pool, water always giving it a slick and delightful feel.

Her head felt heavy as she turned it slightly, opening the eyes she didn’t know were closed until that moment, and reached out to take a pale blue bottle off the side. Soon a leg was lifted from the warmth of water and she let herself slide back to lean against the wall of the tub, opening the lid of the bottle and pouring a generous amount of the azure liquid into her palm. With that placed to the side, she lathered the soap onto her leg and fell to sliding it all over her calf, just reaching past the ankle and moving down as far as she could above her knee. She would have to slide back down and almost dipped her head below the water, arching upwards to find more skin and slather that moisturizing blue all over her thigh.

The blue would soon fade into an off-white layering of bubbles that would glide off as the leg was dropped back into the water and the other lifted up to receive the same treatment. The soap would be put away then and another taken out for her feet, her arms, her belly, breasts, hair and face. Hushed colors found themselves poured over her and by the time she was done the water was coated with a layer of foamy suds.

Soon her hands would wander all over her glossy body again, washing away more thoroughly the soaps, and then the water would drain as the shower ran to completely cleanse her of the remaining lotions. She would step from the tub into a thick atmosphere filled with lustrous scents and the slurred, bursting feel of cleanliness that wanted something warm to rub against and wrap itself in.

A happy sigh and she would head to bed to snuggle in her blankets and fall asleep, all memories of that first step gone, though she trembled with anxiety each time it came to take that step again.

Loved it, though it's odd to say I got entranced in a story about taking a bath. '-'

Can't wait for more. This one did make me want to take a bath, or at least stroke my leg. O.o

CKS: O_o Hahaha.

Strangely enticing indeed. I think its the descriptive imagery used. Really gets you into it, even if its something simple like taking a bath! Great job Itu, I'm anxious to read more as well. And I'm sure everyone is excited to the brim for number four. :sweet:

=o

MY EVIL PLAN IS WORKING!

=B



Goood, goooood~ Glad you both enjoyed it such. Yes~

...I like baths. AND I OVERCOMPLICATE/SMEXIFY THINGS. xP Not my fault... have too much time on my hands (LIES!) so yeah...


Ah, and a side-note... number four is going to be poetic... and kinda trippy~ Kinda, yeah~



BUT IT WAS STILL SECKS. Regardless...

Ah phooey.

*Goes back to working on her extended essay* Baka homework...

3.

Title: Waiting

Rating: G

Pairing(s): None.

Word Count: 528

Warning(s): Fluff. Lots and lots of fluff.

Summary: Sometimes waiting is the hardest thing in the world.

Dedication: To Lauren, because waiting for your phone call sometimes makes me feel exactly the same way.

A/N: This particular pairing needs a LOT more fan art! I would TOTALLY do a trade. I write the fanfics, you provide the art! Hint hint.

Song: What’s It For sung by Emily Curtis, from the anime Ghost in the Shell.


---


Rings of gold, side by side, huge bands settled in a black face, with a dark nose set between them. Lonesome eyes glancing ever to the doorway, a slow blink belying the lethargy that set in all too quickly.

The black head turned, whiskers twitching softly as eyes narrowed to meet the ornate clock face. Time was an ineffable concept to the inky feline, but it was still sharp in the ways of human things. When the arms of the flat faced contrivance were set a certain way, it meant that, sooner than later, its master would return home.

Whiskers sank softly as the nostrils flared in silent a sigh. The shorter, and slower of the two arms, was still a decent breadth away from that destined position. The other did not matter, for it moved faster.

A slight blink and eyes pulled shut as the dark feline’s jaws parted, letting out a curious yawn in the silence of the spacious apartment.

Needless to say, the baleful eyes would stare off into space now. Another endless space of time would drift by before the lengthy body would shift and the sunny saucers turn to that endless clock face.

Eyes slowly drifted shut, the tendril that slid back from its forehead flowing softly through the air. Sensing the atmosphere for a moment, soon it was satisfied with the air’s neutrality and then, it too, fluttered down to lay along the dark back.

