#tbitb drabble

[dogwooddiaries]

november tbitb drabble challenge 5/30

prompt: carriage ride

Cresting the hill, the sound of cheers reach Al before anything else.

The vignette comes into focus, and he freezes. Shirtless Shorty and Chuck tow an unrecognizable shape tied behind their jogging bodies. It looks to be assembled from old wheels, crates, and a couple mops. Two girls are balanced atop it all, gripping each other and laughing.

When the students milling around the entrance to the shell house part, he sees Bobby waving a crudely painted sign, "support crew! carriage rides 2¢"

When he told them to clean out the shed, this is not what he had in mind.

[dogwooddiaries]

november drabble challenge 20/30

prompt: mist

He can't parse the tree line from the buildings but wanders the place he knows like the back of his hand. Unlike the fog surrounding him, his heart and mind are clear, sharp with regret. The weight of his mistakes have pulled him outside at this early hour.

The tall form breaking through the mist is as familiar as the feel of a tiller in his hand. His heart wrenches with undeserving hope. Once close enough to see, Don's face liberates him completely, eyes mirroring Bobby's humility and yearning.

"I couldn't sleep"

"Nor I. My affections and wishes are unchanged…"

[dogwooddiaries]

november tbitb drabble challenge 2/30

prompt: memories

A lesser man would let the past condescending glances and recollections rattle him.

"he's still so small"

"no JV boat to Poughkeepsie this year"

"the cost is too high…UW won't be traveling to Poughkeepsie this year"

"the sophomores boat is the one to beat"

So when the lane assignment, the strapped-in stroke, the whipping headwind, and four other boats jumping ahead at the starting signal taunt him, he yells from his gut, throwing his voice over the spoken words from his past, blanketing every objection and obstacle.

Bobby isn't here to dwell on memories; he's here to make them.

[dogwooddiaries]

november drabble challenge 30/30

prompt: lanterns

Bobby's been back from Europe for a single day, yet he's at the shell house, preparing for coaching life just around the corner. It's past dark when he comes downstairs and notices a long form folded on a bench.

Don looks up, eyes relaxing. Something sparks inside Bobby at the sight of his stroke. Pride? Appreciation?

"Donny! Looking better at last."

Don's smile is shy and eyes warm, tugging him closer. He whispers, "You're back."

Bobby's briefly unbalanced. No. This is something else - something weightier.

Reaching for a lantern, he steadies himself, finds his way. "Could I walk you home?"

<3

*******

and that's a wrap on the month of drabble challenges! thank you @seasidesandstarscapes for sharing this idea! it was so fun to do with you <3333

[dogwooddiaries]

november tbitb drabble challenge 3/30

prompt: tea time

It's been a week since Joe was invited to the workshop, calloused but curious. He's a novice, but even with Pocock absent, he knows how to start with the rag and lacquer.

Like most of what's happened since Ulbrickson noticed him and invited him to try crew, this is unexpected. Evidence proves the unexpected is all life has for him. So he'll roll with the punches and take what comes; no matter that the world doesn't set a place for him.

So when Pocock enters, two mugs in hand, Joe's chest can't help but ache with the surprise of hope.

[dogwooddiaries]

so I wrote a couple of drabble pieces as kind of a challenge to do something with a very short word limit. sweet one first, nsfw one under the cut.

Roommates "You'll be in there with Don Hume," The resident director nods at the door. Bobby enters the empty room, observing the stranger's neatly made bed contrasting starkly with messy scatterings of books and papers on and around the nearby desk. He drops his bags beside the other bed. No time to settle yet; practice starts soon. He meets his new crew, one in particular catching his attention. Hair curls over the forehead, pointing to calm eyes, arresting in their steady gaze. The flutter in his stomach becomes a churning whirlpool when Bobby shakes his hand and hears, "I'm Don Hume."

Eight Seat First practice with this boat has Bobby wrecked. Crew gone, debrief with coaches over - he's showering alone. Except for these images lodged in his mind. Hands twisting on the release, a focused pout, lean ropy muscles, teasingly sliding out of sight under shorts that taunt the imagination. Bobby is strong in many ways - not this one. Hand sliding over his shaft, short gasps set the rhythm. In an embarrassingly brief time, he jolts, comes with a low moan of relief and regret that it's over. Next time, he tells himself. Next time, he'll be prepared to face Don Hume.

[dogwooddiaries]

november drabble challenge 6/30

prompt: star gazing

In the dark of night, eight oars dip in and out of water like tranquil breaths, pulling away from the boats around them.

Joe tilts his head, lets his eyes drink in the sight above them as he keeps rhythm. A stream of stars hems them in, quiet and ancient, vast but distant. They draw out old legends, offering clues to a universe with tales to tell.

Like the air in his lungs, the twists and turns in his own path, it can't all be understood. But it is, undeniably, his story to live in. So he does just that.

[dogwooddiaries]

november drabble challenge 22/30

prompt: steaming mugs

In the quiet between Bobby's calls and the oars in the water, he could hear his breaths - wheezing, cautious, intentional. The cold air was always a traitor, promising one thing but giving another.

When Bobby hoards his words in the locker room and lingers in the shower, Don worries. But he would spurn any attention, laryngitis articles be damned.

Instead, when Don gets back to crew housing, he readies a mug of tea, steaming and aromatic. And when he finally gets Bobby to sit, he pounds his fists against the back of his rib cage even as his eyes well.