id
stringlengths 4
8
| title
stringlengths 0
255
| metadata
dict | text
stringlengths 0
12.6M
|
|---|---|---|---|
104685
|
How Peter Bishop Used
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Fringe",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by lulebell",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-08-02T00:00:00",
"words": "757",
"Additional Tags": "Costume Kink, Season/Series 01, Missing Scene",
"Relationship": "Olivia Dunham/Peter Bishop",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
They leave Grayson's apartment quickly, Olivia sucking in her lips the whole way to the car; Peter practically raced her there. She buckles her seatbelt but doesn't start the car. Finally she releases her lips, looking over at Peter then back out the windshield then back to Peter again, debating, always debating. He grins at her then stares out the windshield, letting her come to her own conclusions. She never fails to disappoint him."Did you...?" She pauses, sucking her lips back into her mouth, refusing to make eye contact."Did I what?"She turns back to face him. "How did you know all of that?""All of what?""All of that... Star Trek stuff. The whole Son of Serek and live long and prosper bit.""Well," he turns from her, then back, with glinting eyes and a slightly embarrassed smile. "I did spend some time in the library while at MIT.""Where you researched Star Trek?"He produces a pair of black framed glasses from the breast pocket of his peacoat."Contrary to popular belief, Star Trek nerds really do get laid.""Even Grayson?""No. Not him."She smiles despite herself, their situation, and the inevitable doom that threatened them and the world. He smiles back, congratulating himself with a smug smile; he stares straight ahead at the oncoming blur of road.She's quiet while she drives, stealing glances out the corner of her eye, wondering if he could see her or not."What else did you learn?""Cosplay.""Cosplay?""You know, costumes. Like Halloween for adults.""Hence the glasses.""Hence the glasses."---In an act of un-Olivianess, she had left the back office with a stack of unfinished reports and paper work strewn about the table haphazardly.She stood suddenly, throwing her pen down on the table. "Do you want a drink?"He eyed the recently opened sodas on the table as she waltzed out the door, not bothering to take off her glasses."Uh, sure."She was gone for awhile - longer than it should have taken to walk down to the vending machine and back again. He eyed the vacant lab out the office window: Astrid had some how taken Walter home, convincing him that Gene really didn't need an evening walk. The promise of a root beer slurpee sealed the deal as they left together, Walter skipping out the door in glee, Astrid's eyes glinted as she followed. Peter downed the second soda when Olivia filled the doorframe once again.His jaw dropped and for the first time in his life, Peter Bishop was rendered speechless. Before him stood the former FBI agent, replaced by a school girl. Olivia had let her hair out of its elastic and it cascaded over her open blouse, streaking the grey tweed blazer with yellow. A red tie hung loosely between her breasts, clad in black with pink ribbons lacing through the cups. The tie matched her red and blue plaid skirt, which matched the navy blue knee socks."What's this?" The words choked in his suddenly-dry throat."Cosplay.""Is it?""You'd be the expert."He nods, looking her up and down, letting all of the air out of his chest. "That I am."He approaches her slowly, his hands finding her thigh and he feels the garter straps that disappear under her skirt. He leans into her; his breath quickens and his heart races. He licks his lips as she toys with his shirt, pulling it out of his pants. He leans in closer and decides to just fucking do it, until she stops him and he almost dies on his feet."You're forgetting something." With her hand on his chest under his shirt, he could hardly breathe, let alone think."I am?" She smiles at his cracking voice."A matching pair." She touches the side of his face with one finger, running it over his jaw and down his neck."A cosplay for my cosplayer?" He slides the glasses over his nose."That's the idea." She leans in and touches his lips with her own."Star Trek nerds really do get laid." He talks between kisses, his hands unbuttoning her blouse, cupping her breasts in his hands."Even Peter Bishop?" She unzips his fly and pushes his pants down to his knees."Especially Peter Bishop." She's in his arms suddenly and he spreads her out on the table; a whirlwind of paper flies up in every which way, blanketing the window to the empty lab in a makeshift curtain, leaving them alone to the night.
|
134744
|
The Hard Decisions
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan, Aral Vorkosigan, Simon Illyan, others - Character",
"Fandom": "Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Gwynne",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-11-21T00:00:00",
"words": "1,449",
"Additional Tags": "Slightly suggestive",
"Relationship": "Cordelia/Aral",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Simon Illyan was flooded with a wave of intense nostalgia for the good old days of the Vordarian Pretendership, when the only thing Lady Vorkosigan rolled down the conference table was the occasional severed head.By sheer force of will he kept his expression bland as he glanced at his Department chiefs sitting around the long conference table. They looked variously horrified, embarrassed, shocked and oddly excited. He made a personal note to check that last one out later.Or perhaps better not.The only non-Impsec man at the table was the Lord Regent Vorkosigan. And he had that calm, slightly absent-minded look he used to cover any emotion from sheer amusement to raging fury. At the moment the man was probably revelling in the whole disgraceful scene, Simon knew that Aral Vorkosigan had a vile sense of humour at times.Then there was the one woman present, sitting at the far end of the table, facing Simon Illyan with an air of matter-of-fact intelligence. She tapped the comconsole panel in front of her, and the visuals along the table changed as each individual display flickered onto the next set of images.Her last words still seemed to hang in the air, “Well, gentlemen, let’s discuss the Emperor’s sexual education.” Now she smiled and went on, “These are some of the best-trained Licensed Practical Sexuality Therapists - LPST’s - on Beta. They are herms, of course – most young people like to start with a well-trained herm partner. That way they can feel less confronted, and at the same time they can learn about both male and female stimulation and responses.”The Head of Domestic Affairs whimpered slightly. Simon didn’t move a muscle. Aral started fiddling with a stylus lying on the table in front of him.“I’ve got the background information on several possibles, all with full PhD’s of course, and extra qualifications as well – in psychology, sociology and anthropology. The latter should be very useful on Barryar.” She glared around her in a quick reflex action. “Since we’re not yet sure of the Emperor’s preferences in his partners, I’ve chosen a range of physical types, although the physical isn’t nearly as important as the psychological, of course.”She waited for an answering murmur of agreement.The murmur was conspicuous by its absence. As was the agreement.Finally, to the admiration of his men, the Head of Impsec showed true heroism. He spoke.“Uh… herms? That’s hermaphrodites, yes?”“That’s right.” Cordelia smiled at him encouragingly.“Hermaphrodites. They have both… sets. Of… er… sets. Yes. Both. Right?” It was so wrong to be discussing this with a woman. Women weren’t supposed to know about sex. They especially weren’t supposed to talk about it. Or at least, not talk about it with men. Lady Vorkosigan seemed prepared to talk about… everything. Once again he wished for the good old days when all you had to do to keep her happy was give her a sword and someone to slice. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s suitable for the Emperor.”Cordelia frowned, “How can they not be suitable? They’re very well trained. As I said, they’ve all got several degrees.”The Head of Galactic Affairs cleared his throat, “Degrees in… how do you get degrees in… um… never mind.” For the first time in his life the man’s courage failed him.To the horror of all of the Impsec officers, she went on happily, “I thought we could just check a list of the basics, after all the normal Betan protocols may need a little adjusting for Barrayar. Now, would you like to discuss positions?”He’d rather discuss vile tortures. He’d rather undergo vile tortures. Illyan glared at Aral, who held a stylus and was trying to assemble several more into a tower. Aral was obviously too busy with his erection to discuss anything right now.Time to get back on top. “I believe there are far too many security concerns involved in importing such… persons… from Beta Colony.”“Oh?” Cordelia frowned, “I’m not sure there’s anyone on Barrayar with suitable training.”The head of Domestic Affairs stiffened at the insult to the Empire, “I’m sure Barrayar can produce some suitable courtesans. It doesn’t take a university degree to lie back and…. lie back.”“Oh, but LPST’s do far more than just lie there. They’re experienced in all the regular positions, and a range of more experimental ones as well. And they can teach a beginner about physiology, and stimulation. And on maintaining control, which is so important, after all timing is everything, isn’t it.”It certainly was, most of the men present were realising that a short meeting could seem to take centuries.Simon stiffened his resolve and rose to the occasion, “Lady Vorkosigan, this matter is too delicate and sensitive to involve non-Barrayaran personnel.” There, he’d taken a stand.The woman thought for a moment, then nodded, “Well, if you think so.... We’d need a list of suitable courtesans then. Or do you actually have some real sex therapists available?” She looked at the men around the table, “No, I don’t think so. Fine, then let’s check out the best we can find and make a list.”The Komarran Affairs chief managed one burst of resolve, “Surely the emperor is too young for us to be considering this?”Lady Vorkosigan frowned, “Young? He’s fifteen. Aral was only thirteen when he – ” Every man froze. Aral glanced at her. “ – when he helped disembowel an emperor. He was considered man enough for that. At fifteen the emperor is definitely ready for some healthy interpersonal activity.” The men relaxed limply. She glanced around at them all, “How old were each of you, anyway? When you first – ”Each man was rigid with embarrassment.“Lady Vorkosigan…” Once again Simon Illyan rode to the rescue, “I agree that the emperor needs some sort of instruction. Perhaps we could…show him a vid.”The assembled men all nodded vigorously. A vid was definitely a nice, safe option. It was how each of them had been introduced to …such things. Well, everyone except the head of Domestic Affairs, who’d found the keyhole of the maid’s bedroom better than any vid, especially when she was entertaining the butler. Just the sight of a white apron could still make him feel quite frisky.The woman shook her head decidedly, “Hardly good enough for an emperor, surely. The poor boy needs careful training and emotional support. He needs hands-on experience. I really feel that the Betan herms are the best option. Or, if you don’t want herms, some monosexual LPST’s. Probably all female, knowing Barrayaran prejudices. Now, here’s some vids of females…”Pictures started flickering across the comconsoles.Illyan screwed his courage up, “No, NOT Betan, Lady Vorkosigan. Too great a security risk.”She sighed, “Well, I suppose if you insist, we’ll go with Barrayaran courtesans. Do you have a list of security-acceptable women?”Sometimes you just know you’re up against it. Illyan sighed, “I’ll forward you a suitable list, Lady Vorkosigan. Perhaps you take the rest of this situation in hand.”She nodded happily, “If you insist. Will you want a report afterwards?”“No. Thank you. No. No need. Not at all. No.”“Are you sure? Oh well, then, I’ll set it all in motion. Thank you for your time gentlemen. Tomorrow for that list, Simon? Fine.” She stood up gracefully. Aral nodded to all at the table and followed her from the room. The remaining men all sighed and sagged limply in their chairs. Some days are definitely worse than others.In the corridor outside Aral matched his stride to his wife’s, and smiled lazily at her, “So… I thought you’d decided that Betan LPST’s weren’t really possible, and that we’d go with some Barrayaran courtesans.”“Yes, but if I started there, they’d have bargained it down to a vid and some baby oil. This way the poor boy gets some nice experienced ladies who’ll show him the ropes. We can at least do that much for him.”“Cordelia, you don’t feel that he’ll be a bit… embarrassed… by all this?”“Well, it’s possible. We’ve done our best but Barrayaran attitudes are so pervasive. You’ll have to explain it all very carefully to him.”Aral froze in mid-step, “Me? But... you take care of his personal life…”“But this sort of thing… sometimes a boy needs his father, or foster father. You’ll do fine. I’ll prepare a talk for you to give him.” She strode along happily, humming to herself.Aral walked slowly down the corridor in her wake, wishing for the good old days when she was happy to just chop off a head here and there to solve all her problems.
|
156128
|
REM
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Starsky & Hutch",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Verlaine",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-01-26T00:00:00",
"words": "2,143",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Starsky/Hutch, Starsky/Terry",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/M, M/M",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Hutch dreamed about Gillian fairly regularly.The only mercy was that it was never a 'what if' kind of dream, the kind where he somehow got there before Grossman and saved her, or where it turned out she really was a writer of some kind and they were living happily ever after somewhere. He never even dreamed that Starsky had come to him first, instead of emptying his bank account in a dumb-ass gesture that was somewhere between quixotic and degrading. No, what always woke him up in a cold sweat was the moment when he walked into her apartment and saw her body on the floor, and the bottom dropped out of his world so hard and fast it was like his heart had stopped right along with hers.He'd had some time to think about it over the years, and he'd come to the bitter conclusion that in her own strange way Gillian was doing suicide-by-cop. After all, she knew the Grossmans. If she'd ever for one minute believed that she'd survive slapping Mama Olga's face, she'd have had to be an idiot, and Gillian definitely hadn't been stupid. What she hadn't been was decisive. She'd dithered back and forth: in the life, out of the life, hooker, girlfriend, truth, lie. She hadn't been able to commit herself one way or the other, couldn't bring herself either to tell Hutch the truth or walk away from him or tell them all to go to hell, and then hop on a bus to Chicago. So she'd done the equivalent of throwing all the cards into the air and betting her fate on which ones fell face up.Gillian may not have been decisive, but Al Grossman sure as hell had been. Didn't take him as long as thirty seconds to make up his mind.Dead man's hand, all the way.***More rarely, Hutch dreamed about Vanessa. Those dreams were worse, because they did come with a lot of 'what ifs'. What if he'd stayed with her that morning, instead of going for his run? Run faster? Taken a short cut? When he was awake, Hutch knew damn well what would have happened: he'd have fallen for her frightened-little-girl seduction routine again, and they'd have been in bed together when the bad guys showed up, with his gun all the way across the room, and there'd have been two bodies for Starsky to find instead of just one.But in his dreams, Hutch could sometimes change the past.There were other 'what ifs' too, the kind that he occasionally thought about by day. What if he'd stayed with her? Done whatever it would have taken to make their marriage work, even if it ended up eating him away on the inside until there was nothing left but a Ken-shaped shell going through the motions of life? (He didn't imagine Vanessa's husband would have stayed 'Hutch' too long.)Hell, what if he'd never married her in the first place?Hutch had had some time to think about his marriage too, and for the past few years he'd had another standard for comparison. Knowing what he knew, he was sometimes still a little appalled at how blindly he'd walked into that marriage. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't his fault. He hadn't been dumb but he had been naïve. And horny, can't forget horny. When a guy's twenty-two, the way he acts can make it hard to tell the difference between dumb and naïve; throw in horny and he might just as well check his brains at the door for a year or two. Hutch had believed in true love and promises, and the kinds of ideals he'd read about in books and hadn't seen too much of in real life. He'd been convinced that the problem wasn't that the ideals didn't exist, but that the people he grew up with were too small to live up to them.He matured pretty fast in that first year of marriage.***He'd never admit this to anyone, but Hutch enjoyed his dreams about Terry. Hutch had liked Terry a lot, and what he'd liked best was that she was a girl with no time for bullshit. She'd been warm, down to earth, affectionate, and the best thing was, it had all been real, not some act she'd put on for Starsky's benefit.His dreams about her usually involved the one night the three of them had spent together, just before Starsky admitted he'd fallen for her really hard. Hutch had already figured it out, though. At first Starsky had talked about her, the same way they did about all their girls. He'd smirked a little about the way the nice-girl-next-door schoolteacher turned into a tiger behind closed doors. Once he stopped talking, Hutch knew which way the wind was blowing. Despite what he'd learned in his marriage, Hutch didn't always think with the big head as much as he should have, but when he saw the way Starsky was kissing her that night, he'd decided their friendship was going to last a lot longer if Starsky didn't have to carry around a memory of Hutch fucking the woman he sat down to breakfast with every morning. So he'd pretended to be a little drunker than he was and after a few polite gropes he made a show of stretching out to go to sleep and let them get it on alone.Terry had had a surprise for them. Turned out she had a kink: she liked to watch guys getting it on.That had been a first for both of them. They'd fooled around together occasionally when they couldn't be bothered to go on the prowl, and they'd been up for threesomes any time a girl couldn't decide which one of them she liked better, but this was the first time a girl had asked to watch them. For a few seconds they'd looked at each other, baffled, and Hutch had felt a lot like the way he felt when somebody tried to get him to stand up and sing in public.Then Starsky laughed, a low dirty chuckle, and whispered, "Nobody dips like Ramon."And Hutch drawled out, "If you've got it, flaunt it, boy."So Ramon and Charlie had jerked each other off, and once they got into it, they put on a show that could have probably matched the kind of stuff that went on after hours at the Green Parrot. They took their time getting undressed, showing off their bodies to Terry and to each other. Hutch would have sworn he knew Starsky's body as well as his own: they'd spent enough time together in the locker room and the hospital over the years that there were no particular surprises, but that night was the first time Hutch had really looked at Starsky, the way men looked at someone desirable.Hutch had never paid much attention to Starsky's chest before, and he was intrigued to see the way Starsky's nipples hardened up as soon as he ran a fingernail over them. His own nipples didn't seem to be connected to anything much, but when Starsky leaned over and licked his belly button Hutch nearly came right in his face. That had inspired Starsky to try going down on him—something they'd never done either—and they'd ended up in an awkward sixty-nine that nearly strangled both of them before they gave up and went back to basics.Terry had watched them avidly, her eyes sparkling, a warm pink flush running from her hairline all the way down over her breasts. She'd stroked her fingers through their hair and across their arms and shoulders, and kissed them both, and whispered over and over how beautiful and how sexy they were, and what a turn on it was to watch a couple of gorgeous men like them playing with each other.Afterward, Hutch really had gone to sleep, so he never knew what Terry and Starsky did the rest of the night. But when he woke up, his arms had been wrapped protectively around both of them.Hutch used to wonder sometimes when he woke up from that dream what would have happened if she'd lived. Would the two of them have gradually drifted away from him, as couples and singles tended to do? Or would he more and more have found his way into their house and their bed? Maybe even left a little blond Hutchinson cuckoo in the nest someday?In a sad way, he was always glad that was one choice that had never had to be made.***If he ever dreamed about Jeannie, Hutch never mentioned it. He told himself it was because he'd be too embarrassed if Starsky started humming the theme song to that really stupid show, but the truth was, he didn't talk about those dreams because he knew it would upset Starsky. The two of them had gotten over all the heroin shit surprisingly well. After all, it wasn't like he'd been a junkie for years, or even weeks. And they'd coped with drug dealers and drug addicts and the truckloads of smack and pot and coke they busted without any trouble.But any reference to Monk or Forrest—even Bernie Glassman—always made Starsky a little twitchy. The day Forrest came up for parole, Hutch found Starsky sitting on the couch cleaning his gun, a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table in front of him. Starsky didn't scare Hutch very often, but by the time they'd made it to bed that night Hutch had had the shakes.He didn't let Starsky out of his sight for the next three days.***Hutch never dreams about Starsky.It worries him a little, because it seems to him that what with Starsky being such an important part of his life, he at least ought to dream about him sometimes. And it's not like there isn't plenty of trauma—and sex—to fuel both potential nightmares and wet dreams.The daymares are bad enough. He'll be walking down the street, not a care in the world, and he'll get a whiff of tomato and garlic from a house he's passing, and suddenly he'll smell blood, and for a moment whatever he's carrying will feel as heavy as the end of the world in his arms, even if it's only the day's paper and a couple of carrot muffins.But at night—nothing.Maybe it's because at night Starsky is so solidly and uncompromisingly there. He's kind of hard to miss, snoring like an engine with a mistimed valve, delivering the occasional knee to the back or elbow to the gut. Hutch has gotten used to waking up with the covers all kicked away and Starsky flopped half on top of him, an arm firmly wrapped around him (and occasionally one hand possessively gripping his cock. Even asleep, Starsky isn't subtle.)In the beginning it was disorienting, waking up to the feel of muscle and chest hair and callus and scar tissue, smelling sweat and stale aftershave instead of perfume. There were even a few times he'd groggily shaken Starsky and told him to go sleep it off at home. Luckily, Starsky never took offence; as far as he was concerned there was never a bad time for playing hide the nightstick, and since they were already naked and awake in the middle of the night, well, that just left more time for the good stuff.Occasionally Hutch feels the urge to pinch himself, just to make sure this whole thing, this whole life he's got with Starsky now, isn't what's really the dream. After all, maybe the reason he's not dreaming about Starsky is because he's still sitting in the chair outside the ICU, watching Starsky die through a light-year of unforgiving glass. Maybe these past few years of grounded happiness and crazy contentment are nothing but the product of a grieving mind fantasizing about 'what could have beens' now that it's too damn late.But then Starsky will sneak up behind him and goose him, or call him in the middle of the day to tell him a joke so old it's growing barnacles (and laugh like a hyena) or surprise him with some new plant that Hutch would never have bought for himself but that fits perfectly with the rest of the collection. And he knows that this is reality, that nothing he could imagine would be this good.Because right from the beginning, when neither of them had a clue where it was going or even exactly what they were doing, before they'd ever imagined that what was between them was going to become the defining factor in their lives—even then, Hutch knew this was what he'd been dreaming about all his life.
|
168944
|
This Doesnt Make Us
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "Lauren Zizes, Rachel Berry, Tina Cohen-Chang, Noah Puckerman, Finn Hudson, Mercedes Jones",
"Fandom": "Glee",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by escritoireazul",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-10T00:00:00",
"words": "1,789",
"Additional Tags": "Community: glee_fluff_meme, Vomiting, Women Being Awesome",
"Relationship": "Noah Puckerman/Lauren Zizes",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/M, Gen",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Sick.Lauren can still smell the puke, even though she’s taken herself to the bathroom to get away from it. (She certainly did not flee to the bathroom. She’s never run away from anything in her life, and if you value yours, you’ll keep your damn mouth shut.) The lingering mix of perfumes does nothing to mask the smell of vomit. If anything, it makes it worse and Lauren lunges for the sink just in case she’s about to throw up too. She grips the sides of the sink tight and stares down into the basin, her stomach churning.After a second, the nausea passes, and she splashes cool water onto her face. That’s when she hears the quiet whimper and realizes she’s not alone. The first three stalls are empty, but in the fourth, Rachel Berry is slumped on the ground, her skin waxy and colorless beneath the vomit still streaked across her face.“Oh, gross, Berry.” Lauren presses her fist against her mouth, choking for a second. Berry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, doesn’t even blink. Her silence shocks Lauren out of the moment and Lauren finds herself absurdly feeling grateful. (She really, really hates throwing up, okay?) “Berry?”That doesn’t get a response either, and Lauren frowns and crouches next to her, carefully touching her shoulder. (Careful not because she’s afraid of hurting her, but because Rachel is smeared with purple-gray puke. The color just makes it even worse than regular puke. Crap, if she doesn’t stop thinking about it, she’s going to barf on Rachel too.)“Rachel?” That gets her a couple blinks at least. “Are you okay?”“Yes.” Rachel tries to smile, but her voice is raspy and weak and she gives up quickly. “No.”“Can you get up?” Lauren asks. Her nose wrinkles, because oh my god, Rachel smells horrible, and she’s really not sure why she didn’t just walk away and leave her there. Too late for that.(Way too fucking late. Like, months too fucking late. Goddamn it.)“No.” Rachel makes this little noise like maybe she’d be crying but she doesn’t want to let herself get started. “I threw up.”Lauren swallows hard. There’s nothing stuck in her throat, she knows that, but oh, god, that’s not how it feels. “Okay,” she says, and then, because she doesn’t really know how they’re going to do this, she says it again. “Okay.”“Okay,” Rachel echoes and tips her head against the side of the stall.Lauren squeezes her shoulder and gets up. First thing she does is wet a bunch of paper towels with cold water and shove them at Rachel. She takes them, but when she starts swiping at the vomit, she only makes it worse. Lauren pulls an epic face, but grabs a couple of the towels and starts cleaning her up. Oh, god, this is disgusting and she’s going to shower for hours when she’s done.Once Rachel’s face is clean -- and her throat and her ear and as much of her hair as Lauren can get with just the paper towels, oh god, is there anywhere Brittany didn’t hit? -- Lauren gets up again to throw away the dirty towels. She washes her hands with really hot soapy water, then pulls her phone out of her pocket.“Hey, Rachel?” She doesn’t get a response until she’s down on Rachel’s level again, sort of in her face. “Do you have any clothes here? Gym clothes, maybe?”“In my locker,” Rachel mumbles. “I have learned to keep fresh clothing on hand in case of a slushy incident.”“Yeah, the slushy thing is stupid.” Lauren rolls her eyes, because of all the ways to intimidate people, flavored crushed ice is ridiculous. “What’s your locker number and combo?”“Why?” Rachel rolls her head until she’s looking up at Lauren. “Are you going to put something nasty inside?”“Keep up, Berry. I’m going to get you cleaned up.” She taps out a quick text to Tina, shoves her phone back in her pocket, and braces herself, because even slightly cleaner, Rachel still smells horrible. She shudders as she slides her hands under Rachel’s arms -- gross, gross, gross, she can feel sticky chunks against her fingers even there -- and makes sure she’s got a good grip. “Up you go.”Rachel flails a little, trying to help, but Lauren gets her back on her feet and hooks one of her arms across her shoulders, taking most of her weight. Rachel still stumbles a little as they head to the sinks, but Lauren balances her easily.For a second, she debates throwing Rachel over her shoulder and carrying her to the locker room. It would be a lot easier to toss her in the shower and let her wash off all the crap. Of course, the way Rachel’s wavering, there’s no way she can stand on her own, and they aren’t the kind of friends who shower together. (They aren’t really friends at all, except Lauren is standing there holding her up despite the puke. So maybe they are.)She turns on the water and makes sure it’s not too hot, then helps Rachel bend over and rinse her hair again and again. By the time they’re done, Tina’s there with clean clothes for Rachel and, awesomely, a towel. She wraps it around Rachel’s hair while Lauren holds her up and between the two of them, they get her cleaned up and changed.(A group of girls comes in while they’re wiping vomit off the back of her neck and start snickering, until Lauren takes a big step toward them, glaring, her shoulders forward. “The hell are you looking at?” she snaps and they scatter.)Rachel slumps against the wall when they’re done, but she doesn’t sink all the way to the floor the whole time Lauren and Tina scrub their hands and arms clean, so Lauren counts it as a win. She’s still looking pretty pasty and wan, so Lauren grabs some Twizzlers from her backpack and pushes them into Rachel’s hand. “Eat,” she orders. Rachel stares at the bag of candy, until Lauren huffs, tears it open, and hands her a strand. “Eat.” This time, Rachel obeys.“What should we do with her?” Tina asks. Lauren offers her the Twizzlers too, and she takes one, twisting it around her fingers before she tears off a big bite. Lauren pulls one out for herself and lazily sucks on the end while she thinks.“Choir room,” she says at last. “She can sit down there until she feels better.” Plus it’s kinda a safe space for them -- for the glee club, damn it, not Lauren. Lauren’s safe space is the gym and the weight room and she doesn’t need a fucking safe space in the first place, so shut up -- and she knows Rachel feels most at home there of anywhere in the school. That doesn’t mean she knows her well or anything, because it’s pretty damn obvious.“Good idea.”Lauren shoves the Twizzlers back into her bag and then hands it to Tina. She pulls Rachel’s arm across her shoulders again and wraps an arm around Rachel’s waist, bracing her for the walk to the choir room. They make it all the way to the bathroom door before Rachel goes even paler -- how is that possible? Even her hair looks drained -- and slumps forward.“Oh, hell,” Lauren mutters and scoops Rachel up.Tina’s mouth drops open. “Crap, you are really strong.”“Yeah, well, this isn’t as easy as I make it look, so let’s hurry the hell up.” Lauren is strong, but she’s afraid if she throws Rachel over her shoulder, she’ll just start throwing up again, and carrying someone like this might look good in the movies, but it’s putting a lot of strain on her arms when normally she lifts and throws from her legs.Tina holds the door for them, and tags along at Lauren’s side, carrying both their backpacks and a plastic bag with Rachel’s dirty shirt and the wet towel in it. The hall is empty, which is good, because carting Rachel around really isn’t badass at all. Especially when Rachel kind of snuggles up against her shoulder and mumbles, “You’re sweet.”“God, shut up, Berry,” Lauren snaps. Tina swallows a laugh, but she can’t hide that bright smile. “You too, Tina.”“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Tina sing-songs. “I certainly didn’t say anything about you going soft.”“Even carrying Berry, I can totally take you, Cohen-Chang. Watch it.”Tina laughs out loud, a delighted sound, and does a little two step down the hall in front of her.Almost they make it without anyone seeing this horrifyingly nice thing Lauren is doing, but they just barely get inside the choir room when the rest of the glee club comes spilling in too, minus Santana and Brittany who, Lauren hopes, are cleaning up, because she is really tired of smelling vomit.“Rachel!” Finn’s voice goes high and he takes a step forward before he remembers.Lauren can feel them staring at her -- can feel Puck staring at her -- and her cheeks go hot. She really wants to dump Berry right on the damn ground and go hit something until she’s tough again, but not even she’s that big a bitch, so she shovels Rachel into a chair instead. Mercedes hurries over, uncapping her bottle of water and telling Rachel to drink it slowly. Otherwise, the room is quiet for many long seconds -- Lauren can hear the clock ticking away -- and then they start talking to each other. She can tell they’re kind of giving her the side-eye, but whatever.Puck, though, struts up. She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her best glare on him, but he doesn’t even flinch. Damn it.“Zizes,” he says and his mouth twists into a smirk. “Didn’t think you were--”She snaps her hand up, palm toward him. “Don’t, Puckerman.” He opens his mouth again, but she cuts him off. “Shut up or start losing body parts.”That quiets him, except he’s still grinning and then, when she glances over to check on Berry -- damn it, if she’s going to help someone, she’s going to make sure they stay helped -- he slips in for a kiss.Goddamn it. She hits his shoulder, but not even hard enough to really knock him away, and when he leans in again, she kisses him back, because they’re in the choir room and the only people around are the glee club and, you know, whatever, maybe it’s kind of a safe space.But she only kisses him back for a couple seconds, because there’s no sense in letting him think she likes it or anything.
|
128840
|
Chao-Ahns Letter
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Buffy the Vampire Slayer",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by GillO",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-10-24T00:00:00",
"words": "461",
"Additional Tags": "Season/Series 07",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Chao-Ahn",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Buffyverse Top 5",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Honoured and respected sister,I am now in Sunnydale, in California, and write, as you requested me, to tell you about my new life.I confess that you were right – I should have studied English instead of Arabic. I understand almost no words here, and have to guess much of what is happening.Americans live in very crowded accommodation; there are many girls here, and we sleep on the floor as we do at home. It seems our leaders were right when they told us that stories of all Westerners having rooms and beds to themselves were merely propaganda.The same can be said of the diet here; there are few fresh fruits or vegetables and rarely is there sufficient rice. They do not seem to know how to make congee to spread the nourishment more widely. Instead they eat many flat, round breads, with garish vegetables on them, usually covered in cheese, which makes them inedible. Much of their food is poisonous to me; they consume tubs of a sugary, high-lactose substance. The younger girls in particular seem to see it as a delicacy. Meanwhile they throw away many true delicacies – can you believe it – their chickens come with feet and gizzards removed! I assume this is because they cost less without these specialities and this is of importance. Much of their meat is ground up finely and squashed into lumps between roundels of bread. These people are not civilised as we are. They eat in a disgusting manner, and I have found no chopsticks in the house at all.The people here smile at me a great deal, but I am not deceived by this. The man in a jacket who brought me here cleans his spectacles a lot and has shown me terrifying pictures of what may happen to me if I let down my guard. For that reason I have locked myself into a small room while I write to you. Everywhere else there are young women, some of whom are very threatening. One shouts at the rest of us a great deal while we do simple exercises. Another talks to us for very long periods. Few seem to enjoy this, but she seems to feel it is important, so I listen with respect as I was taught.Americans keep strange monsters in their cellars. This house has a vampire chained to the wall. Sometimes he is released for training purposes but most of the time he sits with few clothes on. For that reason I have done little laundry since my arrival. Please, if you can, send me more underclothes.Give my well wishes to our revered parents. I miss you all very much and long to return to our beloved country.Your sister, Chao Ahn
|
138505
|
Fic Taking Care of
|
{
"Archive Warning": null,
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Faith Lehane, Illyria (AtS)",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by brutti_ma_buoni",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-09T00:00:00",
"words": "4,047",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Buffyverse Top 5",
"Fandoms": "Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer",
"Archive Warnings": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death",
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Hey Wes.""Faith. Well, it's been quite a while since I heard from you. How have you been?""Not too shabby. You know, it's tough, with all the little Slayer kids getting qualified. I'm kind of a teacher and a mentor and… well, it's all a little much. I had to get outta there. You know?""Mmm. Yes, I can imagine it's not quite your style. A break will doubtless do you good. Do you have any plans?" Wesley sounded disengaged.Faith was about to shake that. "Matter of fact, yeah. I'm in LA.""Here? Today? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Yeah. Wesley hadn't known that."Chill, Wes! Call it an impulse. Or, more like, call it a mission. I don't expect you to be killing any fat cows for me.""A mission, you say? What's going on?""Thought you mighta heard, Wes. We have a situation in the City of Angels. There's some pretty heroic guy who lived here; he died. It's a sad story. Except turns out, he's still walking and talking. With a goddess at his side, and running a branch of Evil Inc.""Yes. I can see we do rather have a situation. What do you propose to do about it, Faith.""Thought I'd go see the guy himself. How's eleven thirty work for you, Wesley? Or whoever you are?"*Wolfram and Hart had changed a lot since Faith was here. Total change of staff, totally new décor. Out with the greys, in with the sweeping open plan, lots of wood and glass. Pretty nice.No Lilah waiting for her, easy to scare. Just a man she'd known, when you worked it out, for perhaps four months. Though he'd tried to have her jailed, and she'd tortured him half to death once, so that built intimacy pretty fast."Hey Wes." Somehow, she always started their conversations like that."Faith. Come in." He offered her water (which, not being stupid, she refused. Do not eat or drink in the house of the enemy. Some Watcher taught her that, someday. Probably this Watcher.)He looked perfectly normal. Like Wesley last time she saw him, when the gang were fleeing the ruins of Sunnydale and stopped off in LA for supplies. Way better than poker-assed Watcher guy, or, of course, the time she tortured him just for the fun of it. Or the half-forgotten time he'd broken her out of jail and set her against Angelus. Whatever it took. To the death.Today, he was sharp-suited, but with an open necked shirt taking the edge off. He looked California corporate, which he was. He did not look dead. But her Slayer senses were screaming.First things: establish the lay of the land. "Where's your blue goddess? I was looking forward to meeting Illyria."Because she sounds quite the fighter."I'm afraid you will be denied that pleasure. Illyria – by the way, she isn't a goddess as such. She's quite definite about that." He was not answering. Suspicious. Or maybe postponing the answer, since he continued on without prompting. "Illyria has left me. She finds my current condition… distasteful."Faith quirked a brow. "Not big with the undead? Weird, I thought all you magic types hung together."Wesley looked down at his heavy crystal glass of water. He paused again. Thinking? Faith had a strange feeling he wasn't so much calculating the odds as hating the answer."She says that I am no longer her Wesley. That my face and my spirit do not match." A pause. "As you can imagine, I found that a somewhat ironic complaint from someone in Illyria's position."Understatement. Interesting, that he really seemed to care Illyria had left. More so, that he seemed genuinely grieving for Fred too. But Faith had immediate concerns to worry about. "So she's gone for good?"Wesley nodded.Cool. No superstrong goddess/whatevers to get in Faith's way."Glad to hear it. Now, Wesley. I have to ask you. What in hell are you?"He blinked back at her, unspeaking."I mean, you're not a vamp. I can smell that. You're still you. So what else. Zombie?"Wesley sat motionless for a few moments, then extended his hands across the desk and groaned, "BRAAAAAIIINS."It was so deadpan, took Faith a moment to start laughing. But the laugh took her over, a sudden gust of ridiculous happiness, because this still was Wesley. No messing. She was still giggling weakly as he explained that he didn’t really understand his exact status as a member of the undead community. He'd never been told about the magicks supporting the contract which bound him endlessly to this place. But no, not actually a zombie.Faith sighed. Technicalities were interesting – at least, Giles thought so, and he'd asked her to ask. But this wasn't really why she'd come."Sorry Wes," she interrupted.She wondered if he had a moment of déjà vu as she pulled out the huge hunting knife that Wolfram and Hart's stooges had ignored when checking her in. (Which was another issue, that probably wasn't the point right now. What was with the lax security?)"Not a vamp or a zombie, true, but I've never met the undead who survived this."Wesley didn't even flinch as she jumped across the desk to reach him. Nor as she cut his throat."I'm sorry, Wesley. We all are."Cutting off a head is hard work. Even with a pretty damn good blade. The backbone, in particular, Faith discovered, resisted being severed for quite a while.Queasy, she paused to review her progress. About halfway there; more if the spine gave suddenly. He had clearly been clearly dead before she'd started. His neck looked like butcher's meat: bloodless and yet raw, with shocking white cuts across exposed bone.This was not a good time for puking. So Faith sawed on.Eventually, she stood up, with his severed head in her bag. Burn it later, probably. That should do it.She walked out, passing a startled PA on the way."Sorry sweetheart. Your boss is taking a long nap."They'd remember her as the laughing assassin. Wouldn't see the rising gorge, nor the quaking knees. Wouldn't see how badly she wanted to throw her bag, and its contents, into the nearest garbage chute, and run till this day was so far behind it could never catch her up.But she didn't make it past the PA's desk.A voice came from behind her. "Amber, could you ask Ms Lehane to pop back for a moment? I don't think we've finished our discussions."Wesley was sitting behind his desk again. The headless corpse had vanished, though there was plentiful staining on the carpet to show where it had been.Faith's bag was lighter, suddenly."I was trying to tell you, Faith. About the contract. Wolfram and Hart don't see these contracts as breakable. To them, Death is just another little glitch."She finally threw up.*"You're not even scarred. I cut off your head and like twenty seconds later you're alive and no scars." Faith had accepted a glass of water in the end, to rinse the puke out of her mouth. Chances were, Wolfram and Hart wouldn't be wanting to trap her here for six months of the year anyway. And she'd needed something to do while trying to get a grip after that little episode.Wesley looked Watcherly. Exposition followed. "No. Well, that wasn't my death as such. It was merely an assault on the constructed animation of my formerly living self. Why would it leave a mark?"Wes's hand, perhaps unconsciously, rested over his midsection. Faith could see the fabric of his shirt dinting in, as though there wasn't enough of Wesley's middle to fill out the shirt right. She really didn't want to know the details of what was under there; if his actual death had left a mark. She'd heard he'd been gutshot with magic – that might never heal, considering his words.Back to the main subject. "So this contract is what's keeping you undead. You've tried to destroy it?""Of course. I have access to our files and records department. But the contract isn't there; or rather there's an apparent version of the contract. I already knew it wouldn't work, but I did try burning it. Futile. Another copy was in its place immediately. I have experience of this, and that's rather what I expected, I'm afraid.""What's it say? I mean, how tied in are you?"Wesley sighed. "It's rather a complex document, and frankly I don't trust the lawyers here to help me interpret it correctly. But essentially the contract tied Angel and his colleagues to this firm. This branch, in fact. The odd thing is that it only requires one of us to be present in perpetuity. I suspect Wolfram and Hart were planning to slough off some of the less tractable members of the team and just keep a couple of us handy, if they'd had their way. They don't appear to have enforced the contract in Charles's case. Or Fred's."Lots of dead people in Wesley's world. Only some of them still walking around. Faith knew that feeling."So we could swap you for another one of the gang, maybe?" She was trying to work through the options."Mmm. Lorne wouldn't come. He returned to Pylea, you know? Said it wasn't as bad as Earth. I took that rather hard, considering how much he loathes his own dimension. Other than Lorne, there aren't many people left alive.""There's Angel." Faith felt shitty for mentioning it. Angel didn't deserve to be chained to Evil Inc either. But Wesley's situation was major bad."He's offered already. You might have guessed that. But I have seen the operational plans for this place, and I'm pretty sure I am a better option as head of Wolfram and Hart than Angelus would be."Angelus. Yeah. That would be bad. Wesley actually didn’t seem crazy or evil, and swapping him for someone who was definitely both… No."Yeah. See your point. Better than Angelus. But I don't believe in unbreakable contracts, Wes. Girl with a big knife and a lot of determination can find a way pretty much anywhere.""Look, Faith. I don't mean to be rude. But when it comes to strategy I'd back myself against you any day. I have a strong position here, and good research resources. And I've looked into this a lot. I certainly can't die. Believe me, I've given it my best shot. Amber tells me I'm referencing the depressive parts of Groundhog Day to a disturbing degree. The contract brings me back.""So we destroy the contract." Faith frowned. "But that doesn't work.""Quite. So we actually need to destroy the Platonic ideal of the contract.""Wes… Big words, small Slayer brain here." What the hell, Faith had no clue where he was going.It gained her a small, prissy-Wes smile. "Sorry. Showing off rather pointlessly. The ur-contract. The original, the ultimate – whatever the actual contract is that has the power. There must be a physical object as the source of the power, else they wouldn't have needed a blood signature. These are lawyers. They play by the rules. Evil rules, true, but rules all the same.""Cool. So we have a plan.""Except I have no idea where the Platonic ideal of the contract would be. Or how to access it. I imagine it's rather well protected, don't you?""I know this one." Faith preened slightly – look at research gal go! "They told me about the White Room. Said that was the place to get things done."Wesley looked paler. Presumably not actually paler, due to the lack of blood flow to his face. But he really didn't look like this was a place he wanted to go."I have tended to avoid the White Room. And I would point out that the Senior Partners are hardly likely to want to deal with you, either.""Why are you avoiding it?"Wesley paused for a very long time. But Faith knew he'd heard the question."I… I don't care for their choice of liaison representative.""Wes. I don't care about your dainty feelings. I'm going to the White Room. You're going to get me there.""Or?" Wesley looked pretty snarky for a moment. "You can scarcely threaten me with death."She shrugged. "True. But I can promise you death. You don't want to be trapped here, do you Wesley?"It was what she had been telling herself ever since she landed this assignment. Contract Slayer, but in a good cause.He didn't disagree.*Faith understood Wesley's feelings about the White Room from the moment that she heard the laughter in the air.The woman danced out of the blank white; short skirt, long hair, white lab coat open and flapping wide - almost as wide as her bashful, joyous smile.She ran up to Wesley, flung herself into his arms. "Wesley! God, I missed you! You never came back! It's kinda dull up here all on my lonesome, you know. Not a single Bunsen burner in the White Room. Can you believe that?"He shrugged the woman off, avoiding Faith's eyes. But the woman wasn't playing avoidance – she scuttled over to Faith and wrapped her in a hug in turn. A very mortal, physical hug."Faith! How've you been? I was so worried about you after Sunnydale.""Hey Fred." What else could Faith say? But you're dead. Your soul burned up. And I happen to know there's some minor deity using your body right now, somewhere not here. So what the hell ARE you?.No wonder Wesley avoided the place.He didn't look at "Fred" as he explained their request, to see the original of his contract.She gave a happy simper. "No, silly, you know that's not how it works."Faith was already getting irritated with not-Fred. The original had been way more interesting. So she pulled the big knife trick again; the one that worked so well earlier. Not-Fred stepped aside faster than Faith could see. She didn't look too worried about her possible fate, either. Maybe a big knife plus determination weren't as foolproof as she'd hoped."Now, Faith, you're just being silly. I'm gonna leave you to it." Fred wandered off into the white distance, pausing only to turn round and say brightly, "Guess what? The answer is among you."*"Okay, is that a clue? Why would the Senior Partners give us a clue? Why couldn't it be a more helpful clue?" Faith was feeling fuzzy and baffled as the White Room faded out and they popped back into place in Wesley's office.Wesley put his head in his hands. "Not a clue." It came out muffled by his fingers, but resoundingly pissed all the same. "That's an old line the Senior Partners fed us before. She's playing with us.""Huh. Funny jokes." Except Faith wasn't the dumb new kid anymore. "Was it true last time?""Yes." Still muffled. Wesley sounded exhausted as well as annoyed."So it could be true again. There could be an answer in our grasp. We might find it out. We have to try!"Wesley slipped his hands down from his eyes. He still looked pretty pissed. "Who died and made you head cheerleader? No, wait, I know this one. It appears to have been me."Pissed was a lot, lot better than the expression Faith had seen on Wesley when "Fred" wound herself around him. That had been a view of a man in hell. Faith wished she could forget it.*Faith left the offices, head spinning, and headed back to her motel. Running over the options didn't get her anywhere at first; just the same parade of rejected theories. Can't kill him – destroy the contract – can't destroy it – let him die – Angelus – the answer is among you. Dammit. There were so few of Angel Inc left. Just the vampire, the dead man and…The goddess.*She called him that night."Wesley. Can we be overheard?""Probably. Does it matter?""No. I was just asking to make this seem more spooky. Dumbass.""Faith, at this point no part of my life is private. I can't leave the offices. My movements and contacts are monitored constantly. Just ask, whatever it is. We'll deal with the consequences.""Okay. We'll try it anyway. Can you get Illyria to come back?""Probably. If well worded enough. Why?""I think you should take her to the White Room."It was a crazy hunch. But… what was White-Room-Fred? Where had she been constructed, out of what?Faith guessed Wolfram and Hart were using the image of Fred to keep Wes at arm's length, and also unbalance him a little. Which was good psychology, sure, and had stopped Wesley from thinking about her or the White Room too much. But if they were constructing Fred's image out of what they could scrabble together, considering her soul and body were gone… then maybe they were using parts of Illyria.In which case, W&H had built in a major weakness for their own security.Faith was dizzy with her own cunning. Outhinking Wesley! Maybe she should join the Watchers.*Illyria came. Quickly. As though she hadn't wanted to be away after all.Faith was startled by her. No matter how much someone explained that it was Fred's body, but blue and inhabited by someone else – reality was damn strange. The insectoid movements. The total fixation on Wesley. The power radiating from her.But Faith's hunch turned out to be a fantastic one. White-Room-Fred tried to fight Illyria, but a physicist against an Old One? Never gonna be a contest. After a couple of punches, a whole lot of staring, and some kind of mind-meld thing that Faith would never have imagined was possible, Illyria turned to the blank white to one side of them and set forth a stream of syllables.The white turned black – a black hole in the nothingness."Enter."Faith was not scared. Of course not. "Wes?""Mmm?" He looked as unmoved as he'd been the whole time she'd been in LA."We're sure Illyria's not evil, right? Or controlled by the Senior Partners?"He didn't get to respond; the Old One snapped out an answer instead. "My definitions of good and evil are not as yours. But your suggestion that the minions of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart could control me is as offensive as it is hilarious."No one was laughing. Illyria least of all.Wesley drew what was probably an unnecessary breath. "Well. She seems fairly clear about that."So they stepped into the dark part of the nothingness. It felt… nothingy. But confining. Like it would be a really bad idea to do more than put out a hand, grab at the legal paper that materialised and then get the hell out. Which was exactly what Faith was doing.Wesley, though tried to reach beyond, into the unseen space that might just hold more contracts. Or other lost items.Didn't go well: his arm caught fire.It was at this point that Faith really, really got that Wesley was dead. Her arm had been on fire? She'd have been leaping like a frying flying fish. Wesley just stood, vaguely looking at his burning flesh."Wes, doesn’t that hurt?""Hmmm? Oh, yes, but it hardly matters, does it? The burns won't last."As they came through the portal, Faith's brain was coming to some very scary conclusions. Like, Wesley really was dead. Better off dead. He knew it. He wouldn't try and stop her killing him. But she wasn't sure she could do it. Not again.*"So this is the contract. Your Plutonic idea."A spasm of irritation passed over Wesley's face. Faith kind of knew she'd messed up that reference, but he didn't bother to correct her. He was staring at the piece of paper in her hand."Yes. That's it.""And if I destroy it, what happens?""Angel is free. So is whatever remains of Fred in their service. Lorne too, though they seem to have let him go. Charles won't be resurrected. We're all free.""Kind of a big gap in that report, Wes. What happens to you?"Illyria spoke for the first time. "He will become dead.""For sure?" Faith couldn't believe they were talking like this. Somehow, killing Wesley outright had seemed like a grim duty. Organising his death with paperwork… it didn't sit well."I am dead already. I have been for months. All that keeps me functioning is the contract. There's no doubt at all what the consequence will be, I'm afraid. Do you have the guts?""I see what you're doing, Wes. Trying to dare me into it. But I'm not gonna fall for that.""And yet you cut my head off yesterday." He almost smiled at the memory. "You've never been terribly good at consistency, Faith. I believe I lectured you about that when first we met.""Yeah. And I didn't like it any more then. So stop, okay?" Faith paused. "You really want this?"Wesley looked a little miffed at the question. "Do I want to have died? No. Not even slightly. But I'm dead already. That should be my reality. The alternative is… uncomfortable."Illyria had been utterly still since her last speech. Now, she snapped into motion again, more threatening than Faith had ever seen her, right in her face. "You will free him. Or I will."Contemplating a good fight made Faith feel briefly better. But Illyria had tears in her unnaturally blue eyes, and Wesley was simply looking at her, expecting her to do the right thing.He even nudged her onwards to his death. "Do you have a lighter?""Yes. You're gonna lecture me on smoking again, too?""Hardly. As I recall, you rarely smoked for anything other than effect. And often, the lighter wasn't used for cigarettes."A moment's memory of the night she tortured him flickered into the stale air of the office."Did I apologise for that already?"He shrugged. "Not explicitly. I took it as read. But I would consider your debt paid if you used that lighter to free me."Which was pretty much unanswerable. "Okay. You want to make a big last speech? Any messages for the fans at home?" Faith hoped he couldn’t see her shaking, but he probably could. Wesley had never been unobservant."No. I think I've said it all. Please, Faith." His voice was trembling too. He was still looking at the contract, almost hungrily.Faith got out her Zippo. She loved this lighter. As she sparked it, she wondered if she'd use it again without remembering this day. There really didn't seem much to say. She touched the flame to the contract. Wesley gasped. As it burned, he collapsed. Like a puppet with the strings cut, went the saying. Which sounded poetic. But puppets aren't living. And more importantly, they aren't dead. Faith had spent this whole damn mission wanting to hurl. As the conference room filled with the stench of human decay, she nearly lost it again.Wesley hadn't been wrong. He looked about three months dead to Faith. Discoloured skin sloughing. Maggo- Scavenge- Things working all over his corpse, so that parts of him looked almost mobile.Beside him, Illyria had sat herself down; no sign of revulsion. Her hand was on his. She looked up at Faith, merging Fredness with her usual imperious godly stare."This is my Wesley again." A long, considered pause. "You did well. Thank you."Faith had kind of expected to say goodbye to Wesley. Close his eyes, maybe even kiss his dead body; some emotional farewell thing, for sure. But she couldn't go near the rotting remains that had been her Watcher.Illyria was there instead.Faith left Wolfram and Hart with that image burned into her sight: Illyria, caressing the rotting corpse with love and grief.Had she done a good thing?God, she hoped so.Hey Wes. Hope you're doing better now. ***This entry was originally posted at http://bruttimabuoni.dreamwidth.org/157878.html. You can comment here or there as you please!