During these long hours memories of fingers traced idly through the thick fur between its shoulders would keep the feline satisfied. Dreams of the familiar scent, like a spice thrown into the bland soup of day to day life, would sometimes provoke a rumbling purr or pleased growl to thrum out through the air of the empty living room.

At other times, the thought of something warm to rub up against and nuzzle with a delighted nose and jaw, was kept as a silent promise in the over-grown house cat. To feel the returned exchange of affection was enough to send a content mew under a breath.

The darkling feline would stretch with in something close to glee, softly pulling at the carpeting with large paws and claws that ruined the delicate make of the exotic piece. But the promised playful bout of roughhousing would be something far too looked forward too to stop the instinctive response.

A swiiiisht in the door and the feline’s eyes snapped open, the blonde thrown back against the door as soon as he’d closed it and turned around to face the otherwise empty apartment. A light chuckle escaped his lips, a long growl tracing the air from pleased feline with a curious expression of squinting eyes. The dark cat had its paws hooked over either of the man’s shoulders, standing on hind legs and just topping the man by an inch or so.

Pursing his lips, Rufus Shinra eyed his pet with a careful, quiet eye and the cat returned the gaze evenly.

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you too, Dark Nation.”

A deep rumble followed the mention of the feline’s name and its eyes closed blissfully.

“Now get off me.”

There is something about the descriptive way in which you write that is quite...(for a better word escapes me) luscious (even sensual, in the more adult entries).

However, it seems that any of your entires can embody the same captivation which keeps me reading on, even in an uninteresting topic such as a pet waiting for it's owner to return home..

Not only can I see and hear the cat, but I can feel the emotion and lazy yet dignified way it lounges in the apartment, awaiting the casually mentioned but expertly described essence that is time.

Praise is all I have for you! I am sorry I could not be more critical of your writing (criticism means improvement) but I believe writers need a pat on the back for their work every once in awhile!

I say again, I eagerly await another Turkcest feast of literature.

Yay! Pats on the back! x3

I'm glad you all like this, because I'm updating again probably tonight or tomorrow. And yes... it's drabble four. My very creative and wordy take on a random pairing.

Let's see what heads that'll turn.

Itu my love this is a sweet story. Keep it up.
Hopefully my poetry will appear, but my story writing is on hiatus.

I like the subject of the story, very original.

=3

As always, I'm glad you so enjoyed it. I'll be posting again tonight, probably. So look for that.

And let me know when you post your own writing. Mmkay?

*Itu was original~! Shwee!*

4.

Title: I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor

Rating: R

Pairing(s): Elena/Reno

Word Count: 835

Warning(s): SMEX!

Summary: Drunkenness and throbbing music makes for interesting scenes on the dance floor!

Dedication: To Paola! For introducing me to this awesome song!

A/N: DAMN. This was FUN to write. 8D (DISCLAIMER! The italics are all lyrics from I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor sung by Arctic Monkeys.)

Song: I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor sung by Arctic Monkeys, from their album Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not.


---


Throbbing music was meant to be duplicated by the anxious clit of femininity and an engorged member—oh! so masculine—moving together with a perfect and sticky clash. Rubbing, and strokes never to be duplicated on any canvas.

Leave it up to the vengeful thirst for spirits to leave behind the card games and twist a game of Hearts into an insane cacophony of lustful thrumming, throbbing. Sliding and throwing up the brains, letting the body take over on a field broken in by a wholly different, experienced, sort of army.

With the bald Turk slipped into a faint, and their Wutian leader wrapped up in a very flexible couple, the heated waves could only be eluded for so long.

Jacket dribbling off her arms, caught away beneath the mouth of the floor, white buttons of the undershirt seemed a touch too evasive for the sharp jaw and smirk of the redhead.

Stop making the eyes at me I’ll stop making the eyes at you. What ‘tis that surprises me is that I don’t really want you too.

Head tossed away, shoulders coming into view, it wasn’t as though it mattered if his shirt had been closed before anyway. Constant loving, taking the arms that traced her belly, arms up, twist away to jerk back with a hiss and thrust, eyes more alive than the glare of disastrous colors and lights. So he saw, wicked grin flashing deviously close to crudely ruffled blonde hair.

