Post by Twisted on Jul 4, 2005 12:21:49 GMT -5
This story hasn't been read much, and it's one of my favorite one-shots I have on ff.net. So, I'm sharing it with you all. (to comment at ff.net go to www.fanfiction.net/s/2415598/1/
Warnings: Book-verse, Crope/Tibbett slash (not seen, of course. It's ff.net. I think they'd kill me), fluff, language
RATED PG-13, and that's stretching it somewhat. I trust everyone here's mature, but...I've warned you, just in case.
Study Break
Crope needed to study for his exam; it was the next morning, and between Avaric’s constant pleas to go find young women to woo and his own lack of self-commitment, he had fallen victim to school time melancholy and had no time to play.
But when Tibbett got a wicked idea in his head, he would pursue it until it was fulfilled or until he was bored. The lighter-haired young man was currently sitting on the side of Crope’s desk, pouting as he watched his partner pretend to pore over the book in front of him. The fabric of the frilly skirt he was wearing rustled as he uncrossed his legs and lent over Crope.
“You know, I stole these from the costume room for you.” He whispered. For the first time since the shorter young man had broken into his room unceremoniously, Crope looked up at Tibbett.
“What, in the name of the Unnamed One, are you wearing?” He demanded, pushing away from his desk to get a better look at the almost burlesque ensemble the other man had put on. This movement allowed for an ample opportunity for Tibbett to move into Crope’s unoccupied lap, and he happily did so.
“Do you like it?” Tibbett asked, smirking, as he wrapped his arms around Crope’s neck. “You already know everything anyone, human or otherwise, needs to know about the Drought.” He moved his head closer to Crope, leaning his forehead against the other man’s. “Can Cropey come out to play?” he said quietly, in a slightly whiney voice. He shifted and one hand moved down Crope’s chest.
Crope sat there, unsure for a moment, before he tried to disentangle himself from Tibbett. “A Tiger couldn’t stop you, could it?” He asked, his voice hoarse as Tibbett’s hand reached its destination. Tibbett simply grinned wickedly, and straddled Crope, before kissing his partner.
“No more studying?” Tibbett whispered. Crope shook his head, moving away from Tibbett slightly.
“Shouldn’t we go somewhere a little more accommodating?” he asked. Tibbett’s face scrunched up.
“Like?” He asked, hiking up his skirt slightly. Crope’s eyes darted over to the small bed that was decked out in the colors of the Emerald City. Tibbett’s eyes widened in understanding, before his smirk reappeared.
“Why, Master Crope, you have a wicked mind.” He said, fanning his face effeminately. Crope chuckled coarsely. He stood up, taking Tibbett with him.
“Why did you wear such a long Oz-damned dress?” Crope asked, finally managing to get Tibbett to the bed, as the other man was fully content with being carried like a child to it. Tibbett just kept on smirking like a madman, and motioned Crope to close the door. The other man did so, looking around the corridor as he did so. The only person moving around in it was the little Winkie fresher he and Tibbett had saved from homicidal sentient Antlers during Life Sciences the week previous, and he was only trying the lock to his room.
“What’s so interesting in the hallway; someone more well-dressed than I?” Tibbett asked, his tone only slightly accusatory.
“No, only that Winkie…” He closed the door and turned, catching Tibbett’s confused look. “Skin the color of shit? He is well-in with our lovely green mistress and her chummy little Munchkin friend?” He started back over to the bed, when he tripped over a book of arithmetic. He swore furiously – which only caused Tibbett to bark out a laugh – and kicked the book away. “That bloody Margreave left his book here; he’ll be back soon.”
Crope looked up, and caught sight of Tibbett – disheveled, jubilant, and in drag – sitting up on his bed with his slightly shaggy hair sticking up on end; he couldn’t help but smile.
“Oh, screw Avaric.” Tibbett managed between bouts of laughter. Crope smirked in a perfect imitation of Tibbett’s, and leaned over his partner, pulling on the buttons of the bustle.