|
116877
|
Menage a Un
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Orlando Bloom, Elijah Wood",
"Fandom": "Lord of the Rings RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Sinful Words (MontanaHarper)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2004-01-02T00:00:00",
"words": "1,188",
"Additional Tags": "Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Mildly Dubious Consent",
"Relationship": "Orlando Bloom/Elijah Wood",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "DIY",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
He hears the front door open and Orli considers shouting or maybe even tugging the edge of the duvet over himself, but he's always had an exhibitionistic streak and he's pretty certain of the intruder's identity. After all, the only people with keys to his house are Elijah and Viggo, neither of whom he'd kick out of bed. So, risks assessed as though what he's considering is just another one of his typical daredevil stunts—like parachuting or bungee jumping—Orli closes his eyes and resumes the familiar rhythm of hand on prick, listening carefully for any little sound that would indicate his visitor has reached the door to his bedroom.He's rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from the doorway and he's fairly certain now he knows who it is. Viggo would have laughed, and probably made a rude joke about kinky elvish sex rituals. The near absolute silence, then, is Elijah—likely deciding whether to run away entirely or to retreat politely to the sitting room and make enough noise to alert Orli to his presence.Careful not to give any indication that he's aware he's no longer alone, Orli watches from beneath his lashes, cataloguing the responses his movements evoke and deciding that the flush of Elijah's cheeks and the glittering blue of his eyes are the most erotic thing Orli's ever seen.At least until Elijah catches one side of his lower lip between his teeth—making Orli want to lick and suck at him until those lips are red and swollen and Elijah's mouth looks well-fucked—and then slides one hand from his chest to the bulge in the front of his jeans, palm pressing in and eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.And despite his determination not to react, Orli hears a moan escape from his lips, and his hand—seemingly beyond his conscious control—is moving faster and harder on his prick, the image of Elijah's face replaying on the insides of his eyelids. Then his body is arching, so close to release, and he barely recovers his higher brain functions in time to stop himself, sparks of pain radiating from his balls as he overdoes it, yanking too hard in his desperation to shut it down.He's shaking, now, eyes slitted just enough to make out Elijah, one hand down the front of his jeans, the room silent but for the faint susurration of skin on denim and the slightly louder sound of Elijah's breathing, and Orli wonders if Elijah actually realises how audible he is, or if he's so far gone that he simply doesn't care. Because he's already exceeded Orli's expectations, gone farther and blushed less than Orli could've imagined. Not, of course, that he'd ever imagined this situation, nor fantasised about coming whilst in the same room as Elijah, watching the sensations overwhelm him and bury his inhibitions beneath raw need until Orli just has to sink his teeth into the joint between Elijah's shoulder and neck and feel Elijah arch up against him.Orli runs his tongue over his lips, the salt of his own sweat a poor substitute for the imagined flavour of Elijah's skin, but that lack is made up for by the soft gasp that comes from the vicinity of the doorway and Orli is inordinately pleased that his performance is getting to Elijah.It says something—though what that something might be isn't quite clear to him—that he's getting as much from Elijah's unvarnished responses as Elijah seems to be from his carefully considered "show." But for all that Orli is conscious of his audience, his movements calculated for maximum effect, nothing about this is acting. The glide of fingertips against hard, sensitised flesh evokes genuine shudders of pleasure from his body, his instinctive reactions merely intensified by the knowledge that Elijah is watching, that he is becoming equally aroused.And that idea wrenches something low in his gut, the tingle spreading outward and shifting into a flow of lava lapping at his balls and the base of his prick, so that he has to first slow and then stop stroking entirely as he watches Elijah unbutton his jeans.Because Orli really didn't expect that, especially not the bit where Elijah isn't wearing anything underneath, so that as soon as the last button is undone Orli can see the curve of Elijah's shaft, dusky between pale fingers, jutting out from beneath the hem of Elijah's t-shirt, and that's so hot.Then Elijah—collapses is really the only word for it—against the doorpost and bares a length of smooth, pale neck in the process, and Orli has to revise his definition of hot, because that is the embodiment of hot. Until Elijah's lip is caught between white teeth again and his hand is moving fast and smooth on his prick and "hot" increases exponentially, like some perverse bit of sexual maths: hot squared or maybe even cubed.Orli suspects that Elijah could get all the way to hot-to-the-infinite-power without too much trouble, and he's breathless because he wants to help with those calculations, help him work out the geometry of prick and arse, and it's been quite a while since Orli's thought seriously about being on that side of the buggery equation. The idea sets a buzz running along his nerves and he spreads his legs a bit more, planting his left foot firmly on the mattress in the hopes that the change in angle will relieve some of the pressure, will fool his body into thinking it's not craving the sensation of being opened and filled by Elijah's hard prick.And Orli's movement seems to have changed Elijah's rhythm, shifted something slightly in the feedback loop they've worked their way into, because Elijah's hand is moving faster now, as though he's in sight of the edge and is racing to throw himself over. The moan from across the room really comes as no surprise to Orli, though the jump his prick gives at the sound is a little more unexpected and he knows he's on the verge of coming, himself.Elijah's blissful expression—the equation's nearly hot-to-the-infinite-power now—starts a chain reaction in Orli, and he's already past the point of no return when he registers the slightly puzzled look on Elijah's face and it takes everything he's got to keep from grinning as he realises the cause. Then he's coming, liquid sparks spattering on his fingers and belly, and he doesn't really do it with intent, because that would take more functioning brain cells than he currently seems to have, but he raises his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.He's not sure whether the quiet intake of breath and rapid retreat are a sign that he pushed too far, that Elijah was finally revolted by his actions, but it's too late to take them back now; he'll have to judge by Elijah's reactions tomorrow on the set. Orli's already planning his next role, though—in a self-directed, independent piece tentatively titled "The Seduction of Elijah Wood"—when he hears the front door close quietly.
|
125665
|
Civilian
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Quatre Raberba Winner, Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy",
"Fandom": "Gundam Wing",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by Misanagi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-02-09T00:00:00",
"words": "1,137",
"Additional Tags": "Action/Adventure, Friendship, Drama",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"I'm sure, gentlemen, that this won't be a very difficult mission for you two."
That showed exactly how much Lady Une knew Quatre Winner. It would be easy, she had said, just to guard him for the couple of weeks the Earth summit would last. Heero and I knew Quatre so why would it be a problem?
It would be because Quatre Winner is a stubborn bastard, ex Gundam pilot, rich brat used to getting his way. Of course, maybe after the disaster of the last summit when Quatre ended up saving the lives of his supposed Preventer bodyguards Lady Une had decided that it was better for Gundam pilots to work together.
That was all fine and dandy when we were fighting a war all as warriors but try convincing the pilot of Sandrock that he is supposed just to smile and wave and not check for exit routes or people lurking in dark corners?
Heero tried. He put on the glary face and informed Quatre that as long as we were in charge of his security he would have to trust us to protect him. Quatre had just smiled and said "of course." Hah! I still can't believe Heero fell for that, by now he should know better. The other guys, they don't see Quatre the way I do, they still trust the charming smile way too much.
Quatre was perfectly agreeable the first couple of days. He went to his meetings, talked to us in the car, had dinners in the hotel as much as possible so we could all sit together and talk instead of Heero and me standing by the door. He just forgot to tell us about the threats.
For three months Quatre had been getting threatening emails, phone calls and letters, trying to make him vote a certain way in the summit. A month ago someone had even put a knife to his neck when he was leaving a restroom and his inept security detail was elsewhere. Quatre had simply taken care of the problem himself, letting the man go with a warning for his employer.
Heero discovered the emails. He said it was by mistake but this is Heero we are talking about. He's nosy and has the hacking skills to get any info he wants. He was livid. Not that I wasn't but I'm more the type to rant than to throw icy glares at everything that moves.
"You should have told us," Heero informed Quatre in a clipped tone when we confronted him that night.
"I can handle it, don't worry."
"It's not your job to handle it." Heero's voice was cold.
The next day after his first meeting Quatre pulled a Houdini on us and vanished. Oh he was nice enough to leave a voice message saying he was fine and would meet us at the hotel at six, so we wouldn't worry... Didn't I tell you he's a brat?
We tracked him down to a bar downtown where he was calmly playing the piano while a group of girls observed him from afar. I was about to rush in and haul his blond ass to the limo where Heero and I could properly trash him for almost giving us a heart attack, but Heero stopped me.
"He's sad," he said.
We stood at the threshold for a while, hearing him play and I could see what Heero was talking about by the way Quatre played and the expression on his face. After the third song Quatre raised his eyes to meet ours, stood up and followed us without complain back to the hotel.
The mood was heavy that night and we settled on the big king sized bed of the suit quiet for a while.
"What's wrong?" Heero finally asked.
I wasn't surprised when Quatre said, "I'm tired."
It was a loaded answer. I shared a look with Heero and I knew he also understood.
"Quit," I said.
I thought Quatre would shake his head, would talk about responsibility and duty like he always did but he didn't. He stayed quiet for the rest of the night.
The day of the voting came and Quatre delivered his speech. His voice was calm and strong but the easy smile made him seem approachable. He was bred for this, to lead a company, to be a politician, L4 representative. He had all the skills necessary and he hated it.
He made his vote and when he came down from the podium and took his seat on the table he leaned towards me and whispered, "Be ready, they'll retaliate."
Quatre wasn't the strategist for nothing. We made it to the road before two big trucks rammed into the limousine and forced us out of the road. I had my gun in my hand and noticed that Heero and Quatre did too. The driver was shaking, a gun in his hand but a terrified look on his face. Heero pulled him out of the car, where we could all take cover behind the limo and told him to stay down.
Regular procedure said I should throw Quatre to the floor, keep him down and out of harms way… well whoever wrote the book didn't have Gundam pilots in mind when he did. Quatre, Heero and I quickly drifted into a familiar rhythm. We trusted each other enough to watch our backs, trusted we wouldn't miss, trusted we were good enough and as Quatre took down two of the men firing at us I understood why he couldn't settle, why he couldn't let others protect him. He knew he would do a better job himself.
"Why aren't you protecting Mr. Winner?" The driver asked, finally finding his voice as he hid behind a tire with no intention of returning the heavy fire we were receiving.
"We are," I said. "The best way we know how to."
Quatre Winner couldn't be protected by being thrown to the ground. No, he was safer with a gun at his hand and us fighting beside him.
It couldn't have lasted more than fifteen minutes. The limo had been destroyed but by the time the Preventers arrived the assailants were on the ground or had fled in panic.
"I'm done," Quatre said, putting his gun back in his shoulder holster. "Done."
Two weeks later Heero and I handed in our report. Lady Une called us to her office, an irritated look on her face. "You didn't follow procedure."
"We never do," I reminded her.
"You let a civilian participate in a gun fight."
"Quatre is hardly a civilian," Heero said.
"No," Lady Une said slowly. "He isn't." Then she smiled. "Not any more."
We weren't surprised when one morning the office at the end of the hall had a "Preventer Winner" plaque on the door.
|
170162
|
Hands-On
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Ray Levoi, Walter Crow Horse",
"Fandom": "Thunderheart (1992)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by thecarlysutra",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-13T00:00:00",
"words": "337",
"Additional Tags": "Feeding, Hand Feeding, Native American Character(s), Canon Character of Color, Character(s) of Color",
"Relationship": "Walter Crow Horse/Ray Levoi",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Lakota Calendar",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
The Sioux had their own calendar, just like they had their own language and customs. Ray was trying hard to learn all of them, and Crow Horse was doing his best to teach him, but it was slow going on both ends.It was late May by the Wasi’chu calendar and Wipazuke Waste Wi—When Berries Are Good by the Sioux. Crow Horse had decided the hands-on method of teaching was the best for Ray, and had taken him up the hills to the far edge of his property. The sun was high and hot, and they were sweating by the time they reached the thatch of tall bushes with small, white, bell-shaped blooms.“You brought me all the way up here to pick flowers?” Ray panted. “That’s incredibly gay, Crow Horse.”Crow Horse frowned. “Fuck you. These are chokecherries, smart-ass. That’s what we’re here to pick. Now get to work.”The buckets Crow Horse had made him carry up the hill made sense now. Ray started filling them with the dark red berries. After about ten minutes, he got bored and popped one in his mouth. He winced.Crow Horse chuckled. “Sour?”Ray spat. “Ugh, yes! Why are we doing this?”“My ma’s gonna make a pie. They’re tastier if you don’t leave them to their own. Anyhow, you picked the wrong one; you want the black ones. The darker they are, the sweeter.”Crow Horse picked a fat, black berry and held it, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, before Ray’s lips. Ray looked at him a moment before opening his mouth, letting Walter place the fruit on his tongue. He was right; it was sweeter. But not sweeter than Walter’s mouth as Ray kissed him. Ray dropped his bucket; he felt chokecherries spill over his boots, felt some crush against his torso as Walter grabbed for him. Dark juice smeared over his shirt, his skin, marking the path of Walter’s hands trailing over his body.Ray did best with a hands-on approach, Walter figured.
|
140614
|
The Parrot Dupatta
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "Othello, Desdemona, Iago, Emilia, Cassio",
"Fandom": "Othello - Shakespeare",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by the_alchemist",
"chapters": "17/17",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-19T00:00:00",
"words": "18,645",
"Additional Tags": "India, Indian Character, Hindu Character, Chromatic Character, Christian Character, AU, Victorian",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Yuletide 2010",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/M, Gen",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
No, Iago;I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;And on the proof, there is no more but this,—Away at once with love or jealousy!William Shakespeare, Othello, Act III Scene 3 And after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them: then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you. Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing. And Thomas answered and said unto him, My Lord and my God. The Gospel According to St John, Chapter 20 Verses 24-28Dorothea craned her neck to see what the sailor was pointing to. "Just there," he said. "There on the horizon - see?" And there it was: a dark, green-grey strip dividing the sky from the sea, something she'd begged for before every birthday and Christmas since she was five, her first glimpse of India. "Thank you!" she said. She hardly knew whether she was speaking to the sailor, to her father (who was somewhere within what she could now make out to be the walls of Fort St George), or to the subcontinent itself. She had thought she was prepared for the anarchy that awaited her as she stepped off the boat into Madras Docks: her father's eagerly awaited letters had described it vividly enough, but the assault on her senses was utterly overwhelming. Coolies with cloth rings on their heads jostled for her luggage; skinny children plucked at her clothing and gestured to their mouths; an old lady with no legs, no teeth and cloudy white eyes held out her hands in supplication. Then a very loud, very English voice cut through the chaos. "Make way, make way," it said. "Leave the Memsahib alone." A tall white man wearing a luxuriant moustache and extravagant dress uniform was using some kind of truncheon to part the crowd. When he arrived at Dorothea he pushed the children away and bowed. "Very sorry about this, Mademoiselle," he said. "You have to be firm with them. They don't understand anything else. You'll soon adjust." "Oh no," said Dorothea. "It's quite all right. I'm fine, really I am." Looking over his shoulder she saw that one of the smaller children had hit his head and was crying, comforted by an older girl. "Oh dear," she said, moving towards them. "I'm sorry. Sorry? Um... Mannikkanum?" She wished there had been more time to learn Tamil, but after finals there had only been a couple of months to tie up all her loose ends in England: to let the house, arrange for her goods to be shipped or put into storage, and travel round saying goodbye to her relations and college friends. The children didn't respond to her efforts to speak what she hoped was their language: if anything they looked even more frightened. "Don't worry about it," said the white man. "They're just faking. Cut their own hands off, some of them, to get money out of us. Oh, but excuse me, I haven't introduced myself. I am Sir Roderick Davenport." He bowed again, and held out his hand. "Dorothea Brabant," said Dorothea, shaking it. "Aha!" shouted Sir Roderick over the din. "The Bishop Sahib's daughter. That's what the natives call your father. Sahib means 'owner' or something like that. You'll soon pick up the lingo, it's all jolly good fun." "My father said that one of the officials was going to be so kind as to meet me," said Dorothea. "A Mr Casper?" "Michael!" said Sir Roderick. "Yes, yes, a fine fellow, if a little..." he trailed off. "A little what?" asked Dorothea. "Well," said Sir Roderick. "I don't like to gossip–" "Nor do I," said Dorothea. "So perhaps you could just tell me whether he's any of these young men over here." The journey back to the Bishop's residence – Dorothea's new home – was by palanquin, a sort of covered sedan chair carried by four bearers. Mr Casper helped her in. "Oh dear," she said, feeling very self-conscious. "Is it really such a long way? It doesn't seem fair to make them carry me." "You'll be fine," grinned Mr Casper. "We'll give them a generous tip." Then he spoke to the four in Tamil. "I don't have any Indian money yet," said Dorothea. "Don't worry," repeated Mr Casper. "Ready?" "Yes." Then she felt herself being lifted up into the air, and they set off, Mr Casper striding along beside. "Was it a good voyage?" Mr Casper asked. Dorothea hesitated. She didn't really have much to compare it to. She'd never even been across to France or Ireland; the furthest she'd gone by water was a boating lake when she was very little, back when her father lived in England, and her mother was still alive. "Not too bad," she said. "I was a little queasy at first, but I got used to it." "That's the ticket," said Mr Casper. "I find plenty of rum always helps. Now, do you want me to start pointing out all the sights now, or would that better wait until tomorrow?" "Whichever you prefer," said Dorothea, looking out. Everything was so different: the trees and plants, the clothes – more revealing than Dorothea's underwear in many cases, but bright and vibrant in the hot midday sun. And the smell of the humid air: heavy, foetid and spicy. "Right-o," said Mr Casper. "On your right you can see Fort St George. That's where most of the English people live and work, including me. I'm not sure if your father had a chance to mention it to you, but there's going to be a bit of a dance there tomorrow night. I do hope you'll both be able to make it." "I'll see how I feel," said Dorothea. "I may still be tired from the journey." "Of course," said Mr Casper. "Sorry. Well, it would be lovely to see you but there will be plenty of other dances if not!" Once they were past the walls of the fort, Mr Casper pointed to an area full of little wooden houses, barely more than shacks. A naked child was washing under a pump, and some laundry was hung up between walls. "That's where most of the Eurasians live," he said. "The poorer ones, at least." "Eurasians?" said Dorothea. "People of mixed descent, European and Indian. Very useful folks to know. Most of our police are Eurasian. And messengers and so on. Foot in both communities, you see." "Oh!" said Dorothea, pointing to one of the strangest things she'd ever seen. "What's that?" It was like a whole thicket of young trees had huddled together. "It's a banyan tree!" said Mr Casper. "Aren't they amazing? And they're even better up close." Slowly, the more intriguing smells in the air were overpowered by the unpleasant ones. Dorothea found that she had to hold her handkerchief to her nose to prevent herself from retching. "Sorry," said Mr Casper. "We're getting near the water." "Is it always like this?" asked Dorothea. "Pretty much," said Mr Casper. "You get used to it... Sort of." He himself retched. Then he smiled ruefully at her. "What are you looking at? I didn't say I had got used to it. I'm a relative newcomer myself, you know." "What do you do?" coughed Dorothea. "Assistant Collector," said Mr Casper proudly. "Really?" said Dorothea. "What do you collect?" "Taxes," said Mr Casper. "Or at least, that's where the title comes from. I'm a civil servant, basically." Dorothea tried to ignore a little stab of envy. The brother of one of her college friends had done the exam for the Indian Civil Service. She'd had a look at one of the papers, and could answer most of the questions quite easily. She envied the young men who came out to India to do something rather than sit around in palanquins and look decorative. Now she'd persuaded her father to let her come out here, she'd have to start working on him about being a nurse again, or else see whether she couldn't find some kind of secretarial position. "Nearly there," said Mr Casper. "You can see the cathedral through those houses: the white building with pillars." For some reason she'd been expecting it to look like an English Cathedral, though now she came to think of it, of course it would be different, being built in a different era, with different materials. It was beautiful, but as she was being lowered to the ground, and Mr Casper was paying the bearers, she saw something far more exciting. "Daddy!" she said, running to greet her father. He gave her a big bear hug. "My little Dot!" he said. "Let me have a look at you... You've grown!" "Not since I last saw you," she said. "I am twenty-two, you know." "And a graduate!" said her father. "Am I going to have to call you Little Dot BA Hons Cantab from now on?" "Not a graduate," said Dorothea. "Women don't get degrees, remember?" The Bishop grunted. "You sat the exams, you passed the exams, your results were posted along with everyone else's. As far as I'm concerned, you're a graduate. Now come on in and have a cup of tea. You must be exhausted."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"I'm not entirely sure I should be going to dances at my age," grumbled the Bishop as he pulled on his gaiters. "Well, I'm certain I shouldn't be going to dances alone," said Dorothea. "Now you remember what I told you..." "Yes, yes. Although I was thought to be awfully plain and ugly in England–" "That's not what I said," interrupted the Bishop. Dorothea ignored him: "...there are no single white women in Madras apart from me–" "You're exaggerating." "...so I will get a lot of attention, but I mustn't let it turn my head. Although you have no objection to me finding a nice husband for myself so I can get out from under your feet–" "You can stay here for as long as you like." "...and start producing adorable grandchildren for you to play with." Both of them laughed. "It's good to have you back with me," said the Bishop. "It's good to be here," said Dorothea, looking round in glee. Barring King's College Chapel, the ballroom at the Governor's residence in Fort St George was the grandest thing Dorothea had ever seen. There were high ceilings, an ornate carved roof, gilded pillars and enormous portraits of former Governors and local Indian royalty all around the walls. "The Right Reverend William Brabant, and Miss Dorothea Brabant," announced a man in a green and gold tunic and trousers, and an ornate turban, as the two of them walked down the main staircase. Dorothea felt horribly underdressed. She didn't have many fancy clothes, and most of what she did have was yet to arrive. She was fond of the cornflower blue evening dress, and she knew it looked good with her blue eyes and light brown hair, but compared to what everyone else was wearing it looked dowdy and plain. Her hand was drawn to her mother's sapphire necklace. That, at least, was as precious and beautiful as anything else in the room. She smiled, knowing that the best way of feeling more confident was to start by feigning it, and readied herself to be introduced to the Anglo-Indian community of Madras. Disappointingly, the first person she met was Sir Roderick. Although she tried not to judge on first appearances, she felt she had already seen enough of him to know that she didn't want to see any more. "Wonderful to see you again, Miss Brabant," he said. "You look absolutely charming." "Thank you," said Dorothea. Sir Roderick leant in close. "See what I mean?" he said, nodding towards his left hand side. Dorothea looked and saw Mr Casper waltzing expertly with a short woman wearing green silk. "I'm afraid I don't," said Dorothea. "Wait 'til they turn," said Sir Roderick. "There! See?" He started laughing. The woman Mr Casper was dancing with had dark skin. She could easily have been Italian, but Dorothea guessed from Sir Roderick's reaction she must be Indian or Eurasian. "I mean," continued Sir Roderick. "It's all very well to keep a bibi. I'm a man of the world, I know a thing or two, but to take one to a dance like this..." he trailed off and shook his head. "The poor fellow's only been here a year. My guess is he'll be gone by spring." "It was lovely to see you again," lied Dorothea. "But I'm not sure how my father would feel about me speaking to a man of the world. Please excuse me." "This is James and this is Emily," said the Bishop. "James was one of my churchwardens last year, and Emily is a stalwart of the choir and the flower-arranging committee and the altar guild and... well, pretty much everything, really." Emily smiled. "Welcome to India, Dorothea," she said. "I hope you're not finding it too overwhelming. If you need another woman to show you the ropes, we live inside the Fort, just ask for Emily Rigg. You're welcome any time. And I'm in the Cathedral more days than not so I'll probably see you there too." "Thank you," said Dorothea, enchanted by Emily's warm smile. "I will certainly take you up on that offer." Emily was smiling at the Bishop. "Why yes," she said, eyes twinkling. "I would like to dance." The Bishop laughed. "My dancing days are long gone," he said, but he nonetheless allowed himself to be led onto the floor. Dorothea thought she heard James mutter something under his breath, but the only word it could have been was not the kind of word that polite people used, so she assumed she must have been mistaken. "How long have you been living out here?" she asked. "All my life," said James. "Apart from a couple of years back in England in my early twenties." "I've wanted to come ever since I was a little girl," sighed Dorothea. "I envied the children who grew up here." "Well," said James. "You're here now." There was a finality about his tone that left Dorothea momentarily lost for words. She was saved by Michael Casper, who arrived at their table still out of breath, presumably from his energetic efforts earlier. "Glad you could make it," he said, grinning at her. "On the off-chance that there are any spaces left on your dance card, I wonder whether I might..." He trailed off. Dorothea fought a momentary panic that she was supposed to have a physical card of some description and she'd somehow broken all the rules of India by not picking one up. She fiercely told herself it was probably a metaphorical card, and even if it wasn't, it wouldn't really matter. "I haven't danced since school," she said. "And there they always made me be the man because I was taller than the other girls. But I'm quite willing to have a go if you will excuse my terrible ignorance." "Oh, I have two left feet myself," said Mr Casper. Dorothea frowned, mock-disapproving. "As the Bishop's daughter, I'm afraid I have to remind you that all liars go to hell," she said. "I saw you earlier." "That?" said Mr Casper. "Oh, that was all Venya's doing. She's extraordinarily talented. She can even make a buffoon like me look graceful." "Perhaps I'll have to ask her for lessons," said Dorothea. Mr Casper looked surprised for a fraction of a second, but then he laughed. "Yes," he said. "Perhaps you will." The music stopped, signalling that it was time for a new set of dancers to take to the floor. "Excuse me, Mr Rigg," said Dorothea, as Mr Casper took her hands and led her onto the dancefloor. Dorothea was just as bad at dancing as she thought she'd be. But luckily Mr Casper – Michael, as he had entreated her to call him – was just as good as she thought, and managed to lead her through the whole thing in a way that made it hard to go very wrong. "Thank you!" she said, as Mr Casper bowed and then went off to flirt with one of the middle-aged memsahibs hiding behind her fan in the corner. "Dot!" The Bishop looked pink-faced and cheerful. "Have you met Sir Roderick Davanport?" "Yes," said Dorothea, noticing his extravagant moustache twitching behind her father's left shoulder. "I have." "Would you care to join me for a turn around the floor?" he asked. "Sorry," she said. "I'm still very tired after my voyage. I think I might have to sit the rest of them out." She sat down on a nearby sofa, careful to pick one with no extra space on it. "Quite so!" said Sir Roderick. "Well, let me join you." Then he glared at the sofa's other occupant, an elderly man with a monocle, until he got up and wandered away. Dorothea looked up, hoping her father would provide aid, but he had gone to get another drink. "Well!" said Sir Roderick. Dorothea pretended not to notice this was intended as a conversation-opener, and continued looking around the room. There was an awkward silence."Sorry?" said Dorothea, still looking around.
"James Rigg," said Sir Roderick. "Oh, you didn't know? That's not a suntan he's got – it's a touch of the old tar brush." "Well," said Dorothea. "If there's one thing the bible and the biologists agree on, it's that we're all descended from common ancestors. I honestly don't understand what all the fuss is about." Sir Roderick laughed unpleasantly. "I can tell you're only one day off the boat. A few weeks living among 'em will soon show you what the difference is." Dorothea began to doubt herself a little. What if he were right? Wasn't she being terribly arrogant assuming she knew better than someone who had lived here for years? "Perhaps," she said. Sir Roderick smiled. "There's a sensible girl," he said. "But the fact they're savages doesn't mean they're not interesting. You should ask James about his native relations sometimes. He can talk for hours about them. Fascinating stuff." "Thank you," said Dorothea, thankful for the tip on how to converse with the aloof James, but bristling at the word 'savages'. There was an African girl named Victoria who went to the same school as her, though they were never close as Dorothea was a year younger. People had called her a savage too, and it made her cry. She had been clever at maths and good at hockey, and had seemed perfectly friendly and normal. "Aha, Dot!" The bishop wandered over, red-faced and grinning. Dorothea began to wonder whether her father had drunk a bit too much, but she was glad of the excuse to get up and leave Sir Roderick. "You must meet Selvam," said the Bishop. "Um... Mr Selvam. He's our Collector and District Magistrate, which means he's in charge of just about everything, isn't that right?" He looked at the man standing beside him, and Dorothea immediately wondered why she hadn't noticed him before. For a start, he was the only guest in the room dressed in the Indian style rather than the European, in a sort of knee-length tunic of intricately embroidered orange silk, and a small headdress. But he was the kind of person you can't help noticing whatever they're wearing. He stood as though he was commanding an army, but with a casual, unrehearsed ease. His eyes gave the impression that he was fascinated by everything and everyone around him yet at the same time detached. And at the same time he was looking at her as though she was the only thing in the world. He laughed, a rich easy laugh, mellow and smooth. "The Bishop Sahib flatters me," he said in an English accent, still looking at her. Dorothea knew it was just a trick. She had met men like him at Cambridge, able to play everyone in the room in turn, looking at each of them as though they were the summation of all that is fascinating and good, asking them about whatever they wanted to talk about. She was not silly enough for the attention to turn her head. "Sorry I was late," Mr Selvam continued. "There was a bit of business with the new railway I needed to sort out." "You're going to hear a lot about that dratted railway," said the Bishop. "The Government people don't seem to talk about anything else." Then he looked at his empty glass, and wandered off to get another drink. Dorothea smiled. "I hope everything with the railway is on track again," she said. Then she realised she had made an inadvertent pun, and felt herself blushing. Mr Selvam laughed, apparently appreciating the humour. "For now," he said. Then: "would you like to dance?" "I'm really not very good at it," said Dorothea. "I made a terrible fool of myself earlier." But she allowed herself to be led onto the floor. Dancing with Michael had been very much like the dances at school, great fun, and really quite gratifying whenever all of their feet happened to be in the right places for a few seconds or so. Dancing with Selvam was like nothing she had experienced before. She really had no concept of what her feet were doing, though she supposed she'd have noticed if it were anything terribly wrong. There was his hand on her shoulder, and her hand in the small of his back, and both their other hands together, and his eyes looking into hers, and his smile. It was all over far too quickly. "Thank you," she said. "Um... Romba Nandri." "Aha!" he said. "The Bishop Sahib said you were a scholar." "Not of Tamil," she said hurriedly. "As you can probably tell. I studied biology." "Then I'm even more grateful that you made the effort." "I only had time to learn a few words and phrases," she said. "I hope to pick up more while I'm out here." "Would you like me to find a teacher for you?" asked Selvam. "I know some very good ones who would be grateful for the opportunity." "Oh, yes please!" replied Dorothea. "I would be more than happy to pay whatever the going rate is." "It would be my pleasure," said Selvam. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I see one of my colleagues I need to talk to." "Of course," said Dorothea. "Thank you." "Thank you," said Selvam. "What for?" "For the dance," said Selvam. "I've never danced the woman's role before. It was most educational."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Selvam's amusement had been so infectious that Dorothea's embarrassment left her almost as soon as it arrived, and by the time she woke up the next morning, her memories of the night before were entirely pleasant. She lay in bed for a while, remembering what it had been like to dance with Selvam, remembering his laughter, remembering what his hands had felt like on her body. She hugged herself with glee. She hadn't felt like this since sixth form, when she'd had a crush on her Latin teacher. Breakfast was kedgeree - far nicer than the version of the dish she'd had in England - and fresh mango juice, something she'd never tasted before, but which quickly became a favourite. While she was on her second cup of tea, two envelopes arrived, both addressed to her. "You're popular this morning," remarked the Bishop. Both of them were invitations. One, from Emily Rigg, reiterated the fact that she was welcome to call whenever she felt like it. The other was from Sir Roderick, inviting her to an excursion out to St Thomas' Mount. "Does he say whether anyone else is going?" asked the Bishop. "He says 'just the two of us'," said Dorothea, shuddering at the thought. "I'm not entirely sure that's suitable," said the Bishop. "I'm certain it isn't suitable," said Dorothea. "I shall definitely decline." Of course, it hadn't been reasonable of her to think one of the invitations might have been from Selvam, but nonetheless, she was a little disappointed. That afternoon, she went to visit Emily, who answered the door herself. "Oh, how lovely to see you," she said. "Do come in." The Riggs' house was considerably smaller than the Bishop's residence, but it was very pretty. It consisted of a one storey building arranged in a 'U' shape around a central courtyard garden, where Emily and Dorothea took their tea, watching the butterflies and hummingbirds. "What did you do to your hand?" asked Dorothea, noticing some bad scratches. "I was feeding one of the little stray cats you get round here," said Emily. "But she turned out to be less sweet than I thought. How is India living up to your expectations?" "Oh, it's beautiful!" said Dorothea. "Though it surprises me how little we have to do with Indian people. I thought... I don't know. Since it's their country, that I'd be mixing with more of them, but Selvam - Mr Selvam - is really the only non-English person I've had a conversation with." Then Dorothea heard a door slam, and Mr Rigg walked out. He was frowning but he drew himself up short when he saw her, and smiled at Emily. "Oh, I'm sorry love," he said. "I didn't realise you had company. Delighted to see you again, Miss Brabant." "Please," she replied. "Call me Dorothea." "Dorothea was just giving me her impressions of India so far," said Emily. "You must call me James, of course," said James. "So, how are you finding it all?" "Beautiful," repeated Dorothea. "But I was just saying to Emily I'm a little sad to see how much we English keep ourselves to ourselves. I was told you have Indian relatives as well as European, James. I wonder whether you have any tips for getting to know the locals." "Well," said James, even more stiffly than usual. "I suppose that learning a bit of the language might help. And of course a few of them attend St George's Cathedral, though there are far more at the Roman Catholic place, the San Thome Basilica." "I hear you went to Cambridge," cut in Emily. "I visited it once when I was a child. It's a beautiful city." "Yes," said Dorothea, surprised by the sudden change of subject. "Though it gets very cold in the winter." As the conversation meandered inconsequentially on, it dawned on Dorothea that Sir Roderick might have been playing a trick on her, and that in fact James hated acknowledging his mixed ancestry. What a shame, she thought, though hardly surprising if Sir Roderick's opinions about Indian people were typical. She decided to try a different tactic to draw him out – one that might lead on to a subject close to her own heart. "Tell me about your work, James," she said. "I hear you work with Mr Selvam and Michael Casper." "Some other time," said James. "I should be back in the office right now, in fact. It was nice seeing you again, Dorothea." "You too," said Dorothea. "Sorry," said Emily, once he'd left. "What on earth for?" said Dorothea. "My husband," said Emily. "He isn't normally that rude. I'm afraid you accidentally hit upon a couple of sore spots for him." "A couple?" asked Dorothea, wincing. "I realised he doesn't like talking about his Indian family, so sorry about that. But what else did I do?" "You didn't do anything," said Emily. "But it's a difficult time for him at the moment. He had hoped to get the Assistant Collector job when the old chap moved on. He would have been very good at it. Plus he's an old friend of Mr Selvam's: they grew up near one another in Cochin – that's over on the west coast – so he thought he might be able to pull a few strings, but unfortunately it doesn't really work like that. James hadn't done the exam, so he just wasn't eligible." "Oh dear," said Dorothea. "I really am dreadfully sorry. I can't seem to open my mouth without putting my foot in it. Just so I know, what does he like to talk about?" Emily laughed, a short, bitter laugh. "I don't know," she said. "If you find out, maybe you could tell me."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Selvam paced up and down his courtyard. He hadn't felt this agitated for years. When he had lived in England, he had seen enough of English girls to know he didn't want to marry one. Most of them treated him as a curiosity, asking him impertinent questions, assuming he didn't know even the simplest things about England. But he would never have wanted anything more than friendship even with those few who treated him as a human being. Now, of course he wouldn't say he was in love with Dorothea. But when they had danced, there had been... something. Selvam was a man used to getting what he wanted even – no, especially – from the English. The problem here was trying to work out what he did want. An affair would be dangerous. English men could do what they liked with Indian women, but an Indian man and an English woman would be totally unacceptable. If anyone discovered them, at best he would lose his job; at worst, he could be killed. The injustice made him angry, but he had long since learnt to set his anger aside, keeping it in what he visualised as a little box in the back of his mind. He could take it out now and again and look at it, but he must never let it affect the way he interacted with the English. After all, he had a lot to be grateful to them for. What was left? Marriage, friendship or nothing. Marriage would have many of the same problems as an affair, but he judged he would be able to get away with it. He had at least heard of other Indian men who had taken English brides, though he had never met one. But there were some additional problems with marriage too. Three of them, in fact, who were no doubt currently sitting on mats in the house in Kerala where he grew up, plotting. Selvam's mother had died giving birth to him, and he was brought up by his intellectual, Anglicised father, and three aunties. The aunties started mentioning marriage the day he returned from England, almost ten years ago now, and over the past year their letters to him had started to contain almost nothing but descriptions of beautiful, educated girls from good Brahmin families, and entreaties for him to come and visit. He had vaguely scheduled a trip to Cochin next summer to pick the best of them and bring her back. Would the aunties' pleasure at him finally marrying outweigh their displeasure at his having chosen his own bride, and a white, Christian one to boot? But he was getting ahead of himself. Enjoying a dance with a girl most emphatically did not mean wanting to marry her. He had seen too many men, English, Indian and Eurasian, who had married in haste and were still repenting at leisure. Was she as clever as she seemed? Would he still find her as attractive next time he saw her? And most importantly of all, would she stay faithful to him? So, friendship? But was true friendship between a man and a woman even possible? He stopped pacing. There wasn't really a dilemma, or not much of a one. Clearly, the next step was to see more of the girl. Then he could work out what he wanted, and then make it happen.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The invitation arrived on a Saturday morning, about a week after the dance. "Mr Selvam says he's found a Tamil teacher for me," said Dorothea to her father, as they were finishing breakfast. "May I go this afternoon?" "Certainly," replied the Bishop. "I must say it's very gratifying to have a daughter who's so excited about learning." Dorothea, who thought she had been hiding her excitement well, smiled ruefully. "Thank you," she said. Mr Selvam's villa was not that different from the Bishop's residence, at least on the outside. But the furniture was made of a heavy, dark wood quite different from the English stuff that the Bishop had imported from home, and there were beautiful textiles everywhere: on the floor, on the walls, and over the chairs. A small woman was standing by a dresser. Dorothea wondered whether she was the teacher. "Would you like a drink?" asked Mr Selvam. "A nimbu pani, perhaps?" Dorothea's hesitation betrayed her ignorance. "Sorry," said Mr Selvam. "It's made out of soda water, lime and a little sugar. They're very refreshing." "Yes please," said Dorothea. "It sounds delicious." The woman – Mr Selvam's maid – bowed and went off to fetch them. "So," said Dorothea. "You said you'd found me a teacher." "Yes," said Mr Selvam. "Though not a professional one." He paused, uncharacteristically shy for a moment. "I wondered whether you'd permit me to teach you myself? I used to want to be a teacher, you see, when I was a boy." Dorothea tried once more to hide the extent of her glee. "I would be honoured," she said, "if you're sure you have time. I know you're very busy." "Please, Miss Brabant," said Mr Selvam. "The honour is all mine." "Call me Dorothea," said Dorothea, taking a glass of nimbu pani from the maid, and sipping it. "It's delicious!" she said. "Thank you," said Mr Selvam. "You may call me Selvam." "Forgive my ignorance," said Dorothea. "But is that your Christian name or your surname?" "Neither," said Selvam. "It's just my name. I don't have a Christian name because I'm not a Christian–" "Oh," said Dorothea, blushing. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't think–" Selvam waved his hand and laughed. "It's quite all right," he said. "It's an easy mistake to make." "Well, I'm still sorry," said Dorothea, wondering when she'd manage to have a conversation with any of her new neighbours in which she didn't say something dreadful. "...and I don't have either a forename or a surname, because that's not how Tamil names work. Come to think of it, that can be your first lesson..." Selvam started by explaining his full name was Jayaraman Anand Selvam. Selvam was the name his parents had given him, Anand was his father's given name, and Jayaraman was his grandfather's given name. If he had a son, he would be called Anand Selvam... whatever. "Anand Selvam Charlie," suggested Selvam. "Anand Selvam Archibald." Dorothea laughed. "How are women's names formed?" she asked. "The same way," said Selvam. "Women also take their father and grandfather's names." "So that would make me William William Dorothea!" said Dorothea. Both of them laughed, and Dorothea found it hard to stop. "Are you sure there's only lime, sugar and water in this?" she asked, holding up her glass. "So," continued Selvam. "That's the simple version of how our names work. My mother's family is from Kerala, and they follow a completely different system, where people take their mother's name rather than their father's, and inheritance doesn't go from father to son, but from a man to his eldest sister's eldest son, and the family property is usually under the control of the senior woman in a family." Dorothea's eyes widened. "How long has it been like that?" she asked. "Forever, so far as I know," replied Selvam. "Until ten years ago," said Dorothea, "Englishwomen weren't even allowed to own property once they were married." "I know," said Selvam. "I was living in London when the Married Women's Property Act was passed." "Oh dear," said Dorothea. "Sorry again." Then: "I didn't realise you had lived in England." "I've lived in all sorts of places," said Selvam. "My father liked to travel, and he often took me with him..." When she returned – late – for dinner, Dorothea had learnt a little Tamil, and a great deal about Selvam's life, all of which fascinated her. "...and when he was fourteen, his father took him to China," she explained to the Bishop. "And one day they were out hunting tigers on horseback, and one turned round and attacked and killed his horse from under him. All he had was a sword and–" "Enough, enough," laughed the Bishop. "Eat your soup before it goes cold.""He was very brave," said Dorothea lamely. "Mmm... this is delicious. What is it?" "Mulligatawny," said the Bishop. "And such a good storyteller," she added. "I was on the edge of my seat with fear for him. I honestly can't do justice to his stories. I–" "Stories indeed," said the Bishop. "Be careful to take what he says with a pinch of salt." "Daddy!" said Dorothea. "They're all true, I know they are. He still has the tiger skin." "Well," said the Bishop, no longer smiling. "Just be careful, won't you?" He hesitated. "It's just the two of you alone, is it, these Tamil lessons?" "No," said Dorothea. "His maid is there most of the time as well." "Good," said the Bishop. Then he took a few moments to finish his soup before looking up. "And if he ever did anything... I mean you would tell me, wouldn't you?" "He would never do anything to hurt me!" said Dorothea. "You've only met him twice," said the Bishop. He paused again, this time even more awkwardly. "You do know what I mean by 'did anything', don't you? Oh dear, if only your mother were still alive..." "Daddy," said Dorothea, embarrassed and exasperated. "I did a biology degree." The Bishop smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, my love," he said. "I'm sure you know more than I do... about biology. But you can be too quick to trust people sometimes. You've always been that way, ever since you were little. And that's a good thing, it really is, but–" "I know, I know," said Dorothea. "Wise as serpents, harmless as doves." "Exactly," said the Bishop. "Do not for a moment forget that he is not a Christian but a Hindu, and so you might find he doesn't share even our most basic values. You hear some terrible stories..." He trailed off, and then brightened. "I don't mean to alarm you, my dear. As Christians it is our duty to bring the light of Christ to those who don't yet know him. And Mr Selvam is very good company, I know it myself: he is intelligent, just and kind – far kinder than I believed a heathen could be. He has taught me a great deal, and not just about India. But the fact is we just don't know – we can't know – what's going on inside." "We can't know that about anyone," said Dorothea. "True," said the Bishop, "but..." He sighed. "But there's no point in sermonising about it, is there? I know you're a sensible girl." "Thank you," said Dorothea. "Now, shall I ask cook to bring in the main course?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Selvam had been hoping that Dorothea's visit would reveal some kind of horrible flaw in her, or at least lessen the attraction and – yes – desire he had felt when they danced. In fact the opposite occurred, and he knew he would find it very difficult to keep her out of his thoughts. As he said goodbye and sat back down onto the sofa they had shared, his nostrils tried to capture the last lingering scent of her perfume. She was beautiful (for a white woman, at least), she was intelligent, they could laugh together, and perhaps most importantly of all, she was interested in him. Not as a curiosity, but as a human being; not as an Indian, but as Selvam. Or so I flatter myself, he thought. Was there really any difference between her interest and that of the giggling London girls other than the fact he happened to desire her? He thought so, but how could he be sure? He went to his desk and started to compose a letter inviting her to lessons every Wednesday evening and Saturday afternoon. These, he told himself, would be real lessons. He would work her hard and see whether she really was as intelligent and devoted to learning his language as she seemed. The trouble with India, Dorothea reflected, was that there was so little to do. She could spend hours every day working on her Tamil simply because no-one required anything else of her. She met with Emily regularly, and of course took on various small tasks around the Cathedral, but she didn't feel needed. That's why I'm so ridiculously obsessed with Selvam, she thought to herself. I'm just grasping for anything to liven up my emotional landscape. But she knew that wasn't true, and although she firmly called it "obsession" whenever she was deliberately thinking about it, the name it whispered as it crept into her dreams was shorter and sweeter. "Emily," she said one day as they were drinking mango juice in her little private parlour in the Bishop's residence. "Which parts of James's family are Indian, and which parts English?" "His maternal grandmother was Indian," she replied. "All his other grandparents were English. His mother's still alive in Cochin, living with her Indian cousins. But he never writes to her or visits." "Is it common for Englishmen to marry Indian women?" "It used to be," replied Emily. "In those days, not many Memsahibs braved the voyage over here, so the young men had no choice but to marry local women. It's different now though: I don't think I know of any mixed couples, unless you count Michael and poor Venya." "Why poor?" asked Dorothea. "She thinks he'll marry her," replied Emily. "He tells her that sometimes." "And doesn't he mean it?" "Of course not," said Emily. "He's far too ambitious to go against social convention. You'd have the likes of Sir Roderick threatening to run him through for impugning the honour and beauty of the white girls. And it would be the end of his career." "What about Englishwomen marrying Indian men?" Dorothea tried to sound casual about it, but was so aware of her thumping heart that she couldn't believe Emily wouldn't hear it too. "That never happens," said Emily. "Well, unless you count couples like us, but James is more English than anyone I know. And even then, people said I was no better than I should be." "But you don't regret it?" said Dorothea. "You don't regret going against what they were saying?" Emily paused and looked at Dorothea very closely. "What are you asking?" she said. She was clearly inviting a depth of confidence they had not yet shared. Dorothea was afraid. What if Emily laughed at her, or if speaking it aloud somehow spoilt it? Still, she was bursting to tell someone, and it's not as though there was anyone else. Besides, what could that look mean other than that she'd already guessed? "It's Selvam," Dorothea said. "I think I'm in love with him, and I think he might be in love with me too." "Oh," said Emily, clearly surprised. "I'm sorry, I..." she shook her head. "Selvam. Gosh." "What do you think?" said Dorothea. "He's an old friend of James's, isn't he? You don't suppose they might have talked about it, about me, I mean?" "I don't know," said Emily. "I... I can try to find out if you like." "Are you all right?" "Yes, yes," said Emily. "Perfectly all right. Just surprised, that's all." "Do you think... I mean, could there ever be a future for us? For him and me? What do you advise?" "Honestly?" said Emily. "I think you should forget him. Find someone else to teach you Tamil, make no more than polite social conversation when you're forced to see him. Your feelings will only make both of you miserable, particularly if he shares them." Tears sprang to Dorothea's eyes. That was not the answer she had expected. "But why?" she said. "Because he's Indian and I'm English? Because he's Hindu and I'm Christian?" "None of those things help," said Emily. "But the fundamental reason is this: that he's a man and you're a woman, and over the years I've come to realise that the only happy women are spinsters and widows." "That's an appalling attitude!" said Dorothea, angry now as well as upset. "And you can't really mean it. I don't believe you can mean it." Even as she spoke, the anger turned to a kind of sympathy. "I'm sorry if you've had some kind of argument with James. But you'll make it up, I know you will. And that's no reason to be so cynical about all marriages." "I hope you're right," said Emily, in a flat, dull voice. "I am!" said Dorothea fiercely. "Well," said Emily. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here for you. But for now I should go or else I'll be late for dinner." "Thank you," said Dorothea, as they both stood up. "And I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm just a bit emotional at the moment." The two women hugged each other tightly. "Good-bye," said Emily. "See you at church on Sunday."