mustinvestigate: Fallout and Rorschach, together at last (cyborg rorschach)
[personal profile] mustinvestigate
Title: All Quiet on the Liminal Fringe (9/?)
Author: MustInvestigate
Disclaimer: I only own action figures
Rating: (this chapter) NC17
Character(s)/Pairing: OT3
Warning(s): Pretentiousness; abuse of noir tropes
Summary: Because [livejournal.com profile] tuff_ghost sez it can’t be done…an endless Watchmen / William Gibson-verse crossover, existing via the kink meme. Dreiberg, Kovacs, and Laurie Isham are vigilante cowboys dedicated to making life difficult for the cybercriminals and megacorps that keep a stranglehold on a dystopian world’s 11 billion lives.
Many many many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] brancher for beta'ing!



Laurie rubbed her arms, getting chilly now that she wasn’t running or fighting. “I’m not bringing this up for my own benefit, you know. I just see something broken that doesn’t need to be.”

D.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re exactly where you want to be in life, I get that. You’re just, you know, missing out. No one should have to miss out. Especially not when it’d be a snap to fix, just get you laid – ”

D.

“ – and you’ll be all, hey, there’s no blood and guts at all – ”

D.

“ – just good groiny fun. Yay.”

D.

!.

Laurie shrugged. “Okay, so it wouldn’t be an instant fix, but a damn good start. The hard part is finding a willing vict- a partner. Since I’m assuming a pro is out of the question – ”

!.

“ – and, as I’d assume you’re aware, your personality does not exactly overcome the social handicap of rocking that over-plugged power strip look. You’ve got even less chance of attracting a fuckbuddy than I seem to have.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “You’d think the solutions to our very different problems would dovetail rather neatly there, but no. No offence taken, I’m sure. Plus, I get the impression we both need someone who knows what he’s doing.”

D.

!.

“An exclamation point is not code for ‘shut up, shut up, shut up,’ by the way. It actually stands for: ‘Thank you for your concern, Laurie dear, please do go on.’”

The cursor blinked furiously.

Laurie crossed her arms, realising a moment later she was dragging the flat of one nailblade along her exposed collarbone. It felt good, dammit. She peeked around the corner and hopefully scanned for criminals.

Nothing.

Even the noise of civi-cop pacification faded, the cut off abruptly with a slammed door and the poot-poot-pootle of the wagon’s anti-gravs pushing their human load into the sky.

Laurie fished through her calf pocket, finding her nail sharpener, a broken knuckle-guard, a coupon for Harga’s House of Ribs on the East side, and a small rubber ball the size of a doll’s eyeball. She bounced it off the opposite wall, catching it on the rebound as the toy’s antistatic self-cleaning system shucked off pocket lint. She could almost hear the fuzz land in the hushed alley, as if she were the last person alive in the entire Sprawl. Just her and her silent, watchful passenger.

“I’ve just had the most brilliant idea ever,” she whispered, touching the ball’s seam. It split in two, forming soft, half-melted crescents that glommed onto her index and middle fingertips. “Secondhand experience fucked you up…maybe it’s the solution, too. Sorta poetical.”

She tapped the crescents together against her thumb, shivering as they began to buzz on their lowest setting.

* * *

It was only three long steps to the bed where his partner jerked and twisted, time enough after Dreiberg slammed the VR helmet back over his temples to review everything there was to know about withdrawal-induced seizures. He’d had the relevant chapters of several EMT encyclopedias bookmarked for years, now, anticipating the moment when Kovacs would finally overstretch his legendary stamina and crash, incontrovertible proof his stim addiction had to be kicked. Dreiberg was ready for it, had stockpiled anticonvulsives, adrenalin jabs, and sedatives…

…all in his basement workspace, where Kovacs was most likely to exceed his bandwidth.

Hell.

It just figured! The bastard was inconsiderate to the core, deep down to the timing of every involuntary brain stem twitch – he’d have to dump this in Dreiberg’s lap when he had no medical tools to hand, not even that damn syrupy sludge he subsisted on like an overgrown butterfly! Without pharmaceuticals, he was left with, what? Loosen clothes. Prevent choking. Sacrifice a virgin datachip to Baron Samedi and hope for the best.

Dreiberg felt his foot sink slowly into the carpet and spring back up in slo-mo, watched Kovacs waver like seaweed in a sluggish tide, and thought of the Russian death trap, of the damage he’d refused to let either of his partners check for.

