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rwryterTitle: Vogler is Vader
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hawkeycat
Rating: Everyone
Warnings: Potentially OOC (which would drive me crazy if it wasn’t such a cracked-out fic), fluffiness, and coffee
Fandom: House/L&O: TOS crossover
Length: 699 words (if you include the A/N, 810 words)
Author's Note: I strongly suspect one or both is OOC (probably Jack). Oops. This is what happens when I start a fic during econ and finish it four hours later, when I want to sleep and am in a Very Silly mood. Yeah, I think my writing privileges should be revoked when I’m feeling Very Silly, unless I’m MSTing. Kate, this is for you! You’d better at least laugh once…And I have no clue how it got where it wound up. It was supposed to be smut, and clearly isn’t. It is, in fact, fluff, which makes me vaguely indignant. And does anyone else find “House’s house” far funnier than it should be?
“House’s car is sexier than your motorcycle,” James Wilson said suddenly one sunny Saturday, looking at the blue sky out the window instead of the chart in front of him. It was the type of fall day every non-north East Coast child dreams about—crisp and clear, leaves just beginning to turn—and north East Coast children value far too little until Saturdays when they’re trapped inside, working or avoiding work.
“Mh…what?” Jack McCoy, lounging across the table, nearly dropped the law journal he was reading—and as it would have landed directly on his coffee mug and probably knocked it over, ruining the journal, that would have been Very Bad. Unless, of course, you were James—then you might have thought it Very Good, Indeed.
James smirked across the table at Jack, brown eyes sparkling. “House’s car is sexier than your motorcycle,” he repeated slowly, enunciating.
Jack raised an eyebrow at James. “You just want to go for a ride.”
“The question isn’t whether I want a ride.” James closed the chart and dropped it on a pile of similar charts, a good five inches high. “It’s what I want to ride.”
“You’ve been around House too much,” Jack accused, sliding his mug safely out of the established danger range for falling law journals.
James’ smirk widened into a full-blown grin—not the “make Jack and any sane person weak at the knees” grin, but the “I’m up to something, and don’t you wish you knew what?” grin. There were subtle differences. Jack just hadn’t figured them out yet. “Funny, Cuddy says the same thing.”
“Cuddy, the hospital’s version of Arthur.” Jack gave up on the journal—the damn things were never that interesting, anyway—and tossed it aside.
Right at the coffee mug.
That was in front of James’ charts.
Fortunately, Jack had finished about three-quarters of his coffee, and the rest just splashed over the bottom inch of charts. James jumped up for a towel, cursing, and Jack let his head fall forward and hit the table. Really, it was all James’ fault for distracting him and not wanting to get his work done, right? Let him clean it up.
The logic might have worked, too, if Jack hadn’t wanted to get laid so badly. James wouldn’t get sulky or anything, he’d just get snarky and end up spending time with House.
House of the sexy Corvette.
Jack had to admit that, yes, it was a sexy car, and yes, House did have better eyes, and really, if not for the whole misanthrope thing, House might be a very attractive creature. One who happened to be interested in James.
Not that he could blame House, of course. Who wouldn’t be interested in James? All the same, helping him dry off the charts might help with having sex later, and would almost certainly mean James wouldn’t go over to House’s…abode, so really, it was worth it.
“Cuddy’s not quite as bad as Arthur, though,” Jack said conversationally as he mopped off the back of the bottom chart. “Little less autocratic.”
“You knocked your coffee onto my charts and you’re thinking about our bosses?” James shook his head, a smile playing across his lips.
“What better?” Jack reasoned. “You can’t tell me about your patients—not that I want to hear—and my cases are boring, same-old homicides. I think there’s a pattern to them. Besides, you mentioned Cuddy, and she always makes me think of Arthur.”
“Vogler doesn’t?”
“Vogler reminded me of Darth Vader.”
James snorted at that. “An apt analogy. ‘Obey me or I’ll fire you!’” He ran a paper towel along the tops of the charts, soaking up the last droplets.
Jack sopped up the coffee from the table, glancing out the window. That kind of fall day really should be spent outdoors on a motorcycle. Or in a convertible Corvette. Or maybe, just maybe, with someone you liked a hell of a lot and may have been falling for. There would be other fall days, Jack decided, but there was only one day where you could spill coffee all over your significant other’s work and chuckle at something else while cleaning up the mess.