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"You haven't been to St Thomas' Mount yet?" said Selvam at their next Saturday afternoon lesson. "I thought it was the most important Christian pilgrimage site in India?" "Probably," said Dorothea. "But my father's too busy to take me, and I didn't think to ask anyone else. Anyway, I'm an Anglican. It's mostly Catholics who go in for saints and martyrs and pilgrimages and that sort of thing." "You don't want to go?" "Of course I want to go!" said Dorothea. "St Thomas is my favourite saint. I am a scientist, remember. It's my favourite bit of the bible: "except I shall put my finger into the print of the nails and... all those other things, I will not believe." I gave Daddy's curate a terrible time at confirmation class asking why Jesus wouldn't give us the same proof he gave Thomas." She knew better, now, than to assume Selvam to be ignorant of English or Christian culture. "I don't think I believe all the stories about miraculously dragging logs out of rivers using the Virgin Mary's girdle, or whatever it was, but I know he was martyred there, and of course I want to go!" Selvam smiled at her enthusiasm. "Well come on then," he said. "Let's go." "What?" said Dorothea. "Now?" "Why not?" asked Selvam. "You've been doing very well in your lessons, and it's a lovely day. I think you deserve a class excursion." "My hat's not big enough to keep off the sun!" said Dorothea. It was a stupid excuse and she knew it, but she was remembering her father's words regarding Sir Roderick's similar invitation: "I'm not sure that's entirely suitable." "Don't worry," said Selvam. "I can give you something." He appeared to think for a moment, then went to a drawer in a large chest. He rummaged for a few moments, then handed it to her. "Here," he said. Dorothea unfolded one of the most beautiful things she'd seen in her life. A long blue silk scarf, embroidered with parrots. If the work hadn't been so fine, it might have been garish, but the tiny stitches, and beautifully matched colours made it instead a masterpiece. "It's a dupatta," said Selvam. "My mother made it. Would you like me to show you how to wear it?" "It's far too fine to wear!" said Dorothea. "Really, Selvam. I couldn't borrow something like that." "I'm not lending it to you," said Selvam. "I'm giving it to you. Here." He put it over her head, and wound it over her shoulder. He was careful not to touch her, but nonetheless she shivered at the intimacy of the gesture. "Thank you," she said. And, praying she hadn't misunderstood, she leant up and kissed him on the lips. He closed his eyes, and kissed her back, parting her lips slightly with his tongue. Then he drew back. "Thank you," he said, smiling. St Thomas' Mount was high enough to give them a spectacular view of the countryside around Madras, and of the city itself: the port, the walls of Fort St George, the cathedrals and the countless dwellings, Indian and European, rich and poor. Dorothea stopped to pray at the shrine over the spot where the Apostle was martyred. Her prayer was her usual one: "Dear Lord, give me faith," but here it had an extra poignancy. "Or give me proof, dear Lord, as you gave it to your servant Thomas." She looked up to see Selvam, waiting a respectful distance away, sitting on a bench beneath a banyan tree. "Is that your answer, God? Love is your proof?" She laughed at her own childish conclusion, but she still half-believed it. She arose and rejoined him. "I will ask your father if I may marry you," he said. "That's the way it's done, isn't it? I don't need to get my aunties to do it?" "I can't wait to meet your aunties," said Dorothea, trying to ignore the question of her father, just for a few more moments. "You've told me so much about them." "What's the matter?" said Selvam. Dorothea sighed. "My father's the matter," she said. "There's no point in asking him, because I already know what the answer's going to be, and it's 'no'." Selvam drew away from her. "What?" he said, tense with anger. "He thinks I'm not good enough for you?" "It's not that," said Dorothea. "He likes and respects you very much. It's just–" "Oh yes," said Selvam. "I've come across that kind of respect before." He put on a ridiculous posh English voice: "Oh yes, splendid chaps, but you wouldn't want one of them marrying your daughter, eh what?" The box at the back of his mind where he stored all that rage was threatening to crack. He kept it all in, but the strain of doing so showed in his voice. "I'm sorry," said Dorothea. "I wish it didn't have to be like that. He's my father, and he's wise and wonderful and I love him, but... I suppose this is just his blind spot. I'm sure he'll come round in the end, but..." she trailed off, uncertain of whether to suggest something so bold. "But what?" said Selvam, almost spitting the words.. She drew a deep breath. "But we're going to have to get married first, and seek his consent afterwards." Selvam paused. "You'd do that?" he said. The anger wasn't gone from his voice, but the tenderness was back. "You'd do that for me?" "Yes," said Dorothea, without hesitation. "Naan unnai kadhalikiren, Selvam." "I love you too," said Selvam. "Even if your pronunciation is still atrocious."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Is Selvam having an affair with Dorothea?" James asked over dinner one day. Emily almost spat her soup with surprise. "Why on earth would you think that?" she asked. "I've watched the two of you, always whispering together in corners. And it's his name I hear. Selvam, Selvam, Selvam." He imitated a woman's voice, shrill and mincing, then continued in his own: "I can't imagine he could possibly want to fuck you, so it must be her." "Women can talk about things other than sex, you know," replied Emily. "You haven't denied it," said James. "No," said Emily. "As far as I know, they're not having an affair." Then he pushed the tureen over so the hot soup fell in her lap. She suppressed a scream, turning it into a whimper. "Stop it," she said. "Please, stop it. Not today." She stood up and tried to get the sodden skirts away from her scalded skin. "I'll go and get changed, and we can pretend it didn't happen. Please?" "You're disgusting," said James. "Look at you." Emily went to change, and he didn't stop her. That night, he came to her bed, pulled off the sheets and then pulled up her nightdress to see her scalded thighs. "You're a clumsy slut," he said, climbing on top of her and stroking her hair. "I love you." He kissed her. "I love you too," said Emily. "Then why won't you tell me what you talk about with Dorothea?" said James, licking her face and then biting her arm, hard. "Stop it," said Emily. "Please stop hurting me. I know things are hard for you at the moment, and I want to help make it better, but–" "Well tell me what you talk about with her," said James. "That's how you can make it better." "Promise you won't do anything that harms Dorothea," said Emily. "I promise, my love," said James, kissing her neck and stroking her hair again. "They're getting married," said Emily. "They're going to elope." James sat up, straddling his wife's scalded thighs. She gritted her teeth, trying not to betray the pain. "Where are they going?" he said. "And when? You must tell me everything."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Father O'Malley sucked in some air between his crooked teeth. "Well," he said. "It'll cost ye." "We've got money," said Selvam. "Don't worry about that. They couldn't have an Anglican wedding, of course, because any priest they asked would send word straight back to the Bishop. And they couldn't have a Hindu wedding because, in Selvam's words, it would take five days, and about a thousand relatives. They couldn't have a Muslim wedding, because they weren't Muslim, and the Muslim community tended to be a bit picky about these things. So it was lucky that Selvam happened to know the old Roman Catholic priest who had special charge of St Thomas's Tomb, which lay beneath the enormous San Thome Basilica. And that he knew Father O'Malley's weakness, too... The priest nodded. "I feel obliged to tell you I think it's an awful idea," he said. "Elopements almost always end unhappily, and the difference in cultures makes it even worse." "How much money are we talking about?" asked Selvam. Father O'Malley named his sum. Dorothea raised her eyebrows. "All for the leper hospital, of course," he added. "Not a penny will go into my pockets, God's honest truth." "Of course," said Selvam. "We'll bring it with us tomorrow night." "It almost goes against my conscience," said Father O'Malley, cheerily. "But the way I see it, what is two peoples' lifelong regret and misery compared to the good that the leper hospital will do once we finish building it?" "What does he really spend the money on?" asked Dorothea, on the way back to the Bishop's residence. Selvam laughed. "The leper hospital," he said. "I know, I couldn't believe it either, but there's absolutely no doubt about it. He lives like a pauper, never drinks, eats nothing but dhal and rice, and spends every rupee he earns – or prises out of people like us – on helping the poor." Selvam apologised for having to marry her somewhere as "macabre" as the little tomb chapel, but Dorothea said she wouldn't have wanted to go anywhere else for all the world. St Thomas, she explained, was the perfect patron for their wedding vows. People were wrong to call him 'doubting' Thomas. He only doubted until he had evidence, which was entirely sensible. After that, he remained faithful even to the point of martyrdom. She would be the same, she said. "I wouldn't have married you unless I was sure it was the right thing to do, but I am sure, and now I will be faithful to you for the rest of my life."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The Bishop woke suddenly. Outside, the sky was still dark. Someone was shouting. In English! What? Something about a sheep? He sat up, groaning, put on his dressing gown and staggered to the window. "What the–" It was Sir Roderick, wearing that ridiculous uniform of his, capering round in a state of great agitation. "You are drunk, Sir," said the Bishop. "Go home and go to bed." "Your daughter, your Grace!" shouted Sir Roderick. "Go to her room if you don't believe me." "I will do no such thing," said the Bishop. "Now go away before I send for the police." "She's eloped," continued Sir Roderick. "That filthy nigger's run off with her. Go and look if you don't believe me." The words sunk in like a dead weight. The Bishop felt his face go cold. He pulled the curtains shut, and ran down the hall to Dorothea's bedroom. He knocked. Nothing. Cautiously, he opened the door. The bed was empty. He stood for a while staring at it, then sank to the floor, his face in his hands. He remained there until dawn, when he dressed, and set out for the Governor's residence. "Well," said the Governor, once Selvam and Dorothea had arrived. "Is it true?" "Yes," said Selvam. "We married last night." "Daddy," said Dorothea, going to hug her father. "You look awful. I'm so sorry." He pushed her away, though not unkindly. "Wait," he said. "Tell me he forced you. There's no need to be afraid, my love. I won't be angry, and we can get the marriage annulled. Just say you want to come back to me and everything will be all right." Dorothea's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Daddy, but this is all my own doing. I love Selvam, and chose to marry him freely. I would have asked you, really I would, but I knew you'd say no." "How old are you, Miss Brabant?" said the Governor. "I'm twenty-two," said Dorothea. "But my name is Mrs Selvam." Her voice faltered as she spoke, but she remained looking at the Governor straight in the eye. The Bishop groaned in anguish. "I apologise, Mrs Selvam," said the Governor, and then turned to the Bishop."She's of age," he continued. "She says she freely consented, and there's nothing whatsoever to suggest she didn't. I'm afraid there's nothing you can do, your Grace, except welcome your new son-in-law to your family. Selvam's a good man, and a loyal servant of the Queen. You could really do a lot worse, you know." Selvam turned to the Bishop and looked directly at him. "Your Grace," he said. "I apologise for marrying your daughter in secret. I hope you can forgive me. From this day onwards, I will honour and respect you as my own father, and I cherish and protect my wife even at the expense of my own life." The Bishop didn't reply, but stood up, turned his back on them and walked towards the door. "Daddy!" said Dorothea. "Please, wait, listen!" He turned then. "How could you?" he said. "I have given you everything you needed, everything you wanted. I have loved you and trusted you, and you have deliberately sought out the one thing that I just can't tolerate." And without waiting for an answer, he left. Dorothea put her face in her hands and started to cry. Selvam put his arm around her. "Oh dear," said the Governor, passing her his handkerchief. "But I'm sure he'll come round in the end. He loves you very much, you know." Dorothea nodded and dried her eyes. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for supporting us." "It's my pleasure," said the Governor. "Selvam has been invaluable to me, and to England, over the past ten years. It's good to be able to repay him. I'm sure you'll make him very happy, my dear." Dorothea smiled and looked at her new husband, savouring that word, 'husband'. "And he'll make me very happy too," she said. The Governor smiled at her, then turned to Selvam. "I'm afraid that time, tide and the Indian Railways wait for no man, however. I hate to spoil your honeymoon by talking shop, but something urgent has come up regarding the Bangalore-Anantapur Line. Some kind of dispute over land ownership around Hindupur. I'm afraid I need you to get out there straight away." Selvam groaned. "The Nawab's raising a stink again, is he? Very well, I'll go and pack. How long do you think I'll need to stay?" "It could be as much as a month," said the Governor." "Oh dear," said Selvam, then turned to Dorothea. "I am so sorry, my love. But my servants will look after you well, and–" "But I'm coming with you!" said Dorothea. "We're only just married. You can't leave me for a whole month." "It's not safe," said Selvam. "Some of these disputes can get very nasty, and in any case, the conditions are primitive–" "I'm coming with you," said Dorothea. "I didn't marry you so I could stay here, I married you so I could share your life, and that includes the dangerous parts and the parts that involve living in primitive conditions. It's like that beautiful book you gave me. Ramayan? Sita didn't think twice about following her husband into the wilderness, and nor will I." Selvam smiled fondly at her. "What do you think?" he asked the Governor. "I don't see why not," he said. "James sometimes takes Emily along when he needs to be out of town for protracted periods of time. Come to think of it, we need him out there too, so we could make sure she goes along, as company for Dorothea. Why don't you form an advance guard this afternoon with Michael Casper, and Dorothea can follow with James and Emily in a couple of days?" Selvam settled Dorothea down in his residence, giving order to his servants to obey her as their new mistress, and showing her to his own bed. "Aren't you joining me?" she said. "You must be as exhausted as I am!" "No time," said Selvam. "I need to get to Hindupur as soon as I can." "But you'll sleep in the coach?" "I'm going by horseback," Selvam replied. "I prefer it, and besides, it's quicker. Michael will take a small coach with Venya and a couple of clerks. Goodbye, my love. I'll see you in a few days." They kissed. Selvam changed his clothes, and threw a few spare things into a bag. As he was leaving his house, he saw his cook whispering to one of her friends. Then they saw him and stopped talking, but instead stifled some giggles. So already he was the subject of gossip. He knew the anger that arose on his breast was as much as anything the result of a sleepless night, but that didn't make it feel any better. Was this to be his life now? As he mounted his horse and set off, he wondered what they were saying, why they were laughing. He had expected the white people to mock him – he read the same newspapers they did, and had seen the disgusting cartoons where beturbaned lechers preyed on innocent young white girls. He was prepared for that, but why were his own people laughing at him? Was it even right for him to call them 'his people' anymore? He looked Indian, and dressed Indian more often than not (yes, even though that meant visitors from England would click their fingers at him and call him 'boy' and tell him to hurry up and serve their tea). But twelve years ago, in one of India's darkest times, when millions died of famine, including some of his own cousins, where had he been? Where but England, learning to serve the regime that had stopped the farmers growing rice and wheat, and made them grow tea instead; the very tea he drank in London cafés and parlours, learning to be English, learning to be white. And now he had gone further, and taken an English bride. But even then, the thought of her raised his spirits. She was beautiful. And she loved him. When he was in her arms he felt happy and at peace. He had searched every corner of his mind for his motives in marrying her, and found them pure. People would say – people were already saying – that he took her merely as a trophy, to show he was as good as a white man. But he had married for love, and because she was intelligent, sensible and a fitting mother for his children. Children. Selvam's mind turned to James. And odd fellow, him. They had known one another from childhood, and even then James was obsessed with his whiteness. He talked about hating his dark-skinned mother, and fantasised about his white father coming back to take him to England. Would Selvam's own children hate him? Better to die childless than for that to happen. What was wrong with him? He enjoyed riding (just like an Englishman, a voice in his head pointed out). The rhythm of the horse under him was normally calming, and generated happy reflections, why did every thought he had turn to melancholy? He had married a beautiful woman he loved, and against his expectations, the Governor had been outspoken in their support. He should be the happiest man in the world. Something must be wrong, he realised. There's something I'm not seeing, something wrong.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Why are they still married, then?" whined Sir Roderick as he sat on his terrace that evening, drinking gin and tonic with James. "I have no idea," said James, through gritted teeth. "You said that if I woke the old man up, he'd make the Governor annul the marriage." "Look," said James, suddenly smiling. "Why don't you come with us all to Hindupur? I'm sure she'll very swiftly become disillusioned with her dusky husband, and there will be plenty of scope to comfort her in her distress." "All right," said Sir Roderick, swatting away a mosquito. "But are you sure she even likes me? Sometimes it feels as though she's being quite rude to me." "Certainly she likes you," said James. "Women are always rude to men they find attractive." "Really?" said Sir Roderick, perking up a bit. "Yes, that makes sense, I suppose." "There's only one possible rival," said James. "And that's Michael Casper." "Michael?" said Sir Roderick. His eyes narrowed. "Yes, I've seen them together a few times. He behaves very forwardly towards her. Oh dear, it's hopeless." "No it's not!" said James. "Don't be such a pessimist. You're handsome, wealthy, accomplished. I know, why don't you hire some coaches to take us all to Hindupur in luxury? You can keep modestly silent about it, and I'll tell her you hired them." "Yes!" said Sir Roderick. "Women are always impressed with things like that, aren't they?" "Undoubtedly," said James, draining his glass, and clicking his fingers for another. "And here's another thing. You need to disgrace Michael in her eyes, and in her husband's eyes. Maybe start a fight with him or something. He'll get demoted for brawling – Selvam's never been able to abide that in his staff – and you can also impress her with your fighting skill." "Yes," said Sir Roderick uncertainly. "Um... I'm not sure I have very much fighting skill. Not brawling, anyway. I can fence like a master, of course." "Wait until Michael is drunk," suggested James. "And remain resolutely sober yourself. I'll make sure I intervene if things aren't going your way." "All right," said Sir Roderick. James drained another glass. "Right. Go and pack, and see to those coaches. I'd better get back to Emily and Dorothea." Emily enjoyed looking out of the coach windows at the Indian countryside, but she wished Selvam could have been there to point things out and explain what they were. Sir Roderick had insisted she sit next to him, and since he was paying for the dratted coaches, she could hardly refuse. She did her best to avoid all conversational gambits, however, and after a while they all left her in peace. Once they were away from Madras, the houses were very different. Many of them were just little huts which seemed to be made entirely from leaves. The grandest were no more than wooden shacks. Men, women and children were all out working together in the fields. She saw an old lady bent over carrying a bundle of sticks that looked about twice the size she was, and several times an hour the Hindu drivers stopped to let cows amble around the middle of the road, and flat out refused to move until they had moved on of their own accord. Dorothea didn't particularly mind, except for the fact that whenever it happened, Roderick muttered something along the lines of "bloody savages" and then started ranting about superstition. Despite the fact she had done little but sit all day, Dorothea was so tired by the time they got to the village where they were staying overnight, that she barely noticed anything about it, even the name. The second day was much like the first, but more exciting, because Dorothea knew she'd see her husband at the end of it. Now and again there were larger towns, and once there seemed to be some kind of religious procession going on, with people carrying statues, and an elephant whose forehead had been coloured with some kind of orange powder. "Heathen nonsense," muttered Roderick, but Dorothea thought it was beautiful. The railway camp was to the south east of Hindupur proper. The buildings around it were makeshift, but no more so than many of the huts and shacks that seemed to function as peoples' main homes. Gangs of dark-skinned coolies with their dhotis folded up to reveal their knees worked in orderly lines with shovels and picks, while the foreman prowled up and down the line, inspecting their labour. Two dogs fought, while a small group of boys shouted at them, whether egging them on or trying to separate them, Dorothea couldn't tell. Selvam and Michael were waiting outside the biggest of the shacks, waving to the new arrivals. "How did you know we were coming?" said Dorothea, paying no heed to the dust that clouded up as she leapt out of the coach and flung herself into her husband's arms. "I've done nothing but wait ever since we were parted," said Selvam. Dorothea laughed. "But really?" she said. Selvam tapped his nose. "I have my methods," he said. "Now come in, all of you. It was a wasted journey, I'm afraid, because the land ownership problem has been solved, thanks to Michael here, and there's nothing left to do but celebrate." "Selvam made me Master of Revels," cut in Michael. "I'm afraid it won't be up to our Madras standards, but I've hired some local musicians, and Venya will sing for us, and food and drink will be plentiful. Emily – I've managed to dig out an old piano from somewhere and get it tuned. Perhaps you'd be willing to play?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The visitors from Madras were all staying in a villa situated halfway between the town and the railway camp, and went there to change out of their travelling clothes. Dorothea and Selvam had the largest, grandest room, but it wasn't much compared even to the smaller Madras houses. It was on the first floor, at the top of an attractive curved staircase. There was a large, low bed with a richly embroidered beige coverlet, and no other furniture to speak of, but at least it was clean. They sat on the bed and kissed. Dorothea felt a pang of regret that they had to attend the party, and couldn't snuggle up in bed straight away, but told herself she was being churlish. She hadn't brought any party clothes with her, so she wore her favourite day dress, which was a rich russet. She was embarrassed to disrobe in front of her new husband, but did it anyway, though he politely turned his back. She finished off the outfit with the parrot dupatta. The party was to take place mostly outside, partly because it was a beautiful evening for it, but mostly because there wasn't a room even nearly big enough for it in the railway camp, or even in Hindupur proper. However, Michael had taken a semi-wooded area at the back of the big shack, and turned it into an enchanted grove. There was bunting strung through the trees, as dusk began to fall, dozens of lanterns were lit. "It's beautiful!" said Dorothea, looking around her in wonder. Michael bowed. "Nothing but the best for the beautiful bride," he said. There were thirty or so Europeans attending the party, mostly Englishmen, with a few memsahibs, and a couple of Portuguese traders. There were also a fairly large number of Indian and Eurasian people; local dignitaries, Dorothea supposed. The different groups mixed more freely than they ever did in Madras. Rugs were spread on the floor, and at some signal Dorothea didn't catch, everyone settled down to watch the performance. Selvam and Dorothea were led to two makeshift thrones: chairs covered with finely woven silks. Three musicians took to the stage and began to play. One had an instrument that looked a little like a tall lute, one beat a drum, and one played something that looked like a fiddle. It wasn't like any music Dorothea had ever heard before. Like most girls of her class and generation, she had been taught enough music to sing and play the piano, and although she had displayed little aptitude for it, she knew enough about scales and whatnot to understand that what she was hearing followed a completely different set of rules. "It's magical," she whispered to Selvam, closing her eyes and leaning her head on his shoulder. The lack of visual input seemed to sharpen her other senses, so the music filled her, and she noticed the warm, spicy scent of the air. It reminded her of her favourite speech in Shakespeare, by Titania, about her little page's mother: His mother was a votaress of my order: And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, Full often hath she gossip'd by my side, And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, Marking the embarked traders on the flood, When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind. How many lonely, boarding school nights had she spent reciting that to herself through her tears, and wishing, praying, bargaining with God for her father to call her out to join him? Her father. Her eyes filled with tears again. It had been three days since he had last spoken to her. It was then that Venya began to sing, a sound of such sweetness and melancholy that it seemed to Dorothea to be an extension of her own thoughts and feelings. She opened her eyes. "What does it mean?" she whispered to Selvam. "The rāga?" he asked. "Unrequited love. Why do you ask?" Then Dorothea remembered what Emily had said about Michael and Venya's relationship and felt a little guilty for imagining the song was part of her, when Venya must be singing her own sorrow. She said something of the sort to Selvam. He laughed a short ironic laugh, and that place at the back of his head started throbbing. "Surely that's what you English do with everything about India?" She must have looked hurt or confused because he then apologised and reached surreptitiously for her hand. Dorothea wanted to kiss him, but had been told that Indian couples do not kiss in public, even chastely, so she contented herself with enjoying his touch, and looking forward to their first night together. Venya went on to sing two more rāgas, both of which were far more cheerful and upbeat, and afterwards, a splendid meal was served. It was proper Indian food, which Dorothea found she preferred to the Anglo-Indian kind, once she had got used to the piquancy of the spices and the dominance of vegetables rather than meat. Selvam and the other Indian guests ate with their hands, although cutlery was provided, so Dorothea decided to do likewise. She found that it added something to the experience, almost like tasting the food with your fingertips before it even gets to your mouth. "Right hand only, love," Selvam whispered. Dorothea blushed. Why did everything have to have so many rules? "Look at her," said Sir Roderick, disgusted, sitting at one of the few tables with James. "She's dabbling her fingers in it, like one of them." James sighed. "Poor girl," he said. "Oh, yes," said Sir Roderick. "Yes, quite so. What is this muck anyway?" He fished about in his dhal. "There's not even any meat in here." Michael, overhearing, wandered up to them. "Sorry about that," he said. "I did my best, but the local chaps are mostly vegetarians. But there's a lovely curry made out of sheep's trotters, and some little triangular chicken pastry things, if it's flesh you're after." Sir Roderick frowned. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Um..." said Michael, thinking that what he said had been self-explanatory. "There's meat, as well as vegetables. Would you like me to go and get you some?" "What did you mean when you said I was after flesh?" said Sir Roderick. James was amused, but hid it well. Perhaps getting Michael drunk wouldn't even be necessary. "Well," said Michael. "Just let me know if you'd like some. I'd better go and mingle now, you know, host's responsibility and all that." Sir Roderick stood up, swaying drunkenly. "Don't you ever say anything like that about Miss Brabant again!" he said. "Miss Brabant?" said Michael. "You mean Mrs Selvam, and I didn't even mention her. Look here, old chap, I think you may have had a few too many. James, I wonder whether you could get him some water or some tea or some of that nimboo whatsitsname? "Certainly," said James, and left. He went straight to Emily and kissed her. She laughed. "You're very amorous tonight," she said, stroking his cheek. "How could I not be," he replied, "with a wife so beautiful as you?"
"I love you," said Emily, closing her eyes and sinking into his embrace. Why can't he always be like this? she asked herself. "What's that scarf Dorothea always wears?" James asked, as they sat down together on one of the rugs. Emily laughed. "That was Selvam's first gift to her," she said. "She's obsessed with the thing: for the past two nights she's slept with it in her bed." "It's lovely," said James. "Any idea where he got it? I would love to get you a similar one." "Thank you," said Emily. "But there's no chance of that, I'm afraid. His mother made it decades ago." "Well," he said. "I know some very good embroiderers. Perhaps you could borrow it from Dorothea and I could have it copied." "I'll try," she said, "but I don't think she'll want to part with it." "Do," he said. "It's important to me, very important." He glanced over to where Sir Roderick had been sitting, but they had gone their separate ways, apparently without coming to blows. Damn. "Well, if you'll excuse me love," he said. "I have some business to attend to." FOOOOOOR Champagne Charlie is my name. Champagne Charlie is my name, Good for any game at night, my boys, Good for any game at night, my boys. Champagne Charlie is my name, Champagne Charlie is my name. Good for any game at NIIIIIIIIGHT, boys, Who'll come and join me on the spree? "All right," slurred Michael, putting his arm round James's shoulders. "Father O'Malley taught me this one..." James waved his hands in front of him, feigning drunkenness. "No, no," he said. "Not now. Any idea where the khazi is, old chap? Here, let me pour you another one on the way." Michael gestured vaguely in some direction or other, and then slumped to the floor. "Time for a little nap," he slurred to himself. "Venya, love? Where's Venya?" "Hoi!" Michael opened his eyes to see Sir Roderick standing over him. "What's up, guv'ner?" he said in cockney, then dissolved into giggles. "You still haven't apologised for what you said about Miss Brabant," said Sir Roderick. "She's a damn fine woman, and I will..." Michael he staggered to his feet. "And I will, um... thing, you know, any man who says otherwise." "Right," said Sir Roderick, drawing back his fist... "Do you think we can leave now?" whispered Selvam in Dorothea's ear. "That bed looked awfully inviting." "That sounds like an excellent idea," said Dorothea, stealing a quick kiss. After all, no-one was watching. They turned to go. "Help!" It was Emily. Both of them turned round at once. She ran to them. "It's Michael and Sir Roderick, they're fighting!" Selvam cursed in Tamil under his breath. "Excuse me love," he said, and strode off in the direction Emily was pointing. Dorothea and Emily followed. "What on earth happened?" asked Dorothea. "I thought Michael was too sensible to–" "My husband," interrupted Emily. "That's what happened. My husband and a bottle of gin." "Oh dear," said Dorothea, and they hurried to where the commotion was: a little clearing surrounded by the belanterned trees. One by one, the lanterns were flickering and going out. Sir Roderick was still on his feet, gesticulating fiercely and saying: "he impooned, um... inpuggened, he... the honour of your wife." Michael was on the floor, holding his head and groaning. Dorothea could see blood trickling out from between his fingers. "Oh dear," she said, and knelt by him. Selvam was standing between the two of them, holding his hands out to separate them. "Get both of them out of my sight," he said. "Before I do something I regret." Servants and guests alike clamoured to help, including Dorothea, until Selvam held her back. "Stay with me," he said. "You too," he added, looking at James and Emily. "Did you see what happened?" Selvam asked Emily after everyone else was gone. Emily shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she said. I just came when I heard the shouting. "I saw everything," said James, grimly, but didn't continue. "Go on," said Selvam impatiently. "Sir," said James. "I hesitate to say anything, because I might have misinterpreted what I saw. What I think I saw, I mean. Sir Roderick and Michael are both good men. I find it hard to believe that–" "Speak your mind," said Dorothea. "We'll be the judge of that." She turned to her husband. "Selvam," she said. "Sir Roderick isn't all he seems. He–" "That's just the problem," sighed James. "As far as I could see, Sir Roderick didn't do anything wrong. Michael just came up to him and started saying... well, not anything I would repeat in front of the ladies. And then tried to hit him. As far as I could tell, it was completely unprovoked." "That doesn't sound like Michael," said Selvam. "I've warned him before about getting involved in brawls, but he was never one to start one without a reason." "No," said Dorothea. "James, is there any chance you misunderstood? Did you see what happened before? Perhaps Sir Roderick had–" "Exactly," said James. "I'm sure I must have misunderstood. Mind you, I was with Sir Roderick directly before, and we were just having a quiet drink. He didn't say anything to Michael until the latter started abusing him, but–" "Was Michael drunk?" asked Selvam quietly. "I'm afraid so," said James. "I'd been trying to get him to sober up for a while, but he kept pouring himself more and more gin." Selvam's eyes flashed with anger. "I don't mind my men drinking, but not so much they get out of control. It's dangerous. It reflects badly on the whole Empire. It's a pity, but I told him last time it was his final warning, and I can't be seen to be a man who goes back on his word." He shook his head. "What a waste," he said, almost to himself. Then: "Come on, love. Let's go to bed." James and Emily watched them depart. "Well?" said James, once they were alone. "Well what?" said Emily. "Have you got it? The scarf?" "The... oh, not yet. I haven't even had a chance to ask her." James grunted with exasperation. "Haven't had a chance?" he said, mimicking her in a high pitched voice. "It's been hours. Couldn't be bothered, more like." "I'll do it tomorrow," said Emily. "I promise." "You'll forget," said James. "I won't forget," said Emily. "Well," said James. "Here's something to help you remember." And he punched her in the face. She reeled backwards, and fell heavily against a tree, knocking one of the last lanterns to the ground, where it went out. But she managed to stay on her feet. "Please," she said. "Stop it. I'll remember, I promise I'll remember." "Good," said James. "And if it leaves a mark, you're to tell everyone you got caught up in the fight trying to separate them, and Michael punched you. Got it?" Emily nodded, knowing there was no other way. Even if people believed her about James, if she somehow managed to get away, back to England even, he would always find her and come after her, and she would be as good as dead. Besides, she would have nothing, and putting up with being hit was better than starving in the streets. In her darkest moments she fantasised about killing him, but as soon as the thought came into her mind, she felt something tightening in her throat, like the premonition of a noose. Now, her body was dully aware, he was kissing her, forcing his tongue into her throat. She allowed herself to be led up to a bedroom and fucked, until he rolled over and she cried herself to sleep.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Michael sat up alone in his little single bed, groaning. "Come in." The door opened. "James," he said glumly. "I've brought you some water," said James. "It'll make you feel a bit better." "What time is it?" asked Michael. "Past midday." Michael groaned again. "What happened last night?" he drawled. "I mean, I remember part of it, the Champagne Charlie song, and that dashed impudent rascal Sir Roderick trying to bait me, and someone bringing me back here and bandaging my head and... Oh dear. It's all coming back now. Is Selvam furious?" he took a glug of the water, and then threw up by the side of his bed. "Oh dear, I'm dreadfully sorry, James, old thing." "It's all right," said James. "I'll get someone to clear it up in a minute. Keep trying to drink. Small sips now." "Is it all right?" said Michael. "Really? I mean, I still have a job, don't I? Selvam's spoken to me about my drinking a couple of times before..." "Well," said James diplomatically. "Right now, not as such, but–" Michael groaned a third time, longer and louder than before, so it was almost a shout. "I'm such an idiot, James. Why did I do it? And now everything's ruined. I'll have to go back to England, and leave Venya - she's all right, isn't she? She said she'd go and sleep with the maids or something." He groaned again. "It's like an elephant stamped on my head. Why couldn't Sir Roderick just have finished the job and run me through?" He slumped back so he was lying, staring up at the ceiling. "All is not lost," said James. "Venya is fine, though a little worried about you, and it was just a momentary slip. I'm sure Selvam will forgive you eventually." "Eventually's not good enough," said Michael. "Before 'eventually' happens, I'll be on the ship bidding goodbye to jolly old India, and... oh dear, Mummy will kill me when she finds out." "Well," said James. "I'm sure there are things we can do to speed the process. Why don't you have a word with Dorothea, for example? I know she's very sympathetic towards you. Perhaps we could get her to have a word with her husband." "Yes!" said Michael, sitting up again and grasping the water glass in both hands. "Yes, that's it, I'll do exactly that. Thank you, James. You're splendid. The best pal a chap could have." "It seems like a long time since we've had a proper conversation, James," said Selvam later that evening, as they drank gin on the dusty veranda, while the insects buzzed and whirred around them. "I'm at fault for neglecting you, old friend, I know I am." James inclined his head graciously. "I understand," he said. "I know how busy you are." "That's no excuse," said Selvam. "I have time to spend with my beautiful wife, so why shouldn't I have time to spend with my oldest friend? I miss the old days, you know? I don't know about you, but I miss the days when we were both boys, running wild round Cochin. And I even miss our little flat in London." He laughed. "Do you remember how we used to have to take it in turns to get dressed in the morning because there wasn't room for both of us?" "All the same," said James. "It was so civilised there compared to India." "If you ever want to go back," said Selvam. "If you want to take the exam again, you know I'm willing to support you. Financially, I mean, as well as in other ways. Of course I will make you Acting Assistant Collector, and I will delay getting someone in from England for as long as I can, but I can't appoint you permanently. The rules just don't allow it." "So change the rules," said James. "You're powerful enough. I am not going back to take exams like a schoolboy. And it's a stupid system anyway, appointing children with no experience to positions of responsibility. I don't want anything to do with it." Selvam sighed. "I understand," he said. "Well, the offer's still there." The two of them drank in silence for a few moments. "So, how's married life?" asked James. Selvam broke into a smile. "Wonderful," he said. "Not a minute goes by when I'm not grateful to Dorothea for choosing me, and she says the same." "Where is she now?" asked James. "I'm not sure," said Selvam. "In the little library, I think." "Really?" said James, looking shocked. Then he shook his head. "No, nothing, never mind." "What's wrong?" said Selvam. "Nothing," said James. "Forget it." "Come on, man," laughed Selvam. "Spit it out. What on earth's in there? Some crusty old bureaucrat's pornography collection?" "I'm sure it's nothing," said James. He paused. "But... I just saw Michael coming out of there, looking... well, I'm sure it's nothing. Drunken brawling is one thing, but openly, in the middle of the day... as I say, I'm sure it's nothing." Selvam frowned. "They seem to be quite close, those two. Like brother and sister, Dorothea said." James nodded enthusiastically. "Yes," he said. "Like brother and sister, exactly so. Oh, there she is now! Dorothea!" She came over, smiling, and sat down next to Selvam, taking his hand. "I've got a favour to ask of you," she said. "Oh yes?" said Selvam, drawing away a little. "A big favour," said Dorothea. Selvam didn't reply. "It's Michael," she continued. "He really is very sorry about last night. He's quite seriously talking about giving drink up altogether. Please, as a gift to me – a wedding present, if you like – take him back? James agrees, don't you James? When I went to see him in his bedroom this afternoon he told me James had been there just before and–" "You visited him in his bedroom?" Selvam asked. "Yes," said Dorothea, brushing some of the ubiquitous dust off her husband's knee. "I think he had concussion as well as a hangover. Venya and I have been nursing him all day." "Nursing him?" "I know," said Dorothea. "He doesn't deserve it. The way he behaved last night was truly despicable, and I told him so, particularly managing to hit poor Emily. But that part was an accident. He says he doesn't even remember it. And he really is truly repentant–" "He hit Emily?" said Selvam. "I didn't know that. James, is it true?" "Unfortunately so," said James. "She's got a shiner of a black eye," said Dorothea. "But she says it doesn't hurt much, and she thinks it was just an accident." Selvam shook his head. "I'm not leaving until you say yes," said Dorothea. "You told me what a genius he'd been over resolving the land ownership question. You said if it wasn't for him, we'd still be stuck in negotiations, if it hadn't deteriorated into violence by now. You need him, Selvam. You'd be stuck without him." "All right, all right," said Selvam. "Just leave us alone for a while." "What do you mean by 'all right'?" frowned Dorothea. "Do you mean yes, you're taking him back? Can I tell him that now?" "Please love," said Selvam. "I have a headache. Please can this wait until the morning? It's late. Go to bed, and I'll join you shortly." Dorothea opened her mouth to ask whether he meant he would tell Michael he was reinstated in the morning, or something else, but thought better of it. "Yes, love," she said. "I'm sorry. I'll see you soon." Selvam and James watched her depart. "Is she not beautiful?" asked Selvam. "Is she not the most beautiful woman you've ever seen?" James smiled. "Remember you're speaking to another married man," he said. "I wouldn't dare say so." "I was a fool to marry her," said Selvam. "To think that she was different from other white women." "She loves you," said James quietly. "I truly believe she loves you, and you alone. Be careful. Keep an eye on her, but don't let jealousy destroy you." Selvam nodded. "What is it you Christians say? Wise as serpents, harmless as doves. That's what I must be. I must be a loving husband, at least until I get proof, but not a gullible one." "Exactly," said James. "And I'd be prepared to wager my life that you won't find any proof, because there's no proof to find." Selvam poured another drink for each of them. "To faithful women," he said, holding up his glass. Then he added, under his breath: "if there are any."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was long past midnight when James walked back to the room he shared with Emily. "Psst! James!" "Dorothea!" said James. "What on earth are you doing still up?" "Where's Selvam?" asked Dorothea. "I'm worried about him." "He decided to sleep under the stars," said James. "Decided?" "Well, to be honest, I think he had a bit too much to drink, and just sort of passed out where he was." Dorothea rolled her eyes. "Men!" she said, under her breath, and made for the garden to find her husband. He was lying on one of the seats, twitching and moaning in his sleep, occasionally putting his hand to his head. Insects buzzed around him. She tentatively shook his arm, but he just pushed her away. Dorothea wondered whether she should go back and get the mosquito net from their room, but it was too high for her without fetching a ladder from somewhere, and that would wake up the whole house. She looked around for something to use instead. All she could think of was the parrot dupatta, which she was wearing for warmth. She looked at it. On the one hand, it was too precious to leave lying around. On the other, it was so much less precious than her husband. If he got bitten and got malaria and died she'd never forgive herself. He seemed very out of sorts earlier. Perhaps using something so important to protect him would show him how much he was loved. Carefully, she rigged it up, so it covered his face without getting in his way. Then she crept back to her bed and went to sleep hugging her pillow, imagining it was him. James awoke at dawn after only a couple of hours of sleep. "I've got a present for you," said Emily. "I don't want a present," said James. "You will when you see it," said Emily, and unfolded the parrot dupatta. James sat up in bed, immediately alert. "You genius!" he said, kissing her smack on the lips. "How did you manage to get it?" "I woke up when you came to bed," she said. "And I couldn't get back to sleep, so I looked out of the window, and there it was. Selvam was asleep on the bench there and it was covering him. So I just snuck down and took it." "Come here," said James, pulling her on top of him. She laughed and started stroking his thigh. "I love you," he said. "I love you too."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"The odd thing," said Michael, "is that it looks very familiar, somehow. I'm sure I've seen it before." Everyone was back in Madras. Michael was in the little bungalow he provided for Venya, lying on the floor with his head in her lap. "I don't believe you," she said miserably, stroking his hair. The parrot dupatta was draped over the back of a chair. "Look," he said. "If I did have another mistress, I swear I would tell you about her. You're not my wife. Why should I keep things from you? And if I did have another mistress I wanted to hide from you, why would I show you the gift she gave me and ask you to copy the work?" Venya shook her head. "I just don't understand it," she said. "Nor do I," said Michael. "For us Hindus," said Venya. "The parrot means love. Physical love, I mean." Michael reached up, unpinned her sari at the shoulder and started unwinding it. "Then it must be the scarf that's filling me with this uncontrollable desire. Oh no, my mistake, it's your beautiful body." He exposed her belly and started kissing it. She smiled, then lay down and started to stroke his back as he climbed on top of her. "I'm going to see my father," said Dorothea. Selvam nodded, without looking up from the book he was reading. "I sent him a note yesterday, telling him to reply if he didn't want to see me, and he didn't reply, so I'm going. I expect I'll be back for dinner, but if not, I'll make sure I send you a note." Selvam nodded again. "And you're still thinking about Michael, yes? You promise you won't keep him waiting for too much longer?" She sat down beside him on the sofa. Their sofa, though it didn't yet feel like it. She wondered when Selvam's house would start feeling like home. "I love you," she said, and kissed him. He smiled at her briefly and went back to his book. "Well, goodbye then," she said as she left. "Damn," said Selvam, for no reason in particular, and threw the book hard against the wall. A few moments later, James knocked on the door. "I'm glad to see you, friend," said Selvam. "You're the only person I can talk to nowadays. Please. Come in, sit down." "I see that Dorothea's started quite a trend," James said cheerfully. "What?" Selvam frowned. "That parrot dupatta you gave her. They seem to be all the rage. Michael gave Venya one almost identical, and now she's busy copying it." "That's impossible," said Selvam. "There's not another like it in all the world." "Well," said James. "Come with me on a stroll by the sea, and you'll see her at it." "Where is the parrot dupatta I gave you?" said Selvam as Dorothea returned. "I don't think I've unpacked it yet," said Dorothea. "Don't you want to hear how it went with Daddy?" "Go and fetch it please," said Selvam. "I like to see you wearing it." "Oh, you are adorable," said Dorothea, kissing him. "I'll go in just a minute. But let me tell you what happened first. I really think it's going to be all right. Come on, let's sit down." He reluctantly followed her onto a sofa. "He said he was glad to see me," she continued. "And he said he was still worried about me, but he'd prayed about it a lot, and come to the conclusion that now we were married, he was going to have to learn to accept it. Then he said a lot of crazy things about Hindu widows being forced to immolate themselves on their husbands' funeral pyres–" "Sati," he said quietly. "Pardon?" said Dorothea. "Sati," he repeated. "It was a pious custom among higher caste women. One of my grandmothers chose to do it." "It's real?" she said. "I thought it was one of those things white people made up when they wanted to pretend brown people are savages." "No," he said. "It's real, or was real. And it wasn't about anyone being forced to do anything." He paused. "Or shouldn't have been, at any rate. I'm enough of a civil servant to know that things don't always work the way they ought to." "That's terrible," she said. "It could be," he said. "Or it could be the most beautiful expression of love between man and wife that exists." "If I died," said Dorothea. "I'd want you to live on, and have the happiest life you could. That's what love means to me." "Go and get the dupatta," said Selvam, speaking in a dreamy, detached voice. "All right," said Dorothea uncertainly. She returned a few moments later. "I've just remembered," she said. "That last night in Hindupur, when you slept outside. I used it to protect you from insects. You must still have it." "You weren't even there that night," he replied. "I stayed up late with James. You had already gone to bed." "I stayed up for you," she said. "And when James came to bed, I asked where you were, and–" "You gave it to Michael," he said. "No I didn't," she said. "Don't be silly. I'm sorry I forgot about it for a couple of days, it's just that with all the commotion about Michael, and packing to leave, and worrying about you–" "You gave it to Michael," he repeated, more forcefully. "Why would I do that?" she said. "Please, Selvam. Calm down, you're frightening me. Is your head bad again? Would you like me to send for the Doctor Sahib?" "I should have known," he went on. "I should have known that first day when you made me dance the woman's part. I thought it was sweet, then, more fool me. But you're trying to emasculate me, just as your people are emasculating my people." Dorothea laughed nervously. "That's just because I was tall and went to a girls' school," she said. "It doesn't mean anything." "If you didn't give it to Michael," said Selvam. "Why does he have it now? Or rather, why does his whore have it?" "Venya?" said Dorothea. "Please don't call her that." "I will call her what she is," he said. "And I will call you what you are too." He grabbed her wrist. "If Venya has it," said Dorothea, angry tears springing to her eyes, "I don't know why. Perhaps she found it on you that morning. Or perhaps it blew off. Let go of me." She wrenched her wrist away. "James and Michael shared a carriage back to Madras," said Selvam. "Michael fell asleep for part of the journey, and James heard what he said in his sleep." "Selvam," said Dorothea. "I'm worried about you. I'm going to go and get the Doctor Sahib now." "Oooh!" said Selvam, imitating Michael's lazy London drawl. "DoroTHEEEah, come here, sweetness, wrap your legs around me. Put your hand just... oh YES!" "Why are you telling me this?" said Dorothea, disgusted. "If Michael... If he... I don't want to know about it, all right?" She paused, her mind whirling. "No," she continued, finally. "Sorry. You were right to tell me. I'll avoid him in future. I'll never be alone with him. I'd never want to be alone with him after... Oh, poor Selvam." She put her arms round him. He tolerated it, but did not respond. "I wish to dine alone tonight," he said. "But I'll see you in bed later." Then he left the house. Dorothea put her head into her hands and started to cry. She didn't feel safe anymore. Should she go back to her father's house? To Emily, perhaps? No. Selvam was her husband, and she had vowed to stay with him for better or for worse. He was just going through a bad time.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Emily sat in her room, trying to make out what James and Selvam were talking about in the parlour below. It was so frustrating. She could hear perhaps a third of what they said, but understand less, as they kept switching between Malayalam – their mother tongue – and English. She could hear more of Selvam than of her husband, but not enough to put together to mean anything. Selvam left after about half an hour. Shortly afterwards, there was a knock on her door. "Come in," she said. It was Arani, the maid. "Do you need anything, Memsahib?" she asked, curtsying, her eyes lowered. "Come in for a moment, Arani," said Emily. "I don't suppose you happened to hear anything of what James Sahib and Mr Selvam were saying?" Dorothea sat up in bed, the white sheet pulled up over her chest, trying to pray. "Dear God," she said. "Dear God who gave proof of thy existence to thy apostle Thomas, please..." she sighed. No matter how hard she tried, her prayers always sounded embarrassing and false, like a small child's prayers. It was all that Doctor Darwin's fault, and her own, for choosing to study biology. "Look," she said finally. "If there's anyone out there. God or Jesus or Mary or St Thomas or Vishnu or Allah, please look after Selvam." "Dorothea." He was standing in the doorway. "Selvam!" said Dorothea. "I didn't hear you come in. How are you?" She lifted the sheet. "Come to bed, my love." He shut the door quietly and came over to her, but instead of getting into the bed, he sat on it. "What were you doing, love?" he asked. "Praying," she said. "Or trying to pray." She paused. "Selvam, do you think I might make a good Hindu? I'm a rubbish Christian." "It's good to pray," said Selvam, sounding almost hypnotised, giving no indication of having heard her question. He stroked her neck. "You're very beautiful," he said. "That's the pity of it. I thought... Never mind what I thought." He began to cry, burying his head in his hands. "Oh Selvam, said Dorothea, putting her arms around him. "What is it? Please? You can tell me, don't torture yourself like this." He turned and kissed her, then encircled her neck with his hands, so lightly that he barely touched the skin. "What are you doing? Selvam? Please?" Emily hitched up her skirts and scrambled through the window. Her room was only on the first floor, but it seemed a long way down. She had no choice. There was no other way of getting out without James knowing. She lowered herself carefully as far as she could, and found herself hanging on, cursing herself as a coward for not being able to drop. But then a bat darted past and startled her, her fingers slipped, and the next moment she was lying on the floor. Her arm hurt very badly. She remembered dimly wondering whether it was broken, before the door slammed open, and James was there. "Who is it?" he shouted. Then she heard the sound of a gun firing, and there was a pain in her left shoulder as well as her right arm. "Emily?" James pulled her up by her shoulder and she screamed in pain. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get back inside before I–" "No!" She pulled away. "No. Not Dorothea. You can do this to me but not–" Then she started to run, some almost supernatural energy driving her on despite her wounds. There was another gunshot, then another, but he must have missed because she didn't feel anything. Then there was a third, and this time he hit her, and she couldn't run any more, but it didn't matter because she was right outside Selvam's house. She battered on the door, and it gave way before her. "Selvam!" she shouted, half running, half crawling up the stairs. "Selvam! Don't do it! James lied to you. It's all his fault, and mine. I stole the dupatta." Selvam staggered out to meet her in the hallway. "Emily?" he said, sounding confused and dreamy. "Emily, I've done a terrible thing." Emily screamed, a mixture of rage and agony. "You idiot," she gasped. "You stupid idiot. It was all a trick. It was all James. He lied to you. Dorothea didn't give the dupatta away, I stole it. He set you up. He set us all up." She coughed, and a mess of blood came out. She collapsed to the floor. Selvam stared at her. "It could be terrible," he Selvam slowly, "or it could be the most beautiful expression of love between man and wife that exists." And he returned to the bedroom.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
James heard the crackle of the flames as he walked away from Fort St George, his kurta flapping unfamiliarly around his legs. He smiled to himself. It felt good to know he'd never return. He walked through the night, and through all the next day. Only then did he sleep, and submit himself to his dreams. The old woman lived alone now. Everyone she had loved was gone: mother, father, husband, aunties, uncles, child. Each morning, she came out of her little hut, and felt the sun on her face, and tried to be grateful. Every morning, it got harder. She saw him in the distance and, oddly, even then she knew. It must have been something about his walk. Her heart gave a leap, and then she went to slaughter the chicken. It wouldn't do to meet him unprepared. She smiled tenderly as he sank his head into her breast, sobbing: "Amma, Amma," and stroked his back, just like she had when he was a baby. "Jaiman," she said. "My Jaiman. Welcome home, my love. Welcome home."