Dreiberg yanked the visor off his eyes and, as the world slammed back up to speed, tugged Kovacs to the centre of the bed, away from the wall and the sharp edge of the splintery bedside table. The man rolled away from him and, wrapping his arms around his middle, curled into a defensive ball. Guilt stabbed through Dreiberg as the stillness of cyberspace fell away.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, laying his palm flat on the other man’s jittering back. The guy was his partner. They were supposed to watch each other’s asses. Dreiberg should have pushed him into detoxing when it was still safe, should at least have watched for the rhythms of use and need as closely as he monitored Kovacs for the first blips of 5SB-induced dementia, should have gone out for some goddamn stims himself before they settled in to work…shoulda, coulda, woulda, and none of it meant a damn thing if he was about to spend the next few hours coming up with the most respectful way to secretly dispose of the man’s habit-ravaged corpse.

No. No. It wasn’t going to end like that. “I’m here buddy, hang on!”

Deal with the choking, first. He’d seen enough holos to know you had to wedge something in their teeth, and whipped off his belt. The end snapped his thigh as it came free from the final loop, but he barely felt it. He took hold of Kovacs’ jaw and tried to force the thick synthetic leather between his clenched teeth.

Kovacs thrashed, opened his mouth to drag in air, and squeaked when Dreiberg jammed his belt in the gap. He spat it out, gasping, “Wha’ are you – unf…”

He rolled onto his side, hyperventilating.

Dreiberg touched his quaking shoulder, trying to squeeze furious comfort through four layers of shirt. “Just ride it out, good, good, it’ll be okay. You’re gonna be fine. I promise. Laurie will be back with your stims soon, and everything will be fine.”

He wasn’t even convincing himself.

“Miss Isham…” Kovacs groaned, burying his face in the covers.

“Wait, is it Laurie? Is she hurt? Can you tell me – no, should I just plug in and see for myself?”

“No! Unnnh…is safe…is…is…safe,” Kovacs choked out urgently. “Investigation…unneeded.”

* * *

Laurie grinned wolfishly as an indignant ! flashed in the corner of her eye, disappearing a millisecond later. Not a K, but certainly not a D, either. God, she really was brilliant.

Her skin glowed in infrared, the only bright spot in sight. Light erupted like orange neon as she tucked her hands under her jacket, exposing a sliver of stomach to the cold night. She felt wickedly unobserved, revelling in the luxury of solitude in the omnipresent grumble of the living Sprawl.

She snorted as the stray thought brought up a memory. “One of the last scripts Jon brought to me was a woman in a post-apocalyptic city that never ended, alternately languid and running for her life – wait for it – stark naked. That’s it, on a two-hour loop. He said it’d be avant-garde. Can you believe it?”

She slid her hands under the tight kevler-blend A-line. It reluctantly stretched just enough to accommodate slender, chilled fingers that were extra-careful not to twitch just the right way to accidentally shiv herself. The Mystic had been gleefully graphic about that danger, reminding her he did not and never would stock replacement clitorises. But she wasn’t thinking about caustic old men, or how Jon would run his hands along her sides to cup her breasts, absently rolling nipples like cigarette butts between his knuckles as if he’d forgotten what they were there for. She thought of hands that trembled with eagerness, instead, torn between exploring already exposed flesh or greedily seeking more. Fingers thin and rough as frayed wires or soft and deft, giving under the pressure of her own…

“Just once, I’d like a surprise – and not a ‘haha, if that’s the enhanced version, I’d hate to see the factory-original’ surprise. Like, a nice soft belly. Or, I dunno, freckles, or something.”

Laurie lingered on the scar below her breast, the only visible mark on a body that had endured hundreds of small surgeries. “An honest-to-god scar.”

That had hurt like hell, and it had been nothing – just the edge of a plasma whip, wielded by an amateur kidnapper with far more firepower than brains, who went down like a baggie of black market kidneys after a kick to the head. She’d left the Roche kid with her hysterical parents – missing a few toes and all childhood illusions, but alive – before indifferently patching herself up in a transport station bathroom. It was an ugly seam, real, and all hers.

(Well, theirs, now.)

“Strip off his clothes, and find something like that, you know?”

The ancient brickwork caught on her hair as she squirmed, rapidly warming fingers and soft vibration teasing flesh battenberged by her protective vest, and she turned to feel the roughness on her cheek. She thought of unfashionable stubble, of sandbagged eyes and the sharp tang of exhausted synapses over strong coffee.

