(no subject)

[case]

Someone requested another crossover meme, but -- why stick with just crossovers? Here's your chance to request things from any fandom you like -- especially if the fandom is small, obscure, or has no request type of meme available. Hopefully someone else will come along and fill it out, or someone else's request will spark something off in your head that you just have to write --

So here you go!


PAN-FANDOM FANWORKS MEME


Anon is on like always!

<b>Fandom(s):</b> <b>Character(s):</b> <b>Pairing(s, if any):</b> <b>Summary:</b> <b>Preferred Rating:</b> <b>Preferred Medium:</b>

ETA: Sorry, link list's gone. Realizing it'd exceed the character limit.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Fandom(s): Petshop of Horrors
Character(s): Any
Pairing(s, if any): Count D/Leon
Summary: Tiger balm takes on a literal meaning when Count D's involved.
Preferred Rating: Any
Preferred Medium: Any

Doctor

[(Anonymous)]

"Long day, detective?" D asks blankly as the irritable officer who is the pet shop's only (identifiable) regular barges in. D winces into his teacup, anticipating another round of accusations-- will it be the Karkadann he sold that old woman under pressure to sell her home? Perhaps the wati-kutjara bestowed upon the recently divorced mother have been running amok? Before Detective Leon Orcot can reply-- or rather, precisely because he isn't responding, D looks up.

"Sorry, Count," Leon replies through gritted teeth, windmilling his right arm to the mild distress of some conspicuously uncaged exotic birds. He drops into a chair with a sigh. "I had to do backup for some domestic dispute... When we got there, it was just one guy at home, but his place was perfect! I could've shaved in front of his kitchen counter..."

Ah, D thinks, That's where you've gone. Kikimora normally prefer households with families, but a messy bachelor's pad could prove entertaining. Satisfied, he redirects his attention to the complaining Orcot.

"...and of course he wouldn't let us leave until we checked the place out-- practically yanked my arm out of the socket begging," the detective continues, rubbing the offended shoulder. He's far too busy being put out to notice the sparkle in D's eyes.

"Would you like some tiger balm?" comes the inquiry.

"Some what?" Leon asks, instantly suspicious.

"It's a Chinese herbal remedy, for muscle pain," D explains, sounding hurt.

For a half-second, Orcot entertains the idea that actual tigers-- but this is D. He'd sooner offer him human-bits balm than animal products. That train of thought isn't getting anywhere productive, however, so Leon shuts it down.

"Sure," he agrees distractedly.

The next thing he knows, Leon is lying face-down and shirtless on a table in one of those back rooms of which the shop has far too many. Cool hands touch his back, and soon the heady warmth that clings to the air overpowers him.

The warmth doesn't change; he could have been walking through the forest for hours, except that the sweat that trickles down his temple is blazing its own path. Something tickles the back of his mind, but Orcot brushes it away in favor of observing his surroundings. He pushes through a dense jumble of branches.

And grabs immediately for a gun that isn't there as he comes upon a massive orange tiger relaxing on an outcropping in front of him. Leon stands motionless as the striped tail swishes back... and forth, his eyes locked on the tiger's, his mind focused and clear: if there is any way to survive and get back to San Fran, he is going to put D away for life-- no, two-- no, maybe six lifetimes. The tail sways again, and after a few minutes Leon begins to suspect he might not be dinner after all. As though satisfied, the tiger rises and flows down the low cliff to inspect Orcot as cats do; or is it a man with dark, ancient eyes, probing his injuries, saying something in a low growl that just escapes Leon's ears? He tries to process the words, but the heat is beginning to make his vision swim.

He opens his eyes groggily to the familiar view from D's couch. The proprietor fans himself innocently, as though having law enforcement asleep on his sofa is something of an inconvenience but by no means an unaccustomed one. The point is lost on Leon, who sits up quickly with half-cocked interrogatives in his open mouth.

"I trust the condition of your shoulder has improved?" D solicits slowly and politely, giving Detective Orcot's mind time to unmuddle. Leon's jaw works open and shut, but the evidence is irrefutable.

"Yeah," he replies somewhat dubiously, pulling on his shirt. "Feels good as new. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I'm going to get out of here before you try anything else.

You're welcome, D thinks to himself as the shop door chimes closed behind him. Ungrateful doesn't begin to describe his frequent guest... but, on the other hand, D hadn't expected it to be so simple to persuade him out of his shirt.