"I suppose we'll never know what happened," said Michael, stroking Venya's dark hair as they lay in bed. "I'd like to think it was an accident, but from what the servants said..." He shook his head. "They've stopped looking for James now?" "Yes," said Michael. "I suppose he must have been so badly burnt there was nothing left." He shuddered. "At least the servants escaped," said Venya. Michael nodded, and kissed her. "Well," he said, drawing back. "I'm afraid that this whole business has taught me one thing. Madras is no place for a white person who has the misfortune to fall in love with a brown person." Venya looked at him, feeling as though she'd been physically struck. She'd always been afraid of Michael leaving her, always, from the moment she first kissed him. But like this? So suddenly? Michael smiled. "So where shall we go, my love? Back to London, or back to your family? The choice is yours." She just stared at him. "Or am I being too presumptuous there?" He leapt out of bed, and knelt by the side of it. "Will you marry me, Venya?"
|
181717
|
Top This
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by leonidaslion",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-04-10T00:00:00",
"words": "4,076",
"Additional Tags": "Wincest - Freeform, Plot What Plot, Humor",
"Relationship": "Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Dean is never accepting a drink from anyone ever again. Especially not anyone who is in any way, shape or form connected with the case they’re investigating. Very, very especially when that case involves spontaneous acts of wild monkey sex.Oh yeah, also? He’s never drinking again with Sam. Fucking ever.“So fucking pretty,” Sam pants as he shoves Dean against the wall and sticks his tongue down his throat. Dean kisses back for a few seconds—because, hello, Sam’s mouth is fucking awesome—and then growls and shoves back, driving them against the trailer’s opposite wall and coming out on top. Heh. Sam’s mouth is still right there, though, and even though Dean meant to say something, he gets distracted by how much he wants to fuck it—tongue, fingers, cock; he isn’t picky. His tongue’s closest right now, though, so he goes for it.And yeah, Sammy’s just the bitch Dean always knew he was, opening up for it and moaning and spreading his legs so Dean can get his thigh pressed up nice and tight against his little brother’s cock. Dean’s thinking of elevating Duane Preston to sainthood right about now. Even if the dude does live in a filthy trailer with those creep-ass gnomes out front instead of a garden. And offer supposed federal agents supernatural roofies with their alcohol. Thereby making Dean want to fuck his little brother’s brains into sometime next week.And for Sam? That’s gonna take a whole lot of fucking.Sam grinds against him, huge hands gripping Dean’s head and tilting it so that he has a better angle on the kiss. Or maybe not for the kiss, because he keeps tilting until it gets painful and Dean has to break away with a low curse.“Ow! Dude, what the fuck?”“’Zactly,” Sam replies. This time, he doesn’t so much thrust against Dean as he pops his hip out and uses it to roll Dean to one side—guiding Dean’s turn with those oversized paws of his—and before Dean can blink he’s pressed against the wall again, with his brother huge and sweaty and shoved up against him. Letting go of Dean’s head with one hand, Sam reaches down and starts fumbling with Dean's buckle instead.Dean’s not so happy with the whole pinned-against-a-wall thing, but he’s down with shedding some of the extra layers, so he gets his hands underneath Sam’s jacket and pushes it back off his shoulders, helping. Sam growls, shaking his hands away and biting down on his neck.“Hey! I’m not a fuckin’ chew toy!” Dean complains, trying to jerk away.Sam has Dean’s buckle open by now and is unzipping him, not at all careful about the goods, and this time Dean shoves him away without following. His cock is hard and leaking when he looks down at it, but it doesn’t seem to be cut or nicked at all, which is so goddamned lucky for Sam. Dean’s horny, too, but no one sees him trying to castrate his brother with motherfucking metal teeth, do they?“Okay,” Dean says, looking back up to see that Sam is using the breathing space to strip himself of some unnecessary layers. It strikes Dean as a really excellent idea, actually—kinda like the time that waitress in Boston offered to call her friend for a threesome—and he’s on board and shrugging his own coat off even as he says, “This is fucking stupid. We’re letting Prissy get away.”“Preston,” Sam pants, tearing his shirt off without bothering to unbutton it.Dean’s own shirt feels like it’s suffocating him, and he rips it down the middle in his haste to get it off. “Whatever!” he spits, pushing down his pants. “Point is, you need to bend over and let me fuck you so that we can both get this shit out of our systems and do our jobs.”“Who said you were fucking me?” Sam asks, which is such a ridiculous question that Dean rolls his eyes.“I’m older,” he says, trying to work his pants off over his shoes. His cock keeps distracting him, though, bobbing against his stomach and demanding attention. “Besides, if we were gay and fucking? I’d be the butch one. You said it yourself.”Ah ha! Victory is Dean’s! He kicks his pants (one shoe caught inside, one still on his foot) across the room and then lets out a whumph of air as Sam crashes into him again. They fetch up against the wall, hard, and Sam’s mouth is all over Dean’s neck and collarbone and chest. He groans as Sam finds a nipple and bites down.“Also said,” Sam gasps between bites. “That you were—over—overcompensating.”“What the fuck does that even mean?” Dean groans, because seriously, no way should Sam be able to think in words of more than one syllable, let alone use one in a sentence. He feels his brother’s cock rutting against his hip and reaches down to press it against his own. He doesn’t have any lube to slick the way, but there’s plenty of precome and the friction feels fucking awesome. Oh, and while he’s on the subject of cocks? Sam has totally been hiding, like, a freaking anaconda down his pants.“Jesus Christ!” he gasps. “Is that your fucking dick? What’d you do, drop an atomic bomb on it?”Sam’s head comes up long enough for Dean to see a smug glint in his brother’s eyes. “Knew you were a size queen,” he says, and then ducks in to maul Dean’s mouth.Dean can’t help but kiss back, still jacking both of their cocks, but he’s thinking he should probably be kicking his little brother’s ass for that last comment. He has no clue what a ‘size queen’ is, and he doesn’t want to find out.What he does want to know is what Sam’s ass would feel like squeezing nice and tight around his cock.Dean’s dick pulses and, with a little growl, he latches onto Sam’s lower lip and sucks it into his mouth while maneuvering them both forward and toward the door he noticed before. Kitchen and living room are both out here and the trailer isn’t that large, so it’s gotta be the bedroom. While his cock would be perfectly content to fuck Sam here, Dean refuses to let his libido get in the way of his manners, and Sam deserves better than a quick rut up against the side of the trailer the first time he’s fucked.Dean’s negotiable for any subsequent endeavors, of course.Sam goes along with unexpected docility, and Dean has an absent moment of thinking that if all it takes to shut his brother up is Dean’s hand on his cock and Dean’s tongue in his mouth, then there’s gonna be a hell of a lot more of both going on in the future. He realizes he still has one shoe on, kicks it off, and then the trailer spins around him and Dean grunts as he fetches up roughly against the plywood door.Sam’s chuckling into the kiss—he was planning that, the devious little bitch—and now he’s using his body weight to keep Dean there while reaching for the doorknob with his left hand. Dean only realizes he has no clue where Sam’s right hand is when it reappears again, goosing him, and he hip checks it away.“You wish!” he says, mashing the words against Sam’s lips, and then the door opens and he falls backwards. Sam collapses on top of him, hard enough to drive Dean’s breath from his lungs. Even winded, Dean’s body is reacting to the horizontal position and the heavy weight without his permission: wrapping one leg around Sam’s bony hip and thrusting up.“Fuck, yeah,” Sam moans, palming Dean’s face and humping back, and all of this friction is turning Dean’s brain into something resembling Jell-O.Then he feels something nudge at his ass—something freakishly, freakishly large—and his sense of self-preservation temporarily reasserts itself and he rolls them sideways into the foot of what has to be a bed. The impact jars his shoulder, but the important thing is that he’s on top again. Where he belongs. It’s perfect except for the part where they’re on the crappy floor of a douchbag’s trailer and no fucking way is he fucking Sam here.“C’mon,” he demands, getting a hand between his brother’s broad back and the floor and pulling as he clambers to his own knees. Sam comes up willingly, trying for Dean’s mouth as they both struggle to their feet. Dean is definitely on board with that plan, even if Sam has started up all of that ‘pretty’ shit again.Seriously, if either of them is gonna be the ‘pretty’ one, it’s gonna be Sammy, with his long hair and his puppy dog eyes and that little sashay in his hips when he walks. Fuck, Dean’s driven to stroking his cock just thinking about it, and when Sam licks at his throat, he tilts his head back to give his brother more room to work.“Bed,” he gasps as Sam’s teeth scrape against his skin, and Sam’s busy jacking his own cock but he nods and shoves Dean down onto the mattress.Now that he’s here, Dean’s not sure the bed of a pervert is really the place he wants to be fucking Sam either, and also he really didn’t intend to be the one on his stomach with Sam sliding up hot and huge against his back.Bucking up is reflex, and after that Dean gets a little confused and finds himself in the weirdest wrestling match he’s ever had. Because both he and Sam keep getting distracted and humping each other, and their bodies keep getting slicker because of all the precome spilling all over the place—Dean’s gonna be dehydrated by the time he finally gets to come. He keeps accidentally ending up with a fistful of Sam’s enormous dick (which is making his mouth water more and more every time he catches sight of it), and eventually he winds up wrapping his lips around it and going to town.He tells himself it’s self-preservation—if Sam is fucking Dean’s mouth with his cock, then he isn’t using it to try to fuck Dean’s ass—and then, when he finds himself moaning a little too appreciatively, he tells himself that it’s only fair to give his brother’s cock the same treatment Sam is giving his. Dean’s on top of Sam again while they suck each other, and for once his little brother seems more than happy to let him stay there. Sam’s just as enthusiastic about this little exercise as Dean—practically gobbling his dick, and slobbering all over it, and sucking, and generally making Dean think about composing odes to his brother’s mouth.Or at least buying him a really nice thank you card. Dean wonders whether Hallmark offers ‘You Give Awesome Blowjobs - Marry Me!’ as a pre-printed option or if he’ll need to get a blank one and make his own.Then Sam pulls his head back, letting Dean’s cock slip free (Dean makes a completely manly and understandable whimper of disappointment) and a second later his hands are on Dean’s thighs, bunching his body up further. Dean’s knee slips a little and his back protests—he’s already bending enough trying to make this whole reciprocal blowjob thing work, thanks very much—but Sam’s got a death grip on him and he’s still a little busy with Sam’s gorgeous, oversized cock, so he doesn’t complain.Or at least, not until something wet wriggles between his ass cheeks. Then Dean jumps, letting his brother’s cock slip from his mouth.“Holy fuck!” he shouts, squirming, but Sam’s fingers tighten and Dean realizes with a sinking sensation that his cock is enjoying this a little too much for him to put up much of a fight. Actually, as the wet thing—aw, fuck, he knows what it is, he might as well admit it—as Sam’s tongue swipes over his hole, a shivery, warm sensation washes through him and leaves him limp. Sam nuzzles his face into Dean’s ass and sets his mouth where no one’s mouth has gone before. His tongue circles the rim once, driving a low moan from Dean’s throat, and then starts pushing.Dean doesn’t make a sound. He sure as hell doesn’t make anything that could be classified as a shriek, a keen, or a whine.That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.Girly noises aside, it feels good. It feels really good, actually, and Dean starts moving his hips a little, fucking his ass back toward his brother’s face to get more. Sam makes a sound that’s a lot like the sound Dean makes whenever he’s nose-deep in pussy and takes his hands off Dean’s thighs in order to pull the cheeks of his ass apart, giving himself more room to work.And Jesus Fucking Christ, Dean never would have pegged Sam as this kinky. Not in a million years. Just goes to show him what goes on at Stanford. If Dean had gone to college, he probably would’ve wound up just as twisted as his little brother.“Oh, shit,” he moans as Sam makes this twisting movement inside of him, and then instantly regrets it because he doesn’t want to think about that now, Christ.With his mouth still pressed against Dean’s ass, Sam gives a territorial growl. It feels really fucking weird. And good. Also good. A moment later, Sam pulls his tongue out and lifts his head—this time Dean definitely keens, wriggling hopefully for more—and rasps, “If you don’t start sucking my cock again, I swear to God, Dean, I will leave you here and go jerk off outside.”Sam wouldn’t. Dean’s sure he wouldn’t. But now that Sam has mentioned it, Dean’s mouth is watering and that cock is bobbing right in front of his nose. If Sam hadn’t been doing such ungodly good things to his ass, Dean would’ve been all over that shit ages ago. Opening his mouth, he bends Sam’s cock toward him with one hand and sucks it back in.“Oh fuck—your fucking mouth,” Sam groans, and then goes back to fucking his tongue into Dean’s ass.Dean isn’t sure how long it goes on for (not as long as Dean would like—Christ that feels good) but eventually Dean wises up to the fact that it’s going to take full-on, penetrative sex to get this out of their systems. And yeah, he’s kind of been angling for that, but he’d prefer to have the question of which dick goes in which hole more decisively settled—after all, if Dean can work Sam’s cock well enough that he shoots, then Dean gets to top by default.Not that it’s going to be a problem.“Mmph,” he slurps, pulling his head back and letting go of Sam’s cock again. “Dude, this isn’t—ah, fuck—isn’t working. We gotta—I gotta fuck you.”Sam pulls his tongue out—Jesus, Dean feels wet down there, and loose—and pants, “Yeah. Gotta fuck you.”That’s not exactly what Dean said at all, but he’s on top so he figures he has a clear-cut advantage here. He gets up on his hands and knees, turning around, and straddles Sam’s waist. Fisting his cock a couple of times, he looks down at the place between his brother’s legs where he’s going to have to fit—okay, and looks a little at Sam’s cock, which is pointing up at the ceiling and slick and shiny from Dean’s spit—and then bites his lip.More than anything, he wants to just let instinct take over and rut against Sam’s ass until he somehow slips inside, but he refuses to hurt his little brother. He refuses to let some dick-swelling, mind-altering supernatural roofie that he was stupid enough to drink make him hurt his little brother. Even at the expense of his own pride.“Okay, so I, uh, I don’t actually know what I’m supposed to do,” he confesses, jacking his cock faster to make up for the lack of contact. His other hand creeps back behind him without his permission and he prods at his wet hole with two fingers. Just to see if Sam actually drooled a couple of gallons of saliva in there like it feels like he did.Sam’s watching him with dark, heated eyes, and now he reaches down, gripping Dean’s hips and pulling him forward slightly. “I do,” he pants.Before Dean can figure out what’s happening, his brother has slapped his hand out of the way and is pulling Dean down onto his cock.Dean gasps, trying to tense up. His body ignores him, licked stupid and open by Sam, and he slides down easily on that enormous cock, which snugs inside of his body like it belongs there. Dean goes a little cross-eyed as his ass sinks flush with Sam’s body, leaving him speared and full of dick. Leaving him fucked.Even though he is, nominally, on top.“Oh my God,” he says.Sam looks a little stunned, too. But also smug. Fucker.Except then Sam’s dick pulses inside of Dean and Dean remembers that he means that literally.“Oh my God,” he repeats, louder.Sam’s muscles bunch as he lifts Dean up—Dean loses his air again at the sensation of all that cock retreating—and then yanks him down. Hard. Dean might—might—make a tiny mewling noise at that.“Oh, fuck, Dean, you feel so good,” Sam groans, starting to lift him again.Dean forces his eyes shut—if he doesn’t look he can deny it all later—and then puts both hands flat on his brother’s chest and starts to slide himself up and down. It aches a little, all of that meat opening him up, but mostly it just feels really, really good. His cock is throbbing, and jerking around, and sometimes when he slides down Sam’s cock rubs up against something inside of him that makes him see stars.“Oh my God,” he says again, only this time it comes out more as a moan.Sam’s hands drag up his sides and find his nipples. He starts pinching and pulling, and Dean has never been one to say no to a little bit of pain with his pleasure, so he lets out a low cry and moves faster.“Dean,” Sam pants, fucking up at the same time that Dean pushes down and somehow getting his cock deeper. “So fucking tight—fucking hell, man.”Dean’s figured out the right angle now, so that he’s getting that spark every single time, and it’s making him shudder uncontrollably. He’s pretty sure he’s going to die of heart failure while Sam is fucking him.Vindictively, he hopes the experience scars Sam badly enough that he swears off of sex for life.“You fucker,” he manages finally. It’s nice to know he can say something other than ‘oh my God’, even if the words are coming out a little sloppy. “I’mma kick your ass later.”“You—oh, Christ—you love my cock,” Sam responds, biting his lower lip and bringing his legs up a little to give himself better leverage to fuck the Empire State Building he calls a cock into Dean’s ass.“Do not!” Dean protests, dropping his head back and rocking down even harder. “Oh, fuck, right there!”It comes out without his permission.Maybe Sam didn’t notice.“Dean, you—fucking riding me—look so fucking pretty, Christ—”Dean can’t make response to that other than senseless grunting, but Sam loses his own words right about then so it’s okay.Somewhere around the half hour mark, Sam gets greedy for Dean’s mouth as well as his ass and flips them without missing a beat, pinning Dean to the bed and leaning in to slip him some tongue while he starts to really give it to him. Embarrassingly, Dean only makes it through a couple of thrusts before spurting all over himself with a hoarse yell. Sam comes seconds later, fucking in through his orgasm and then dropping to a sweaty, panting rest on Dean’s chest. Fuck, he’s heavy.“Gerrof,” Dean grunts, pushing. He can feel the roofied-daze leaving him, and he wants to be horrified by what they just did, but really all he can think about is how hard he just came.“Dean,” Sam says, getting clumsily up to his elbows and looking down at Dean with a rapturous, stunned expression that only comes with really good sex. Dean tries his very best not to be proud that he put that look there.“Dude,” he snaps instead, going for righteous fury. “Your cock is still in my ass. Out!” He wriggles his hips for emphasis, but Sam only wraps his arms around Dean’s chest and swoops in for a kiss.Dean lets his brother have his way with his mouth for a few minutes—cause hey, what do you know: turns out Sam’s kisses are pretty nice even without the benefit of a roofie—and then jerks his face away. He’s the older brother here, and also the one who was just totally tricked into bottoming. He is not going to engage in a post-coital make-out session with the little bitch. It’s the principle of the thing.“You liked it,” Sam crows, and Dean has no idea how his brother can manage to sound so wondering and yet unbearably smug at the same time.“In your dreams.”“You liiiiked it,” Sam repeats, rolling his hips and fucking his half-hard cock in and out of Dean’s sore hole.Dean’s cock twitches where it’s crushed between their stomachs. He ignores the traitor (honestly, he’s thinking of disowning the thing: it shows absolutely no judgment and gets him into more trouble than it’s worth) and says, “If I liked it, it’s only because I was fucking roofied. Doesn’t count. Now get off me. I wanna go take about five hundred showers—fuck knows where these sheets’ve been.”He starts to stir but Sam only tightens his grip. With his eyes fastened on Dean's face, he makes that shallow fucking motion again and—“Oh my God, already?” Dean exclaims, not sure whether to be horrified or proud. “You really are a girl!”“This coming from the guy with my cock up his ass,” Sam purrs, picking up a rhythm as his cock swells even more.Is it bigger this time, or is it just Dean?“Oh hell,” Dean mutters as his own engine revs, and then wraps his legs around his brother’s waist. In return, Sam makes a contented noise and licks his jaw.What the fuck does his brother think he is anyway, a cat?“If it helps,” Sam whispers, “You can lie back and pretend we’re still under the influence.”Is that a dare? Dean’s pretty sure it’s a dare. He narrows his eyes and thrusts back against his brother with renewed vigor. Oh, it’s fucking on now ...*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~When they finally stumble out of the trailer three hours later, Dean’s walking a little more bow-legged than usual. He’d be annoyed if he weren’t still feeling boneless and sated. As it is, he’s pretty sure they stupid, happy smile on Sam’s face is mirrored on his own.“You sure we have to take this guy out?” he asks, grabbing one of Sam’s ripped sleeves as his brother starts for the passenger seat and pulling him close. He nibbles at the corner of Sam’s jaw. Not, y’know, because he had a craving. He just spotted a fleck of come that they missed there is all.“Pretty sure,” Sam answers, but he sounds a little distracted. Probably because he’s walking Dean backwards and pressing him up against the Impala. Huh, Sam and the Impala.Ooh, Sam, sex and the Impala.“We can’t—” Dean pants, tilting his head back as Sam sucks a few more marks into his throat. “We can’t just give him a medal? Maybe a cease and desist warning?”Sam stops mauling Dean’s throat long enough to lift his head and give him a half-amused, half-annoyed stare. “Dean.”“Yeah, yeah. He’s a perverted scumbag, whatever. Preaching to the choir, dude.”Satisfied, Sam leans forward, aiming for Dean’s lips this time.“Can we at least get his recipe first?”
|
136908
|
Root Cut
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Mika Coretti, Raizo (Ninja Assassin)",
"Fandom": "Ninja Assassin (2009)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Suaine",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-01T00:00:00",
"words": "1,581",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Yuletide 2010, Chromatic Yuletide 2010",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Cutting the tree down to size was only one part of caring for a bonsai. It needed as much nurture as it needed boundaries, as much careful deliberation as it needed decisive action.
This, of all things, Mika did not understand. Living among the ruins of his clan, living with the ghosts of his past mistakes, was more than just a kind of atonement. Raizo felt a connection here that he could not find in the outside world, even though there was so much pain and betrayal in the memories of this place. Not all of the lessons he had learned here were wrong.And some people needed killing.For all her annoyance at the EU regulations tying the hands of law enforcement agencies, for all her frustration at the way German law interpreted the balance between individual rights and the safety of the community, Mika still believed in the justice of the system. Raizo did so as well, but he moved in the shadows of a different system entirely. And yet, sometimes they agreed so thoroughly that it scared him a little. When she burned with righteous fury, Mika was more dangerous than any assorted weaponry.“I like what you've done with the place,” Mika said, standing under the crumbling, burned out doorway that once led to Ozunu's inner sanctum. She was carrying a purple plastic folder bursting with papers and assorted tidbits. A photo was dangerously close to sliding out of the bottom.Raizo pointed at the image with his tiny bonsai scissors, his fingers caked in dirt instead of blood, for once. “That the guy you mentioned?”Mika made a face and looked down at her precariously balanced research. “Yeah, that's him.” Her and Agent Maslow had been on the man's case for the better part of two months, but nothing had managed to stick. He was familiar to Raizo in a way – Ozunu had chosen children of a similar quality to raise into remorseless weapons. There was a lack in him, a certain emptiness that reminded Raizo of Takeshi – and of himself.“Markus Schmidt,” Raizo read from the profile sheet Mika had handed him. “A cover name?”Mika sighed. “He's got a list of aliases as long as my arm, but as far as we can tell, that's his real name. We've talked to his mother.”Ah. Somehow after everything that happened Mika had held on to her notion of love – that a person who was loved, fiercely and unconditionally, couldn't be fundamentally rotten, that someone else's love negated the lack of humanity. It was the kind of conviction that was both liability and salvation.Kiriko had had that same notion.
After her death, Raizo locked the guilt and the love away and trained harder than any of his brothers and sisters. His thoughts strayed no further than the next lesson, his body taut with the need to atone, although he would not let his mind know what part he should regret. He pushed himself, always waiting for something to happen, to break.He knew, as he caught Ozunu watching him, that there was little time left. Destiny was going to force a choice sooner rather than later and Raizo would be ready.
“This man doesn't deserve your pity,” Raizo said over tea. Mika took hers with too much sugar.“It's not pity, you know.” She looked determined to convince him of something, but maybe she was too subtle or the idea simply too foreign, because Raizo felt unaffected. “Everyone deserves justice. We can't prove that he killed that girl, not conclusively.”He heard the implication: that Raizo had killed, and done so with no remorse; that, if he deserved a chance at life, then so did this man, who still had the benefit of doubt on his side. But Raizo knew why she was here, asking for help despite her moral objections. Schmidt was as much a psychopath as any of the clan children, the difference being his unusual ambition. As a rule, people like them lived petty, often unremarkable lives. They made fairer tools than leaders.“Is he a better man for being able to afford the better weapons?”Maybe Ozunu had been like Schmidt, given a power he had no faculty to understand or wield with any sense of balance. In their hands, power was itself corruption, a blight seeping into everything it touched. Kiriko, who had been the most human out of all his brothers and sisters, had withered under it long before it killed her.Mika sighed, leaned her head back to stare at the open sky above them. She looked torn between two impossible positions. “Look, I don't want to be that person, I don't want to come here and ask a... a magical ninja warrior-” She waved her hands in a complicated gesture, too complex for Raizo to decipher. “-to do what the law couldn't do.”“And yet, here you are.” It was a statement of curious fact, not a taunt, but Mika frowned anyway, folding her arms around herself.“Here I am. Which, by the way, is going to drive Brian nuts if he finds out. He still thinks you're going to either kill me or turn me into your creepy ninja bride.”Raizo sipped at his tea to hide the upward curl of his mouth. “I have no intention of killing you.”She smiled and Raizo took that as a victory. “So, what are we going to do about Schmidt?”He shrugged. “I can't make that decision for you. I'm not good with moral judgments.” He thought about Kiriko and allowed himself to feel the guilt and the loss, for a moment. He did not trust himself to make the right choice.“You got there in the end,” she said. Tapping her cup absently, she was miles away with her thoughts.
Ozunu took him aside a few days after the lesson about balance and lightness. His feet were still sore, but thanks to Kiriko they were no longer bleeding. The scars he would probably have all his life, burned into his skin like the best lessons.He expected a scolding for letting Kiriko soothe him. “Do you know why we do what we do? Do you know the history of the clans?”Raizo shook his head, unsure of the answer. He had learned of the assassin prince, of the mercenaries and the poor men who found their calling in the unsavory, the shadows of war. None of that explained why he was here.“We are the nine. The clans each represent one of the kuji-kiri. We seek to understand the others in strife, to come into a fullness of being. Do you understand?”Raizo did not. There was only pain and death.
“I think he was insane,” Raizo said, later, as they trudged through the ruins of his former home. Mika shot him a sideways glance, a small smile on her lips, teasing him for stating the obvious. “I think they all are. They're corrupted. They convinced themselves that they had some higher calling, a sacred mission to be carried out by killing indiscriminately.”“And they corrupt their stolen children in turn.” Mika shivered and Raizo wondered if it was the cold.“That bothers you, doesn't it? Taking children that would not be missed, children with no futures?”Mika rolled her eyes. “Not much of an improvement, if you ask me.” She sounded glib, but there was an edge to her expression.“What do you want to do about Schmidt?” She looked almost relieved to change the topic back to her own personal demon.“He's a danger to society the longer he's allowed to continue his business. He's protected by too many powerful people who like to make use of his ruthlessness and the law can't touch him.” She was trying to convince herself, Raizo already knew all this.“What does Agent Maslow think?”Mika grimaced. “He's given up on the case, got drunk, and told me in many words not to try anything stupid like seek you out to put a hit on Schmidt's head. But he doesn't have any better ideas either.”“And you?” They had done this before, played this game twice, with a serial killer targeting young children and a mafia boss too well protected to convict. The difference with Schmidt was that his crimes, awful as they were, had not involved murder until very recently.She sighed. “I think I- how could I live with myself if he killed anyone else? And he will, I know that, he's a time bomb with a short fuse.”“You want me to take him out.”Mika turned away from him, her arms crossed in front of her. “No, I don't want that. But it's necessary and you have to do it.” There was something more in her voice than just the guilt and confusion of a moral impossibility. When Kiriko had asked him to leave with her it had had much the same feeling.Although he had learned many important lessons since then, Raizo still didn't know what the right answer was, so he went with what was familiar. “I'll do it.”And in that instance he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
To cut the roots of a potted tree was at once a dangerous and a necessary task. There was always a chance that the shock and upheaval would kill the plant, but without such action, a slow withering death was inevitable.