“Something real.”

The cursor flickered now, far too rapidly for mere blinks. Laurie smiled, picturing a mad, uncoordinated dash for the bathroom, good old Dan probably hovering like a hummingbird outside the door and offering inappropriately detailed digestive advice. She knew her boys a little too well.

Her skin was smooth, even the pores only showing now after months of neglect. There were no follicles left below her eyebrows and the back of her neck, and she really felt the lack in the cold – but then, it was always sunny in California. There was no friction, only the contrast of temperature marking her fingers’ drag down rapidly warming skin. She tapped the crescents to a higher setting.

* * *

Dreiberg struggled to pull Kovacs closer, feeling his unbelted trousers begin to slide down his hips. He’d failed at jamming something between the clenched teeth, but if Kovacs was talking with it, he probably wasn’t about to swallow his tongue, right? Clothes, then. They were supposed to be loose. Hell with that, they were coming off. Dreiberg was going to see what mess was secreted under them while he had the chance.

He managed to wrench off both jackets before Kovacs began to resist. He grabbed both wrists in one hand, trapping them by yanking one of the shirts below up over his head and tangling it around the arms. His revealed elbows were blotchy, red and white patches like half-sucked peppermint candy.

“Christ, you’re burning up!” And I’ve got a metric ton of this wild new drug called aspirin at home that could bring the fever down. Dammit, Kovacs… “You’re going in the tub. I’ll get ice. Can this stuff all be submerged? No, of course it can, it’s got to be designed to take sweat and bathing and, and rain, right?”

Kovacs didn’t answer, only squeaked as he squirmed against his makeshift binds. Dreiberg managed to grab another layer as he rolled onto his stomach and tugged it up over the other shirt as reinforcement. He rolled out of the way of a blind kick, trying to count the layers remaining.

“V-A’s security core doesn’t have this many strata!” he groused. He took hold of the remaining shirts and with one knee braced against Kovacs’ back heaved the entire tangle off the other man’s arms. Kovacs’ movements were more controlled now – if focused on hurting Dreiberg – so Dreiberg guessed he must be past the worst of it. Could he be trusted to get himself into a cold bath without drowning while Dreiberg hunted up a functional ice machine?

“Can – ” he began, trailing off as he took in the fleshless back, the knotted tracks of scar tissue where wires were laid and re-laid, at least one of them diving deep to where the heart would rest. There were generations of stim punches, the skin silvery necrotic over partially collapsed veins. Kovacs twitched and covered the visible part of his face as if he could feel the weight of Dreiberg’s eyes, lips moving like a landed fish’s.

“I’m – I’m going to get you a big, nutritious steak. Somehow. And ice. And – get in the tub, okay?”

The answer was a spastic grab for his lapels before he could move away. Dreiberg was yanked close with surprising strength, feeling threads snap all around his collar before something cold and smooth jammed itself under his chin.

Oh God, he thought, picturing sweaty smears on the precious laminate face, he’s going to kill me for that, because he was not feeling wet gulping breaths dampening his neck or the jackrabbit pulse where the other man’s lumpy wrist pressed into his jaw. He felt the whispered words through his pores.

“Don’t…leave me alone…with this. With her.”

* * *

“Feels good…” Laurie groaned quietly. “Tell me this feels good.”

The cursor paused.

Laurie forced herself to pause as well. “Tell me, or I’ll stop,” no I won’t “cross my heart,” I really really do not want to stop “but doesn’t this feel…just…wonderful?”

Answer me, dammit!

She waited, not patiently.

k.

It blipped out of existence almost as soon as it registered. Relieved, Laurie snickered, trying and failing to picture the look on his face as his inherent honesty forced the answer out of him.

Enough teasing. Laurie ached, shivering at the pulse of blood through her veins. She forgot the lingering sense memory of Jon’s absent-minded hands, missed the scamper of a three-toed Sprawl rat across her boot, disregarded the saint-like altruism of the entire effort and – almost – her silent passenger who in a few minutes would be composing binary trochees of gratitude. Wrist popping, she arched against her fingers, panting and light-headed.

* * *

Dreiberg tried to feel appalled at the immediate upward quirk of his lips defiantly ignoring his partner’s panicked whimpers. But as he slipped a boldly comforting arm around the other man’s shoulders, the only thought trumpeting through his head was: I win!

