dollsome | Fic: Jeff/Annie, Merlin/Arthur, Brittany/Santana

Some responses for the Invent A First Kiss For A Pairing, Even If Their First Kiss Exists Already And Therefore You Have To Get A Little Bit Sneaky fic meme! :)

Seize the ~~Underage Fellow Student~~ Day! Community, Jeff/Annie, 440 words

It's supposed to be a hug. A hug. What says 'carpe diem' better than greeting everybody with a big ol' hug (as long as Professor Whitman's in the immediate vicinity)? Exactly.

But apparently when you open your arms to Annie Edison, she takes it as an invitation to reinvent Seven Minutes in Heaven. It is pretty much Seven Seconds in Front of Everybody In The Cafeteria. Normally, Jeff'd encourage this kind of behavior in a woman, but does Annie count as a woman yet? It's debatable. She kisses with the kind of desperation Jeff has only known in relation to wanting to get the hell out of Greendale as soon as possible. Her lipgloss tastes fruity and alliterative (Strawberry Surprise, living up to its name like never before). She smells amazing. Redact that last statement.

"Annie," Jeff says, peeling her off of him, "what the hell?"

"Oh," Annie says innocently, "just seizing the day." She ever-so-casually turns around to glance in -- ahh, it all makes sense -- Troy's direction. It is, actually, the least casual thing Jeff has ever seen. What's worse, she aborts the mission before she even lays eyes on him. Crazy hath no conduit like a pining teenage girl. "Do you think Troy noticed? All that ... day seizing?"

Troy has been 100% engrossed in drawing robots with Abed ever since they got here, and it's going to take more than the sight of a girl whose existence he recently discovered locking lips with the coolest person in their study group to tear his attention away. Like, way more. It'll probably take actual robots, and even then, it's iffy. (Why is Jeff hanging out with these people.)

But Annie looks so stupidly hopeful, all big brown eyes and strawberry surprise lips and an extra button on her cardigan left undone in the world's saddest attempt to exude some sex appeal, and -- well, Jeff so doesn't want to put up with how she might react if she finds out that her genius plan failed.

"Sure," Jeff says instead. "He totally looked over here."

"Really??" Annie squeals, delighted.

"Really," Jeff promises. "Just between you and me, I think you should go talk to him now. Strike while the jealousy iron is hot." Strike while the jealousy iron is hot? What is this crap?

But -- impossibly -- she totally buys it.

"Thanks, Jeff," she says giddily, like he's just done her the world's greatest favor. She bounces up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, then pretty much skips over to Troy and Abed's table.

"Any time," Jeff throws after her. Sarcastically. It goes without saying.

Gwen Can't Be On Duty All The Time Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, 726 words

You prat, you big stupid prat, how many times am I going to have to watch you die? Merlin is thinking, because at this point it seems like a legitimate question, and because as long as the word 'prat' is in his brain then he's not eaten up by how afraid he is, or how dead Arthur looks. Really dead this time. Properly dead. Morgana's got him on an altar and everything. She's thorough, Morgana is, and dead set on killing people with love, or the lack of it. Merlin doesn't know where Gwen is (and there's something else to scare him sick, but not right now, not right now, he'll get to that once Arthur's breathing again) but she's not here and Merlin's tried every spell he could think of and a few that he couldn't; those just showed up out of sheer mad desperation. No luck. Not even a twitch.

Merlin knows that it's all going to come back to kissing. It does quite a lot, with spells. He'd have thought that maybe Morgana would be more original. True love? It's a bit of a tired idea. (Where's Gwen where's Gwen where's Gwen)

He's tired and shaking, can't even stand up right because the magic's taken so much out of him. And for what? For nothing. For the prince of Camelot lying still and cold as the stone beneath him, so much more annoying when he's not breathing than when he is, and who'd have thought. Merlin sinks down next to him, tries not to be sick, tries not to feel sicker at the cold body, at the brief relief he feels at it, the cold after the magic.

"Wake up," Merlin says, taking Arthur's cold hand in his and shaking it, like he could shake the cold out, "come on, wake up, you prat, you're not even king yet. You're going to give up that easy? That's not much like you, is it? That's not nearly annoying enough."

Nothing, says Arthur.

Merlin looks at his stupid face, which looks much better when it's all still like that. He's actually a bit handsome, when you look past the sickly pallor. No smug stupid grin, no pulling weird faces, no big wide incredulous Merlin you idiot eyes. Just a prince, just any noble prince, killed by a sorceress who will never forgive the loss of their love. Funny thing about love. How you don't quite notice it until you need it.

Gwen's not here, but, thinks Merlin (well, it's something like thinking, a sloppier sadder version of thinking), and he leans down and presses his mouth to Arthur's forehead. Maybe there's a spark, maybe there's not, might as well do the thing properly. He kisses each of Arthur's eyelids, his lips, very carefully, like he's following a ritual as it's being invented.

Sure enough (he was sure and wasn't; that's how it always is, with them, with destiny): Arthur's eyes open. Merlin thinks he might die of relief.