“Oh, no, Tibbett dear. Screw you.”
Warnings: Book-verse, Crope/Tibbett slash (not seen, of course. It's ff.net. I think they'd kill me), fluff, language
RATED PG-13, and that's stretching it somewhat. I trust everyone here's mature, but...I've warned you, just in case.
Study Break
Crope needed to study for his exam; it was the next morning, and between Avaric’s constant pleas to go find young women to woo and his own lack of self-commitment, he had fallen victim to school time melancholy and had no time to play.
But when Tibbett got a wicked idea in his head, he would pursue it until it was fulfilled or until he was bored. The lighter-haired young man was currently sitting on the side of Crope’s desk, pouting as he watched his partner pretend to pore over the book in front of him. The fabric of the frilly skirt he was wearing rustled as he uncrossed his legs and lent over Crope.
“You know, I stole these from the costume room for you.” He whispered. For the first time since the shorter young man had broken into his room unceremoniously, Crope looked up at Tibbett.
“What, in the name of the Unnamed One, are you wearing?” He demanded, pushing away from his desk to get a better look at the almost burlesque ensemble the other man had put on. This movement allowed for an ample opportunity for Tibbett to move into Crope’s unoccupied lap, and he happily did so.
“Do you like it?” Tibbett asked, smirking, as he wrapped his arms around Crope’s neck. “You already know everything anyone, human or otherwise, needs to know about the Drought.” He moved his head closer to Crope, leaning his forehead against the other man’s. “Can Cropey come out to play?” he said quietly, in a slightly whiney voice. He shifted and one hand moved down Crope’s chest.
Crope sat there, unsure for a moment, before he tried to disentangle himself from Tibbett. “A Tiger couldn’t stop you, could it?” He asked, his voice hoarse as Tibbett’s hand reached its destination. Tibbett simply grinned wickedly, and straddled Crope, before kissing his partner.
“No more studying?” Tibbett whispered. Crope shook his head, moving away from Tibbett slightly.
“Shouldn’t we go somewhere a little more accommodating?” he asked. Tibbett’s face scrunched up.
“Like?” He asked, hiking up his skirt slightly. Crope’s eyes darted over to the small bed that was decked out in the colors of the Emerald City. Tibbett’s eyes widened in understanding, before his smirk reappeared.
“Why, Master Crope, you have a wicked mind.” He said, fanning his face effeminately. Crope chuckled coarsely. He stood up, taking Tibbett with him.
“Why did you wear such a long Oz-damned dress?” Crope asked, finally managing to get Tibbett to the bed, as the other man was fully content with being carried like a child to it. Tibbett just kept on smirking like a madman, and motioned Crope to close the door. The other man did so, looking around the corridor as he did so. The only person moving around in it was the little Winkie fresher he and Tibbett had saved from homicidal sentient Antlers during Life Sciences the week previous, and he was only trying the lock to his room.
“What’s so interesting in the hallway; someone more well-dressed than I?” Tibbett asked, his tone only slightly accusatory.
“No, only that Winkie…” He closed the door and turned, catching Tibbett’s confused look. “Skin the color of shit? He is well-in with our lovely green mistress and her chummy little Munchkin friend?” He started back over to the bed, when he tripped over a book of arithmetic. He swore furiously – which only caused Tibbett to bark out a laugh – and kicked the book away. “That bloody Margreave left his book here; he’ll be back soon.”
Crope looked up, and caught sight of Tibbett – disheveled, jubilant, and in drag – sitting up on his bed with his slightly shaggy hair sticking up on end; he couldn’t help but smile.
“Oh, screw Avaric.” Tibbett managed between bouts of laughter. Crope smirked in a perfect imitation of Tibbett’s, and leaned over his partner, pulling on the buttons of the bustle.
“Oh, no, Tibbett dear. Screw you.”