|
193152
|
Borrowed Robes
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "Toshiko Sato, Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Willow Rosenberg, Stephen Maturin, Hermione Granger, Angela Spica, Marshall Flinkman, Jack Bristow",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by Prochytes",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-05-01T00:00:00",
"words": "23,304",
"Additional Tags": "Action/Adventure, Crossover",
"Relationship": "Willow Rosenberg/Toshiko Sato",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Torchwood, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Master and Commander - Patrick O'Brian, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Authority, Alias",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/F, Gen",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
1. The Wrong CoatIn which Marshall Flinkman recoils in surprise.As a child, Marshall Flinkman had nursed two great enthusiasms. The first of these had been for “those electric boxes with the keyboards” which Flinkman Senior, with typical accuracy, had confidently predicted would “never amount to much”. The second, however, had been for detective stories.His taste had been catholic, embracing Raymond Chandler and Jacques Futrelle with equal ardour. His special love, though, had been for those tales where some small but evocative incongruity was the loose thread on which the hero pulled to unravel the puzzle. The Second Stain. The Speckled Band. The Queer Feet.The Wrong Coat.It was a bright Sunday lunchtime in L. A. when Marshall first beheld the Wrong Coat. He was sitting in a park, feeding the ducks. The irony of someone in his particular line of work actually doing this was not lost upon him, but he found it therapeutic, all the same. Going post-modern seemed, right now, a better alternative to going postal.“You’re certainly letting that baguette know who’s boss.”The voice was English, female, and a touch hesitant. Marshall looked up with a start from the bread-stick which he had been vigorously wringing as he indulged the fantasy that it was the neck of Agent Bradley Saunders. In doing so, he saw the Wrong Coat.The Wrong Coat was being worn by an Asian woman in her early thirties, who had taken a seat on the bench beside him. She was short and slim, and the slightness of her frame was largely responsible for the Wrongness of the Coat. It was a heavy, military jacket, many sizes too big for its current wearer. The sleeve flopped down almost to her fingers as she gestured at the bread in Marshall’s hand.“Blowing off a bit of steam?”“I guess.” Marshall took a swig from his water-bottle, and slapped at the back of his neck, where he had felt a sting. Early for mosquitoes; just his luck. He continued with uncharacteristic asperity: “Do you know why I like ducks? Ducks’ll appreciate anyone who gives them food. And the chances of them telling you to write eighteen status reports like a glorified office-boy when you should be doing… other stuff are small to non-existent.”APO had recently undergone internal restructuring. Which had brought the customary fall-out of this happy event: longer hours; a slightly more garrulous job description; and no pay-rise. It had also brought the elevation of Agent Bradley Saunders to the giddy heights of Marshall’s line manager.If Agent Bradley Saunders had any understanding of computers, engineering, cryptography, or information synthesis, then Agent Bradley Saunders did a great job of hiding it. He was, however, copiously well-informed about Ergonomic Management Structures and Rightness of Fit. This seemed mostly to take the form of how Rightly Marshall was Fitted to spend hours drafting mendacious memos to the Feds about the nature of APO’s activities, while R&D languished unregarded.No such details, of course, would pass Marshall’s lips in casual colloquy with a stranger. When you ran tech support for a Black Ops division of the CIA, conversations about work were best left in the realm of generalities. Without an exit visa.But it was harmless to masquerade as a harassed desk-jockey. Hey, it would be suspicious if he were a white-collar drone in the U. S. of A. who wasn’t pissed at his boss. The Englishwoman smiled, a little nervously. Marshall picked up the vibe that she was not someone to whom chit-chat came easy.“Drafting pointless memos. Rings several bells. I think that we are going to get on rather well, Agent Flinkman.”Marshall’s lack of much in the way of actual field experience meant that he had seldom felt that moment of vertigo as the bottom dropped out of a hitherto innocuous conversation. But a little went a long way, and he was feeling it again now. He swigged at his water, and fiddled nervously with his collar-button.“I don’t recall mentioning my name. And I don’t know where you’re getting this ‘agent’ business from. Er. I mean, do I look like James Bond? Well, maybe I could pull off Woody Allen in that spoof one – which sucked by the way, David Niven or not – but still…”“Your discretion does you credit, Mr. Flinkman,” spoke another voice, “but for all that, it must needs yield place to celerity.”Marshall looked behind him to catch a glance at the speaker. The newcomer was a middle-aged man, almost as small as the woman fidgeting beside Marshall, but Caucasian, and distinctly less easy on the eye. A pale, reptilian gaze stared out from beneath sparse hair. His dress was neat and formal, but otherwise unremarkable.“He’s right.” The inhabitant of the Coat put out a restraining hand as Marshall tried to rise. “We have something very important to tell you.”“We do at that.” The small man nodded. “The…” His pale eyes widened. “The Diving Plover,” he resumed in a cold, quiet voice, “is not to be found in California.”“Huh?”“Already? They’re here already?” The woman tried to pull Marshall to his feet. “We have to move. Now.”“Why?”“Because of that.” She pointed at one of the web-footed recipients of Marshall’s largesse, slightly larger and different in colouration from its fellows. The air shimmered. For a moment, it seemed to Marshall as though he were sitting in a court-room and reality, under cross-examination, had just changed its testimony.It had looked like a duck. It had quacked like a duck.It wasn’t a duck.2. The Problem of Cell 47In which Agent Flinkman discovers the perils of geeks bearing gifts.“I think you ought… to know,” Marshall wheezed, “whatever you’ve been told… I don’t really covert much myself. I’m more the cause of covert in others. Hence… no busting out of guns or elite martial arts skills at this point.”Joe Public was doing the screaming and panicking civilian thing, running away in undisciplined fashion in all directions. Unlike Marshall, who was a pro, and so was running away with dogged determination and a fixed velocity. He chanced a glance back over his shoulder.“What the hell is that thing, anyway?”“Long story,” the woman gasped. She looked in a bad way. Sweat pasted her black bangs to her forehead as she strained to match Marshall’s pace under the weight and bulk of her cumbersome coat (why hadn’t she just dumped it?). Her colleague saved all his breath for locomotion.“But it’s the size of a person! And those teeth! How did it make itself look like a duck?”“It was… glamoured. A disguise, to let it get close to you without, well, all this.”“It’s gaining on us.”“I know. Is that a main road?”“Huh? Yeah.”“Great. Follow my lead.”The woman darted straight out into the midst of the cars. The next few seconds featured some prestissimo orchestration of man, woman, Big Pursuing Bipedal Thing With Teeth, brake, hooter, and expletive which Marshall profoundly hoped never to experience again as a participant. The woman’s breathless voice somehow rose above the cacophony:“You see, something’s making things like that stronger, tougher, and smarter, but you have to be really smart – comparatively speaking – …”The Thing, intent upon its prey, did not spot the oncoming lorry until it was too late.“… to handle L. A. traffic.”*****Marshall, heart-rate finally slowing to normalcy, peered out of an alley at the clean-up. From what the lorry-driver was saying to the street-cops, he seemed to be under the impression that he had hit a deer. Anyone hoping for a haunch of venison road-kill, Marshall reflected, was in for a surprise. Behind him, his two new acquaintances were speaking in subdued voices.“I’m not up to this, Stephen. Who am I fooling? Pretending I know what to do. Playing dress-up.”“Hush, my dear.”“There could have been deaths in the pile-up I caused. Do you know what I would have said to my people, if they had been that irresponsible?”“I have a tolerable store of profanity, as befits one so long associated with the Service. I believe that I could hazard a guess...”“In the Hub, all that I can crash is a computer.”“And you are not in your Hub now, so you will do what you must. I desire that you will not top the Hamlet, my dear, and sickly resolution o’er with the pale cast of thought.”“I suppose so…”“Capital.” The man turned to Marshall. “Do you see anything of interest, Mr. Flinkman?”“Not really. Well, unless you count the four guys with semi-automatics and flak jackets…”“UP AGAINST THE WALL, NOW!! YOU TOO, LADY, I WON’T ASK TWICE…”“… but they’re with me.”*****Jack Bristow was not best pleased to be called into APO on a Sunday. What he saw when he entered Command Centre only fuelled his displeasure.“Agent Saunders…”“Yes, sir?”“Why do we have two detainees in the same cell?”“They don’t know that it’s under surveillance.” Agent Saunders pointed at a monitor. “We hoped that they might spill more to one another while they were waiting for someone to show.”“Did they?”“Well… no. The girl talked to the older guy about the Incas. He told her about Pezophaps solitarius.”“About what?”“We think that it’s a kind of bird, sir.”“I see.” Jack’s gaze riveted itself to the monitor. “Is that MARSHALL going in there?”“Well yes, sir, you see…”“ALONE?”“They said that they would only talk to Agent Flinkman. By himself.”“And you decided to play along with this, Agent Saunders?”“With all due respect, sir, there are three armed guards outside the door to that cell. The two of them are what, two hundred and fifty pounds between them, soaking wet? Even Agent Flinkman isn’t going to be overpowered by that pair before he gets back-up. We subjected both of them to full-spectrum scans as soon as we got them in. Neither of them was carrying any form of electronic, mechanical, chemical, or biological agent.”“Full-spectrum scans.” Jack sighed. “Interrogation went a lot more smoothly when we had less electrons and more electrodes.”Agent Saunders made a sound which Jack was fairly sure was meant to sound like an obsequious chuckle to his ears and a giggle at the outdatedness of the Bristow-saurus to everyone else’s, and continued:“Agent Flinkman made some of the same points you did, sir, but I decided that it was time-critical that they were made to talk. Some aspects of what Agent Flinkman said when we brought them in were… unusual. To say the least.”“OK, we’ll play it your way. For now.” Jack leaned in closer to the monitor. “Let’s hear what they have to say for themselves.”*****“Hi again,” said Marshall. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The young woman and the older man stared back at him. Neither was easy to read. “I’m sorry that my people had to go all, like, blitzkrieg on your asses. I think that you two want to help me, somehow. But the fact of the matter is, you two know about us. That tends to make espionage types a little jumpy.”“Your response was quite understandable.” The man regarded Marshall thoughtfully. “How, if I may ask, did you summon your allies? You did not leave our sight at any point.”“It was his collar-button, I bet,” said the woman. “You have some sort of transmitter in it, don’t you? That was why you started fiddling with it when I said your name.”Marshall nodded. “Uh-huh. It’s a distress beacon. Designed it myself, in fact.”“That, if you don’t mind my saying so, is seriously neat.” The woman leaned forward, eyes aglow. “It’s so small! I don’t think that even I could…” She caught herself abruptly.“…make one like that?” said Marshall. He stood, and began to pace up and down. The woman eyed him warily. “There was a look on your face, when we were talking. Sort of pensive, but harried? Like you kept expecting someone to ask you something? I was wracking my brains for why that look was so familiar. And then I remembered where I see it.”Marshall stopped, and turned back to look at her. “In the mirror. You’re like me, aren’t you? Someone’s little tame techie.”The woman flinched, but said nothing.“You might as well admit it now, you know. You really aren’t going anywhere.”“Aren’t I?” The woman smiled a bright and genuine smile, the first that Marshall had seen from her. “Is that a challenge? Do you think that you’ve built a cell I can’t escape from?”“This is one of the most secure rooms in one of the most secure installations on the planet.”“We were hoping that you would say that.” She cocked her head on one side. “Sleep.”The older man was already in motion, and caught Marshall under the shoulders as his eyes rolled up and his legs buckled. The woman darted around the table and then (or so it seemed to the watchers in the Command Centre) peeled back the skin at the base of his neck, to remove a capsule. This she threw at the door, a split second before the guards outside, at Jack’s barked command, attempted to burst in. And failed.“Door.”“What the hell is that?” Jack whispered as he stared at the screen. A line of light, thin as a paper-cut, had sliced the air in Cell 47. It widened into a prismatic oblong, about the size of a doorway, into which the older captive deftly pulled the unconscious Marshall. Both men disappeared.The woman in the absurd coat, now alone in the cell, was scrutinizing the walls and ceilings, and whispering under her breath.“wherewouldtheyputthecameraswherewouldtheyputtheahyesofcourse…”She looked straight up into the camera, and gave it a small, tight smile.“Hi. In case you’re wondering, what I just did sealed this room pretty thoroughly. Even with power tools, your people won’t be getting in here any time soon. By then I’ll be long gone.“Agent Flinkman is safe. Well, safer with us than he is with you. There are… things coming for him, but they can’t reach him where we’ve taken him. Not yet, anyway.“When I go, the door I’ve opened here will shut, but it will leave a weak point. You won’t be able to follow us – but the things we are fighting might, if they could get into the room. For Mr. Flinkman’s sake and your own, I’m begging you not to let them.“As for what’s coming… well, I hooked up a computer on a time-delay to upload all the intel we have on the enemy to your mainframe. It should be with you within the hour; use it well. Please believe me when I say I’m very sorry that it has to be this way.“Good-bye. And good luck.”The woman darted, coat flapping, into the oblong of light. It narrowed again to a paper-cut behind her, but did not altogether disappear.*****“Sir?”Jack Bristow turned. One of the new recruits at the monitors gulped nervously.“Well, son? Spit it out.”“Sir, you really need to see what we’re picking up on the external monitors…”Jack looked. His jaw tightened.“I’m ordering lock-down. Get tactical mobilized and reporting to me at the double. I want people analysing what the hell just happened in Cell 47, and someone keeping an eye on incoming data in case Little Miss Pied Piper was on the level. Anyone with a spare moment can go find Agent Saunders a sword to fall on.”3. A Romance of Many DimensionsIn which Agent Flinkman looks for answers and (much to his chagrin) finds them.The surface beneath his fingers was almost aggressively uninteresting. He had been expecting the smoothness of stone, or the crumble of soil, or even a modest carpet. All he was getting was tactile beige.Still, when you’ve just come to in an unknown locale, you can do a lot worse than uninteresting. Marshall opened his eyes.He was lying in the corner of what seemed to be a small room. All his clothes were present and accounted for. His jacket had been taken off and bundled so as to cushion his head. Marshall sat up, and looked around.Interesting had just been waiting its turn.He was sure that he was in a small room. Beyond its dimensions, though, he would have been hard-pressed to confirm or deny very much about it. The colour of the walls, for example, was utterly beyond his ability to apprehend; the more he tried to concentrate on them, the more his attention slipped away. It was as if corner-of-the-eye had set up camp all over his field of vision.Marshall took a couple of deep breaths. OK. Lone Agent in Hostile Territory. But that was cool. After all, he had the experience of very nearly several actual missions to guide him. Um. What would Sydney do in a situation like this? Marshall reviewed the possibilities, winnowing out the ones that involved kickboxing, fluency in Swedish, or wigs. He decided to make with the reconnaissance.The room did not seem to have a door. At least, not all of the time. So Marshall left through the door-way. Old riddle, of course, but one which, in his present surroundings, had an odd sort of point. It was hard to determine what bounded what in this place: whether the doorframe defined the hole in the room that was the door-way or the door defined a wholly empty space around itself. Maybe it was both at once.Marshall stole along what felt like the idea of a corridor. Presently, it reached a junction. Both branches turned round corners after a short distance. It was not possible to see at once where each ended.From the right, Marshall thought that he heard the sound of someone speaking, and of running water. From the left he heard only billowing and a slow, insistent susurration. Better to take his chances with the voice.Beyond the corner, the corridor opened up into a large room. The chamber itself shared the curiously indeterminate quality of the other architecture. What it contained did not.The room was dominated by an altar. Candle-light flirted with its angular façade. A huge prayer-wheel flanked it on either side.In front of the altar knelt a young woman. She was short and slight like the jay-walking techie with the Coat, but pale-skinned and red-haired. Marshall could not see her face, which was turned towards the altar.“Eryishon, Endless One, my obeisance to you. Through thee I know the might of Might. For all A, let B equal cosine Z open bracket…”The prayer-wheels stuttered into motion. Tears of something like mercury trickled down the altar’s face, to patter and pool in a hollow at its feet. The red-haired woman continued to recite. Finally, after over a minute, she came to an end:“…over F factorial. Amen. Shantih Shantih Shantih. Whatever.” The prayer-wheels juddered to a halt. The woman seemed to study them intently, frowned, and tapped away at what Marshall could now see was a lap-top on the floor in front of her.“Mr. Flinkman. Hi.” Without turning around, the woman raised her head. “Tosh said that you should be up and on the prowl about now.”“Hi.” Marshall shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “Um, miss… If you don’t mind my asking a personal question…”“Shoot.”“Are you a houri?”“Huh?”“This place… the religious symbolism… your computer… Am I dead? Is this Techie Valhalla?”The woman giggled. “I’m no houri. I’d have to be way more cleavagy, for one thing, and I’m darned sure that there’s a minimum height requirement. Houris aren’t Norse, either.”“I can afford to be ecumenical. It’s my funeral.”“Well, you’re not dead. Be with you in a moment; I just have to finish something.” The woman craned over her lap-top. “It’s good that you found your way here so quickly. The topology of this place has been playing up a bit. Of course, Tosh maintains…”“Tosh?”“Toshiko. The woman who brought you here. Small lady; big coat? Tosh believes that this place’s internal dimensions are infinite. I don’t. We’ve been fighting it out for ages.” The red-head chuckled to herself. “At last, a foewoman worthy of my steel. She thinks that she has me on the ropes in the tenth and I’ve got nothing left, but there’s some cutting-edge work on Hilbert Space methods up my sleeve which is going to knock her clean out of the ring.”“Doesn’t anyone know how big this place is for sure, then?”“We don’t. We just built it.” The woman seemed to be frowning. “Sorry for the sports metaphors, by the way. It’s conceivable that I sublimate aggression into intellectual over-achievement.”“Uh-huh.” Marshall started edging back into the corridor. And yelped, as he encountered something sharp, metal, and pointed.It was a pair of garden shears, held by a teenaged girl who seemed to be experiencing the Tunguska Event of all bad hair days. Marshall eyed her warily.“Hello,” she said, “are you Mister Flinkman?”“Yeah.” (Does she know that her hair looks like that? Am I supposed to mention it? Is this some kind of psychometric test?)“Fantastic. It’s great to meet you.” The girl stuck out her shear-less hand, which Marshall shook. “I tried pruning the Map,” she shouted to the woman at the altar.“How did it go?”“It’s like a mangrove swamp now, I’m afraid. I’m going to have to use a machete instead.”“I think that Stephen put one in the Armoury.”“Great. See you later, Mr. Flinkman.”The girl disappeared around the corner. Marshall scratched his chin.“Is she, er, one of your operatives too?” he asked. The woman was clicking down the lid on her lap-top.“Well, we don’t really go in for ‘operatives’ as such here. But, yeah, I guess that you could say she is.”“She seems very young.”“She is. But she can look after herself. She’s a witch.”“A witch. I see. She thinks that she’s a witch. Great. And this doesn’t bother you at all, does it? Her, er, ‘witchcraft’?”The red-haired woman turned. Marshall took a step backwards as he saw his reflection drowning in the tar-pits of her eyes. No white; no iris; no pupil. Just black.“No.” Beneath the complete ebony of the woman’s gaze, her smile was rueful, and almost sad. “I can’t really say it does.”4. The PhrontisterionIn which the forces are displayed.“OK; that’s it. I’m leaving. Stop the world; I want to get back on.”“It’s the eyes, huh?” The woman in front of the altar pursed her lips. “I’m sorry about that. It can’t be helped when I have to, uh, exert myself beyond a certain level. And things could be worse. I could be veiny, which is not good news for a Willow. Or for much else, apart from blue cheese.”“LET ME OUT OF THIS MAD-HOUSE RIGHT NOW!”“This is no mad-house.”One of the walls of the altar-room now stood in for a door-way. Three people stepped through it. One was the small techie, Tosh. The second was a dark-haired individual Marshall had not seen before. The part of his mind that had not altogether surrendered the Houri Theory noted that she was much taller and more generously built than Tosh or the red-head, but the smile on her tan face had an air of wholesome efficiency about it which did not suggest the imminence of sherbet.The third, knocking the Theory on the head altogether, was the man Tosh had called Stephen, who had just spoken. He held Marshall’s gaze as he advanced into the room.“You stand in no Bedlam, Agent Flinkman - quite the opposite. If I understand the work of my colleagues aright, what you see here is one of the noblest monuments that the human intellect ever raised to honour itself – and one of the most desperate. It is like the Love of Mr. Marvell – a strange cussed canting sophistical wretch to be sure, but one who could turn a phrase upon occasion – ‘begotten by Despair, upon Impossibility.’”“Very nice. Very, um, poetic. But what the hell is this place?” Marshall gestured at the altar. “You’ve got mercury running down the walls, for chrissakes.”“That’s not mercury,” said the tall, dark-haired woman reassuringly.“I’m very glad to hear it. Do you know how poisonous…”“It’s blood.”“Huh?”“My blood.” She smiled again. “I’m Angie, by the way.”“Marshall. And I’d prefer that to ‘Agent Flinkman’, if it’s all the same with you. Since it looks like I’m going to be here for a while, we might as well make a start on the Stockholm Syndrome.”“You’re a guest, not a hostage. But we’ll come to that in a moment.” The tall woman, Angie, gestured vaguely around the room. “Toshiko Sato and Dr. Stephen Maturin you met in L. A., although I guess that there wasn’t really time for introductions. The altar-girl here is Willow Rosenberg…”“Hi again.”“which just leaves Hermione Granger.” Angie scratched her head and frowned. “Where is Hermione, anyway?”“She went off to trim the Map,” said the red-head, Willow. “We may have to send a search-party.”“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be ok.” Angie did not sound convinced. “Anyways, what we are basically, Marshall, is a group of like-minded individuals.”“‘Like-minded’ how?”“We like being alive. And we’d really like to stay that way.”“So how does this place fit into that? And how did you pull that number in APO, anyway?”“I think that’s rather poor, I must say. I told you how you caught us. It’s only common politeness for you to tell me how we caught you.”Marshall turned. Tosh smiled back at him – the open smile that she had only managed in L. A. when he had seemed to assert that there was a puzzle she could not crack. Geek reciprocity. He felt oddly touched.“Oh… Jenny English is setting me a challenge, is that it? Let me see…” Marshall, a creature of habit, began to pace. “I passed out when you said ‘sleep’. Either you had already subjected me to some pretty extensive brainwashing beforehand – which I’m thinking and hoping that you didn’t – or you did something to me in the park which caused it.” Marshall stopped. “Uh-oh. When I was talking to you, I wasn’t looking at my water-bottle, was I?”“That you weren’t.”“So, the good Doctor here,” Marshall gestured at Stephen, who favoured him with a small bow, “slipped me a – is this right? – associative-responsive Mickey Finn.” He stopped. “That is beyond cool! In a freaky, psychologically invasive way, of course.”“Isn’t it just?” Toshiko was almost hugging herself with delight. “Bio-engineered toxin that wraps around your synapses and waits for a verbal trigger.”“How the hell did you manage that? My people would kill – through the proper channels, and with the right paperwork – for something like it.”“Long story,” interjected Angie. “Let’s just say that Tosh’s associates don’t shop locally.”“That doesn’t explain everything, though. There were still three armed guards outside that cell. I’m guessing that you two didn’t take them out with the kung-fu, and you sure weren’t carrying anything when you went in. I designed those scanners myself.“Except… Of course. They didn’t scan me – and it wasn’t a mosquito that stung me in the park. Capsule attached to the neck with a fake-flesh covering administered once again by Dr. Maturin – am I warm?”“Well done.” Tosh tried to resettle her coat on her shoulders.“So, what was in the capsule?”“An unusual organic compound. It’s brilliant. Apply it to most plastics, like the ones in your doors, and it digests them, leaving a solid matrix that’s almost as hard as steel. Your boys couldn’t get in.”“I see. But how did you two get me out?”“Ah. There, I admit, we cheated a bit. Having our friends scry on us and open a trans-dimensional portal to our location wasn’t exactly fair play. But I never said that I was John Dickson Carr.”“Trans-dimensional portal. Scrying. We’re pretty much back where we started.” Marshall looked at Tosh. “What is this place?”“Long or short version?”“Let’s try the short.”“The Phrontisterion. The Think Tank. The product of stable and sustained Rift manipulation, effected by running Hark-Rosenberg-Sato equations through a cybersemiotic arcanotech interface on a quantum altar.”“And now let’s try the long.”“There’s a phenomenon we know as the Rift. It represents the utter chaos and dissolution of conventional spacetime. A clot in what Angie’s people would call the Bleed, the arterial wall between universes.”“Sounds like something to avoid.”“It is. But that would currently be quite hard, actually.”“Why?”“Because we’re standing in it.” Tosh fiddled with her sleeve, and frowned. “This is a very big story, Marshall Flinkman. And like another big story, it began with a Fall.”5. All Her EnginesIn which a foreign dignitary drops in on Cardiff.As the wind howled past her ears, she focussed on the city burgeoning beneath her. The sharp ache of system diagnostics told her that flight was not an option. Too much had been scrambled by the battle, and by the wild energies of her expulsion. Might as well catch the view, then, in the scant seconds left before the view caught her.It looked beautiful. Cities always scrubbed up well for the night. No matter what raddled old whores they were by day, it was a different story with their glad rags on: street-lights flaunted like jewels, varicose alleys veiled by the dark. Even now, plunging from the heavens with her notional wings aflame, she felt the wince of jealousy. So gorgeous and seductive… how could any woman ever compete with that?Elsewhere, greedy fingers strip the sky. It comes away in great swathes, pleating the planets and the stars, to expose the rotting blackness behind. Heaven is dismantled for the parts.Odd that it should end this way. She had fought so many fights, solved so many problems, with the world for her stage, six and a half billion groundlings to gape at the show. Now, thanks to one crack-head who could only shoot straight when it was at a vein, she was going to die in the dark, on someone else’s Earth.And no one would even see.*****“We have incoming.”In the perpetual twilight of the Hub, Toshiko Sato watched the world outside distil into numbers trickling down her screens. She glanced up as Captain Jack Harkness moved to look over her shoulder.“Talk to me, Tosh.”“OK. It’s small – about man-sized – and in free-fall.”“A satellite, maybe?”“I don’t think so.” Tosh’s fingers crawled across the key-board. “I’ve traced its back-trajectory, but it only appears on the equipment… here. It’s fallen out of the Rift.”“Then it’s ours. Get me the point of impact.”“Done.”“Good. Gwen and Owen won’t have far to go to collect it.”*****The SUV pulled up a little way from the crater. Owen Harper was disappointed to note that a crowd had not had time to gather. Fulminating at the incompetence of civilian authorities was a treasured perquisite of his profession, and you couldn’t rant at people who weren’t there yet. It was scant consolation that his colleague, who had already slipped out of the passenger-seat, was wearing tight trousers tonight and would probably have to bend over at some point.“Do we just go up and look at it, then?” Gwen Cooper tried to keep the gingerness out of her voice.“No reason not to. The SUV’s sensors aren’t picking up anything toxic in a quarter of a mile, beside that shitty scent you bathe in when you want to give lover-boy a hard-on. His luck’s in tonight, I take it?”“It’s our anniversary. Not that it’s anything to you.” Gwen advanced cautiously towards the crater. “Or that I need perfume advice from Mr. Alien Old Spice.”Sensors notwithstanding, Gwen was relieved to see no evidence of Stuff That Glowed: the one nigh-infallible mark, in the former PC’s experience, of Bad Shit from Beyond the Stars going down on the banks of the Taff. She peered over the lip of the crater. Owen saw her eyes widen and heard her quiet intake of breath.“Owen, you really need to see this…”*****“OK, time for a quick physical. Let’s see if she injured herself when she fell from heaven.”“You can be a proper pillock at times, Owen.”“Come on, how often does anyone get to say that when it’s true?”Two voices: a man’s and a woman’s. The man’s was clearly English – cocky and abrasive and so much like… The woman’s had a lilt she did not recognize.She flinched as firm hands touched her, but their pressure and movement were clinical, almost reassuring. She fought up through the layers of muzziness and groaned.“Can you hear me?” The woman asked.“Uh-huh. I feel like… like something big and mean just hit me.”“Pretty close. It was Cardiff. Try to relax.” The woman addressed her colleague. “Are they on their way?”“Yeah. They should be here any minute… speak of the devil.”“That’s no way to talk about your boss, Owen.” Another man’s voice, American this time. “Hi, Gwen.”“Hi. This is weird…”“This is Torchwood. Buck-naked girls raining out of the sky is part of the job description. And I go down on my knees every night to thank the God that makes it so. Is she awake, Owen?”“She’s slipping in and out.”“I see.” The other man was hunkering down beside her now. “Welcome to Cardiff. I’m Jack. You’re in safe hands.”“You’re… not Jack.” She focussed, with some difficulty, on the figure beside her. “You’re wearing shoes.”“It’s a quaint Welsh custom.”“Are you guys… cops?”“We’re outside the police. Think of us as a higher authority.”Angela Spica smiled, and passed out again.6. After the FallIn which the ghosts of ghosts trouble the cogitations of Torchwood Three.“It makes you think, doesn’t it?”Behind Tosh’s back, Owen’s face assumed a look of what he probably thought was heroic martyrdom. Gwen fought the urge to giggle, and cleared her throat.“What do you mean, Tosh?”“This whole scenario.” Tosh moved around the chamber to consult a different scanner. The even breathing of the woman from the crater, safely installed on the central table, showed that the Hub’s Autopsy Room was not living up to its name right now. “The fall from Heaven – it’s so archetypal. You can plot it across mythology. Tech brings transgression. Transgression brings a fall. Daedalus entails Icarus.”“Mulciber.”“I’m sorry?”“Mulciber.” Jack, standing near the table, looked up. “Milton’s riff on Hephaestus, and how the Greeks got it wrong when they said he fell on Lemnos: ‘nor did he scape By all his engines, but was headlong sent With his industrious crew to build in Hell.’”“Not Lemnos, but Hell.” Owen puffed out his cheeks. “Pretty much sums this place up, doesn’t it?”“Au contraire, Dr. Harper. Hell is drier, and it has less sheep.”“I wouldn’t have put you down as a Milton buff, Jack,” said Gwen.“Paradise Lost is my bed-side reading. Where would we be without Sin?”“Wow.”“What’s that, Tosh?”“Well, first off… This is a Code Six.”“Another one? Like our guest downstairs?”“Uh-huh. Incursion from an alternate Earth – not a shadow of a doubt. The residual energy traces are unmistakable. But that’s not the ‘wow’ part. The other thing is seriously cool.”“She always says that; and yet, it never is.” Owen swaggered over to the scanner. “Why don’t you stop the intellectual prick-teasing for once, Tosh, and cut to the chase?”“Fine. This woman has no blood.”“Something to drink, Owen?” Ianto Jones had Jeevesed in with the coffee. “It’ll wash down that humble pie a treat.”“No blood? That can’t be right.” Owen glared at the monitor. “What the hell is that pumping through her veins, then?”“Oh, she has circulatory tissue. But it isn’t blood.”“So what is it?”“It’s… that is to say she has…” Tosh dropped her gaze. “She has nine pints of liquid nanotech instead of blood.”“Thanks for the heads-up, Tosh.” Jack lifted his gun and pointed it at the unconscious woman’s head. “I’m going to kill it now.”Tosh moved to stand in front of the barrel. “I can’t let you do that, Captain.”Jack smiled the wide perfect smile that Gwen had learned to fear more than anything from the Rift. “Are you defying me, Toshiko? Do you remember what happened the last time you did that?”Tosh flinched, but stood her ground. “Last time I was wrong. This time I’m not.”“Hear her out, Jack.” Gwen took a place by the smaller woman’s side. “And before you start painting this as a Peasants’ Revolt, it isn’t. This is perspective. What you hired me for, remember?”“What’s to hear? It’s from another Earth. It’s an ex-human with machine traits…”“And she hasn’t been cybernized. Look at this.” Tosh pointed at the monitor. “What we’re seeing here is man-machine fusion on a level way beyond the Cybermen, Jack. This woman bears about the same relation to them that they did to Long John Silver.”Ianto mumbled something inaudible, and hurried out of the room. Tosh took on the stricken expression she always got, Gwen reflected, when her brain had just caught up with her mind. She tried to move after him, only to run into Gwen’s restraining arm.“Let him go, Tosh.”“But…”“What are you going to say to him that hasn’t already been said?”Tosh held her gaze for a moment; then reluctantly nodded. “Fair enough.” She turned back to Jack. “The level of the tech’s not proof positive, of course.”“Too bloody right it isn’t,” Owen interjected. “How do we know that she isn’t just the next stage in their evolution? Cyberbabe 2.0, for the customer who knows what he wants?”“Because she isn’t from the right Earth.”“Huh?”“After the last Code Six, I refined some of the old software that was salvaged from the Battle of Canary Wharf.” Tosh moved to a workstation, and brought up a couple of running programs. “Do you see? The residual energy profiles of different universes are quite distinctive. The one that the Cyberarmy came from looks like this; but the traces on our friend downstairs look like that; and the ones on this woman are different again.” Tosh lifted her chin, and met Jack’s eyes. “I’m not saying that she isn’t a potential danger. But she isn’t a Cyberwoman.”Jack nodded. “OK; you got me. I’m sorry, Tosh. When a guy feels threatened, he tends to reach for his weapon.”“And with the conversation safely back in the gutter,” said Gwen, “I’m going to call it a night.”“What?” spluttered Owen. “You can’t just leave now when…when…”“ …when everyone’s talking about parallel universes and nano-blood? Yes I can, Owen.” Gwen hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder. “I can walk out of all this right now; go back to my flat; eat the home-cooked coquilles St. Jacques waiting for me there; and – yes, Owen – sleep with my fiancé. I can, and I have to, because the biggest parallel universe we have to worry about is the one that’s right here beneath Cardiff. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m Perspective Girl. And this is my Vanishing Point. Page me if you need me, Jack.”“Will do, Gwen.”“I liked her better when she was wet behind the ears,” Owen muttered to Gwen’s departing back.“Snows of yesteryear, Owen. Live with it.” Jack turned to Tosh. “So then, what can this girl’s nanotech do? I’m assuming that she didn’t have all her blood replaced because she was, like, totally wasted and someone dared her.”“It’s hard to tell.” Tosh frowned. “The tech is unlike anything in our experience, and it took a knock when she did. But I think that it… makes things.”“What sort of things?”“Potentially, almost anything. At the moment, if I’m interpreting the readings correctly, it’s handling self-regeneration and tissue repair.”“She’s healing?”“I think so. That may explain why we found her naked in the crater, if some of the capacity is usually dedicated to clothing her. But when it’s running at full, she might be able to create pretty much anything she can think of.”“Now, that opens up possibilities. Owen, do you think…”Jack stopped as Ianto burst back into the room.“Sir, we have a problem.”“What is it?”“The Weevils.”Owen snickered. “Formed a union, have they?”Ianto stared back at him. “Like you wouldn’t believe…”7. Notes from UndergroundIn which a doctor is consulted.His cell was some distance from the others, for obvious reasons, and several solid doors were kept firmly shut between them. It would not do for there to be a mishap. Otherwise, the plexiglass-fronted cubicle with the ventilation holes was outwardly similar to all the rest.Tosh’s steps rang hollow along the corridor. When she reached the cell, she found the spare figure of its occupant already standing, hands crossed behind his back. The two contemplated one another gravely for a moment until Tosh stifled a smile.“What diverts you, Toshiko?”“It’s nothing. Sorry. I was just thinking that you are so lucky to come from an Earth where people can still eat Fava beans and swill a big Amarone without any baggage, Stephen.”Stephen Maturin’s brow furrowed. “I do not quite apprehend your meaning, my dear.”“I hope you never do. Eating people is wrong, take it from me. No matter how well they’re sliced and diced. May I come in? ”“Please do so.”Tosh glanced around the chamber. Columns of books shadowed its well-appointed interior. “How is your reading going?”“It proceeds with some alacrity. Indeed, the pace is a little too precipitate, I find.” Stephen gestured towards an armchair, on which Tosh perched herself. “Hypotheses propounded – refuted – revived, with variation, decades later… At present, I regale myself with the sagacious observations of Mr. Faraday and his successors, and the notion of the ‘disembodied field’. When the study of an hour comprehends the advances of a century, the progress of natural philosophy takes on something of the picaresque, where the sudden reversals of the narrative dizzy the contemplative intellect.”“Yeah, Maxwell’s equations are a bit of a plot twist. I won’t spoil the big quantum surprise for you.” Tosh bowed her head. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to move you again, Stephen. Sorry about this. It’s bad enough that the Code Six protocols have kept you quarantined so long…”“You are very good, Toshiko, but your concern is superfluous. My surroundings are a matter of singular indifference to me. And while the croissants of Cardiff will not bear comparison with those to be had in the Temple Prison under the tyranny of Buonaparte, the company of my present custodians is much preferable.” Stephen stretched his legs. “Does the perturbation of the… other inmates account for this change of policy?”“You’ve heard them?”“It would be a sore travail to do otherwise. Listen now, for all faith.”Beyond the door at the end of the corridor, Tosh could make out a muted, monotonous thudding.“These Cyclopean forges have laboured in earnest for above an hour. What vexes your ‘Weevils’ so, my dear?”“We don’t know. Ianto was doing a routine check on the surveillance monitors. He saw that they were all throwing themselves against the doors of their cells, again and again, in – and this is where it gets freaky – perfect synchronicity.”“Fascinating. How I long to have one such specimen upon my table.”“I wish that everyone shared your enthusiasm.” Tosh shivered, huddling down into her form-fitting leather coat. “Suzie, a woman who… used to work here, hated Weevils. She thought they showed what the Earth really was: a mouldy little thing, crawling with vermin, in a universe of unknowable wonders.”“I see. And what do you think, Toshiko?”“I…” Tosh looked away. “What I think isn’t really important.”“Humour an old man who has sadly misplaced his own Europe.”“I think that wonder is where you find it. That things don’t get sexier because they’re out of focus. That the unknowable deserves to be known, and that the only way you can discover the fundamentals that govern what you can’t see is by looking as hard as possible at what you can.” Tosh stopped, and coloured furiously.“Which is why, my dear, you have what your friend Suzie did not: the soul of a natural philosopher, whose goal is ever to see the small in the great, and the great in the small. in tenui labor, at tenuis non gloria…. The din has abated.”So it had. In the sudden silence, Ianto’s voice hissed low and urgent in Tosh’s earpiece: “Tosh, you have to get Dr. Maturin and yourself back upstairs right now.”“Why?”“The Weevil situation just…”Neither Stephen nor Tosh had heard the sound of a dozen sets of reinforced plexiglass walls exploding simultaneously before. What happened next was therefore a first.“… escalated.”8. Divers AlarumsIn which bonds of amity are forged in the crucible of panic.Tosh hurried back into the heart of the Hub, Stephen in tow. It was at once apparent that Torchwood protocol was still being observed. The obligatory blame-storming session was already in full swing.“… my arse, tea-boy. What sort of steroids have you been putting in their feed?”“Tosh, Dr. Maturin,” Jack moved to greet the two arrivals, “hi. We’d welcome your thoughts on how a dozen Weevils all got strong enough to smash our cell walls at once. Against the advice of my doctor,” he glanced back at the middle of the room, where Owen and Ianto were eye-balling each other, “I don’t think it’s because they’ve been eating their Scooby Snacks.”“This is… bizarre.” Tosh settled into a chair to catch her breath. “Weevils aren’t anywhere near powerful enough to break the plexi-glass.”“That’s changed.” Jack indicated a monitor. “Slowly but surely, they’re punching their way through our blast doors. Right now, they all hit like a Androgum who’s just found you sleeping with his sister.”Tosh looked enquiring.“Long story.” Jack rubbed his jaw reminiscently. “Let’s just say she was worth it…”“I still say it has to be the food,” Owen paced across the room. “If Tosh can tear herself away from the Imminent Victorian for a sec, we can…”A high-pitched klaxon sounded. Ianto gave vent to something Welsh and profane. Owen frowned. “What the hell was that?”“The Mum’s Birthday alarm.” Ianto was scanning another screen.“The what?”“After our run-in with Bilis, I realized that we’re sometimes up against things that can get in the Hub without using the doors. And out.”Ianto stared at Jack, who returned his gaze with a bright smile. Ianto lowered his head again, and resumed: “Anyway, I reconfigured the security systems to detect anything that tried to pull the same sort of stunt. The Mum’s Birthday alarm. For things that always creep up on you unawares.”“Bloody hell, Ianto, you and your poxy names for things. It’s got an infernal screech to it, and all.”“Well, I considered using the Mexican Hat Dance, Owen, but we would all have mistaken it for your ring-tone.” Ianto looked up. “We’re reading eight…”“Eight?”“… eight intruders. They’ve appeared down below.”“With the Weevils? Someone should have packed an A to Z.” Owen smirked. “Nothing like having one problem sort out anoth…”A muffled boom shook the room. Owen winced. “Me and my big mouth.”Jack joined Ianto at his station. “What just happened?”“We lost our blast doors. It wasn’t the Weevils. The intruders must have forced them open.”“I see.” Jack drew his gun. “Lady and gentlemen, we will shortly have company. Dress to impress. Dr. Maturin, please step into the Autopsy Room.”The first wave took the familiar shape of four Weevils. What slathered after them into the main Hub, however, was something new. Slightly bigger than the Weevils, it looked like a crocodile half-way through swallowing a live hyena. There was a moment of silence, as five sets of feral eyes focussed on a single point.“What are they staring at?” whispered Ianto as he looked back at the object of their gaze. Who swallowed nervously, and cleared her throat.“Um… I think that would be me…” said Tosh.Jack took aim. “Open fire.”Whatever had enhanced the strength of the Weevils had also done wonders for their resilience. It swiftly became clear that several clear shots were needed to down one. The Torchwood team found themselves being forced back across the room, the three men doing their best to block their assailants’ path to Toshiko.Tosh herself found her perceptions tearing into discrete drops of panic. The thing at the back jumping on Owen, the two of them going down together beside a work-station. Ianto accounting for a Weevil as it charged him, only to be slammed against the wall by its body. A claw smashing against her wrist, knocking the gun out of her hand. Herself defenceless, a Weevil flanking her on either side, as Jack rose from despatching one of their comrades. Jack raising his own gun against her assailants, but not even he could down both of them before…Three shots rang out. The unknown creature’s head exploded. Both of the remaining Weevils dropped.Jack scratched his head, and looked up at the two figures silhouetted against the doorway to the Autopsy Room.“Sleeping Beauty picked the right moment to wake up, I see. Nice work splatting hyena-head, ma’ am. Where did you two get those guns?”Angie shrugged. “I made them. Just now. Normally I would have gone for an automatic, or a rocket launcher, but I’m not quite myself yet, and I wouldn’t want to smear you guys across the scenery.”“See?” said Tosh excitedly. “I told you she makes things!”“Roll over, Blue sodding Peter,” came the somewhat muffled voice of Owen. “And speaking of rolling over, could someone get the cold meats counter here off of me?”“That was good shooting,” said Jack, as he hefted the carcass away from his medic, “but I’m curious, Doctor Maturin. There were two Weevils on Tosh. How did you know which one I’d be gunning for?”“It seemed a reasonable supposition, Captain Harkness, that you would target the larger, as presenting the greater threat.” Stephen advanced into the main Hub, and helped Ianto to his feet. “I therefore followed the sound doctrine enunciated by a naval gentleman of my acquaintance, and chose the lesser of two Weevils.”9. Flotsam and JetsamIn which strangers on a plane compare notes.“Will this hold them back?” grunted Ianto. He, Jack, and Owen were hauling the largest available filing cabinets across the entrances to the main Hub. Owen shrugged.“Wouldn’t have thought so. If they can get past the blast doors, this little lot should be a walk-over. Might slow them down, though.”“Things still don’t add up. If they want…” Ianto darted a look behind him, and lowered his voice, “if they want Tosh, and they can teleport, why don’t they just appear in here and grab her?”“Teleportation is dicey,” Jack lowered one of the cabinets into place. “You have to be very sure that the terrain you’re going into hasn’t changed from what you expect. Otherwise, you pop back into occupied space, maybe fuse with something like this…” he patted the box, “and, suddenly, ‘buns of steel’ isn’t a metaphor.”“So what’s their play, sir?”“Best guess? The first wave was speculative: seeing what we’ve got. The next one won’t be as easy.”“Oh well,” Owen slammed another cabinet home, and grinned, “I never was one for the nursery slopes, anyway.”Across the room, Tosh and Stephen, whose physical exiguity excused them both from furniture detail, were listening to Angie. “… so, my people are basically our Earth’s peace-keepers, operating out of the Carrier.”“Which is?” prompted Tosh.“A sentient ship, fifty miles wide and thirty-five deep, powered by a caged baby universe, cruising the inter-dimensional Bleed.” Tosh whimpered quietly, making Angie look up at her, “are you ok?”“No worries,” said Owen, trying not to drop a stand on his foot. “I think that you just gave Tosh her first orgasm of the year.”Tosh glared at Owen, and resumed: “But if your… Authority is so powerful, what went wrong? Why did you crash-land on Cardiff? On our Cardiff?”“The Terrene Horde.”“The what?”“The Terrene Horde. A bio-engineered army, brewed by the Murder Colonels in the Birthing Vats of Zissel’ Teng. Since before World War Two, the Horde had been squirreled away in cryo. Then, a couple of days ago, something woke them up.“The Colonels designed the Horde to be an army of super-soldiers. Strong, fast, tough… your basic economy-class meta-mook. Thousands of utterly subservient goons, all linked by a docile hive-mind.“They should have been another day at the office for my guys. But something was wrong. The Horde were orders of magnitude more powerful than they should have been, and their hive-mind had somehow gotten smart. And focussed.”“On what?”“On me. You would have thought that they would be more preoccupied with, e.g., the guy who could kill them by looking at them, or the girl who was ripping off their heads with her feet…”“That’s what I love about this job,” said Owen, sotto voce, “the characters you meet.”“… but no dice. They stopped at nothing to get to me, and we were being overwhelmed. I tried to open a door back to the Carrier, so that the others could regroup, but it didn’t work. Something – something powerful – was blocking access to the Bleed.“Things were getting worse and worse. In the end, the Doctor…”“What did you say?” Jack twisted away from the makeshift barricade to stare at Angie.“The Doctor – our shaman – cast a spell that was supposed to shunt me somewhere safe.”“A spell?” Tosh’s nose wrinkled. Jack turned back to his work.“Does the idea of magic upset you, Tosh?” Owen smirked. “Next you’ll be telling me you don’t believe in fairies.”“Anyway, the Doctor did manage to transport me, but I didn’t wind up anywhere safe. I found myself in mid-air, plummeting towards this Earth’s take on Cardiff. And on my own, I can’t get back.”“That is absolutely fascinating,” Tosh breathed. She looked at Stephen, who had been following the account with equal attention. “I think that we have the explanation for what happened to you, Stephen.”“How so, my dear?”“Dr. Maturin,” Tosh turned back to Angie, “is from an alternate Earth too, one with somewhat unusual characteristics. I think that his native spacetime abuts what we call the Rift. In our universe, the Rift’s proximity causes involuntary time-travel. Where Stephen comes from, though, it seems to produce generalized temporal dilation instead, like a scar pulling at the healthy skin around it. His Earth has only reached the early Nineteenth Century, for example. And there are other… oddities.”“As I have said before, Toshiko, I believe that that you state your case with undue vehemence.”“I don’t think that she does, Stephen,” said Jack. “From what you’ve said, your Earth crams way more into its years than they should be able to take. Your 1812 wasn’t an overture. It was the Ring cycle.”“Anyway,” Tosh resumed, “it was still puzzling us what brought Stephen here. One minute he was happily bird-watching not far from his Llantrisant…”“Reports of the Bearded Tern, unattested hitherto in that vicinity…”“… the next, he was whisked to the middle of our Cardiff. Bit of a culture shock, as you can imagine, but Dr. Maturin is a very adaptable man. That FAQ which Gwen put together for our accidental tourists didn’t hurt, either.”“Girl had to be good for something besides pouting and lilting. Ouch.”“I’m sorry, Owen; was that your toe?”“But the thing is this: even if the Rift does exert an influence on Stephen’s Earth, there’s no evidence that it’s ever created a bridge from there to ours before. Our manifestation of the Rift only accesses distant points of this spacetime. It doesn’t open up alternate realities.“I think – and this is just a hypothesis, you understand – that when Angie was shunted out of her home dimension, the Rift, for want of a better word, ‘caught’ her. But that catch sent ripples through the Rift itself. Because the Rift tangles up time as well as space, some of the fall-out happened before the event that prompted it…”“… and so Dr. Maturin’s appearance four weeks back was actually the prequel to Miss Spica’s tonight. Brilliant.” Jack smiled.