"Merlin," he croaks, Arthur as ever, exasperated as ever, the best sound Merlin's ever heard, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing I want to be," Merlin answers easily, as if his heart's not about to stop, or burst -- and he guesses it isn't now. Not much point now. "It's a tough life, being your servant."

"Ha ha ha," Arthur deadpans, as Merlin helps him sit up. "Kiss me again, and I'll just ask Morgana to put me back under."

"Right, got it," Merlin says, "Come on, we've got to--" But death doesn't fade quickly, of course. Arthur tries to stand leaning against Merlin. Fails. The pair of them sink back down, hard, and Merlin's about to say something clever (nothing heartens Arthur quite like calling Merlin's cleverness unclever, Merlin has learned), but then Arthur is leaning into him, burying his face in Merlin's shoulder. Each breath still hurts a little; Merlin can tell just by listening. He means to put a hand on Arthur's back, but presses it to his chest again; he can't help needing it, the reassurance of a heartbeat. Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

"I'm glad you're here, Merlin," Arthur murmurs.

Merlin rests against Arthur's neck (just for a minute, just until he feels steady again, just until he's sure the stupid prat's not going anywhere), and shuts his eyes, and feels the warmth return.

feeling is first Glee, Brittany/Santana, 771 words

Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for eachother

Santana wasn't Brittany's first kiss, but Brittany was Santana's. Maybe you'd expect it to be the other way around, because Brittany's best friend was Lord Tubbington in middle school (not that it was her classmates' fault or anything, it's just: if you think Lord Tubbington is cool now, you should have seen him during his crazy teenage years), and Santana has always been like the coolest girl ever.

Brittany kissed Bobby Pritchett when she was eleven and a half because he loaned her his eraser and it seemed fair. It was shaped like a starfish, and way cooler than the kiss itself. Brittany has always pretty much liked everybody, which made it sort of hard once she joined the Cheerios in high school, but back in middle school it was never really a problem. But Santana had standards -- or at least, that's what she always said whenever she got made fun of at sleepovers and stuff for not being kissed yet.

Then she turned thirteen, and got called a dumb virgin who can't drive for still being unkissed. None of them could drive and all of them were virgins so Brittany didn't really see the big deal, but Santana got super pissed. She broke into Larissa's locker and left a tuna fish sandwich in there over Christmas break. And cried while she and Brittany were walking home.

"It's not a big deal," Brittany said, wrapping an arm around her. "She just took that from Clueless anyway."

"I know," Santana said angrily, even through all the crying she was doing. "I don't care what that stupid ho-bitch thinks."

(Santana has always really liked expressions like 'ho-bitch.')

"Then why are you so sad?"

"It's just," Santana said, and swiped a tear away like she was mad at it (which she is going to do again later when she tells Brittany she loves her, and which always makes Brittany's heart hurt, and did even when she was twelve), "I hate thinking that they're all judging me. Like any of them are even that cool! They're not. Like they're so great just because they've had boys' tongues in their mouths. Whatever. I have standards, you know? I want it to be special. None of the boys here are special."

"What about Noah Puckerman?" Brittany suggested. "He's always looking at you."

"Noah Puckerman's two biggest skills are spitballs and puking at will so he can get out of pre-algebra," Santana scowled.

"And Donkey Kong," Brittany pointed out fairly.

"And Donkey Kong," Santana agreed.

They kept on walking for awhile, and Santana kept on crying to herself, and angry-swiping at the tears, and Brittany kept holding her hand.

"I could kiss you," Brittany offered. "Just to get it over with."

"You're a girl," Santana sniffled.

"I think lips are unisex," Brittany said, frowning thoughtfully. But yeah: she was pretty sure.

"No, but--" Santana looked at her, this hard-sad-but-kind-of-hopeful look. "Everyone will just think we're lesbians."

"So?" Brittany said.

"That's a bad thing."

"Oh." Brittany has always really sucked at keeping track of all of that stuff. "Well. No one's around right now."

"That's true," Santana acknowledged with a sniffle.

"I don't have a starfish eraser to give you or anything though," Brittany warned. Just to be fair.

Santana shook her head a little, that 'what are you talking about?' face that's still just the same and never seems mean on her, somehow. "That's ... okay?"

"Okay, cool," Brittany said, and kissed her on the lips. Santana tasted like raspberry Lip Smackers instead of Doritos. She was still crying a little. It was the first time Brittany figured out that kissing could be nice, like the movies make you think it's always going to be.

"See?" Brittany pulled away. "Easy. No big deal."

"No big deal," Santana repeated.

Brittany tugged Santana along. They were supposed to go straight to her house to work on their homework, but really they just wanted to be home by 3:30 so they could watch Arthur. It was their biggest secret; Santana had sworn she'd twist Brittany's arms off if she ever told anyone. Brittany knew she wouldn't actually do it, but she kept her mouth shut anyway. Arthur was always like her favorite part of her day. Just her, and Santana, and not having to worry about being cool, for once.

"Kissing you is way nicer than kissing a boy," Brittany said.

"Duh," Santana said, trying to sound serious and giggling anyway.

And maybe you could say that that's where it started. But not if you ask Brittany, who thinks that maybe some things don't start, but just are, all the time.