What exactly he’d won, he wasn’t prepared to admit.

Kovacs’ hands roamed spastically, leaving finger-width imprints of heat where they found the gaps between buttons and hems. Dreiberg gulped, futilely trying to hold onto his trousers, four flailing limbs, and keep himself upright all at once. Stick-thin fingers found and clung to the spare tire around his waist like a life preserver bobbing in shark-infested waters.

“Ow…what can I do?” Dan asked, trying to squirm free of the painful grip.

“Laurel,” Kovacs grunted through clenched teeth, whipping his head from side to side.

Neural feedback, overstretched bandwidth, or the horrifically icky sensation of walking around with girl parts? None of them really explained the moan bubbling up from the back of the other man’s throat. Still, any excuse to drive a wedge into their surreal cuddliness was good enough for Dreiberg. “Okay, just, be still a second! I’m killing the link.”

Dreiberg reached for the remote connection in Kovacs’ neck.

Kovacs grabbed his wrist tight enough to grind the bones together.

* * *

…almost there…almost there…she bit her lip, barely feeling the pain of her swelling jaw, fingers moving furiously as her vision flicked from infrared to ultraviolet with her eyelids’ fluttering…

* * *

“Don’t…touch,” Kovacs growled in his shoulder.

Dreiberg snarled soundlessly at the diversion and shifted gears into Plan B, automatically finding the VR helmet behind a pillow and setting it into the divots at his temples. The babble of meat-thought ceased as he found the protected data stream between his partners and savagely attacked it without a pause to establish his vitals.

He focused on a random thread, wearing it into a weak spot, and as it snapped to allow him entrance hoped he wasn’t about to be dropped into a seriously unpleasant sensation.

Whatever god answered his prayer had a mean sense of humor.

* * *
…suffocating blankets of skin, two crusts of filth moving into crosshatching, can see her face, my face, moving inside tenticular mass of limbs, appropriated from a wholesome moment and grafted into this contextless sin. Lips wrenched into rictus of grim gratification, no reference for this expression across entire catalogue, no reference at all.

Anchored in knit and tweed, in hairy skin – not mine, not hers, blessedly returning no sensation – hands safely locked down, not the hands already down where they could not be. Safe in the despised meat world, disciplined and still, retreating from clean haven-turned-hades. Burrow deeper, familiar scent underneath overlay of Veidt’s contaminating luxuries, smelling right and miraculously under lips, tasting wetly of copper and good intentions.

Hands drifting down…no, thick rod of heat pounds untouched, shamefully hidden still but demanding – fingers touch instead opposite but equally demanding maw, slick and voraciously welcoming, tugging me to open up, drive forward – mercifully, agonisingly held in place –


I’m in! I’m here for you, budd – oh, dear God! Wha – the hell, Kovacs?

Would freeze, shrivel to nothing if rocking body allowed –

Is this what you two have been up to? Oh…oh, Jesus…

Ignore outrage. Pull closer. Not alone. Not alone.

Why the hell are you narrat–

Bearable now. Two sets of skin too many, three just enough. Too many clothes.

Hands! Hands in…places…oh, fuck, that, I didn’t know you could enhance that…

Enveloped now, Daniel under hands, in head, safely between – so sorry, didn’t mean for –

I know, I think, calm down, man, do you feel that?

Feel – yes – didn’t mean to – didn’t encourage – going to lose –

Yeah, okay, so this is Laurie’s – oh God, feel that – idea, sure – why, I don’t know, but –

Irritating presumptuous attitude, indulgent smile and dinner shelter approval, no choice but to think of you – like this – always in mind –

Jesus.

/post

* * *

Dreiberg ripped himself back out of the conduit, heart pounding in his throat as his body pathetically tried to catch up to his partners in mere seconds. He swallowed, hard, until his stomach settled back into place, trying to slow his thoughts, to push back the conversation that had taken barely a second of real time, and the accidental info dump from the back recesses of Kovacs’ hard drives. It should have been hilarious, was hilarious, and Dreiberg promised himself that, when the toxic awkwardness of this evening had worn off several decades hence, Kovacs’ megabytes of hoarded Laurie Isham porn would be the subject of merciless teasing.