Disastrous howl and giggles, clashing ruthlessly, deep behind his head in red mane, teeth gnashing as hers worked up high. Hands grazing over a certain someone’s package and a rough jerk forward, strong female hips moving up against cheeks, throwing him around, her arm caught under his.

Hand plunged, deep dancing, caresses of the shoulders, a spiraling lust with flavors near to overwhelming, clipped songs. Hand under, between, over and out, air space and flurry of clinging nails into his mane, grazing the chest, shoulders like the ocean, he was glad she did not make him seasick.

I bet that you look good on the dance floor! Don’t know if you’re looking for romance or—don’t know what you’re looking for! Well I bet that you look good on the dance floor! Dancing to electro—bump like a—

“Damn it, ‘Lena.”

—from nineteen eighty-four! From nineteen eighteen four!

Twister would have been far too slow. Grasp hold of her chin, look her in the face before the fingers were taken in by wicked teeth, a tongue expressing her own feverish sentiments.

“Damn it, Reno.”

Your name isn’t real but I don’t care for sounds and lights! And the fumes might result in a—

Provocative tongue work, constantly in motion, ride the stallion, take what you can—

I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor!

History lessons in movement, his lips round the button, thrust into him, against him, hope he’ll release the glossy skin, leg wrapped halfway round hers. Body’s always in motion, physics and friction couldn’t care less at the abuse—thrum thrum thrum throbbity throb throb thrrrrum—take away the pleasure through a quick twist, buttons lost in the haze of glamour paneling.

Peeling bananas, and she was so much finer than anything of the sort. Take a step back, twist her into his arms again, show her how willing she was to be there. Bodies would not separate again.

Oh no I don’t want no Montague’s or Capulet’s. We’re just buttoned shoes and DJ sex an’—dirty dance floors—an’ dreams of naughtiness!

Burst through seams, careless of the glories of eyes on them, into the streets, a fervent pressure in the heaaaaad. She had him against the car, he had her breasts spilling out against his chest and a corner of his airless shirt. Kissing into his hands, he digging deep, rotund lips on the ear, tongue in the cavern of a gasping mouth, choke and caught, trace the dribble onto neck, wet lips on his shaking shoulder.

Teeth into the crease of her shirtless glory, raised high—into and into inside her, a broken moan, into and into the dig site—his mouth biting at the long line, face hidden in lustrous breasts. Caught between a flame and metal hissing from the heat of their exchange, fingers tearing into his back, fingers pulled from her, pulled out, glide over his own head, bucking helpless against her, riding her higher high—high—high—higher on the roar of engines, thrust deep into like eminent—GOLD RUSH!

Oh no I don’t want no Montague’s or Capulet’s. We’re just buttoned shoes and DJ sex! WELL I BET THAT YOU LOOK GOOD ON THE DANCE FLOOR! Don’t know if you’re looking for romance or—don’t know what you’re looking for! Well I bet that you look good on the dance floor!

Endless flurries, glaring cacophonies of SOUNDS, and come on. I bet that you look good on the dance floor.

Who cares about the day after.

Hmm how shall I attempt to define today's descriptive delicacy?

I choose...attractively arousing, which is kind of repetitive but so be it.

Unfortunately I have a bit of criticism as well. I actually didn't like the lyrics interposed into the story, maybe because I haven't actually heard the song. I'm just not feeling it. I'll look up the song though, and let you know what I think after I hear it!

Again, great job! You know, this story has gotten me thinking. A Turk-styled RP would be really fun! Just something to think about I suppose, but if it ended up existing and being half as good as these stories, that would be awesome! ^^

Indeed. I myself have skimmed over it, and it's difficult to get into without the music there.

I'm not even sure I enjoy this fic that much at all. It's "meh" worthy in my opinion.

However, thank you for the comment, yet again. And, if you want to listen to the song, it is now my audio avatar. So there.


On a more off-topic note, I have been part of a Turk-based RP for over two years now, and it's still going strong. We're having a hibernation period for now, as we're all a touch busy, but if ever one does pop up, I'll be there. =3