litera scripta manet

T.O.

12,467 words

This story started out as a Russell Crowe/ Alan Doyle detective AU set in Toronto (hence the title, which is a nickname for the city), but I think it turned out as a decent if cliché-d cop story. I didn't write enough about the case to call it a decent crime story, but there you go. It's one of those things I wrote mostly for myself, maybe that's why I love it as much.

Since 12,467 words seems to be too much for LJ, I'll post it in two parts.



( Part I: October had been uncharacteristically cold, and Alan found himself thankful for that. )

Complicated, Russell/ Alan, 1.060 words.

( He wasn’t sure what drew him to Russell; it sure wasn’t sex, and he wouldn’t call it a crush. Maybe it was his voice, the way it curved around some words and dropped at others. Alan hoped it wasn’t sex, because that would be impossible to explain. )

~*~

Alpha Male, Russell/ Alan, too many words (1.576 words, too be exact), too many italics, and pron omg.

Notes: This is what happens when I ponder the wrong topic for too long; also, it's what happens when I can't decide on sub/ dom structures. These two are delicious to play with as I find out what I need to know while they figure things out too. So basically, it's all playing by ear. As much as I hate to admit it: I may take them out to play more often just because of it. Probably horribly ooc, or maybe it's just me being shy about the whole pron thing. Or maybe my Alan is just different when he's with my Russ. And guess what? I like this explanation best!



( Something had set off a spark and Alan felt wired. )

~*~

Ficlet: Mornings in France, Russell/ Alan

Notes: Light, domestic, and with a late breakfast. That's how I like my mornings.

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