He filed it haphazardly, hoping Laurie had no reason to look through his system before he got it secured away behind about a million passwords. Laurie…somewhere, she was having herself an unexpectedly awesome fun time, but here…

Kovacs gasped against Dreiberg’s chest, vibrating with tension. His face was wet, streaked with sweat. Dreiberg instinctively responded, shucking what was left of his shirts and tilting Kovacs’ head up to the light, knowing even this surreal gesture was expected. He couldn’t help but eagerly fulfil a request.

He was tempted to link back in, unbearably curious what Laurie was doing – and, for God’s sake, where the hell she was doing it – but genuinely feared it could kill him. He lingered instead outside their connection, satisfied for the moment as their third wheel, imagining the coolness of cyberspace soothing his poor racing body. He watched himself like a voyeur, slowly, predatorily swooping down to force a kiss on the gasping mouth beneath his.

* * *

…and it was all too easy to imagine some ridiculous alternate world where K hadn’t made like a rat for a bolt-hole at the first sign of trouble, one where she had the amusement – no, the pleasure, may as well admit it wouldn’t be purely hilarious to watch the two of them finally work out that partner-y tension. Just grab the bull by the horn – ha ha! K, driven mad with lust, finally tackling Dan to the ground and burying his face between baby-soft thighs…

Jesus, that’s a holo she’d pay good money for…

* * *

Kovacs froze beneath him for a momentary eternity, a picture of horrified uncertainty. Dreiberg instinctively tapped out a message on the frequency they used during tandem burns, it’s ok, c’mere. Kovacs’ last reserves of resistance crumbled under this most intimate onslaught, and with a small cry he jerked forward to return the unfamiliar caress.

One hairline laminate crack and a bruised cheekbone later, he successfully located Dreiberg’s mouth and, as Laurie reached the apex of a lazy figure-8 motion around her aching clitoris, bit his own tongue.

“Do we have to revisit the belt idea?” Dreiberg murmured, committing the frustrated, desperate noises his partner made as he ran his bleeding tongue along his cracked lips to his securest storage server. “No, okay, here – ”

He pried Kovacs’ hands from his waist and put them on the aluminate bed frame behind his head. “Hold,” he ordered.

The frame immediately creaked under the strain.

Dreiberg tugged pants from the heaving body that practically steamed in the chilly motel atmosphere, thankful to find only three layers and thick-soled boots that slid right off. His own, already sagging down his thighs, immediately followed and he pressed his heavy body down onto the small furnace below, unmindful of anyone’s need to breathe. His fingertips found thin cables – automatically tracking them to the joints where they dove into flesh – irregular patches of fine, wiry hair, and then protruding hip bones. He took hold of these, ignoring – for now – the stingy array of tissue surrounding them and pulled their bodies flush.

Kovacs mewled, simultaneously bunched and unspooling like jammed analogue tape. Dreiberg leisurely counted his heartbeats while the meat puppet made a heroic effort to catch up, almost instantly rigged up and ready to jack in. He shifted so he could take both of them in hand, already slick with sweat, and ground forward into his grip. Kovacs’ knees caught in the movement of his thighs and rose to lock around his waist.

Too quickly, far too quickly, Kovacs shuddered and came, jaw clenched so tightly Dreiberg wouldn’t have been surprised to hear enamel cracking. He gave into temptation and peeked back in, for just a moment, long enough to catch the edge of Jesus, K, you feel that?

Suddenly grinding his own teeth – yes, Laurie, remember, you hadn’t deluded yourself that you inspired this, for either of them? – he reversed his attention to listen for a response and found instead the vacant blur of a snow crash.

For the first time in their partnership, Kovacs was offline.

Dreiberg violently shook his head, dislodging his helmet. It bounced in an organic dribble on his partner’s stomach and rolled toward the door, shedding components. Dreiberg couldn’t bring himself to care (much), quickly checking for a pulse and huffing a sigh of relief as the throat muscles moved under his fingers.

He gently pulled the white-knuckled hands away from the bed frame, carefully manoeuvring limbs that felt thick and overreaching, and jumped when those hands hesitated, then settled back on his hips.

“You – you haven’t – ”

His rusty voice cracked, and Kovacs shrugged rather than complete the thought. He tentatively fingered the ridges left by elastic as if they were an impassable barrier south.

His laminate was darkly translucent without its perpetual backlit projection. Dreiberg caught movement behind the smeared plastic, a dark fringe of eyelashes twitching as Kovacs intently studied his expression. Dreiberg wanted to flip it up for a better look but held back, inordinately pleased with the revelation that there were, in fact, actual eyes under there, whatever their color.

