I did really write 500 words. Actually a bit more than that. But I'm only posting 100, because I don't want to unveil my Master Plan yet. But it's smutty Sprace, which should make everyone happy. So the first 100 words of the story. Which with any luck will probably be done tonight. Because it's addictive and easy to write. And because I don't plan to pay any attention whatsoever in Psych.
The bed rocks violently and slams into the wall, and Spot knows that they’ll have to deal with the neighbors about the noise and the landlord about the crack spidering through the cheap plaster, but he’s physically unable to care right now. All he can think about is the flush in Race’s cheeks and the lock of hair plastered across Race’s forehead like spilled ink and the hiss of his name in a tumbled stream of Italian and the feeling of being in so deep, so tight, so warm and how very close he is.
He’s glad they made up.