“Brilliant or not, we’re still in the shit.” Owen kicked a shelf into place. “We’ve got two trans-dimensional castaways we can’t send home. Oh yeah, and the local mega-vermin are all pumped up with a taste for techie. Not to mention their teleporting mates downstairs and whatever the hell that other thing was.”“I suspect, Dr. Harper, that our woes are yet more substantial than you suppose.” “Do what?”“The concinnity between Miss Spica’s account of herself and our present plight is most suggestive.” Stephen inspected his gun with a critical eye. “If I understand your narrative aright, Miss Spica…”“Call me Angie, please. Anyone I’ve already handed hardware can take intimacy as read.”“… Angie, your problems began when creatures that share a collective will evinced unusual prowess and strength of purpose?”“Yeah.”“And this purpose was the destruction of yourself, disregarding your colleagues?”“I can see where this is heading, Stephen,” Angie frowned, “and I don’t like the destination one bit.”“Agreed.” Tosh had turned pale. “The same pattern – replicating itself across realities. What if…”The rest of Tosh’s question petered out at the sight of the barricades melting.10. Unexpected PatronsIn which little salvation is found from wood or steel.As the manufacture of furniture fondue went, one could not help but admire the tempo. It was neither so slow as to leave any doubt about what was happening, nor so fast as to prevent a good view of the Daliesque distortions it entailed. The handles of the filing cabinets curved into sleepy, drunken grins as they collapsed.Owen, who was standing nearest, had expected the figures disclosed by the viscous barricade to be more Weevils, or further rejects from The Garden of Earthly Delights. He was therefore disconcerted to see seven men in what looked like long dresses. Transvestites, in Owen’s experience, were not life-threatening (unless you counted that unfortunate misunderstanding in Pontypridd, which had been down to vodka and poor pub lighting). Then it struck him that they were probably cultists, which were an entirely different kettle of fish. His finger tightened on the trigger.The weirdo in the lead waved the piece of wood he was holding, and barked a word. Owen’s gun flew from his deadened hand. The weirdo grinned. “You muggles and your guns,” he said.“This from a man holding a dildo.” Owen’s forehead connected with the cultist’s nose. He went down, blood spurting. The next in line flourished his own stick, and whispered something that hurled Owen half-way across the room. He crawled over to join the others behind a desk.“OK, guys; you’ve got my permission to waste these losers with extreme prejudice.”“Wish we could,” said Ianto. “Whatever he did took out our guns too.”“Bollocks. Can the human Argos catalogue whip us up some new ones sharpish?”“Working on it,” hissed Angie. “I’m tired, and hurt, and slow right now. I can’t even manifest my own armour.”The seven men advanced into the room. The one in the lead, still clutching his nose, focussed on Stephen with a look of recognition which was becoming all too familiar. He smiled; pointed his stick at the world-lost doctor; and said something which to Owen’s incredulous ears sounded a hell of a lot like “Abracadabra”.The air shivered for a moment. Nothing else happened. The man with the broken nose looked puzzled.Hi guys. Nice little Killing Curse there, by the way. Your average over-the-counterspell would have had serious trouble bouncing it. Good thing my mo-jo’s prescription.“Show yourself, witch.” The man in the lead brandished his stick.“And now an invisible American chick is wittering in our heads. Do you have any sodding clue what’s going on here, Harkness?” asked Owen.Jack shrugged. “None at all. Sit tight until something explodes.”My. What a big wand the gentleman has. Don’t really dig wands much myself. Thank you, Dr. Freud. The trouble with wands is this: every last sprig of ’em remembers what it was like to be a tree. And it’s not that hard to jog their memories.The men in robes gasped with pain. Blood blossomed from their hands as the sticks they were holding grew thorns.They’re all yours.“Too bloody right they are.” Owen started to rise, until he felt the pressure of Tosh’s grip on his arm.“I don’t think she was talking to you, Owen.”In the middle of the room, air and darkness were shrugged off of slender shoulders, to reveal a girl in her late teens with messy brown hair. There was a stick in her right hand. It showed no sign of born-again verdure.Stephen, Angie, and the home contingent retained enough presence of mind to duck as the girl raised the stick. Her voice put Latin through a mangle and pushed out sheets of silk, which swiftly cocooned the disarmed men. They toppled over, feebly twitching.Jack whistled. “Now, there’s a girl who knows her way around a wand.” He rose, slowly and carefully. “Hi, miss. We come in peace. Well, I come in peace and these guys hide behind desks, but I think you’ll agree that they’re doing a pretty pacific job. Where’s your telepathic friend?”“Here.” Beside a nearby chair, a small, red-haired woman blew out the candle in her hand. This act somehow made sense of the fact that they had been aware she was there all along, much as one might suddenly find one knew all the lyrics to a song heard in childhood but decades forgotten. Owen’s brow creased as he tried to cope with the mnemonic vertigo.“I was numbing you to my presence,” the red-head explained. “Undetectability on a shoestring. We can’t all have borrowed cloaks of invisibility. Time’s short, so I’ll keep things simple. This is Hermione…”“Hello.”“… and I’m Willow. We’re witches from two different alternate Earths, and we brought munchies. I’d say more, but I’m going to be busy passing out.”The red-head swayed, and crumpled to the floor.11. How to Steal the SkyIn which anagrams and ceilings bulk surprisingly large.“You know,” said Ianto, a little indistinctly, “until today, I never realized that the ‘alien tech’ Torchwood is supposed to catalogue could include confectionary.” He swallowed one bean and started chewing on another. “Mmm… Welsh rarebit. Do you have any idea what came over your friend?”“She’s exhausted.” Hermione was watching Owen and Stephen as they tended to Willow. “Magic takes a lot out of her. Getting us here, working that counter-spell, and knocking out those other toothy things they had in reserve down below was all just too much. She should be better soon if she gets a chance to rest.”“You seem to be fine, though.” Tosh frowned. “Does… witchcraft work differently for you? Is that why you have a wand and she doesn’t?”“That’s right. On my Earth, no one has practised the Old Ways, like Willow, in almost two and a half millennia. They come with a pretty hefty price-tag.”“Wow, Hermione.” Willow had opened her eyes, and was propping herself up on one elbow. “Things are looking up. You just put together a whole sentence about the way I do magic which didn’t involve the word ‘parasite’.”Hermione’s lips thinned. “The wizards of my Earth spent centuries learning to work their spells with less and less expenditure of force. A wand isn’t a lever. It’s more like a conductor’s baton, guiding the universe through a score we know it understands.“In the demonic playpen Willow calls home, however, magicians concentrated on harnessing ever more power to make the Old Ways work. When they don’t find enough in themselves, they take it from elsewhere. Spirits. Books. Other people. Architecture.”Willow sighed. “I’ve already apologized for doing that.”“The ceiling of the Great Hall was more than a thousand years old.”“Twice.”“Hogwarts: A History called it a ‘feat unequalled by modern thaumaturgy’.”“And what’s the point of a ceiling that mirrors the sky in England, anyway? Were they afraid you kids would forget what rain looks like?”“It took all the four founders nine months to put the magic into it. And you ten seconds to suck it dry.”“The ceiling was the nearest viable thing I could harness that didn’t have a pulse. Opening a fire-escape from your reality was one of the hardest workings I’ve ever tried.”Willow looked at the puzzled expressions around her, and struggled into a sitting position. “It was like this. There’s a spot on my Earth called the Hellmouth. It’s a planar nexus, a huge case of inter-dimensional incontinence. We’re used to it spewing out random badness on a regular basis – that’s pretty much what it’s there for – …”“Tell me about it,” said Jack. “Do those beans really taste of anything, Hermione?”“Anything that might end up in your mouth.”“I like the sound of that.”“… but it had started seriously fritzing, so I went to investigate. Turns out that the Hellmouth had been inflamed by wizards on a different Earth prodding it. They were conducting rituals to find out why everyone in their reality had just lost the ability to teleport…”“Apparate…”“… teleport, and their spells were probing neighbouring dimensional anomalies to see what was wrong. Unfortunately, I happened to be close to the Hellmouth when ‘probing’ switched to ‘groping’. One minute I was skipping around in Sunnydale, California, happy as a lamb on happy pills, maybe even indulging myself in a little gambolling on the side. The next, I was sitting in the middle of a warded circle in Alt-UK, eyeballing some guy’s hem-line.”“Which was a shock; take it from me. That spell shouldn’t have been able to summon anything. And we’d expected the instrument of all our woe to be less ginger.”“Anyway, Hermione’s people were none the wiser about what was blocking their teleportation, and they couldn’t think of an easy way to send me back. I was on the verge of becoming… upset. At that point, though, some of Hermione’s old friends crashed the party.”“Old friends?” said Angie.“Death Eaters. See this?” Hermione pulled strands of silk away from one of the captured assailants. On the man’s forearm, there was a glowing tattoo, in the shape of a human skull with a snake for a tongue. The proleptic mummy gave a muffled groan. Hermione kicked him. “It’s called the Dark Mark.”“‘Dark Mark,’” Owen sniffed. “Your Earth’s got a Ianto too, then. What does it mean?”“Means that the recipient belongs to a cabal of dark wizards.”“Bar-coded villains,” put in Willow. “We could do with a piece of that down my way.”“The Dark Mark also established a rudimentary empathic link between those wizards – the Death Eaters – and their master. Until now, that is.” Hermione looked up. “But Willow and I think that someone else…”“…just hacked the empathic network?” Tosh interjected. “Used it to wrest control of the Death Eaters from their old boss? Made them harder in the process?”“How did you know that?” Hermione stared narrowly at Tosh. Jack noticed that the body language of both women had shifted. Hermione drew herself up and lost her bibliophoric hunch. Tosh folded her arms and resettled her reading glasses on her nose.“There’s been an awful lot of that happening around here,” said Tosh. “Call it pattern recognition.”“Well, you’re right,” Hermione nodded, in a rather wary fashion which did not entail breaking eye-contact with Tosh. Jack was reminded of someone bowing before a judo bout. He grinned, and went back to searching optimistically through the bag of beans for a pink one.“The Death Eaters made an all-out assault on Hogwarts, my school, just as everyone was trying to work out what had happened with Willow,” Hermione continued. “They’d tried attacking the school before. This time, though, things were different. None of the more powerful Death Eaters had come, for one thing, let alone You-Know-Who…. er, sorry, I mean, um….”“Voldemort,” interjected Willow, “their leader. And you can stop giving me that look, Hermione. Names kinda lose their scare-value after your first attempted deicide.”“Now, Volde… their leader doesn’t usually get his hands dirty anyway, but it was odd that none of his lieutenants had turned up, either. My theory is that the really strong ones were able to resist whatever hijacked the Dark Mark, and that they must be holed up with their master somewhere wondering what just happened.”“Which is a nice thought,” Willow giggled. “I doubt that Tom Marvolio Riddle is a very happy bunny right now.”“Tom Marvolio Riddle?” prompted Tosh.“Voldemort.”“Oh.” Tosh’s lips moved soundlessly for a moment. “He calls himself LORD Voldemort, I bet. The anagram doesn’t work otherwise.”“That’s what I said.”“Cool. Um…” Jack sensed another dojo moment. “…who got it faster?”“Too close to call. You’re good.” Willow smiled. “I’d be interested to see what you’ve got.”Tosh smiled back. “Mutual. Um. So, Hermione, the evil mastermind and Araucaria fan has lost his grip on his minions. What exactly did they do? Who were they after?”“That was the bizarre thing. They were after me. And Willow.”“Not that bizarre, surely. You’re clearly a witch with a lot of promise,” Jack beamed at Hermione, who blushed, “and Willow is a dimension-hopping wannabe god-slayer. Yeah, people: I worked out what ‘deicide’ means. You don’t have a monopoly on smarts.”“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Thing is: neither Hermione nor me is really used to that kind of attention. Without going into yawny detail, we both hang with a Chosen One. Someone with a bad – possibly terminal – case of Destiny. When a master-plan’s afoot, it’s usually aimed at our friends. It’s a bit freaky to find ourselves dragged into the lime-light like this so that dweebs with wands can take pot-shots at us.”Willow sighed. “The Death Eaters stormed in, then, and tried to take the two of us out. They ignored anyone else who didn’t get in their way. Hermione tells me that rank-and-file Death Eaters tend to be clueless, but that these ones seemed methed up, somehow.”“Yes, they did.” Hermione shuddered. “The foot-soldiers are usually a bit rubbish, really. Unimaginative hex selection; no discipline; wand technique like… like…”“…. little boys writing their names in the snow?” offered Owen. “Don’t all act as though I was the only one thinking it.”“… but now they were sharp. Reactive. Focussed. It was looking bad.” The young witch sighed. “In the end, Willow and I decided we had to run somewhere they couldn’t reach.”“Where?” asked Angie.“Sunnydale, Willow’s home. Wizards on my Earth have never mastered planar travel, you see. Instantaneous transportation within one reality, yes; passing from one reality to another, no. You need the Old Ways to do a working like that, and it takes a lot of power.”“Which, luckily, I had. Even if I needed to steal the sky to get it.”“More than a thousand years old…”“Anyway, I thought that once we made it to Sunnydale, I could research a way to send Hermione home.” Willow rubbed her eyes. “Unfortunately, I felt the spell go screwy as I cast it. The wrong Earth pulled us in. The next thing we knew, we were in your Cardiff. And pretty soon after that, we got jumped by a Gronoc Demon.”“A what?” said Owen.“A that,” Willow prodded the hyena-crocodile carcass on the floor. “That’s not a prime specimen, of course. Usually more head and less dead. On my Earth, a firm called Wolfram and Hart used Gronocs as inter-dimensional FedEx. They’re sort of like demonic couriers. They can flit between realities at will and take things, or people, with them. I’m sure that it won’t surprise anyone here to learn that their other main feature is a kind of racial telepathy.“After Hermione hexed the Gronoc, I did some haruspicy to find out whether there were any others like it in the area.”“Which was revolting, by the way.”“Squeaky-clean sympathetic magic. I don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s very easy, too. Give me a nail clipping, I can find the hand. Give me a shoe, I can find the owner…”“Give her a demon’s giblets, she can find other demons. Revolting.”“So, when I sensed one underground right about here, we came to investigate. The rest is history. Or in the case of these guys,” Willow nudged a recumbent Death Eater, “tapestry. Nice work with the silk, Hermione.”“Wizards. Evil Anagrammatic Overlords. Trans-dimensional demons.” Jack sighed. “We need to think all this through, people. Owen, secure the Weevils and the Death Eaters. If you should happen to impair their chances of producing little Death Eaters in the process, so be it.”“I love my job.”“Everyone else, join me in the Boardroom.”Jack strode out of the main Hub. Behind him, Owen chortled; Death Eaters whimpered; and Stephen spoke in a low voice to a perplexed-looking Ianto:“… should be quite obvious to a man of parts such as yourself, my dear. Simply take the letters from I AM LORD VOLDEMORT and then…”12. A Little List In which they’ll none of them be missed…“Well,” said Willow, flopping back in one of the Boardroom’s chairs, “you guys work in the comfiest government conspiracy this small-town girl has seen.”“‘Government conspiracy,’ huh,” Jack followed suit and languidly rested his feet on the table. “The devilishly cunning line that we’re photo-sensitive agoraphobics running a hi-tech pizza delivery firm won’t fly, then?”“No dice. The whole exposed-pipe interior look is a big give-away.”“What can I say? At Torchwood, we like to display our equipment.”“I can tell.”“So, what have government conspiracies ever done to you, Willow Rosenberg? Your tone tells me this one isn’t your first.”“My second. If it helps any, yours is ahead on points. At least you guys don’t have a mad world-dominating cyborg stashed in your basement. And from the looks on all your faces, I’m going to move right along and pretend I didn’t just say that.”“Good plan.” Jack surveyed the assembled throng. The Boardroom was crowded. Torchwood Three had never been meant to accommodate this many people.Torchwood One had been where the dignitaries were entertained and suitably impressed, where Yvonne had worked the funding long con with that smile and that suit. Where the sun dragged shadows like a mop, now, across the stained floors nothing would clean. Jack blinked the thought away, and hoisted up a smile.“As I see it, here’s where we’re at. Anyone feel free to jump in, as long as you remember that I have jurisdiction and the biggest gun. Something, across at least four universes, is playing Pimp My Mook. It’s taking over shared consciousnesses for its own ends and making its new goons stronger and tougher when it does.”“How do we know that one intelligence is behind this, sir?” objected Ianto. “What if it’s just some kind of trans-dimensional hive-mind plague?”“An interesting hypothesis, Mr. Jones, but that zeal for combined endeavour which our foes have demonstrated tells against it.”Jack nodded. “Dr. Maturin’s right. Something’s orchestrating this. It’s using these demonic couriers to move its troops around, and it’s already playing mix ’n’ match. Death Eaters, Weevils… I wouldn’t be surprised if your Horde puts in an appearance soon, Angie.”Angie shuddered. “I sure hope not.”“What does the Terrene Horde look like, anyway?” asked Tosh. “You’ve never said.”“Like Godzilla’s love child by Mothra. Only smaller. And lots of them.”“Oh.” Tosh frowned. “The other thing, besides what Jack’s already said, is that people who should be able to teleport or move between dimensions aren’t able to do it properly anymore. Hermione… when you and Willow got to our Cardiff, did you try to teleport?”“Apparate…”“Whatever. Did you try?”“Yes, I did.” Hermione sighed. “It still doesn’t work. All my other spells have been fine, but I can’t Disapparate, even here.”“How did you two get into the Hub, then?” asked Ianto.“Hermione worked an Opening Charm on the front door,” said Willow. “Girl has a gift for house-breaking.”“So it’s not just your universe which seems to have a teleport block.” Tosh turned to Angie. “That fits what you said about the Authority’s fight with the Terrene Horde.”Angie nodded. “Uh-huh. All of a sudden, we were just cut off from the Carrier. Teleporting me anywhere took all the power of Earth’s own shaman. And even then, I wound up in the wrong place.”“Just like getting away from Hermione’s school needed Willow main-lining millennial foundation magic.” Tosh sat back. “But the Gronocs, and the Death Eaters, can do their thing just fine.”“No way is that a coincidence,” said Willow. “Whatever’s behind this isn’t stinting the mo-jo. And if it’s screwing up teleportation across the board, it doesn’t care who it pisses off. Sooner or later, someone like D’Hoffryn is going to notice that his girls have lost their Frequent Flyer Plan. And trust me: no one below the level of Major God wants to mess with the CEO of Vengeance Inc.”“Then the notion of ‘divide and conquer’ is not the sole possession of my single Earth,” Stephen steepled his fingers, “for surely against just such a policy do we stand arrayed.”“It does look like that, doesn’t it?” Hermione’s voice was hushed. “Something out there can move troops between universes at will. And as far as we know, no one else can reliably follow suit…”“So the bad guys play tag-team with our asses until they get what they want.” Angie frowned. “Can’t say I’m loving this scenario.”“That’s the question, though,” Jack resumed, “what do these guys want? From what we’ve seen, that looks like ‘heads on a plate’.”“But only the right heads. Most people they just try to ignore.” Ianto smiled slightly. “Even you, sir.”“Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed. Man, is that Evil Mastermind ever going to have some explaining to do.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “On one Earth, they were gunning for Angie. At Hermione’s school, they were after her and Willow. We’ve seen them ourselves trying to target Tosh and Dr. Maturin.“So we have to ask ourselves: why these people? And is Mook International hunting anybody else?”“Yes, they are, and I have the names.” Owen sauntered into the Boardroom. “You can call me ‘Owen “utter shagging genius” Harper’ now or save it ’til later, ’cos I don’t like to stand on ceremony.”“And how exactly do you know all this, Owen?” asked Tosh sceptically.“Because they had a shopping list.”“A shopping list?” Tosh wrinkled her nose.“You know how it is.” Owen tossed a roll of heavy parchment onto the Boardroom table and smoothed it out. “You’re setting out for the offie, so you write yourself a note to drop in at the supermarket while you’re at it, because you’re a bit peckish…”His finger stabbed at a name written on the parchment. Tosh’s stomach clenched as she read it.“…and you could murder a Japanese.”Ianto glared. “That’s not funny.”“Do I look like I’m laughing, Mr. Mop?”“Where did you find this, Owen?” Jack pulled the parchment over to himself and began to examine it.“That ponce who called me a ‘boggle’…”“He called you a ‘muggle’, actually.” Hermione moved around the table to look over Jack’s shoulder. “‘Boggle’ is a popular word game.”“That ponce who called me a muggle, then, had it hidden in his dress. And what’s a ‘muggle’ when it’s at home?”“A person who can’t do magic,” said Willow. “Or maybe an STD. One of the two. Wizards from Planet Hermione tend to talk about them the same way, so it’s hard to tell.”“My parents are muggles.” Hermione flushed. “Willow’s not being fair.”“But I’m being honest. What did you do with those guys, Owen?”“Well, first they Resisted Arrest until I got bored and let them stop.” Owen cracked his knuckles ruminatively. “Then I clapped them in proper restraints. Not that Miss Silk Bondage over there,” he nodded appreciatively at Hermione, “hadn’t done a good job of that already.”“Their wands?” Hermione prompted.“Locked away somewhere a long way from them and the Weevils. They’re also doped up to the eye-balls. Don’t want another jail-break on our hands.”Stephen frowned. “Interrogation, then, may prove troublesome.”“Funnily enough, Hippocrates, that thought did occur to me. I had a go before I gave them the meds.” Owen sighed, and pulled up a chair. “Eff all to say, the lot of them. It was like someone turned the lights off behind their eyes when I asked a question.”“Kind of like your girlfriends, really.”“Shut it, Ianto.”“Enough, you two.” Tosh drummed her fingers on the table. “The organ-grinder doesn’t want us talking to his monkeys. Makes sense. What about the Weevils?”“Stitched up; trussed up; sedated. I considered putting them out of my misery, but you and Gwen would have given me aggro unlimited for baiting my inner Care Bear. Then I went through the prisoners’ effects, as PC Cooper would say. That was when I found the list.”“The list.” Jack read aloud: “‘Angela Spica; Hermione Granger; Willow Rosenberg; Stephen Maturin; Toshiko Sato.’” He looked up. “It doesn’t end there, either.”“No, it doesn’t. And some of those other names are dead weird. I’d like to meet the mum who decided to call her kid ‘Abraham Sapien’. I mean, did she want the shit kicked out of him at school, or what? Bit bloody fishy, if you ask me. There’s some sort of funny code written beside all the names, as well.”“Let me see.” Willow peered at the parchment. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. It’s Endel-Chi, the sacral tongue of the Ravening Brethren in Second Mu.”“Second Mu?” Tosh’s eyes were wide.“Uh-huh. Founded after the original Mu was, er, eaten.” Willow shuddered. “Atlantis got lucky.”“Can you read it?”“Sure. The librarian at my high school taught me during lunch breaks. Have you ever come across the idea of spatial tenses?”“Modifications to the verb or predicate that define place in the way conventional tenses determine time. Yeah, it’s a cool idea.” Tosh smiled. “Some artificial languages use it.”“Not just artificial ones. The Ravening Brethren were there first. Endel-Chi can define position in ways no other language can manage as easily, including which universe something is happening in.” Willow sat back. “So, even though the Brethren themselves are long… er…”“Digested?” said Jack.“… folks who are into serious dimension-hopping – anyone managing Gronocs, for instance – still use it.”“The diplomatic language of those who walk the worlds,” breathed Stephen. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Would I be right in surmising, then, that the notes beside our several names betoken our present whereabouts?”“Good call, Dr. Maturin. In fact, they plot our trajectories.” Willow traced out the names, looking thoughtful. “Angie’s is kind of ambiguous. Even Endel-Chi has a lot of trouble with in-between places like the Bleed. But it still makes it clear that she started on one Earth – which I’m guessing is the one with Authority issues - and ended on this one.“Mine tracks me from my Earth to Hermione’s to here. Hermione’s is like mine, but a bit simpler, because she didn’t start out from Sunnydale. Dr Maturin’s just goes from what I presume is his home dimension to your Cardiff, and Tosh’s is the simplest of all, because she’s never left this spacetime.”“What about the other names?” asked Angie.“Well, I’m not familiar with the designations, but they all seem to be on different alternate Earths. And they’re pretty static; these guys haven’t been moving anywhere. Given the way things are right now, they probably couldn’t if they wanted to.”“While we hang together, they most assuredly hang separately.”“Nicely put, Stephen,” said Tosh, “although I doubt that Franklin had anything like this in mind.”“Don’t be so sure, Tosh. Old Ben had depths you wouldn’t believe, and you don’t know who was holding his kite.” Jack rose “So, gang, here’s the thing. We seem to have worked out something about our enemy’s methods and aims. It wants Tosh and our four guests, and it doesn’t care what it goes through to get them. We also have reason to believe that there are others out there in the same boat – or alternate versions of the boat that are even smaller and leakier. Which all leads back to the number one question.“What do we plan to do about it?”13. A Castle in the AirIn which Captain Harkness proves that he knows how to handle techies.“We have to run,” said Tosh quietly.Jack frowned. “I’ve no intention of going anywhere. Torchwood ass is pretty, Torchwood ass is very pretty,” Ianto tried not to blush, and failed with dignity, “but that doesn’t mean I’m itching to haul it away from the Hub.”“Not Torchwood. Us. Willow, Stephen, Angie, Hermione, and me.” Tosh bit her lip. “These things can track us, Jack; we’ve seen that from the Endel-Chi. They know we’re here, and I don’t think they’ll stop coming until we’re dead.”“Yes,” piped up Hermione. “We saw that at Hogwart’s. When one wave of Death Eaters failed, it was only a couple of hours before there was another. And another. Even after what…” Hermione glanced at Willow and dropped her head, “…what happened to the first batch.”“You see? We can’t go on endangering the Hub by fighting these battles here.”“I’m afraid that Tosh is correct, sir,” said Ianto. “We’ve already lost a full level of containment down below. At this rate, it won’t be long before the entire basement is compromised. And there’s stuff down there that could make the Bristol Channel a whole lot wider, if it ever got caught in any cross-fire.”Jack clicked his teeth with his tongue. “Can we be sure that they’ll be drawn away from the Hub if you guys make tracks?”“I think so,” said Hermione. “That was what happened at my school, anyway. The attacks stopped as soon as we left.”Jack stared at the witch. “And you know that how, exactly?”“I have a map. Look,” Hermione produced a sheaf of heavy parchment, similar in texture to the list of names, but completely blank. She touched it lightly with her wand in three different places. The pristine surface began to glow.“You know, I could have sworn the guy you borrowed that thing from said it was password-locked…” Willow murmured.“Um, it is, actually.” Hermione looked uncomfortable. “But I think that the passwords are a bit silly. Little boys saying ‘ooo; look at me; I’m so naughty’. So I worked out a way to bypass them.”“And you haven’t told your friends this, huh?”“No. They sort of hero-worship one of the men who made it, you see. He’s dead now. They wouldn’t like my tampering. And they still enjoy the naughtiness, so I don’t want to take that away from them. Boys should get to be boys. Especially if…” Her face clouded.“…especially if they might not get to be men,” Jack sighed and thought about the wars he had known, sometimes in stereo. “You’re too young to have to be that wise, Hermione Granger. So, you know origami. Show me your moves.”Hermione flattened out her parchment beside the List. The others craned to look at it. “What you are seeing is a floor-plan of Hogwart’s. The little moving dots with the names beside them are people.”“You can track individuals anywhere in that building with magic?” Tosh was wide-eyed. “That is so neat.”“Yes, it is.” Hermione glowed briefly with the practiced erubescence of one used to praise; then continued: “When the Death Eaters were invading, the Map was crawling with names I didn’t recognize. Or knew only too well. But now, the only people there are staff and students, just as it should be.” She looked up. “Not a Death Eater in sight. The Ministry of Magic must have moved the ones that were left off the premises.”“I think that clinches it, Jack.” Tosh hoped that her voice was steady. “We have to leave.”“And do what?”“Buy some more time to work out what’s going on. Maybe find a way of warning the other people on that list.”Jack nodded “Agreed. Like Ianto said, hosting Fight Night at the Hub is a gourmet recipe for disaster. And - wounding to my ego though it is to admit it - I suspect that right now, Tosh, you’re better off with our new friends than you are with us. But I’m not about to let you go running blind.” He flashed a smile at Ianto. “Mr. Jones?”“Yes, sir?”“I think you know what I’m going to need.”Ianto’s lips twitched. “Always, sir.” The Welshman imperceptibly withdrew. Jack paced for a little; then resumed:“If you guys just head for the hills – and hey, it’s not like Wales has a shortage of those – you’ll be delivering yourselves gift-wrapped to your enemy. Those things can track you, and it suits them to make you run, because they can always catch you. Keep the prey running; keep the prey scared. That was how Bilis beat us – putting us on the back-foot, conning us that we didn’t have time to think.” Jack looked steadily at the assembly. “What you need is a game-plan.”“And I suppose you have one ready-made, Captain Harkness?”“I have better than that, Angie.” Jack put his hand into his pocket, and then withdrew it. “I have this.”“A stop-watch?”“Knew a man once. Helluva guy. Could take your heart, Angie, with a smile and a nod – which was kind of unfair, him already having a spare and all. But that’s another story. Now, this guy made me feel a lot of things I’d never felt before, which was an achievement in itself. And among them was this: he could sometimes make me feel just a little bit dumb. Not a feeling I ever got used to… until I met Toshiko. And over the last few hours, I’ve been getting it a lot.”He pressed the watch. “Simply put – if the minds in this room can’t find a viable way to hide from Goons United and tip off the other lucky winners on that list before this timer runs out, I don’t believe anyone can. So, brains in gear, people. Clock’s ticking.”Angie scowled. “All you’ve got is a timer and a pep-talk?”Jack smiled. “Not quite all.”Ianto re-entered the Boardroom, carrying a tray laden with steaming mugs.“Oh my.” Angie’s eyes widened as she caught the aroma. “There is a God.”“Bloody hell,” whistled Owen. “Is that what I think it is?”Jack nodded. “Uh-huh. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ianto Jones and his Emerald Blend – coffee’s DefCon One. The man himself is too modest to comment, but I’ve heard it said that he had to travel to the producers in person and go through a fast, a riddle-game, and a bare-knuckle pit-fight before he was judged worthy to export it.”“I can well believe it,” breathed Stephen. “Hera’s perfume, indeed. May I?”“By all means, Doctor Maturin. Get drinking. And get thinking.”*****Stephen suited the action to the word. After a few ecstatic swigs, he brightened.“What is it, Dr. Maturin?” asked Hermione.“A notion; nothing more.” Stephen waved his mug. “Perhaps the merest paronomasia, fit to be set alongside that chicanery for which Davy Hume so roundly lambasted the Continental Schools. And yet… in such a setting, and with such forces at our disposal… Our foes can hound us throughout Creation? Throughout every Creation, for all faith?”“Seems that way,” said Angie.“Then why not seek a bourne beyond Creation? Why not look to your Rift?”“Wouldn’t work,” said Tosh, rather more loudly and quickly than usual. She too had been laying into the coffee with abandon; even Abaddon had not merited the Emerald Blend. “Definitely wouldn’t work. Almost certainly. It quite probably wouldn’t work.” She took another a swallow, and set her mug down carefully, eyes glowing. “It might work.”“Uhh… Tosh, hate to rain on your parade, especially as it’s already soaked in caffeine, but your Commanding Officer reminds you that opening the Rift is a Bad Thing.”“Big no-no, huh?” said Willow.Ianto grimaced. “Spatiotemporal disruption - Cardiff in chaos – me shooting Owen. But it does have its down-side, too.”“Heard that.”“Good.”“Bastard.”“I’m not talking about opening the Rift.” Tosh fluttered her hand irritably. “Since the End of Days, I’ve been working on ways to improve Rift stability. One of the more promising lines of thought was a plan to use our Manipulator to realign the Rift’s internal geometries. In theory, this would lead to the generation of an extra-dimensional Other-Space within the Rift itself. This construct, so far from destabilizing the Rift, would actually bridle its energies by focussing them on its own maintenance.”“How does that work, then?” asked Owen.“Like this.” Tosh picked up three coffee spoons from the tray. “Say the potential energy of each of these coffee spoons represents Rift energy. By itself, Rift energy only does one thing.” Tosh balanced a spoon on its end, and then released it to clatter on the table. “It expends itself –just as gravity makes the spoon fall down. But if you manipulate the internal dynamics of the Rift,” Tosh poised the spoons so that the bowls of each met at a central point, then left them balanced there, “the potential is used to maintain your own little wigwam. See?”“Cool,” said Jack. “So, why haven’t you put this plan into action?”Tosh’s face fell. “Even the simplest Rift manipulations need equations which are at the very limit of what I can do. I’ve practically had to invent three different sorts of geometry to get as far as we have. Maybe that old friend of yours could build the ‘Other-Space’, Jack. I’m not smart enough.” Tosh’s quiet voice made the last sentence sound like a dereliction.“But what if you didn’t have to work from scratch?” Angie leaned forward. “What if you could build on what someone else had already done?”“How so?”Angie rolled up her sleeve. “I’m going to have to interface with your computers. Is that ok?”“Yes; of course.”“Thanks.” Angie continued to talk, as silvery tendrils glistened from her fingers and worked their way into a nearby terminal. “Back on my Earth, there was a man called Hark. Think of him as the founder of Evil Masterminds Anonymous. Terror of the Occident, then Saviour of the World… and maybe the greatest mathematician my Earth ever produced.”A screen kindled into life. Equations sprouted and unfurled across its field. Tosh gaped.“Just before he disappeared in 1945, Hark was working on something. We don’t know for sure exactly what. My people tried to find out, but our Earth has something a lot like Torchwood too, and they got there first. What we salvaged suggests that he was investigating the possibilities of dimensional manipulation.“The Authority didn’t have much use for his work. Who needs DIY reality-tweaking when you’ve got the Carrier? But I stored the data in my blood, just in case it ever came in handy.”“Go you,” breathed Tosh. “This is glorious. It’s not exactly what I need, but as a base to build on….” She passed into a reverie for a moment, then shook her head in frustration. “It’s still not going to work. I have no idea what sort of processing power your Mr. Hark was expecting, but it must have been way beyond even what we have here in the Hub. With our present resources, real-time solutions for those equations just aren’t viable.”“‘Real-time’,” murmured Willow. She drained her mug, and made eyes at Ianto for a refill. “What about semi-real-time?”Tosh’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t follow you.”“Angie, you said your blood lets you make things? Anything you want?”“Pretty much. I’m still on diminished capacity, though.”“Could you make me an altar? Twelve cubits tall by seven deep?”“I suppose so. Are you planning to pray for solutions, Willow?”“Kinda. I’ve got an idea.” Willow sat back. “If you can build an altar to my exact specifications, I may be able to consecrate it to Eryishon the Endless.”“To who?”“A Power over alterity and possibility. Altars properly hallowed in his name extend themselves across possible universes. Now, the culty types who are into that sort of thing usually do it just to impress the neighbours. ‘Hey, dude, my dark patron has so much more occult bling than yours’. But I’m thinking that if we could key the configurations and reconfigurations of the altar to code a program…”“…. then the altar becomes equivalent to a quantum computer,” Angie drained one mug, and reached for another. “Potential processing power increases exponentially…”“…. so we can use it to solve the equations fast enough to restructure the internal geometries of the Rift…” Tosh was now bouncing up and down in a faintly unsettling way.“…. and thus create an undetectable haven outside Reality, by dint of naught but applied intellect. A veritable Phrontisterion.” Stephen toasted Jack with his mug. “The solution found, sir, and not a minute lost.”Jack grinned, and stopped the watch. “So, are you guys ready to get down and dirty?”“Not quite yet, Captain Harkness.” Stephen frowned. “I fear there is another consideration…”14. Meetings of MindsIn which the past looms larger than any Abaddon.Tosh glanced at Willow’s face. “Let me know if I’m going too fast for you.”“I’ve yet to meet anyone who could do that. But if the pace is killing you, and you want to slow up, you only have to say.”“Oh, I can do this all day. I just don’t know if you can handle it.”Willow smiled, and looked back at her own computer. “Watch me.”“Are those two fighting or flirting?” whispered Owen to Jack.“I couldn’t say,” Jack leaned back against a table, “but it’s sweet to see. Is it just me, or is it really hot when two insanely smart women lock frontal lobes?”“They are Alcides and Antaeus, miranturque habuisse parem.”“Not as illuminating as you were hoping, Doctor Maturin, but it’s the thought that counts.”“You are very good,” said Stephen absently. His pale eyes flickered across the room. “Mr. Jones no longer favours us with his presence, I find.”“Ianto?” Jack’s tone was light. “Oh, he’s just down below, doing some chores. That battle left one mother of a mess.”“Strange indeed if his documentary endeavours permit of any time for such exertion.”Jack looked sharply at Stephen. “What do you mean by that?”“Captain Harkness, your Hub has in recent hours found itself the host to a woman in whose veins every cell can play the Prometheus, to say nothing of two declared witches. It would be remiss in the extreme, sir, were these matters not relayed elsewhere with the utmost despatch.” Stephen sat back. “That, I suspect, is the nature of Mr. Jones’ present undertaking.”“You got me. Ianto is sending a report up to London.” Jack grinned. “You’re a remarkable man, Dr. Maturin. And if you’re just a medic back home, then I’m a eunuch.”Owen had drifted over to where Angie and Hermione were sitting together on the floor. Argent mist sparkled in the air above Angie’s outstretched hands, which slow, deliberate strokes from Hermione’s wand were sculpting into rococo shapes. The witch scowled at Owen as he approached.“Don’t come too close. This is trickier than it looks.”“Like I need procedural tips from a schoolgirl. Listen, sweetheart: I was fighting monsters before you were legal.”“Big deal. So was I.”“What the hell are you two making, anyway?”“An interface,” answered Angie. “Occult paraphernalia don’t come with a wireless connection. There needs to be a way for that,” she nodded towards the altar that now took up most of the Hub’s free floor-space, “to talk to your Rift Manipulator, once it’s ready. We weren’t sure how to do it, at first, but then Hermione hit on the idea of moulding the connexion out of electro-responsive mist and breezes.”“Suzie always used to say that you couldn’t solder an Abyss with Air.” Owen shook his head. “One more thing the silly cow got wrong.”“How are Willow and Tosh coming with the equations?” asked Hermione.“Pretty fair, as far as I can tell. Should be finished soon, if they don’t kill or shag each other first.”“You on top of this, Hermione?” said Angie, “I need a caffeine boost.”“No problem. I’ll keep it steady ’til you get back.”“Thanks.”Angie weaved through the clutter of the Hub. Owen watched her go. Hermione rolled her eyes.“Yes – Angie does have nice legs. No – she is not available. And from what she’s been saying, I think her boyfriend could kick your head clean off. Any other questions, Dr. Harper?”“Just one, then, princess.” Owen cocked his head towards Willow. “Why does California Dreaming over there scare you shitless?”“I… I don’t know what you mean.”Owen sighed. “There are three things in this world I’ve got a nose for: illness; fit women; and fear. They go together a lot more often than I’d like. You’re not scared of Weevils. You’re not scared of the Transvestite Assassins, Lord Anagram excepted. But you’re scared of her. Why?”“‘This time’.”“Do what?”“The first wave of Death Eaters, back at Hogwart’s. We were defending ourselves as best we could. Then one of them put a Sectumsempra right across the stomach of a Third Year. He hadn’t even meant to hit her; he was aiming at us. The poor kid was just standing there, blood welling across her robe and…“… and Willow changed. She did… things to the Death Eater. To all the Death Eaters. Things I wish I didn’t remember.” Hermione stared into space for a moment; then focussed back on Owen. “And when she’d finished, she shook herself; looked around at what she’d done; and said: ‘How many died this time?’”“Fucking hell.”“Now do you have any more questions, Dr. Harper? No? Good.” Hermione turned back to the mist. “I’m afraid I have rather a lot of work to do.”*****“There was this girl I knew. Rock chick.”Tosh snorted, but did not look up. “You sound like Jack. Friend of yours, was she?”“Not really.” Willow had not taken her eyes off her own screen. “Kind of, I suppose, at the start. But she took up Nemesis-ing, which can strain a friendship, even if there aren’t kidnap and ransom issues as well. There were.“Anyway, one day – this was before she picked up the keys to the Annakin-gdom, you understand - this gal mooches over to my best friend and says: ‘Hey, B., how about a friendly arm-wrestle?’ Well, my best friend is always up for a challenge, so a match it was. Seventeen minutes into the friendly arm-wrestle, the table collapsed.”“And your point is?”“My point is that we’ve established we’re pretty gosh darned Even Stevens in the computational stakes, and that we should probably take a break before we smash the furniture. Pax?”Tosh giggled. “Even in the UK, no one says that anymore.”“Someone should tell Hermione’s young men. Break?”“Break.” Tosh sat back, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re a tough customer.”“Takes one to know one.” Willow glanced around the room. “Your boss seems to be taking all this strangeness in his stride.”“Many have tried to weird out Captain Jack Harkness. All have failed. I don’t think it’s physically possible.”“Uh-huh. And you don’t want to let him down.”“I don’t. I can’t. Not…”“Not again?”Tosh started. Willow sighed.“No fun, is it, when you can’t look your friends in the eye anymore and say for sure you’ll never disappoint them?”“No” Tosh swallowed. “I’ve made too many mistakes lately. Let’s just say Hephaestus wasn’t the only one who ended up on Lemnos. Temptations were offered which I ought have resisted, but I was stupid, and weak, and… and flattered, I suppose. Flattered that anyone could think I was worth tempting.” Her lips twisted. “When you’re someone like me, it’s heady to be centre-stage. Even if the play is Faust.”“I know what you mean.”“I doubt that.”“Trust me, Toshiko. It may, I admit, take a marathon instead of a sprint for me to out-compute you…”“Huh. In your dreams…”“… but self-loathing’s a game where I’d pin you in a second. Back to the fray?”“After you. You need the head-start.”15. Last Exit from LemnosIn which occultism meets osculation, to memorable effect.“OK.” Jack looked out across the Hub. “Interface ready, Angie?”“Check.”“Equations set for input, Tosh?”“Check.”“Then, Willow, the floor is yours.”Slight before the great altar, the red-haired witch began to chant. Ianto, standing nearest, was nevertheless unable to make sense of what she said. The flow of syllables was supple; the timbre deeper and stronger than Willow’s conversational tones would ever have suggested. Ianto, obscurely reminded of a blind man he had seen once running his hands with meticulous élan over an urn in a museum, wondered whether her voice was somehow learning the altar.Minutes passed in this vein. When change came, it was cruel. Willow began to shake. The words that had streamed smoothly before now hissed and spat out of her clenched throat. Ianto could see that she was bleeding, from the nose and the mouth. He started forward; then looked up at Jack, who shook his head. Ianto stood his ground.Willow staggered and almost fell. Jack frowned. “Can you do this, Willow?”Willow’s head was bowed. “Trying, but… so weak…nothing left…” She buckled to her knees. “… Nothing I can use…”Jack turned to Hermione. “Can you help her?”Hermione shrugged helplessly. “There’s nothing I can do. As I said, witches like her need to tap into power from outside to work big spells.”“What sort of power?”“Magical artefacts. Ley-lines. Life.”“Life?”“Yes. But something this big would take more life than anyone has to gi… um…Captain Harkness?”Jack was already moving across the Hub. “It’s a dirty job in a dirty town,” he flashed a grin back at Hermione, “but someone’s gotta do it.”“Captain Harkness, that is a really bad idea.”“Probably. Willow?”Willow squinted blearily up at him. “Huh?”“Just so you’re aware, this is for Queen and Country.” Jack leaned in. “Mostly.”*****“You know,” said Owen reflectively, “if our beloved Institute ever goes out of its collective tree and lets me write my memoirs, The Time Jack Harkness Saved the Day by Playing Tonsil-Tennis with a Lesbian Witch from Another Universe will definitely get its own chapter heading. Maybe even its own title page.”“Mmm.”“You could at least pretend you give a shit what I’m saying, Tosh.”“Hmm? Oh. Sorry, Owen.” Tosh reluctantly tore her eyes away from the altar. “It’s just… it’s so beautiful.”“No accounting for taste. Does my bloody head in looking at it.”“But that’s the neat thing, isn’t it? You can’t ever see all of it, because it’s real in more ways than it has any right to be.” Tosh sighed. “It’s like being a kid again, and realizing that the set of prime numbers is infinite, and that there’s all this irreducible, quirky uniqueness, just going on forever…”“I work with this woman.” Owen shook his head. “Kill me now.”“I’ll tell Ianto to put it on his ‘to-do’ list,” said Jack. He looked back at Willow. “How are you feeling?”“Better. Stronger. Thanks again.”“You’re still pumping mo-jo into this thing, but it doesn’t seem to be hurting you as much. Why is that?”“It’s like static and dynamic friction. This sort of working takes a lot more power to start than it does to maintain. It’s still a strain to hold it, but nothing I can’t handle.”“Your eyes, though… that can’t be normal.”“Normal walked out into the snow back in High School, when I said I’d help this new kid with her homework. It was heard to remark that it might be some time.” Willow’s brow knitted. “Jack?”“Uh-huh?”“What are you? Besides a really, really good kisser?”“Wouldn’t I like to know.” Jack clambered to his feet. “OK, kids, enough with taking in the occult eye-candy. There’s still a job to do.”*****“Uh-oh,” said Tosh.Ianto looked over her shoulder. “‘Uh-oh’ how?”“The interface isn’t working. I can’t code the equations into the altar.”“Why not?”“The magic and the tech don’t quite mesh,” called over Angie from another terminal. “We can’t get them to talk to one another.”“There is a need, perhaps, for some mediating agent?” asked Stephen. “A factor fitted alike to the ways of natural philosophy and of magic?”“Could be…” said Willow.“Then if I might be permitted to try a hypothesis?”Jack spread his hands. “Knock yourself out.”“Angie, may I take the liberty of requesting your presence at the altar?”Angie giggled, and moved away from her station. “But we’ve only just met…”“Let us pray that the alliance may be kept from my Diana.” Stephen took a position next to her. “Present your arm, please.”“OK. What are you going to do?”“Little more than a small letting.” Stephen drew the tip of a scalpel across Angie’s finger. “Now be so good as to sprinkle some drops upon the altar.”Angie complied. Tosh gasped.“It’s operational. The interface is working.” She looked at Stephen. “How did you know?”Stephen shrugged. “A term common to the two systems we here invoke. Science demands a medium apt for its manipulations; the altar, like altars the world over, craves blood-sacrifice. Blood that is the very quintessence of science, therefore, was the desideratum.”“Wow. Cybersemiotics. Not bad for a man who says he’s still in mourning for the luminiferous ether.” Tosh turned back to her workstation. “I’m running the equations… now.”Dizziness assaulted all present, as reality Jacob’s Laddered to Tosh’s key-strokes and the Rift Manipulator’s rising hum. When the vertiginous moment passed, Eryishon’s Altar had gone. An oblong of light, the size of a doorway, shone in its place.“What happened to Death By Ikea?” Owen asked.“It’s been shifted to inside the Other-Space,” replied Hermione. “What Dr. Maturin called the Phrontisterion. The place beyond that doorway, inside the Rift.”“The place you guys are planning to hide in?”“That’s the one,” Tosh stood up and walked over to her Captain. “Time for us to go. And in light of what Stephen said earlier, Jack, um… I’m going to need your coat.”“Cool,” Jack smiled down at the diminutive scientist. “Will you need my clothes, boots, and motorcycle too?”“Jack…”“OK, OK,” Jack eased the greatcoat around Tosh’s small shoulders. She scowled as it flapped to the floor.“I look ridiculous.”“You look fine. Period military suits you.” Jack straightened a lapel. “Come back with it or come back on it, Tosh.”Tosh scraped together a smile. “I’ll do my best.”“Never doubted it.”The men of Torchwood watched Tosh lead the small group of heavily laden planar expatriates through the shining doorway. As it narrowed and disappeared behind them, Owen looked over at Jack.“Do you really think she’ll pull through, Jack? Don’t get me wrong, Tosh is as smart as they come, but when all’s said and done, she’s just a pint-sized techie. Any one of those things could eat her for breakfast.”“Didn’t I make a rule after the Brecon Beacons that no one was to use that phrase ever again?”“Twat moment. My bad. Point stands.”“Tosh is Tosh. I’ve never seen the lock she can’t pick or the code she can’t crack. Blitzkrieg is one thing, but whoever’s behind this wants to be a wise-ass. Did he ever pick the wrong playing-field.”“Fair enough.”“If I’m ever targeted by a league of trans-dimensional assassins, sir, can I have your shirt?”“You’ll never know, Ianto, until it happens.”16. The Thought GangIn which cartography exceeds the bounds of propriety.“So, how did you guys get to me, then?” asked Marshall, putting down a small black metal cylinder and picking up a large purple crystal instead.“From the Phrontisterion, accessing alternate realities is quite easy,” explained Angie. “Surprisingly so, in fact. Even without the teleport embargo, Tosh tells us that from her Earth it’s usually pretty much impossible to reach any other.”Tosh nodded. “We think that imposing order on the chaos of the Rift has opened up some possibilities that wouldn’t otherwise be available. We can’t go anywhere we like, though.”“Yeah,” interjected Willow. “Lots of Earths are too Qareen gl’ jar – Endel-Chi for something like ‘far away’ – to reach easily from here. The Authority’s Earth is one. Hellmouth Central is another. But yours was doable.”“So, I’m on that list too?”Willow exuded sympathetic glum. “Afraid so.”“That makes no sense. Why should some multi-planar mastermind be gunning for me? I’m just …”“… someone’s little tame techie?” Tosh sat back. “Join the club. I can’t make silk from my voice or guns from my blood either, Marshall. Neither can Stephen.”