Instead he guided the faltering hand past the forbidden perimeter and wrapped it around his grateful erection. He expected he’d have to drag Kovacs every step of the way – hell, he was still waiting for an outraged neural blast to the cranium, even though his partner had started this and wasn’t even online. It was more than a little terrifying that, instead, his partner tentatively tried out several grips and, when Dreiberg squeaked at the light drag of a fingernail just past his circumcision scar, quickly gained the confidence to work him like a pro. He wondered where in the hell his pleasure-spurning pietist had picked that up. He wondered if Adrian’s assassins were using their time more wisely and already had another strike burrowing toward them. He wondered if Laurie was going to murder him for muscling into their twisted…relationship…thing. He wondered why Kovacs weakly moaned Daniel into his neck as Dreiberg’s spine began to spark up from base to dataport…

…and abandoned all thought as he tardily followed his partners into the blue screen of death.


* * *


Parts: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - ten - eleven

Date: 2009-12-20 03:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theonlytwin.livejournal.com
ok ok ok this is some amazingly beautiful and fucked up porn and self-denial!daniel and manipulative!laurie (in more ways then one, winkwinknudgenudge) and kovacs at all times are wonderful but. but. HARGA'S HOUSE OF RIBS? that means we must be married, immediately.

Date: 2009-12-21 07:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mustinvestigate.livejournal.com
Hee - I've been re-reading Terry Pratchett, can you tell? :)

Thanks!

Date: 2009-12-20 04:53 pm (UTC)
ext_360388: (Default)
From: [identity profile] daylilymoon.livejournal.com
You're back! It's back!

Oh god, this was a level of blistering hotness that just... guh. Such a treat, seriously. What a way to come back. I would pull out details I liked but there were just SO MANY. Porny fic sometimes runs the risk of severe OOC, but they were so them in this. Fuck I love this AU.

Date: 2009-12-21 07:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mustinvestigate.livejournal.com
Thanks for that - I struggled with making these three do what I had in mind, so I'm glad they've come across ok in the end :)

Date: 2009-12-20 07:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] orockthro.livejournal.com
Oh, fantastic!
I was really hoping there would be a new chapter soon, and... shizam! There is one!
Thank you so much!
As usual, this fic has me just shivering with awe and anticipation. You have the characters down brilliantly... and it never ceases to amazing me how you've adapted them for this au world. I absolutely love it.
^___^

P.S.
Laurie's use of that connection...?
Drop-Dead-Brilliant.
And... incredibly hot as well.

<3

Date: 2009-12-21 07:56 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mustinvestigate.livejournal.com
Thanks! I've really just expanded on a half-sentence or so in Neuromancer in a similar situation, where Molly pretty much just tweaks a nipple and smugs something like just think what I could be doing...and me being a porn-spewing monster was all and you aren't right now why?? :)

Date: 2009-12-20 08:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] brancher.livejournal.com
you know how I feel about this, but I'm going to add here that I love how imperfect everyone is here -- Laurie being thoughtless and a little mean, Kovacs spiraling into neurosis, and Dan, Dan caught between jealousy and immaturity and rescue fantasies and selfishness and love. This isn't a fixit, sex isn't lifting anyone above themeselves, it's just human and fucked up and incredibly, incredibly hot.

Date: 2009-12-21 08:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mustinvestigate.livejournal.com
It's good to hear - I do love reading fix-its, but this was supposed to be more of a complicator. But most seriously, thanks for all your help with this - I don't know I ever would have finished this bugger without it!

Date: 2009-12-23 08:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tuff-ghost.livejournal.com
Dreiberg instinctively tapped out a message on the frequency they used during tandem burns

aaww forever

I read this when I was cramming for finals, and it was really the best kind of distraction. Dan's desperate cluelessness at the beginning was hilarious, and I applaud Laurie for taking "What happens if I do this!" to new and sexy heights. But aawwww K was saying Dan's name and Dan never even suspected before, and now they're both in a sticky pile and explanations will be sought...I badly want to find out what happens next!

Date: 2009-12-24 09:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mustinvestigate.livejournal.com
This comment has time-traveled me back a few years to bribing myself through crit theory papers with Starsky & Hutch slash. I have totally paid that karmic debt now :)

Glad you liked it, after all the trouble these three put me through! There's totally going to be an angst-lite transition after this, because I'm worn out with their drama and plot needs to happen :D

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