Author:
hawkeycatRating: Everyone
Warnings: Potentially OOC (which would drive me crazy if it wasn’t such a cracked-out fic), fluffiness, and coffee
Fandom: House/L&O: TOS crossover
Length: 699 words (if you include the A/N, 810 words)
Author's Note: I strongly suspect one or both is OOC (probably Jack). Oops. This is what happens when I start a fic during econ and finish it four hours later, when I want to sleep and am in a Very Silly mood. Yeah, I think my writing privileges should be revoked when I’m feeling Very Silly, unless I’m MSTing. Kate, this is for you! You’d better at least laugh once…And I have no clue how it got where it wound up. It was supposed to be smut, and clearly isn’t. It is, in fact, fluff, which makes me vaguely indignant. And does anyone else find “House’s house” far funnier than it should be?
“House’s car is sexier than your motorcycle,” James Wilson said suddenly one sunny Saturday, looking at the blue sky out the window instead of the chart in front of him. It was the type of fall day every non-north East Coast child dreams about—crisp and clear, leaves just beginning to turn—and north East Coast children value far too little until Saturdays when they’re trapped inside, working or avoiding work.
“Mh…what?” Jack McCoy, lounging across the table, nearly dropped the law journal he was reading—and as it would have landed directly on his coffee mug and probably knocked it over, ruining the journal, that would have been Very Bad. Unless, of course, you were James—then you might have thought it Very Good, Indeed.
James smirked across the table at Jack, brown eyes sparkling. “House’s car is sexier than your motorcycle,” he repeated slowly, enunciating.
Jack raised an eyebrow at James. “You just want to go for a ride.”
“The question isn’t whether I want a ride.” James closed the chart and dropped it on a pile of similar charts, a good five inches high. “It’s what I want to ride.”
“You’ve been around House too much,” Jack accused, sliding his mug safely out of the established danger range for falling law journals.
James’ smirk widened into a full-blown grin—not the “make Jack and any sane person weak at the knees” grin, but the “I’m up to something, and don’t you wish you knew what?” grin. There were subtle differences. Jack just hadn’t figured them out yet. “Funny, Cuddy says the same thing.”
“Cuddy, the hospital’s version of Arthur.” Jack gave up on the journal—the damn things were never that interesting, anyway—and tossed it aside.
Right at the coffee mug.
That was in front of James’ charts.
Fortunately, Jack had finished about three-quarters of his coffee, and the rest just splashed over the bottom inch of charts. James jumped up for a towel, cursing, and Jack let his head fall forward and hit the table. Really, it was all James’ fault for distracting him and not wanting to get his work done, right? Let him clean it up.
The logic might have worked, too, if Jack hadn’t wanted to get laid so badly. James wouldn’t get sulky or anything, he’d just get snarky and end up spending time with House.
House of the sexy Corvette.
Jack had to admit that, yes, it was a sexy car, and yes, House did have better eyes, and really, if not for the whole misanthrope thing, House might be a very attractive creature. One who happened to be interested in James.
Not that he could blame House, of course. Who wouldn’t be interested in James? All the same, helping him dry off the charts might help with having sex later, and would almost certainly mean James wouldn’t go over to House’s…abode, so really, it was worth it.
“Cuddy’s not quite as bad as Arthur, though,” Jack said conversationally as he mopped off the back of the bottom chart. “Little less autocratic.”
“You knocked your coffee onto my charts and you’re thinking about our bosses?” James shook his head, a smile playing across his lips.
“What better?” Jack reasoned. “You can’t tell me about your patients—not that I want to hear—and my cases are boring, same-old homicides. I think there’s a pattern to them. Besides, you mentioned Cuddy, and she always makes me think of Arthur.”
“Vogler doesn’t?”
“Vogler reminded me of Darth Vader.”
James snorted at that. “An apt analogy. ‘Obey me or I’ll fire you!’” He ran a paper towel along the tops of the charts, soaking up the last droplets.
Jack sopped up the coffee from the table, glancing out the window. That kind of fall day really should be spent outdoors on a motorcycle. Or in a convertible Corvette. Or maybe, just maybe, with someone you liked a hell of a lot and may have been falling for. There would be other fall days, Jack decided, but there was only one day where you could spill coffee all over your significant other’s work and chuckle at something else while cleaning up the mess.