“What about the other guys on the list? Why aren’t they here too?”“Couldn’t get to any of ’em,” said Willow. “Their Earths are too far away. Like I said, we have our limits.”“There’s another difficulty, too,” Tosh tried to hitch her coat so that it did not fan out around her chair, and gave up. “Sending people out from the Phrontisterion into a given reality is unproblematic, but bringing them back makes a sort of stress-fracture at the point on that Earth where they leave it. We suspect that the Mook Brigade can sense those fractures, just like they can detect the people on the list. They might be able to use them to follow us.”“Is that why you were so interested in the security of Cell 47? Because you wanted the place you took me from to be as safe as possible once you left the fracture?”“Yeah. We weren’t sure how to manage that at first. It was Stephen’s idea to finesse you into capturing us and putting us slap-bang in the sort of place we needed.”“I’m still not seeing how you found me, though.”Stephen stirred. “Miss Granger’s map proved efficacious in that regard.”Marshall looked puzzled. “I thought you said that it only showed people in her school.”“It did,” said Tosh. “That was before she installed an upgrade.”“The Marauder’s Map XP.” Willow smiled. “With some of my know-how, and a lot of hers, Hermione didn’t have much trouble generalizing the algothaumarithm. Now it can potentially find anyone, anywhere. If, um, you’ve got the space to house it. It’s rather big now. And, er, growing.”“Hence the machete?”“Hence the machete. I hope it hasn’t eaten her.”“That’s a surprise,” Angie frowned, “from the way you usually talk to her. You could go a little easier on the kid, you know.”“Yeah, I could. But I’m not gonna.”“Even if you don’t like her…”“I like her a lot. That’s why I do it.”Angie looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”Willow pursed her lips. “In your Authority, you’ve got a guy who does magic my way? Telling the world how it’s going to be, without a wand in sight?”“Yeah. The Doctor. Why?”“Is he the kind of guy you would characterize as a poster-boy for mental stability?”“Well… no. Really no. About as no as it’s possible for no to get.”Willow nodded. “Do you see? Hermione’s people didn’t just let the Old Magic die. They killed it. Ensorcelled themselves with Memory Charms so that no one would ever try to bring it back. And with good reason.”Willow tapped the table restlessly. “I lost it in Hogwart’s. Just for a moment. But with the Old Magic, that’s all it takes. And then… I combed my hair with the breath I stole from a Death Eater’s lungs. I ran mud through another one’s veins and giggled when he stroked. Hermione’s a great kid. That’s why I can’t let her like me.”“Hello, everyone,” Hermione breezed into the room. “Should my ears be burning? I’ve brought back the machete.”“I hope there’s space,” said Marshall. “There’s an awful lot of widgetry around here. And that’s me who’s saying that.”Hermione shrugged. “This is the Armoury. Tosh insisted that we bring all this stuff from the Hub, just in case it was useful.”“I’m not complaining.” Marshall reached across the table. “Wow. Is that a Neutron Flow Reversion Unit? I’ve always wanted to see one of those.”Tosh passed him an octagonal box. “Be my guest.”“Cool. Thanks.” Marshall scratched his head. “I think we’re losing sight of the big picture, though. What is it that we all have in common? Apart from being really smart, obviously. I mean, I don’t want to blow my own trumpet here or anything, but as far as you all are concerned, this whole set-up speaks for itself. After all, only a bunch of incredibly smart people could have…” Marshall’s voice faltered “…built… this…. Um, guys?”“Yes, Marshall?” prompted Tosh.“I don’t want to alarm you or anything, but I just had a really nasty thought.”“Indeed, Agent Flinkman.” The voice that spoke from the doorway, making the assembled company look up, was a resonant and cultured one. “But, I’d wager, a very accurate one. Good for you; it’s quite an achievement,” the tall figure stepped into the room, “and for that, I’ll kill you last.”17. The Storming of the Castle in the AirIn which a plan comes together.The figure was that of a tall, thin old man in a robe, with untidy white hair and a long crooked nose. Hermione gaped as she saw him.“Professor?”“An understandable misapprehension, Miss Granger, but not so.” The old man’s eyes twinkled indulgently at the young witch. “Five points from Gryffindor. And what else? Oh yes, pray pardon my abstraction. Crucio.”He stepped into the room, smiling benignly as Hermione fell convulsing to the floor. A flick of his hand plucked Stephen into the air when the doctor rose to help her, and hurled him into a corner.“You know this guy?” hissed Angie.“No.” Hermione wiped the blood from her bitten lip, and stared at the intruder. “I know the face. But the man it belongs to is dead.”The old man beamed at Willow’s sharp intake of breath. “Revelation dawns upon Miss Rosenberg. But is it, one is bound to wonder, a false dawn? After all, to take the form of those we can never see again is really a rather paltry trick, one to gull none but the culpably credulous.” The old man was gone. An Asian woman in late middle age, blood blazoned on her forehead, stood in his place. Marshall felt Tosh stiffen at his side, as the bloodied newcomer smiled. “Toshiko wa shitte imasu.”Marshall swallowed. “You’re the one behind this, aren’t you? The thing that hacked the hive-minds?”“Yeah.” A short, slim blonde woman in a Union Jack T-shirt puffed on a dog-end. Angie shut her eyes, and shuddered. “That’s me. Locked away in the Silent Realm, between the Earths, by the nameless bringer of the storm. Until you bunch of mugs let me out, that is.”Tosh was on her feet. “You planned this. All of it. You manipulated us. Tricked us into building the key to your prison.”“Guilty as charged.” The blonde woman examined her cigarette critically. “Bit of a doss, really. Your shape of mind is so easy to detect, you see. Repeating ad nauseam - across spaces and times – always changing, always the same. The one who dots the ‘i’s and crosses the ‘t’s, and sears the stumps on the Hydra’s heads. There beneath Cnossos, in the reeking dark, with your twine and bright sterile little wits, the poor girl discarded when her usefulness was done. Your sort can’t do anything, that’s your problem. Action needs the heroes you’re there to help, never to be. All you have is planning, and building, and tidying up.”Angie edged towards the exit. Lightning crackled from the blonde woman’s slender fingers and slammed her into a wall.“You’ll move when you’re told, Angie love. Trying to forget you’re just a machine again, pet? Can’t have our utensils getting ideas above their station, can we now?“So, like I said, it was all a piece of piss. Sending in the wolves to make you do what came naturally – run and hide and think yourselves to death. Hijacking transport magic to make sure you all ended up together where the witless wonders of Torchwood were fiddling with the Rift like a virgin with a bra-strap. I’m grateful you made the logistics there so easy. Misfiring spells are much more convincing for that sort of shit than a teenaged arsonist and her chemistry experiments. Oh – thinking that you can pull that gun without me seeing, Dr. Maturin?”Electricity crackled again. The fowling piece fell from Stephen’s numbed hands.“Not your smartest call. And so, here we are.” The blonde woman spread her arms. “Once I take control of your Phrontisterion I get to go free, with a hundred Earths my oyster. As a bonus, you get to end your pointless parasitic lives. Really, I’m doing the multiverse a favour.”“How cool. Not just a planar jail-break, but a plan to delete the ‘Smart Sidekick’ meme from God’s own mind. It’s great to meet a sicko with some aspiration.” Willow pointed her finger at the intruder. “I’m gonna make a whole new Hell to put you in.”The Phrontisterion shook. Willow hastily dropped her hand. The blonde chuckled. “I don’t think so. Maybe you or Angie might have had a chance against me. After all, you’ve both gone toe-to-toe with gods. But the real kicker is that you’ve built a place where neither of you can. If you withdraw enough power to strike me down, or Angie redeploys her liquid tech to whip me up some grief, what makes this place survivable for the likes of you will blink out in a heartbeat, and you lot will drop howling into the Rift. It’ll all come down like the house of cards it is.” The blonde grinned. “And not a Jack in sight.“So all I’m really up against is a wannabe Q, a time-lost twitcher, the Jackette in the Jacket, and a schoolgirl. I don’t know why you’re still jabbering in Latin, Hermione. Some sort of mind-control magic, isn’t it? Mentalism hasn’t got a cat in Hell’s chance of working on me.”Hermione continued to chant, her face set. The woman in the T-shirt rolled her eyes, and took another puff of her cigarette. “So, you can see why this isn’t exactly a brown knickers moment for yours truly. You’ve built a better mouse-trap for yourselves than anything I could have designed.“There’s no saviour here. No Chosen Several to give me a pasting with their fists or feet or wands. No Everman to drown me in his glut of life. No capital punishment from the God of the Cities. Not even a commendable standard of gunnery. Just you.” She dropped the cigarette, and neatly ground it out. “And you don’t have what it takes.”“Really.” Tosh moved forward to block her path. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?”The blonde laughed in her face. “You can’t be serious. Of all this choral ode to inadequacy, you’re the most absurd. A second-order flunky. A side-kick’s side-kick. Strutting around in your borrowed robes, thinking that they make you a hero.”She leant in. Tosh could feel the breath on her cheek.“I can see inside your head, little Miss Sato. Do you know what I see? I see that copy of A Tale of Two Cities you read and read until the pages fell out. I see your dreams of being the one who gets to do a far, far, better thing, when all you really are is the one who sits in the house and listens to the foot-falls of other people’s lives. The witness to the lives you never led.”Toshiko held her gaze. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe that is all I am. But I’m not so sure. You see, I’ve learnt an interesting secret.”“Really?” The blonde smirked. “Do tell.”“I’ll have to whisper it.”“I’m all ears. Apart from the bits which are Dark God Ascendant, obviously.”Tosh put her lips to the other’s ear, and murmured: “The thing about life is, that if you hang around people with a lot of it, it rubs off on you. And also, funnily enough, on clothes. Now.”Willow spoke a word. Or (to be more accurate) a Word. Marshall dimly sensed that it was the sort of Word you would need at least six weeks training in thinking at unusual angles to hear properly, let alone speak aloud.On Toshiko’s shoulders the coat blazed like the death of suns.18. Borrowed RobesIn which a redundancy of Exposition Fairies proves advantageous.The blonde barely had time to open her mouth before the light pouring from the Coat rubbed out her end of the room, leaving only a blinding blank.Marshall’s jaw dropped. “You were wearing a weapon of mass destruction? But how?”“Honestly, it’s really quite simp…”“… a matter not devoid of instruct…”“You see, it was all kinda…”There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Angie cleared her throat: “Sorry. I guess we’re all used to hogging the mike, when a situation like this crops up.”“Guys…” Tosh’s head was averted, as light continued to pour from her small form into the space that contained their adversary. “We really don’t know what it takes to kill this thing. Could you possibly work while you exposit?”“Sounds like a plan.” Marshall’s gaze raked the Armoury. “OK: step by step. I know two things. Firstly, you guys have been less than candid about everything that went down at the Hub. There’s something you haven’t been telling me. Secondly, that gizmo by Dr. Maturin’s hand is some sort of containment device. Could you pass it over?”“You are quite correct, Mr. Flinkman.” Stephen flipped the small metal disc to Marshall, who caught and began to examine it. “It was patent to me from the first that our adversary, in admitting but one mode of escape, intended all along that we should exploit the Rift. It was expedient, then, that we should seem to acquiesce in its design, yet turn it to our own ends.”“Classic bait and switch. Cool.” Marshall fiddled with the disc, glancing quickly up at the other end of the room. The light was still strong, but by no means as blinding as before. “Angie… is there any way you could use your nanites to soup up this device’s output without blowing us all to Kingdom Come? And maybe you could make a start on explaining your real plan?”Angie nodded. “There.” Silver glittered in the air around the disc. “This is going to eat through that thing’s power cell like nobody’s business, but while it lasts, you’ll have ‘Storm Door’- quality containment. A Majestic-class superhuman couldn’t dent it. As for the plan, well, like Stephen said, it was clear that our enemy wanted to split all us mega-minds away from our protectors. Get us to build an inter-planar key and hide there, without an inconvenient quantity of bad-asses to protect it. So…”“You worked out a way to smuggle a bit of bad-ass in. Hmm.” Marshall frowned. At the other end of the room, the light was waning. “But how did you manage that? You can’t work God-Buster magic in this place without breaking it. That thing said so.” He clicked his teeth with his tongue. “Rats. If it can teleport or go insubstantial, then this trick I’m brewing up really won’t work.”“You’re right. God-buster magic was a no-no.” Willow scratched her nose. “But sympathetic magic is easy. Give me a nail and I can link to a hand. Give me a coat, and I can link to a Harkness.” She stared at the disc. Cabalistic symbols writhed for a moment across its surface. “Webs of guile - about, above, below. Spirit bindings are pretty easy, too. If you trap something with that gizmo, Marshall, no fancy tricks are gonna get it out.”“Cool.” Marshall ran his hands over the disc again, tweaking here, adjusting there. “But what was the point of forging a link to Tosh’s Captain?”“Captain Harkness is a reservoir for power.” Hermione’s gaze was fixed on the end of the room. Beyond Tosh, who had slumped to one knee, an outline emerged from the ebbing light. “Power which the kind of entropic entity that gets exiled to the Rift can’t handle. It wouldn’t go to him, so we brought him to it.” She swallowed. “Oh my. I think I liked it better as the blonde”Marshall looked over his shoulder. He revised his prior conviction that Arvin Sloane’s look of polite enquiry was the scariest thing he could imagine. Then he tossed the disc. Their enemy’s triumphant hiss, as it darted at the fallen Toshiko, was cut off abruptly by the cerulean bubble that had cocooned it.“Torchwood containment device,” Tosh murmured, as she struggled back to her feet. “Very smart, Marshall, but I’m afraid that it won’t hold something like that for long.”“It doesn’t have to,” Marshall grinned smugly. “That’s my contribution to this little brains’ trust. Torchwood may have the edge over APO in the big stuff, Toshiko, but what you’ve got there is a gadget. And when you’ve spent a large chunk of your professional life adapting the designs of a fifteenth century Italian technomage, modifying alien tech on the fly is a snap. Mr. Entity?”The bubble bulged furiously, but no avail.“I’m pretty sure that the field blocks sound waves, but on the other hand, a mind-reader can probably pick up what I’m saying. I’m Marshall Flinkman. I’m not Ariadne. I’m not whoever helped Hercules with the Hydra…”“Iolaus, my dear,” said Stephen.“…I’m not Iolaus. But it might help you to think of me as the Sugar Plum Fairy…”The azure field began, slowly but surely, to shrink.“…because I just turned this gizmo into the Nutcracker.”“That,” said Tosh, “is quite astonishingly neat.”“I do my best.” Marshall frowned. “But I do have one last question.”“Fire away.”“That thing is telepathic yeah? Limited range, obviously, unless you’re a big fat, hack-tastic hive-mind, but still a reader?”“So it averred,” said Stephen.“Then why didn’t it know what you were planning once it was in the room with you?”Hermione smiled. “Selective mind-shielding. It’s called Occlumency. I shielded all of us back in the Boardroom at the Hub, when Dr. Maturin deduced that we were being set up, and we started formulating the real plan. I started shielding you, Mr. Flinkman, as soon as it looked like you were about to rumble us. That thing could see that I was doing mind-control. It just didn’t realize whose mind I was controlling.”“Smooth.” Marshall inspected the bubble, which was now about the size of a basket-ball. “Think it’s done?”Angie shrugged. “Only one way to find out…”Marshall switched off the field. “Ew. Very…. yucky. I think that we can safely judge ourselves the winners.”“I think so too.” Willow snapped her fingers. The remains immolated. “Back home, I know a blonde who would have a killer pun prepped for just this moment.”“As do I,” said Stephen, “though in sober truth, it is more likely that the pun would have come to him belated, and so left the poor fellow brooding on the wit that might have been.”“Never mind.” Marshall grabbed a Thermos, and held it high. “Ladies and Gentleman, I think that we should toast the Thought Gang. No job too big; no exposition too complicated. Now, I want to see if Torchwood caffeine lives up to the hype…”Epilogue“So the Phrontisterion is gone, and the wise-ass is a cinder. Stephen really knew what he was thinking when he named your hidey-hole. I guess you could say Dr Maturin is a man with his head in the Clouds, huh?”“First Milton, now Aristophanes,” Tosh nestled down again into her leather coat, as the dawn wind blew shrill across Roald Dahl Plass. “I’m impressed, Jack.”“Never really rated that one, myself.” Jack continued to gaze skywards. “Bombed on its opening night. And man, were those costumes ever hard to get out of.”Tosh shot a sharp glance up at her commanding officer, which skittered harmlessly as always off the bright opaque smile.“Do you think that… thing is gone for good?” asked Angie.“Hope so,” said Jack. “Doubt it. Stuff on that level is cosmic herpes. You think you’re free and clear, when all of a sudden there’s that tell-tale tingle and… But you’ve definitely broken its power for a good long time.”“And we’ve achieved so much else as well,” Tosh enthused. “My collaboration with Willow has really pushed back the boundaries of our understanding of the mathematics of the Rift.”“Ah, yes,” Owen’s tone was calculated innocence. “All that time the two of you spent shut up together in Jack’s office after you got back. Going over each other’s figures.”“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, Owen.”“Then why are you blushing, princess?”“Guys, guys,” Jack’s smile was more than usually blinding, “let’s just agree that all our guests have given us something special. Intelligence. Camaraderie. Office Supplies.”“A photocopier, a vacuum-cleaner, and three fire-extinguishers, to be precise. Also four HD televisions, two washing machines, and a new microwave.” Ianto smiled apologetically at Angie. “In retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have told Gwen what your nanotech can do.”Angie smiled back. “It was my pleasure. And frankly, it was a nice change of pace. Usually when you tell people you can make anything, they start asking for the cool stuff. Munitions, artificial lungs, that kind of thing. Gwen’s requests were a lot more…”“….domestic?” offered Ianto.“Uh-huh. I hope her boyfriend likes that little blow-torch she got me to make him for his crème brulée”“Gwen.” Jack sighed. “I’ve met gods, and angels, and devils that have scared me less than that girl’s grip on the practicalities.” He looked over to Angie. “Are they nearly here?”Angie nodded. “Yeah. It was a tricky journey, though. They’d never have found it without that beacon Tosh helped me build. This part of the Bleed is a real mess. Almost like a…”“Battlefield?” Jack nodded. “You’re right. There was a War.”“Who won?”“Everyone lost.”Owen frowned at Angie. “Now that the teleport embargo’s gone, I don’t see why you didn’t just let Willow banish you back to your home Earth, like she did with herself and everyone else. It would have been a sight quicker.”“Probably. But ‘reverting to planar ground-state’ sounded a little bit freaky. One Magical Interdimensional Mystery Tour was enough for me, thank you. Besides, my way’s cooler. Speaking of which….”Above crepuscular Cardiff, the sky split open.“… here’s my ride.”“Wow.” Tosh craned her neck at the impossible view. “Is that the Carrier?”“Either that,” Jack threw back his head, “or Anglesey’s taken up hang-gliding.”“Fat chance explaining that away,” breathed Owen. “There isn’t enough Retcon in the world.”“Cleared it with London in advance. We’ll chalk it up to ‘UNIT manoeuvres’,” said Jack. “Now, Angie, let me help you out of that dressing-gown. Which is one of those phrases you can never get tired of saying.”Ianto watched as his own reflection was born in the bright metallic sheen that bloomed across the tall woman’s skin. She caught him staring, and smiled.“How do I look?”Ianto swallowed. “Very beautiful. Very human.”“How eloquent;” Angie kissed him gently on the cheek, “I can see why they call this the Land of Song. Thanks again.”The Torchwood team watched as she receded upwards into a gleaming silvery point beside the bulk of the Carrier. Owen shivered.“Kind of makes you feel a bit small and pointless, doesn’t it?”“Oh, I don’t know,” Tosh continued to look up. “It’s all a matter of perspective, really. It’s like Dr. Maturin told me about bees: you have to see the small in the big, and the big in the small. Some of them are there to work, and some of them are there to watch. ‘There are those to whom it is allotted to guard the gates’. Just like us.”The heavens swallowed and were still.“That’s why our symbol is a honeycomb.”*****Jack Bristow, drafting a report on recent events, was not in the best of humours. Explaining how two unarmed civilians had extracted an agent from the heart of APO had been the easy part. The bit with the siege by huge slathering mutant cockroaches and men in dresses, he decided, could wait until after lunch-time.Half-way to the cafeteria, he heard crashing chords from Marshall’s office. He poked his head around the door.“Oh. Hi, Mr. Bristow. Is the music too loud? I can easily turn it down.”“No need, Marshall, I was just intrigued. Wouldn’t have had you pegged for a Wagnerian.”“I like the leitmotifs.”“The whats?”“Little, recurring themes in the music, that come up again and again. Always changing; always the same. They aren’t particularly expansive or important. But without them, the fat lady would never get to sing. Does that make sense?”“Kind of. Anyway, Marshall, it’s good to have you back.”“Good to be back, sir. Back in the normal, everyday world of, er….” Marshall tailed off.“Trying to think of a way to end that sentence that doesn’t involve clairvoyant Renaissance men or huge spinning balls of crimson doom above Chechnya, Marshall?”“Yeah, sir. It isn’t coming.”“Take it easy,” Jack headed away down the corridor. “I’m going to lunch. Do you want me to pick you up a drink?”“Yeah… about that, sir… do you think that we could look into making better coffee?”“Can coffee be better than what we’ve got in the cafeteria?”“Trust me;” said Marshall Flinkman reverently, “it can.”
|
162698
|
Five Lovers
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Christine Chapel, Leonard McCoy",
"Fandom": "Star Trek (2009)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by miera",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-02-15T00:00:00",
"words": "1,584",
"Additional Tags": "First Time",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Christine Chapel/Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel/Roger Korby",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
1.Her first attempt at partnered sex is a bit of a let-down. She's in college, and Phillip is two years older but not much more experienced than she is. He's considerate and she has an orgasm, but it's not exactly the toe-curling, mind-blowing experience romance stories and vids paint it to be.Phillip is looking at her face as he settles down next to her in bed. "Good?" She hums rather than try to speak, fearing he'll see through anything she says that's less than wildly enthusiastic, but Phillip is a very intuitive man. That's one of the reasons she's dating him, in fact. It shouldn't surprise her that he sees the truth. He leans over and kisses her softly. "We can work our way up to amazing, I bet."They do. In fact, by the next morning, when he goes down on her and makes her come hard and fast before whisking out the door to class with a smirk on his face, is already several steps in the right direction. Within a few weeks they can read each other's signals clearly and there's very little Phillip isn't interested in trying at least once.He graduates and they break up amicably, after five months of experimenting. She's sad that he's gone, but figures she learned a lot about her own body and about romance. 2.Roger Korby is quite a few years older than her. He's urbane and successful and full of theories and information that she soaks up like a thirsty sponge. She's flattered that he is interested in her. The man does not lack for groupies, such as they are, not to mention older women more in his sphere of things. But from among the faculty and students at the graduate college and all the other people he could've had, he picks her for reasons she never does figure out completely.The first orgasm she ever has with Roger is barely worthy of the name; a tepid little bump of release, nothing more. She's fighting a feeling of disappointment as he grunts – loudly, and right in her ear – and comes. He rolls off her immediately, sprawling on his back. He pats her hip absently and falls asleep.Chris lies awake for a bit, chastising herself. Her expectations had been high, that was the problem. She'd assumed Roger, with so much more experience in his life, would have the same sort of skill in the bedroom he displayed with theory. She'd learned with Phillip that it took time to develop sexual chemistry, and she hasn't had sex with anyone else since Phillip left, due to her mother's illness. So one mediocre night won't make her give up on this relationship she wants so badly.It takes many months before she realizes Roger isn't trying. She talks to him, encourages and in some cases pries information out of him about what he likes, what he doesn't like and so on. She tries to give him guidance in bed until it starts to feel like explaining an anatomical diagram and he glares at her. Roger makes sure she comes once every time, because he's too polite not to, but he has little interest in sex after that.She admits to herself that she loves Roger's mind but they just don't work as lovers. She's preparing a break-up speech when he presents her with an engagement ring and the news that he's gotten approved for an expedition into deep space at the same time. He wants her to stay on Earth, wearing his ring, waiting for him to come back.She bursts out laughing. She can't help herself. Roger looks shocked, then offended, then outraged. He snatches the ring off the table and puts it in his pocket. He folds his arms across his chest and coldly suggests she pack her things. She wipes her eyes, still giggling, and grabs her belongings. She pats Roger condescendingly on the arm and bids him goodbye cheerfully. 3.Free of Roger and bearing her master's degree and nursing certificate, Chris goes to San Francisco to finally join Starfleet, a couple years later than she intended. She begins work in the medical center almost immediately; experienced nurses are hard to find in an organization that has to send their most competent people into the furthest reaches of space on a routine basis.Starfleet attracts the young and adventurous types, and Chris suspects based on what happens whenever she goes out to a cadet bar, some of the horniest people on the planet. She can't quite bring herself to take the boys seriously. They seem impossibly young to her. Also, working at the med center, she knows who is coming in and for what fool reasons, and she's past that phase of her life.A couple of the doctors indicate some interest, but they remind her far too much of Roger. If she'd wanted condescension and a selfish sexual partner, she would've accepted the ring.It's not until the end of her first year, on vacation in Rio, that she takes the leap again. This time it is a leap, too. She's known Alex for all of four hours, three of which have involved dancing. He's slightly shorter than her, with dark brown skin and thick hair on his chest visible underneath the collar of his shirt. She bids her friends goodbye and goes to his apartment.The sex is good, but she was wound so tight from finals and work that she's mostly grateful for the physical release of all that tension. She doesn't think about it much during the night – Alex is voracious in bed and she lets him drive all her thoughts from her head gladly. It's only the next day she feels slightly dissatisfied. 4.Nyota had never experienced Mardi Gras, and Gaila of course needed to see it once before she left Earth. Chris takes them to a real New Orleans Mardi Gras party, rather than the touristy versions.What happens that night remains shrouded in deepest secrecy for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the old-fashioned absinthe. 5.The first time she has sex with Leonard McCoy, they nearly break his bed. Or at least it feels that way.It's possible that a couple of years of arguments and shared emergencies in Sickbay have worked as some sort of extended version of foreplay. That might explain why his mouth suckles at her nipples with precisely the right amount of pressure without her saying anything, why his finger slides over her clit at an angle that makes her whimper and arch and beg him not to stop touching her like that ever ever until she comes so hard she sees spots.Once she can think again, she wraps her fingers around his cock. She can read his body language easily, knowing when the tightness was just right, when her thumb strokes along the most sensitive spot on his shaft.His kisses are deep and hungry, his body covering hers, his gifted, capable hands touching every inch of her he can reach. When she draws him to slide into her, his voice catches, murmuring her name and "oh God, darlin', yes" and she shivers even as she stretches around him.He hesitates, buried so deep inside her, but she clutches him and orders, "Do it." She wants this, wants everything he'll give her, and she moves against him, urging him on, and just like at work, he holds nothing back on her.It's a strange mix of frantic and tender, raw need and desire that she's never experienced before. She can barely hold a thought in her head, he's making her feel so good, but at the same time she's drinking him in, learning where to touch and how to move and what to say to make him growl her name. As soon as she says anything the least bit dirty he's telling her to shut up, because he can't take hearing that, not now and knowing he can be so overwhelmed by just her voice makes her drag him into a wet, sloppy kiss.After that she can only whisper "Harder, fuck, Len" against his lips and he complies. The bed is creaking underneath them and her body is inching up the mattress with the force of his thrusts and Chris is soaring higher and higher until she cries out and comes so hard tears leak out of her eyes, her body trembling as the pleasure swallows her whole.She can't unclench around him right away, and Len keeps at her for a moment longer before pushing in one last time and coming with shuddering gasps against her neck. The sound of their breathing is loud in the sudden silence of the room. She never wants to leave this bed, never wants him not lying on top of her, sweaty and spent and holding her so tightly she'll have bruises on her hip tomorrow.His face is still pressed against her skin when he whispers in her ear, "I love you." His voice trembles and she understands his fear of saying those words to someone again. She grips him even more tightly. In that moment, she finally realizes what has been missing all along."Love you, too," she tells him, smiling at the explosive sigh of relief she feels against her throat. This time, she thinks as she lets him tuck her against his body, she finally has it right.
|
191786
|
Doppelganger
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Anthony DiNozzo, Jethro Gibbs",
"Fandom": "NCIS",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by thezonefic",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-04-28T00:00:00",
"words": "3,694",
"Additional Tags": "Angst, Complete, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, frank discussions of sexual acts, Explicit Language",
"Relationship": "Anthony DiNozzo/Jethro Gibbs",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Shoving open the unlocked heavy oak door, Tony angrily strode into the empty foyer of the small suburban Alexandria house. “Gibbs,” he called out, anger vibrating in his voice. “Gibbs, where the fuck are you?” Tony called again when there wasn’t an answer at his first call as he came to a halt in the very empty living room. "Where the hell is he?" he muttered, moving down the rickety wooden basement stairs, green eyes scanning an empty basement. The boat that Gibbs was slowly, painstakingly building by hand stood in lonely vigilance in the quiet basement. Making his way wearily back up the stairs, Tony deliberately made his way to the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the otherwise empty fridge. "Fucker’s got to come home eventually," he muttered some more. "And when he does...," Tony bit off, savagely twisting off the cap from the beer, then gulping large swallows of the cold bitter brew. Carefully, placing the empty on the coaster, he opened the second bottle and just as quickly finished it off. "Not nearly enough," he whispered, the second empty added to another coaster. Quickly getting back up, Tony returned to Gibbs’ kitchen. The box which contained the remaining six beers that was snagged from the fridge hung from long slender fingers as he added the bourbon bottle to his collection from its place on the second pantry shelf. Shaking his head Tony grumbled, "Dumbass grunt. Who the fuck arranges his pantry alphabetically, according to size and shape of container? Only fucking anal Gibbs." Frowning at the soft chime of bells marking the hour on Gibbs' small captain's clock Tony finished up the last bottle of beer that he’d chased the last of the bourbon with. Rocking back in the recliner, the foot rest extended, as he lazily sank back into the chair, enjoying the buzz the alcohol created. Although the anger at Gibbs still simmered, tired and hurt green eyes began to slide close as the late hour, the stressors of the day and the alcohol began to catch up with him. Gibbs quietly entered his house, weariness dragging down his shoulders, the latest case put to bed, suspects booked, paperwork finished, and the anticipated chat with Director Morrow having gone better than even he’d hoped. Hanging up his coat in the closet, Gibbs froze at the unusual quiet noise coming from his living room that was drawing his attention, gun quickly pulled and safety off at the ready. Moving silently down the short hall, he slid along the wall until he was able to see all corners of the room without himself being seen. “DiNozzo?” Gibbs flicked the safety back on before replacing his gun into the belt clip holster. Moving closer to the sleeping man Gibbs noticed the empty bourbon and beer bottles haphazardly spread across the small table that stood beside his favorite recliner, Tony’s snores faint in the otherwise quiet of his home. “DiNozzo, wake up,” Gibbs called loudly, snapping on the small floor lamp and angling the light to shine brightly on Tony’s slack features. Jumping up, blearily awake, head pounding, and stomach rolling with nausea, Tony moved into a protective crouch, reaching for his service weapon. “Gibbs?” he asked hoarsely. “Who the fuck did you think it would be DiNozzo? It’s my house after all. My question is what the hell are you doing here……. Besides drinking up all my liquor this is. Had a good party, by the way, enjoy that brand of beer?” Gibbs groused back, moving toward his kitchen. “Liked my Bourbon, did you DiNozzo? You’re going to replace the bottle and the 12 pack, you know that don’t you?” Standing up quickly and paling as he swayed, sweat breaking out over his body, Tony stalked behind the older man, anger making an already pounding head from his developing hangover even worse. Gibbs settled into making coffee, “Wanted a beer when I got home DiNozzo, but you finished all of those so I’m going to have to settle for coffee this time. What the hell were you thinking in drinking both my beer and bourbon?” Growing deeply, Tony grabbed at Gibbs’ shoulders, his forward movements pushing the other man until Gibbs grunted as he slammed into the wall. “DiNozzo, have you lost your mind, or are you drunker than the amount of alcohol in my house would indicate?” Gibbs snarled, blue eyes flashing. “Tell me Boss, was she good? Did you have lots of fun fucking pussy instead of my asshole, having tits to play with instead of balls? Have you gotten tired of having to work at shoving your cock up my ass, that some wet pussy sounded good? And not just any pussy, but pussy that was attached to a murder suspect?” “Pussy DiNozzo? You must not only be drunk but insane as well,” Gibbs yelled, shoving at Tony’s body, which was tightly pressed against his, his own temper flaring to life. “Pussy Boss, you remember Karen Wilkerson, Petty Officer Lambert’s supervisor? You remember Petty Officer Lambert don’t you Gibbs, the case we just finished up today? The case that involved siphoned off narcotics from the Naval Prescription Service via their updated computer system? Naval issue narcotics that our Beltway preppy dealer could sell to other Beltway preppies? The very same supervisor whose DNA was all fucking over several cigarette butts around Petty Officer Lambert’s dead body. You do remember the reference DNA was pulled from the cigarette butt from the ashtray in your basement. Or do I have to draw you a portrait, Boss?” Tony’s voice grew louder and higher with each word. “I always knew you were a bastard but I thought you had some honor, some class. Only goes to show how stupid Tony really is, that he actually believed half a dozen buddy fucks makes a relationship with you. No fucking wonder your last ex-wife tried to re-arrange you skull with a golf club. ” Abruptly Tony turned away, staggering as he rushed from the kitchen. The only idea at the forefront of his aching brain and breaking heart was getting away from the source of his pain. Shaking his head in bemusement at DiNozzo’s actions Gibbs followed his lover from the kitchen, moving quicker as he noted DiNozzo reaching for the doorknob of the front door. "Freeze DiNozzo. You’re not walking out of this house until you explain yourself,” Gibbs commanded. “Fuck you Gibbs, I’m going home. I don’t need this bullshit,” Tony said as he pulled open the door, before crying out in pain as Gibbs struck, securely pinning his arms behind his back. Cuffs closed tightly over his wrists and Tony was shoved hard, face first, into the doorjamb, painfully splitting his lip. “First DiNozzo, you’re in no condition to drive yourself anywhere right now and the last thing I’m in the mood for tonight is bailing your dumb drunken ass out of jail. Morrow would eat my ass for me if that happened. DUI isn’t something that can be made to disappear, that kind of charge will end your career in any kind of law enforcement. Second, and I want you to hear this loud and clear Tony, I didn’t fuck Karen Wilkerson. Wanted too, yeah, she’s a beautiful woman and I am only human, I'll admit it I was attracted to her. Make no mistake, I would have fucked her if I needed to for the case, but I didn’t,” Gibbs said, shaking Tony sharply with each word. “And if I had gotten her between the sheets, it would be for the case, not for anything else. You hear me loud and clear DiNozzo? I told you when we started this, I'm monogamous with whatever lover I happen to be with at the time.” Pulling away, Tony stumbled to his knees, dizzy, nauseous, and vision graying out as exhaustion and alcohol sapped his strength. “Going to be sick,” he moaned as blood from his split lip began to seep into his panting mouth. “Oh no you’re not. Up DiNozzo, you’re not going to puke all over my carpets,” Gibbs ordered as he physically strong armed the younger man into a swaying stance. “Move it,” he ordered, half pushing, half carrying Tony to the small powder room under his stairs. Crying out hoarsely as he fell forward, Tony narrowly missed hitting his face against the low white porcelain of the commode as he found himself helplessly vomiting, even as his knees sorely connected the cool ceramic tile in the small bath. Cursing softly, Gibbs supported the younger man as he retched agonizingly until there was nothing left to come up. Gasping, Tony eased back from bruised knees as the nausea began to finally lessen, his arms painfully stretched behind his back and the metal of the cuffs chaffing the soft skin of his wrists. “Going to un-cuff you now, so don’t do anything stupid,” Gibbs growled, anger and some other as yet unidentified emotion easily heard in his voice, as the jingle of keys rang out in the small room. Tony grunted, his arms flopping down around his thighs as he continued kneeling on Gibbs’ cold bathroom floor. Reaching over the stooped over figure of the younger man, Gibbs filled a small glass tumbler with cold water. “Rinse and spit,” he ordered. Looking up blankly Tony heard Gibbs say words, but his aching brain didn’t understand what the older man was saying. Grumbling under his breath, Gibbs stooped down to Tony and gently pressed the glass against the still sluggishly bleeding lower lip. “Rinse and spit, DiNozzo. It’ll get that crappy taste out of your mouth that much sooner and it’ll make it a little less likely you’ll need to puke again for a while.” Shaking his head slowly, trying to clear out pain and focus his thoughts, Tony gingerly took a sip of the cool water. Then he took another and another, swishing, and spitting into the bowl in front of him, washing away the rancid taste in his mouth. “Up now,” Gibbs commanded, grabbing Tony tightly by the shoulder as he swayed. “Let’s get you upstairs and into bed. We’ll see how the lip is, you might need a stitch or two in it,” Gibbs continued. “It’s not that late yet, Ducky should be still up. I’ll get him to have a look at you.” “No,” Tony cried out, pulling away from Gibbs as they moved slowly up the stairs. “Not an option,” Gibbs replied, steadily the swaying man as they moved into the open door of Gibbs’ bedroom. Gently laying Tony on what was rapidly becoming his side of Gibbs’ king sized bed, Gibbs efficiently stripped the young man to boxers in spite of repeated fumbling from Tony to keep his clothing on. “Don’t even try getting out of this bed,” he ordered. “I’m going to get a towel and ice pack for your lip. Slide under the covers,” he said when he noticed the shivers dancing across Tony’s skin as he stood up and bundled Tony’s clothing, easily dropping it into the laundry hamper that stood by the door. “Boss?” Tony moaned as Gibbs moved out into the hallway. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes, just relax. Ice pack for your lip remember? Less moving you do, less likely you’ll puke again. I’ll bring some water for you too, sooner we start working on fixing the hangover, better you’ll feel DiNozzo.” Nodding his aching head slightly, Tony relaxed into the pillows cradling that very aching head and closed his eyes. Reaching his kitchen Gibbs flipped open his cell and pressed the speed dial for Ducky’s home phone. “Mallard residence, Doctor Mallard speaking,” the softly accented voice came through the phone. “Duck, it’s Gibbs,” he began. “Ah Jethro, how are you this fine evening?” Ducky asked. “Like crap Duck. Is the nurse at your place on duty all night tonight?” “Yes, this is Julia’s night on duty. Is there something wrong Jethro? Do I need to come into the office?” “No, not the office, my place if you can. Oh and bring your bag Duck, I need you to look at something that may need a stitch or two.” “You haven’t hurt yourself again working on the boat have you?” “No, it’s not me that needs your attention,” Gibbs ended furtively. “Oh, and have you got something for pain, that won’t screw around too badly with somebody that’s had way too much to drink?” “How much alcohol and what kind?” “Six beers and half a bottle of bourbon. You know that bottle you gave me for Christmas last year.” “Ah,” Ducky murmured in reply. “Over how long a time period?” “Maybe two hours drinking time, and he slept about an hour. He’s also puked his guts up if that adds or subtracts anything in your thinking, Duck.” “Actually any information, Jethro, is helpful. I’m getting my coat and bag as we speak. Mr. Palmer has gone to get the car. Do you need us to stop and get anything else?” “Not unless you’re going to need something to treat him with that you don’t have in your bag, or that isn’t here at my place.” “Very well Jethro. I’ll have Mr. Palmer stop at the 24 hour pharmacy and fill a prescription for pain medications for Anthony.” “Duck?!” “Jethro, surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t notice?” “Actually, I was hoping,” came Gibbs weary reply. “Now, now my dear boy, we’ll discuss it when I get there. Put the kettle on for us, we’ll be there in about 20 minutes.” Shuddering with renewed nausea, Tony slowly rolled onto his side, wincing from the bruises that he was now feeling on his chest from when Gibbs had slammed him against the doorjamb. “Fuck,” he cursed as he bit down on the already split lip, causing a fresh rush of blood into this mouth. “Shit, got to make it the bathroom; he’ll kill me if I puke here.” Stumbling, reeling and swaying his way across the room, Tony made his way to the en-suite in Gibbs’ room. “Idiot asshole can’t stay put when I tell him too,” Gibbs angrily muttered upon entering his bedroom to find the huge bed empty of Tony’s body. “DiNozzo, where the hell are you?” Quickly putting down the things in his hands, Gibbs made his way to the bathroom from where a painful croak of 'here' had come. Looking in he found a still mostly-green Tony kneeling again in front of an open commode. “Still puking?” “No, just heaving. There’s nothing left to puke up,” Tony croaked as Gibbs squatted down next to him. “What the hell did you do to your mouth now? You’re bleeding like hell again.” “Bit the lip making my way across the room, Boss.” “Stupid move DiNozzo, you should’ve waited until I got back.” “Didn’t want to puke all over the bed or the rugs Boss, thought that you’d kill me for that.” “For that, no.” Gibbs raised his hand to gently caress the back of Tony’s aching head, instead of applying the usual slap. “For being fucking stupid and not knowing the difference between what's part of the job and what’s personal. But that’s another matter we’re going to talk about when you’re not hung-over. "So you done here yet? I want to get you cleaned up a little, back into bed and that ice pack in place before Ducky and Palmer gets here.” “What?” Tony cried out in a panic. “Ducky and Palmer are coming here? NOW?” “Yeah, and this is a problem why DiNozzo? You need looking at, that lip could use a couple of stitches, and there’s one hell of a bruise coming out from where you hit the doorjamb earlier. Easier to have Ducky come here than to explain it in an ER. Before either of us know it, they’d call the cops and I’d be looking at brig time for a domestic. So up now, that’s it.” Reaching for the nearby hanging thick navy washcloth, Gibbs ran the water until it was comfortably tepid and began to wash the dried blood from Tony’s face and upper chest. “Can’t you make the water warmer?” Tony asked. “If the water’s warmer the lip will swell more and Ducky might not be able to sew it closed. Once you’re back in bed, there’s an ice pack for you to put on it, it’ll keep the swelling down.” Finishing up the impromptu wash up Gibbs easily tossed the wash cloth into the small hamper that stood in the corner of his bathroom. “This is going to have to do you until Ducky says we can get you showered. Now this time stay in bed, unless I’m around to help you up. Last thing either of us need tonight is you breaking your damn neck on my floor.” “Jethro? Anthony?” Ducky’s voice called out. “Upstairs, my bedroom Duck,” Jethro replied as he again eased Tony to the bed. “Lift up DiNozzo,” he ordered. “Why?” Tony whined. “Shorts are coming off, that’s why,” Gibbs replied sharply as he pulled off the soft cotton boxers that DiNozzo wore. “No, Ducky’s here,” Tony protested weakly. “Look DiNozzo, it’s not like Ducky’s never see a cock and balls before, remember he’s a doctor. For that matter, it’s not the first time he’s seen you buck assed naked. So what’s the problem now?” “Naked in your bed?” "So?” “You need not upset yourself on my part Anthony,” Ducky’s soft voice spoke out. “I am aware of the relationship between you and Jethro. And no, before you ask, Jethro did not tell me, I approached him,” Ducky smiled fondly at the older before looking again at Tony. “Now do lay down, and let me take a good look at you.” Standing up, Gibbs ceded his place on the bed beside Tony to Ducky. “My bag if you please Mr. Palmer, and if you would be so kind as to go to the kitchen and put on the coffee that Jethro started, and make us a pot of tea. Jethro keeps the teapot in the pantry and the tea in the green plastic container on the second shelf of his refrigerator. Kindly also take a quick look in both pantry and refrigerator and if you see anything that needs to be replaced please do so, there is an all night grocery store only two blocks . My wallet is in my coat pocket.” “Of course Dr. Mallard,” his young assistant replied, hurriedly leaving the room to carry out his instructions. “He call you Dr. Mallard in bed, Duck?” Jethro smirked. “No, of course not Jethro. His mouth is usually more gainfully employed when we are in bed,” Ducky smirked back. “As is mine. Now how about I take a good look at you Anthony?” Pushing the sheet that covered Tony down to his waist, Ducky gently ran his fingers along the deepening bruise that ran down the center of Tony’s chest. “Any pain with breathing, any abdominal pain besides of the residual soreness from vomiting?” “No, nothing but my head’s, feeling like it’s about to fall off, and my lip’s stinging. I’ll feel the bruise tomorrow but that’s okay, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” “Actually, that bruise is quite important my boy, and I will expect you to call me if it suddenly begins to feel worse. I’ve a prescription for you, very mild pain pills,” Ducky began, a frown gathering on his face as Tony minutely shook his head no. “I’m also going to give you an injection in a moment, that should make you feel a great deal better Anthony, and you will not refuse it.” Jabbing the small needle quickly into Tony’s upper arm Ducky continued, “There, only a rather small prick wasn’t it? The medication should begin acting in about 10 minutes. A small dose of Demerol, with an anti-emetic to control your nausea, it will give you a good start on getting rid of the hangover. Do we need to discuss temperance Anthony?” Shaking his head fractionally, Tony flushed brightly. “No, not really but the drinking, well it was a good idea at the time,” he replied, lowering his eyes from the very perceptive gaze of the elderly ME. “Yes, well we will discuss this some other time gentlemen, and I do mean both of you. Jethro, rub this in, it will increase the absorption rate of the medication,” Ducky commanded as he reached into his bag for a small brown bottle. “Ah here it is. This will deaden your lip sufficiently for me to quickly suture it, and you were quite correct Jethro, he will require 2 sutures in it." Wrapping all of the disposable medication equipment up, Ducky slowly stood, “All finished up my boy, there will be very minimal scarring there. You did well Jethro, keeping it from swelling; suturing a badly swollen lip is much more difficult.” “Tea and coffee Dr. Mallard,” Palmer announced as he gingerly walked through the door, carrying a large tray with tea pot, coffee pot and cups. “Excellent Mr. Palmer, gentlemen some refreshment,” Ducky announced. Finishing his tea, Ducky replaced his cup to the tray. “Wonderful, thank you Mr. Palmer; that was most refreshing. Anthony sleep now, Jethro he will need another two tablets in 6 hours, a light breakfast and lunch tomorrow. You are off call this weekend are you not? I will inform Thomas that the two of you are not to be disturbed until Monday the earliest. Jethro come see us out.” Stopping at the door Ducky turned to Gibbs, “Take care him, Jethro. Make sure the two of you clear up this misunderstanding before the two of you return to work.” “We’ll work on it Duck. Thanks for everything, I appreciate you coming over and looking over Tony.” “You are more than welcome, my boy. Just make sure that everything is resolved in an appropriate manner between the two of you for both of your sakes,” replied Ducky as he followed Palmer out the door. “Oh, and Jethro?” “Yeah Duck?” “No fellatio until I remove Anthony’s sutures on Wednesday.” "Duck………"
|
197704
|
Spock Uhura Drabble
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Spock, Nyota Uhura",
"Fandom": "Star Trek (2009)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by vickyblueeyez",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-05-10T00:00:00",
"words": "695",
"Additional Tags": "Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection",
"Relationship": "Spock/Nyota Uhura",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Spock/Uhura on LJ General Archive",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Title: Acceptance
Author: vickyblueeyez
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Rating: G
Words: 385 - Pic Caption
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters and don’t do this for profit. This is a work of fiction.
Warning: None
Summary: Would he ever be good enough for anyone?
Link: http://vickieslookinatporn.tumblr.com/post/5366860010/acceptance
A/N: Just because I’ve never seen it before, I wanted to see a K/S to S/U fic. Couldn’t find it so I wrote something.
It seemed everywhere Spock went, he felt as if he never not fit in. Every time he tried to be more of what someone wanted, someone else wanted the opposite. He didn’t feel accepted as a Vulcan or a Human. He didn’t feel as if he belonged on Vulcan or on Earth. The only one that accepted him, who didn’t care if he was more Vulcan or Human, was taken away by a mad man.His father wanted him to be more Vulcan. Kirk, his lover, wanted him to be more Human. He tried, as any lover would, he really did. The smiles, the laughs, little things like dancing and joking, all the things Kirk wanted didn’t come natural to him. Their breakup was a mutual understanding. Despite outward appearances, he wondered if he would ever be good enough for anyone. He wondered if anyone would accept him for just as he was. Kirk found the laughs, the smiles, the friendly touches and then some with his new lover and now husband, Dr. McCoy. Dr. McCoy was more suited for Kirk’s needs. He was the logical choice.As a scientist, Spock was always alert, always vigilant. This was something he took pride in. Yet, there was something he didn’t notice, something that was there this whole time. There was someone who accepted him. Someone who liked both his Vulcan side and Human side equally. Someone who thought both sides were equally intriguing. They never asked him to change and never asked him to be something he wasn’t. They never judged any of his questions.“What are you thinking?” A sweet yet sleepy voice asked by his side. Spock turned on his side and gazed back into the brown eyes staring at him. He raised his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.“Only of you, Nyota. Only of you.” He whispered. She closed her eyes and smiled, bringing up a hand to touch his in a kiss.“You always say that.” She replied.“That’s because it’s always true.” He said and leaned in to give her a human kiss, the ones she enjoyed so much. He knew now, with her was where he belonged. With her is where he was accepted. Her presence, her smile reminded him of this every day.
Title: Control
Author: vickyblueeyez
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Rating: Nc17
Words: 123 - Pic Caption
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters and don’t do this for profit. This is a work of fiction.
Warning: All that comes with nc17. Link has a NSFW photo on it.
Summary: What is it about her?
Link: http://vickieslookinatporn.tumblr.com/post/5230594221/control
A/N: I have a NSFW Tumblr where I write fic things to pics/gifs. Due to the pic on the link, I wanted this to be raw and explicit but then it got fluffy on me. I blame them.The more he tried to figure her out, the less he understood. What was it about this woman that stripped him of his logic? What was it about her that made him lust and want to give in to his carnal needs? He loved her mind. He loved her body. He loved being joined with her in every way, especially this way. This way with her moans and gasps of breath. This way with those beautiful brown eyes looking back at him. He accepts her and she accepts him. She is the reason he can let go and not be afraid. There are no equations to solve. No shields to maintain. He’s naked, raw and exposed to her, for her, everything for her.
|
169639
|
Half the Battle
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper",
"Fandom": "Torchwood",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by ivyfic",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-07-02T00:00:00",
"words": "6,010",
"Additional Tags": "Angst, Retcon, Established Relationship, Het, Infidelity, Episode: s02e09 Something Borrowed, Episode: s02e10 Adrift",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Jack/Ianto, Jack/Gwen, Jack/Other(s)",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
The first time Jack cheats on him, Ianto just feels stupid.Jack arrives at his flat ten minutes late for their date, his collar askew. Ianto doesn't mean to make Jack jump through hoops, but Jack seems to enjoy indulging his 21st century romantic notions. He considers them quaint.Which is why Ianto is not all that surprised when Jack leans in for a quick kiss and Ianto smells aftershave—Jack usually considers his pheromones to be potent enough, but Ianto wouldn't be surprised if he spent an afternoon at a perfume counter just to see what all the fuss was about. "New aftershave?""Hmm?" Jack asks, looking flatteringly dazed from the kiss. "No, stopped by the florist on the way over," he flourishes a boutonniere at Ianto that looks a little smashed in its plastic box. "College kid working there, had the most fantastic cocksucking lips. He offered a demonstration and wow, let me tell you, they must be doing something right with college curriculums these days."Jack laughs about it like it's some great story (a funny thing happened on the way to the florist). Ianto thinks his face must be frozen into a rictus of a smile, but apparently it's convincing enough; Jack pulls the boutonniere out of the box, flourishing the pin. "Shall we?" He pins the flower to Ianto's lapel as if his whole world hasn't just spun on its head. Ianto shouldn't be surprised. If Jack could read him at all he would never have been able to keep Lisa a secret as long as he did. He thought Jack would have greater insight into him now that they were sleeping together, but apparently he didn't.It wasn't malicious. That's what decides Ianto in the end. Jack didn't do it to hurt Ianto—he clearly didn't think it would hurt him. Idiotic 51st century social norms. It's just part of who Jack is. Jack hadn't made any promises, hadn't needed to to get Ianto into his bed. It was Ianto's own fault for assuming that this whole wooing routine meant anything more than Jack trying something for the novelty of it.Ianto could tell Jack what he was feeling right now, could try to change him, but he knows, looking at Jack across the table at the fancy restaurant Jack chose, that Jack won't change. He might not even try. Ianto would just end up losing him. He loves Jack, so there's only one choice. He has to change himself.Ianto drinks too much wine at dinner and wakes up in Jack's bed groggy the next morning.~*~The first time Jack cheats on him, Jack tells him about it, out of the blue.They're sitting on Ianto's couch, watching TV, and Jack is compulsively flipping through the channels. Ianto would complain, but he's too comfortable leaning against Jack's side to be bothered. His eyes are drifting closed when Jack gives a grunt of triumph and sets the remote down. Ianto is not surprised that he's landed on soft porn."Look at that girl's tits," he says in slightly breathy admiration. Ianto rolls his eyes. Sure, they're great tits, but what's the use mooning over them when Jack's chosen to be in a relationship with a guy? Clearly tits can't be that important to him."I fucked a girl with tits like that," Jack continues. Ianto will never understand his fascination with reliving all his sexual exploits, but it always gets Jack's motor going, so Ianto doesn't mind too much. "When you get a good rhythm going, they bounce just like a Jell-o.""Let me guess—it was the seventies, one of those hairy porn stars they liked so much back then?" Ianto asks disinterestedly."No, it was last Friday." He looks back at the screen. "Why do they insist on soft focus? Sex looks so much better in hi definition."Ianto is completely still. He wonders if his heart might have stopped. Last Friday he'd had to visit his mum. Jack had whined, but said he'd find a way to pass the time till he got back. Apparently, he had. And she'd had big tits.Ianto feels numb as Jack pulls him into the bedroom a few minutes later. Jack had an incredible libido—zero to sixty in less than a minute, especially if he was talking about sex. Ianto feels sick. He closes his eyes while Jack prepares him, wishing he could block the images from his mind, but he can't. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to.~*~The first time Jack cheats on him, Jack doesn't have to say anything. Ianto just knows from the way Jack's walking that he just got laid—thoroughly, completely fucked—and Ianto's spent the past three days at Torchwood Four, searching their archives, so he knows it wasn't him.Ianto doesn't know how he manages to make it through the day, pretending everything's normal, ignoring Jack's leers. He doesn't think he can make it through the next day, not knowing this.~*~The first time Jack cheats on him, he's an hour late meeting Jack at a bar. It wasn't his fault—Owen had broken the espresso machine, and by the time he'd fixed it he was soaked in coffee. Jack might have found that a turn on, but it rapidly got cold and uncomfortable, and he'd run to his flat to change first.When he gets to the bar, he scans the crowd quickly, hoping Jack hasn't gotten bored and left. He spots him coming out of the men's room with a dreamy, satisfied look on his face. Then he spots the guy stepping out after him, self-consciously wiping his lips. Jack catches his eye, waves, and starts walking over.Ianto doesn't know what feels worse, that Jack couldn't wait one bloody hour for him or that mostly he blames himself for not being on time.~*~The first time Jack cheats on him, it's Gwen.Ianto had noticed a tension between them at the wedding, like electricity in the air every time they looked at each other. Had he not been with Jack, he would have laid money that they'd be in a supply closet by the end of the night. But he was with Jack, and though Jack looked plenty, Ianto knew he could trust him not to touch. Still, he's relieved when Gwen leaves with Rhys for a two week honeymoon. Jack looks mournful the first few days she's gone, but Ianto's not offended. The Hub isn't the same without Gwen around.He's in the basement, checking on the Weevil cells when he hears it. A slapping and grunting that sounds like an animal. He checks his gun, thinking something must have made its way through the rift. It's hard to tell where the noise is coming from in the labyrinthine corridors below the Hub, but he tracks it to the firing range. By now it sounds almost human, but desperate, uninhibited. He stands with his back flush to the doorway and quickly peers around the corner.Jack's got Gwen pinned to the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. Her pants are hanging off one foot, socks and shoes still on. Jack's pants are sliding down his ass, just revealing the top swell. He's pounding into her, hard, knocking her head against the wall. The sounds are coming from both of them. She doesn't sound at all like a woman who's just spent two weeks in a resort hotel screwing her new husband.The first thing he thinks is that he didn't know Gwen was back. The second thing is that he must be a complete idiot for not realizing that was the sound of people having sex. He had lived in a dorm in university, after all. After that, his brain is just white noise.He's surprised to find himself sitting in the hall when Gwen walks out, buttoning her jeans. He didn't notice that they'd stopped. Her hair is mussed and she looks like she's just been on the best rollercoaster ride of her life. She only notices him when she bumps into his foot. She flashes him a quick smile, eyes darting to the side. Guilty, Ianto thinks, and then she's disappeared down the hallway.Jack's whistling when he walks out, sliding his braces onto his shoulders. He spots Ianto and cracks a big smile. "Hey!" He reaches out a hand and hauls Ianto to his feet. "Enjoy the show?" he asks cheekily and waggles his eyebrows. Ianto has to look away. "Give me a half hour and I can give you a personal demonstration." Jack brushes his hand against Ianto's ass and all Ianto can see is the two of them, pressed against the wall.He turns away, eyes unfocused on the concrete. "Gwen?" he asks, and he's surprised he makes any sound at all."Just an itch." Jack slouches seductively into Ianto's personal space. "Consider it scratched.""Jack…" Ianto feels like he's dying.Jack squints at him. "Sorry," he says, a little abashed. "I didn't know it would bother you. It never seemed to before, but I guess she's a friend of yours." He brushes his lips against Ianto's forehead. Ianto hasn't moved, he doesn't feel like he can. "Nothing for you to worry about, Ianto. Why don't you stay after a work a bit and you can punish me as you see fit?" He slaps Ianto's ass, then moves off down the corridor, starting to whistle as soon as he turns the corner.Ianto puts his hands against the wall, not sure how much longer he can stand. It never bothered him before? What before? Jack had never… Jack… He presses his head against the wall as if he could press memories out with physical force, memories he shouldn't have because they hadn't happened—flashes, just hints of other times, other people's colognes on Jack's clothes, other people following him into alleyways, other mentions, but he can't remember the details. He feels like a hole is being ripped through the middle of him, and that warmth he had filled himself with after Lisa's death, the warmth of Jack that had been his lifeline, it's all falling apart. Just a foolish illusion, not real at all.He can't feel like this. He can't breathe. He can't— He can't—~*~"Good morning." Ianto placed Jack's coffee on his desk. He looked grumpy. He always looked grumpy before he got his coffee.Jack snaked a hand around Ianto's belt and pulled him until he bumped into Jack's chair. It was because of this sort of thing that Ianto always stopped by Jack's office last with the coffee. At least this time Jack had waited until he'd set the cup down. "You didn't come by last night," Jack pouted into his hip.Ianto frowned. Last night…had he? "I must have been tired." He looked down at Jack, who was doing his best impression of a thwarted child. "Sir." That got a wicked grin. Always did."Don't let it happen again." Jack smacked him on the ass."Indeed not." Ianto pulled away. "Sir.""Careful, or I might just have to send the others home early." Ianto smiled cryptically and left his office, feeling Jack's eyes on him all the way back to the coffee maker.Gwen was just entering the Hub, a little late, but that wasn't unexpected for a newlywed. Ianto made a mental note to hold Gwen's coffee for the next few mornings. She'd probably be late coming in for a while yet.There was something off about her this morning, though. She looked nervous. Her eyes kept darting up to the shut door of Jack's office. Then she caught sight of him and froze for a moment. She made an aborted move towards him, then towards the desk, caught by her indecision in the middle of the floor. Finally she decided on the desk, rushing towards it. She dropped her bag, then turned around, heading straight for Ianto.Odd.When she'd approached, she stopped, looking down at her shoes. Then she took a turn brushing her hair behind her ears."Gwen," Ianto said, growing concerned. "Are you alright?""I'm fine," she blurted quickly. "Are you alright?"This was much too vague a conversation to be having this time in the morning. "Yes," Ianto drew the sound out, hoping it would lead her to elaborate.She broke into a smile, obviously relieved. "Oh, good. I just hoped you'd— I mean I want you to know that I wouldn't, it won't, and I wouldn't have, but Jack said you were okay with it." She looked at him searchingly for a few moments. Ianto hadn't the foggiest what she was talking about. It was at times like this that his upbringing kicked in and he tried to effect an expression of polite concern. "So, then… So, you and me. We're good?" Whatever it was seemed to have Gwen genuinely worried. Maybe she'd been the one who'd broken the coffee machine a few weeks ago, but would it really have taken her this long to fumble an apology?Ianto couldn't think of another reason. True, he'd been upset when he'd found the damage to the espresso machine, but it certainly wasn't worth this much anxiety. "Yes, Gwen. We're good.""Good. Good." She nodded her head a few too many times, then headed back to her desk, where she proceeded to rearrange her post-it notes, then her pencils. Owen caught his eye and made a quick crazy gesture next to his temple. Ianto couldn't agree more.The rift alarm went off mid-morning, which had Jack, Gwen and Tosh heading for the SUV. "Oh, great then." Owen yelled after them. "You just leave me here unless you need me to break into a high security facility or distract a flesh-eating monster?""That's about the size of it," Jack called to him, then threw a quick wink at Ianto."Well, guess it's just you and me, tea boy." Owen heaved a sigh."I'll make us some coffee."Ianto puttered around through lunch. He almost offered to order a pizza in, but stopped himself just before asking Owen if he wanted anything. That would probably be rude.Mid-afternoon, Owen must have gotten bored and came around to bother Ianto. "So that thing with Gwen this morning—what was that about?"Ianto looked up from the alien artifacts he had spread out over the conference table. Even the ones that were clearly broken needed to be properly tagged, catalogued, and archived. "I have no idea.""Did you guys have a row last night? You seemed a little jumpy when you left."Ianto furrowed his brow. Last night… "I was just tired. Went home, had a glass of wine, went straight to bed." That's what had happened. Wasn't it?"Huh." Owen picked up something that looked a bit like a pencil sharpener with sequins on the outside. Ianto smacked his hand and he put it back down. "It just looked like you got into it—what with her skulking around looking guilty all day."Ianto sighed. "Maybe she got into a fight with Rhys this morning.""Ah, the honeymoon is over." Owen hopped up onto the table, shoving a few of the neat piles Ianto had made together to make room. Ianto glared at him, but Owen wasn't good at taking hints when he was bored. "Why would she apologize to you then?""Maybe it's latent guilt over breaking the coffee machine. Do you mind?""Wait," Owen said with a snort. "She broke it, too? All that ribbing about not being good with my hands is about to come back to haunt her.""What do you mean?" Ianto said, distractedly."Well, if she broke it, then she can't bloody well make fun of me anymore, can she?""What do you mean, too? It broke just a few days before the wedding—unless you've been hiding something from me."Owen's laughter petered out. "Well, that was when I broke it." Ianto looked up at him. "Remember? I twisted the handle too hard, sprayed scalding coffee all over your suit?"Ianto frowned. It sounded like he would've been quite upset, but he wasn't quite sure… No, that wasn't right. He'd come in one morning and the handle had been jerry-rigged, like somebody had yanked it off then tried to make it look like nothing had happened. He'd spent most of a day trying to undo the damage."You…you don't remember that." Ianto shook his head. "You threatening to flay me, make me go through eternity wrapped in bandages like a mummy. You don't remember that?""I don't think I get this joke," Ianto said. He could feel something cold settling in his stomach and he didn't like it.Owen jumped off the side of the table and came round to look him squarely in the face. "Quick, Ianto, what happened last night?""I…was tired, so I went home, must have had a glass of wine—maybe two—went to bed. I told you already.""You remember that. All of that. You remember getting out the wine glass, pouring a glass, drinking it—"Ianto could picture it, he'd done it a thousand times, but last night, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Well, no, but I must've. I woke up with a bit of a hangover—wine always does that to me.""So you don't remember—""What's the big deal? Do you remember every little thing that happened to you last night? Do you remember untying your shoes and brushing your teeth?""Shit," Owen said. He started to pace. "Shit. Do you remember leaving the Hub?"Now that Ianto focused on it, no he didn't. He couldn't remember if he'd taken his car home or if Jack had driven him—no, his car was at his house this morning. He must have taken it. Why couldn't he remember driving home? He shook his head."Okay, what is the last thing you remember—that you are absolutely sure happened yesterday.""I…went down to the cells, I was going to check on the Weevils. I'm—I think I must've checked on them, but I don't—""Shit." Owen said again, then launched himself toward the medical bay."Wait," Ianto said following him. "What's going on?""I have a fairly good guess." Owen called over his shoulder.Ianto had a guess, too, but it didn't make any sense. "Retcon? You think I was retconned? But why would I be? I was at the Hub all day, nothing happened, there wasn't even any rift activity. And your memory's fine—it doesn't make any sense.""Let's not jump to any conclusions," Owen said, heading over to the medical cabinet. He punched in his code and quickly rifled through the supply of retcon. "Oh, shit. There's two entire bottles missing. That's over a hundred doses.""What?" Ianto asked. That sense of dread was descending over him, like he was standing over a precipice like Wile E. Coyote, and was just about to realize how far a drop it was. "That's not possible—check the sign out sheet."Owen pulled out the sheet—any use of controlled substances was supposed to be accounted for, Torchwood policy. He scanned over it quickly, stopping at the last few entries. "That's where we all lost two days, that lot's for Gwen's wedding—I don't know why I didn't notice it then. There's nothing to account for the rest of it.""You mean someone, or something, has just been erasing my memories left and right? But why? Why me and not the rest of you?""We don't know it's not the rest of us. You don't remember last night, you don't remember the coffee machine—which, if I knew that, I never would have brought it up again. Any other mysterious gaps?"Ianto tried to think, but it was hard to figure out what he didn't remember—memories got so jumbled anyway, dates got lost, details shifted, how was he supposed to know what he was missing? How could he have not realized he was missing this much?"Well, okay." Owen said when Ianto didn't answer. "Let me think. We know you were dosed last night, so maybe if we figured out what happened then, we can figure out why."Scenarios were running through Ianto's head. What could he have seen? He was usually the only one to go down into the sublevels—maybe they had a foothold situation. But that didn't make sense either—how could an alien incursion get access to the retcon? "We should call Jack and the others."Owen was at a computer terminal, busy pulling up CCTV footage. "Hang on—let's make sure we have something first. Oi, where's Tosh when you need her?" He banged at the keyboard a few more times, and Ianto was about to pull it away from him when he stepped back. "Well, that answers one question. Look at the footage of the medical bay last night."Ianto looked at the screen, a shot of the empty medical bay. He was about to turn away when the image jumped for a second. When he looked at the timer, twenty minutes had passed. "Whoever it is, they knew how to hack the CCTV footage. They knew that they needed to," Ianto said. "That means…doesn't that mean it was one of us?""Just hold on a minute." Owen was frantically rewinding through footage of earlier that evening, flipping between cameras. "You said you were going to check on the Weevils, right?" Sure enough, an image of Ianto wandering between the cells popped up. "Okay, so if we got that…" He flipped through a couple of the nearby cameras, then stopped dead on one of the firing range."Oh. Oh, well," he leaned in a little closer, then turned up the volume. "I didn't know she could make sounds like that."Ianto felt like he'd been slapped. "Jack wouldn't," he whispered. "He wouldn't do that to me."Owen squinted at the screen. "Doesn't look like he's doing anything to you, mate." Owen startled when Ianto grabbed the monitor in front of him and threw it to the floor, kicking it until those sounds stopped. "Whoa!" Owen said, stepping back. "Calm down now. Look, I know it's a bit shocking to see Jack with Gwen, I mean I wish I could scrub my eyeballs, but it's not like it's that big a deal. I mean, it's just Jack."Ianto looked at him incredulously. "It's not a big deal? My boyfriend is fucking someone else, fucking Gwen, on camera, and you have the balls to say it's not a big deal?"Owen, sensing that fury turning on him, changed tactics. "Look, it's not like Jack ever said he'd be faithful, right? Frankly, I don't know how you put up with it." When Ianto glared at him, Owen just shrugged. "I know it's none of my business, and I shouldn't be meddling in your intimate affairs, god knows, I really don't want to, but it's fairly obvious you two have an open relationship. I mean, you're not exactly discreet.""What the hell are you talking about?" Ianto couldn't think straight. It was like most of his brain was stuck in an endless loop of that CCTV footage, doubling in his mind's eye like two separate images overlapped. He tried to think back to Jack, but all he could remember was Jack with him, Jack devoted to him. For god's sake, Jack was in love with him, and he sure as hell was in love with Jack, and you just don't treat people that you love like—like that. "We do not have an open relationship.""Oh, come off it! I'm as open-minded as the next guy, you don't have to pretend." He said with scorn. "I mean, there was that time at the pub where he told you all about the guy he'd just screwed in the alley—told you in front of all of us, by they way, and I don't really appreciate being included in your little sex games." Ianto's face crumpled. "You don't…" Owen continued, more urgently. "What about that whole week where he was obsessed with the pizza delivery boy. He ordered pizza three times a day, but it was always cold by the time he brought it down. I mean, you were there with them in the tourist office. You must've…"Ianto slid down the tile till he was crouching on the floor. "That week I was out so much?" Owen nodded. "I—I had food poisoning. I was home. Jack brought me home.""That's, that's it." Owen said, running his hands briskly over his hair. "The retcon, and Jack. It's all about Jack. Think, Ianto. Can you remember, ever, Jack being unfaithful to you?"Ianto squeezed his eyes shut. This was all just too much. The implications made him want to throw up. "No," he said softly.It was pure bad luck that the others arrived back at the Hub just then. They heard the door roll open, then Jack calling out for Ianto. Ianto shot up like he'd been electrocuted, eyes fixing toward where the others had just entered. "It's him," he growled. "He did this to me. He made me think—he tricked me so I would stay, so he could have whoever he wanted and still have me." He bounded towards the stairs. "I'll kill him.""Wait! Wait!" Owen leapt in front of him. "Just think for a second." He put his hand on Ianto's chest, and Ianto batted it away. "Oi! Watch it! I'm Humpty Dumpty, remember? You break me I'll never get the pieces back together again." That made Ianto pause for a moment, just long enough for Jack to appear over the railing."What's all the yelling?" he asked curiously. Ianto growled, there was no other word for it. Jack was startled into taking a step back."What's this?" Gwen's head popped up behind Jack.Owen just had enough time to say, "Fuck!" before Ianto had grabbed a tray of surgical instruments and hurled it at the two of them. If he'd taken time to aim, he might have done some damage with the scalpels, but as it was, they bounced harmlessly against the walls and the floor, Jack deflecting the tray with his arm.A moment later Gwen had her gun out and trained on Ianto, who didn't look like that would stop him. Owen stepped between the two of them. "Hey! Hey! Put that down!""Owen," Gwen said calmly, "something's wrong with Ianto. Just step aside so we can get him to the cells, figure out what's happened."Behind Owen, Ianto started laughing. "Are we good?" he yelled at Gwen. "Are we good? No we're bloody well not good, you stupid c—""What's going on?" Jack roared, and Ianto's fevered eyes switched to him.Owen turned to Gwen. "Get out of here. Take Tosh and go. Just trust me on this.""But he's—" she gestured with the gun at Ianto."Gwen," Owen growled. "Can you really think of no reason at all why Ianto would be upset with you right now?"Her mouth opened slightly. "Oh.""Yes, oh," Owen waved his arms at her. "Just clear out for a while, Jesus Christ, before he finds something else to throw."Gwen held her hands up, backing out of sight. As soon as she was gone, Owen felt some of the fight go out of Ianto.But that still left Jack, standing over the autopsy bay like a drill sergeant. Ianto leaned closer to Owen. "It's him," he said desperately. "He did this to me. He's been doing this to me for—for months.""Think about it, Ianto. That doesn't make sense.""Well?" Jack bellowed. "Are you going to explain?"Owen held up a hand, ignoring him for a moment. "If it was Jack, why would he erase the footage of taking the retcon, but leave the…the other tape intact? Why would he flaunt it in front of you? Why would he let the rest of us know? If he was just trying to trick you, he'd be doing it in secret, wouldn't he? I mean, I know it's Jack, but this would be idiotic. It's inevitable you'd find out.""But who else? Who else would care?"Owen looked away from him, thinking. "But you did find out," he whispered. "You've found out before. You must have." He looked at Ianto with growing realization. "And every time you did, you made sure—""No," Ianto whispered."Over and over again—""No.""So that you could keep on thinking that it wasn't happening. It was you. You've been doing this.""No!" Ianto shouted.Owen stumbled back a step. "That's the sickest thing I've ever heard.""What?" Jack demanded, his patience at an end. "Owen, start talking right now or I swear to god, if you've done something to Ianto—""Haven't you been listening, Jack? I haven't done anything! He has. God, it's been going on and none of us noticed."Jack descended into the bay, taking the steps a few at a time. "You're not making sense. None of this is making sense." He turned to Ianto, who was still standing fixed to the floor. "Ianto—""Don't you dare touch me!" He shouted, then recoiled, curling into himself until he was huddling at the base of the stairs."Ianto," Jack spoke again softly, voice filled with concern. Owen placed a restraining hand on his shoulder."Don't, Jack.""I don't understand.""It's the retcon," Owen said gently. "Just look, Jack." He jerked him towards the cabinets. "Two bottles missing. Over a hundred doses.""He retconned himself?" Jack said, with dawning horror. "But that much—all at once, he wouldn't even remember his own name. He wouldn't remember anything.""No," Owen said. The only thing left in his tone was weariness. "Not all at once. Little doses—must have been every couple of days.""But—why?" Jack turned to Ianto. "Why would you do that?""As much as I hate to play Dr. Phil for your supremely fucked up relationship, he's been doing it so that he'll think you're faithful.""What?" That made no sense to Jack. Jack had been open about his needs from the start, and Ianto had never said anything. He always just smiled and changed the subject when it came up, and then the next day—it was like it had never happened. Jack gagged. He had thought that meant that it didn't bother Ianto. "How long has this been going on?" He addressed Ianto, who had started crying."Why are you asking him that? He doesn't remember a bloody thing.""But you never said anything," Jack whispered, bewildered. "You never told me it upset you. I thought—I thought it turned you on. That's why I always told you."At that, Ianto's head snapped up. "You thought it turned me on? How many times, Jack? How many times have you cheated on me? How many times have I known about it? Because I have to tell you, I don't recall." Jack's face paled. "I've been chipping away pieces of myself, for you. I've turned myself into a—a mental case." He gestured at himself in disgust. "And if Owen hadn't said anything, you never would have noticed. You slept next to me almost every night and you didn't even notice I was fading away.""Nobody noticed," Owen said quietly. "As long as we always got our coffee on time, none of us noticed you had more blackouts than an alcoholic.""But you couldn't have planned to do it," Jack said, pushing aside his guilt. "You wouldn't remember. Each time you took it, it would have been the first time. How is it possible that you'd keep taking it when you didn't even know?""God," Owen sighed. "You sleep with someone else, you tell him, he erases his memory. At least you two are bloody consistent.""What am I supposed to do?" Ianto whimpered.Jack spoke into the silence. "I thought you were the perfect boyfriend."Owen snorted. "Only you would think that, Jack."~*~Later, after Jack had tucked Ianto into bed, neatly removed his shoes and socks, and wiped the tears from his face, he found Owen still in the medical bay. "This is the last time." Jack said."Is it, Jack?""I promise. I promised him.""Which he won't remember." Owen returned the bottle of retcon to the cabinet, then locked it. "It had better be. No one knows how much he's already had. Remember Suzie's little pawn? I'm surprised he's not there already."Jack moved towards the cabinet. "From now on, only I have access to retcon. There've been too many mistakes." He felt Owen's eyes on him, judging him. Saying the mistake hadn't been Ianto's.Next he moved to the computer. "We need to erase all the footage of what happened today.""And last night," Owen added.Jack closed his eyes for a moment. "There can't be any trace. He can't find out about it again.""And what about me? And Gwen? You going to retcon us, too? I'm not even sure you could retcon me, but you'll try anything once, right?""No. There's been enough of that. Besides, I need you to watch. Just, make sure this doesn't happen again.""Good idea, since your powers of observation clearly need fine-tuning."Jack flicked through the footage from last night, feeling a pang as he erased the tape of the firing range. He'd thought, at the time, that he and Ianto could save that for inspiration if they ever hit a dry spell. He scanned through footage of the rest of the Hub, skimming it at double-speed to see if anything else was damning. He switched to a camera of the hall, where he could see Ianto sitting listlessly against the wall. Gwen's figure came out, moving too fast along the tape. Then he appeared, talked to Ianto, then left. And Ianto stayed. After a moment, the little black and white figure curled its fists against the wall, pressing his face into the concrete. Even with the static, he could tell Ianto was sobbing. Ianto stayed there for a long time, nothing moving but his heaving chest. Eventually Jack hit delete and purged the entire hour's worth of footage."I don't understand." Jack whispered to himself. "He was okay with it.""Welcome to love," Owen said harshly. "It's not all that fun, is it?"~*~The first time Jack cheats on him, Ianto is a little distracted. Ianto thinks Jack deliberately lost the first hand so he could shed a piece of clothing. And Jack being Jack, he chooses his trousers. And he's going commando. Of course.After that, Ianto can barely be expected to pay attention to the game, let alone notice Jack palming cards, when the promise of activities to come is right there in front of him. For some reason, the fact that Jack still has his socks and shoes on does not look as ridiculous as it would on any other human being.Before Ianto knows what's happened, he's down to his boxers, and he's only got those because he insisted that the stopwatch was a separate item of clothing and did not waver, even when Jack pouted at him. But when Jack pounces on him, quickly changing the game of poker into 52 card pick-up, it feels like he's won."Mmm," Ianto says happily. "I hope you don't play cards like this with all the other boys."Jack pulls back for a moment and something crosses his face too quickly for Ianto to recognize. "No," Jack purrs. "You. Just you. I promise.""Then I think it's time you collect your prize," Ianto says as he dances away toward the bedroom.~*~A few weeks later, when Gwen catches them in the greenhouse, it feels natural for Ianto to say Jack cheats. "He always cheats."
|
170732
|
Christmas Party
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Tara Maclay, Billy Cranston",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Rivulet027",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-15T00:00:00",
"words": "100",
"Additional Tags": "Atheist Character, Wicca, Crossover",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Power Rangers",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Tara sighed, still not understanding how she had ended up going with Donny to his friends Christmas party. She helped in the kitchen where she could, set things up as she was told to, but never felt a part of the group. Eventually she managed to wander away upstairs. In the back bedroom she found a blonde with his head in a book. He blinked at her as she dropped beside him.“Not in the Christmas spirit?”He shrugged, “I’m an atheist.”“Wiccan.”He smiled, held out a hand, “Billy.”“Tara,” she answered, finally at ease, “What are you reading?”
|
138668
|
By Courier
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/F",
"Characters": "Alexandra Cabot, Olivia Benson, Miranda Priestly, Andrea Sachs",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by RaeDMagdon",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-11T00:00:00",
"words": "1,075",
"Additional Tags": "Romance, Humor",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Alexandra Cabot/Olivia Benson, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Law and Order: SVU, Devil Wears Prada",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Title: By CourierFandom: L&O: SVU/Devil Wears PradaPairing: Alex/Olivia; MirandySpoilers: Spoilers for the end of Devil Wears Prada.Disclaimer: Not mine. *Sad face*Rating: T (Maybe even K...?)AN: Can be read on its own, or connected to the Magnetic Resistance universe....By Courier:...Alexandra,Congratulations on your latest page six debut. I was surprised and a little disappointed to see you in Vera Wang – high quality aside, surely you could have chosen something more outrageous for a widely-publicized, scandalous Sapphic rendezvous. The Anna Sui shoes, on the other hand, were perfectly gorgeous.Miranda PriestlyP.S: The brunette on your arm was also perfectly gorgeous, as was her Ferretti....M.P.You could have warned me that the flashbulbs might trigger a seizure. Press conferences and televised statements do not prepare one for tabloid reporters and New York's social pages. Olivia hit one of them with her handbag.A.C.P.S: Do you know how difficult it is to find a Ferretti in size eight?...A.C.Two appearances in three days. You are becoming quite the little celebrity, aren't you? If more size eights looked like your escort, perhaps more designers would be interested in making clothes for them.M.P....M.P.My head hurts. This is probably because I have been slamming it onto my desk. The D.A. is not pleased. My extended family is not pleased. Olivia is not pleased, but that is because she found your correspondences – scented stationary with elegant handwriting has 'tawdry affair' written all over it, pun intended. Once she read them and convinced herself that I was not an adulterer, she decided that I was a snob instead. I had to go to the Bronx zoo in a sweatshirt and a pair of her jeans and eat a hotdog to convince her otherwise.A.C.PS: No, the jeans were not Calvin Klein, or any other name brand. Stop glaring at this correspondence or you will start to wrinkle and blame me. We are going to Per Se tomorrow and hoping that it takes the paparazzi a while to find us....A.C.Was that a not-very-subtle joke about my age? I am disappointed in you, Alexandra.M.P.PS: Avoid Per Se. One of the waiters there has a contact at the Post. Did you enjoy your time at the zoo?...M.P.Fine. You were right. The reporters did find us at Per Se. Go ahead and gloat over it.A.C.PS: Yes. Olivia enjoyed watching the lion pride....A.C.I am looking at your picture in the post instead of working on The Book. Despite the frown you are wearing, you are carrying yourself with even more elegance, confidence, and poise than I have come to expect from you. You wear love well, Alexandra. If it is not too personal a question, may I ask when you knew that you had found it?M.P....M.P.Not at all. I knew that I had feelings for Olivia well before I was brave enough to admit it. My untimely disappearance was the catalyst that caused me to reexamine my life, although it took me years to sort through my feelings. We Cabot women are not supposed to be attracted to dashing female police detectives, you know.If it is not too personal a question, why do you ask?A.C....A.C.It is too personal a question, but I will answer it anyway. Nothing important, only a slight problem with an assistant that left me a few months ago. That's all.M.P....M.P.The one that left you in Paris and threw her cell phone into the fountain? How awful. I assume that you cared about her in some respect.A.C....A.C.You know the old adage concerning assumptions.M.P....M.P.You would not be mentioning her all these months later unless there was something there.A.C....M.P.Since I have not received a response to my last message, I am apologizing with this excellent vintage of Pétrus. However, I do not retract my statement.A.C....A.C.I suppose being a lawyer allows you to cut right to the heart of the matter, doesn't it? There was nothing there, or she would not have left.M.P....M.P.Perhaps you should try and make amends?A.C....A.C.This conversation is becoming uncomfortable for me even though it is not taking place in person. I am sure that someone such as yourself easily understands the delicacy of my position.M.P....M.P.Bite me, Miranda. If you're mooning over one of your Emilys, just tell her... and try not to be a bitch when you do.A.C....A.C.Biting you is the job of your Detective. Andrea is half my age, has left my employment, and I have treated her horribly.M.P....M.P.You remember her name. She must have meant something. Since she has already seen your wealth and was not impressed, I would suggest an apology gift that is more personal in nature instead of something expensive.A.C....A.C.Thank you. That's all.M.P....M.P.You're welcome. What did you select?A.C....A.C.Something in a certain shade of blue... Something personal.M.P....M.P.I hope both of you get over yourselves soon, because Olivia and I took far too long to settle things between us, and now we regret all the time that we lost.A.C....A.C.Look on page six.M.P....M.P.You look lovely, Mir, and so does your companion. Andrea is a very nice name.A.C....A.C.The sentiment is appreciated. However, I fear that both of us have gone slightly insane. Soon, she will realize that being seen with her wealthy (and very much older) female ex-employer will reflect badly on both of us.M.P....M.P.Stop trying to ruin a good thing before it even starts. Olivia wants me to invite both of you over for dinner. I think she is the insane one. You are welcome to come... but be warned, she might be wearing a Mets cap and drinking beer.A.C....A.C.No, I am certainly the insane one, because we are accepting your invitation.M.P....
|
177181
|
Stages of Transplant
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Tenth Doctor, Martha Jones",
"Fandom": "Doctor Who (2005)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by misscam",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2006-09-02T00:00:00",
"words": "1,418",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Stages of Transplantby misscamDisclaimer: BBC's characters. My words.II
Planning AheadThe TARDIS is never silent, but it can still be an unfulfilling conversation partner and the Doctor finds himself lapsing into silence more than he used to. It is perhaps a sort of grief, but he's grieved enough for thirteen lifetimes long before this. He won't forget, because he never does, but that doesn't mean he needs to fill his mind with it.It's always silent after, he thinks. Always, even in the roar.He likes noise. Likes his gob, and he's getting poor use of it. Likes someone he can be brilliant to. Likes someone who's brightness, energy and voice, matching his own.Not a replacement for Rose, no. He's never replaced any of them. Time doesn't replace what it kills, only brings new life, and he is ever time's tango partner. He never replaces them. He just always finds someone new and he thinks about it in the silence, the TARDIS humming with the future in his ear.IIPreparationHe sees Martha Jones for the first time in a hospital, and she reminds him so much of someone else that he wonders if time does replacing after all. But likeness in body is not likeness in mind, as he knows very well. He's never been human for all he looks like one. Time doesn't replace, but it can imitate.Martha Jones. He considers, watches, evaluates, as he always does and yet pretends it is all random, because he's not supposed to be following rules. Not even his own.She's smart. She's brave. She snaps more and at first look at him as if he's the nurse and she's the doctor and he finds it oddly attractive. Even when he tells her he's the Doctor, she looks unimpressed.Yes.He doesn't take her hand and tell her to run, because it feels too much like the beginning of something else. Maybe it's time to do something new. Maybe it's time to be radically different."I love you," he tells her instead, because he will, because he does, because love is so many things and because he should've said it at another end."I don't," she says after a moment. "Thanks... Weird-alien-Doctor-thing.""Doctor will do," he replies. "Thing is only for Sundays and inspiring hit Hollywood horror films."She shakes her head, even if a smile tugs at her lips. "I bet you're one of those blokes who thinks everyone finds him really funny.""They do. I am," he replies merrily, and tells her the best jokes of the Uglacian Laughing Empire until she does laugh and he wonders if he'll have to constantly prove himself to her. Doctors have a habit of wanting to run tests before making a diagnosis, after all. He knows it. He's found his own.Playing the fool is much better than being the fool, after all.IIConditioningThe first time he takes her in the TARDIS, she looks more annoyed than anything, as if it's his fault she has to re-adjust her perception of time and space. She asks enough questions to make even him feel his mouth go dry from yapping on, and eventually, he just snogs her. It surprises him that he does, and seem to surprise her that he does too. Her lips are parted, her tongue pushing against her lower lip, and he draws his own tongue across both, marvelling at how many different textures there are to flesh."You always snog strangers?" she asks, sounding more curious than offended as she takes a step back."No," he says, and remembers. "Not always. This time.""This time," she repeats, crossing her arms. "Anything else you'll be doing 'this time' and not always?""Maybe," he says, and likes the unknown.IITransplant"I want to go with you," Martha says, gesturing at the TARDIS a bit like it's a ticket dispenser and she'd like 'a trip to all of time and space, open return, please'."Why?"She looks at him as if he's daft. "You can go anywhere. I can go anywhere with you. I can learn anything."She's very fond of proving herself in words, he thinks. Still a mind of textbooks. Still a mind with ambition, wanting to go far. He'll butt heads with her, already has, because she's fond of sticking hers out."You don't like nonsense," he informs her, and she gives him another one of her looks. He's learning them. "I'll teach you.""I can come?""You can come."She shakes his hand as if they've come to a settlement or are in business together, then enthusiastically hugs him and the TARDIS, as much as she can manage with short, human arms. She doesn't even ask what a 'police public call box' is.He has a feeling she's already looked it up in the history books and doesn't want to seem unknowing.Yes. He'll have a lot to teach her.What she'll make him learn remains to be seen.IIWaiting for EngraftmentSome things never change. They still wander off, always wander off. Martha wanders off, and he spends an annoying amount of time in Lunar Base Hospital trying to find her, and trying not to be killed by giant amoeba. Hospitals. Always hospitals. It amazes him that some people like them at all.In the end, he finds her in a hallway, wearing scrubs and looking dejected."They still die," she says, not looking at him. "All those medical advancements, and they still die.""The future isn't always better. It's just different," he replies, and knows her first illusion of time travel has been shattered. Now she knows.Now she might walk away.He sits down next to her, discreetly wiping some squished amoeba off his shoes. He'll need to have those washed, he decides. Maybe with bleach."I always thought... If we just learned enough... If we just got good enough at transplants and cancer treatment and vaccines... There's never a good enough, is there?""No.""What is there, then?" she asks, looking him."Hope enough," he says, and she nods slowly, just once, but enough. He knows she'll stay. She'll learn. Never enough, but she'll learn.All the knowledge in the world, and the Universe still never runs out of things to teach, he knows.IIEngraftment and Early RecoveryShe saves his life.Trapped between a steel wall and a very nasty alien with very nasty teeth and a desire for Doctor a la Gallifrey, he is rather prepared to die if not quite feeling like it. But she sweeps in with a needle and jams it rather painfully into the very nasty alien's very private area (though she probably doesn't know it as such) and just watches the very spectacular passing out."I wasn't sure he had the right metabolism," she says as a way of conversation as he walks up to her. "I wonder if he..."He hugs her, and she exhales against his chest, leaving the rest unsaid. He can feel the tension in her body, mirroring his and he knows she knows fear and still dares."Martha Jones," he says, feeling her name almost familiar in his mouth. It will be, soon enough."That's Doctor Jones to you, Doctor," she says, and they laugh. Even if it's not really funny.It doesn't need to be.IILong-Term RecoveryHe finds her in a hallway, watching the shadows and looking a little puzzled. She doesn't know there are vampires lurking in them yet, but she seems to feel something is wrong still. Human instincts, wonderful things. Full of good advice on when to run, but humans never take good advice even when it kicks them in the glutes"Martha!" he calls, and she turns a little to see him come running towards her."Trouble?" she asks, face half in shadow, but eyes still gleaming at him."Yes," he confirms, finally catching up to her and watching the shadows move behind her. "Teeth-in-your-neck kind of trouble.""Too bad I'm not a dentist," she says brightly, and he knows she doesn't feel bad about that at all. Too busy being proud of what she is. Martha Jones, doctor-in-training, companion-in-training.Only now does he take her hand. For a brief moment, he remembers, but memories are memories, and future is future. Different skin now, but still warm in his hand. Different, but now it fits. Now it is time."Run," he says.IIFIN
|
142751
|
Surrendering
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Peter Pevensie, Susan Pevensie",
"Fandom": "Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by casey_sms (shinygreenwords), shinygreenwords, SlytherinMalfoySnape (shinygreenwords)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-22T00:00:00",
"words": "1,514",
"Additional Tags": "Drama, Angst, Incest, Sibling Incest",
"Relationship": "Peter Pevensie/Susan Pevensie",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "PeterSusan Incest Quartet",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Peter and Susan were having a week off. It was Susan's idea. After all, they had been working solidly as monarchs for three years now. The kingdom was quiet and Narnia was at peace.Peter looked at the beautiful green fields that surrounded them. The sun was drenching them in its golden rays. However, the High King found himself unable to concentrate on the beauty of the place. He was still puzzling over the diplomatic negotiations that he had postponed until the beginning of next week. What if this had harmed the political situation and reduced the chances of a favourable diplomatic outcome? A frown started to spread over Peter's pale, handsome face.Susan glanced over at Peter. She playfully smacks him on the arm. "Hey, stop worrying. Narnia will be alright without you. It's only seven days." She smiled. "Don't worry." She smoothed his forehead with her slender fingers and leans over to kiss the offending area. "I like it when you smile."Her older brother obliged her sweet request. He pushed all worries away and focused on his sister. His beautiful and gentle sister. Peter studied her pretty complexion and felt a flutter in his heart. She's my sister, he thought lovingly and despairingly at the same time.Suddenly a mischievous twinkle ignited in her alluring hazel eyes. Before Peter could react, Susan launched herself at him. She took him by surprise and it was this force that pushed him to the ground. Susan tickled her brother under her and was pleased to hear his musical merriment. Susan's hair had fallen in her face and reached up to brush it away. Peter took advantage of her distraction. With a grin, he flipped his sister over with one arm and she lay compliant beneath him."I win, Su," Peter beamed. Su was his pet nickname for her when he was sure they were alone. "Do you yield?"Susan raised her eyebrows and pushed with all her might. The two siblings started to roll on the field. Long skirts tangled with white shirts and grey trousers. The long grass parted around them like the Red Sea. Peter grunted. Susan was actually quite strong now, she was fit to be a warrior in her own right. My grown up sister, Peter thought fondly. His musing was brought to a stop when Susan elbowed him and straddled him. Her legs were parted, her long layers of skirt pinning him down."Ah Peter, beaten by a girl?" Susan teased.Peter chuckled. "No way!" In answer, he reached up to tickle the lithe body above him. Susan squealed in laughter and squirmed on his hips."Stop it Peter! You're cheating!" Susan giggled. She reached out to grab his hands. She managed to hold them down on either side of Peter's blonde locks. Sapphire blue eyes locked with hazelnut brown. The two eldest Pevensie siblings were now panting from the physical activity.Peter gazed up at his sister. His eyes held no trace of fear. He completely trusted his sister. Susan knew that he could throw her off if he wanted to. Peter was the High King of Narnia but he was also known to be fairly adept as a warrior. His sword fighting skills were formidable."Do you, High King of Narnia, surrender to me?" Susan said in a mock serious tone as if she were in a tournament.Peter stuck his tongue out. "Or else?" Peter asked defiantly. "What will you do to me?" He knows that she would never hurt him. She could never hurt him. Susan was the most gentle person that he had ever known.Susan just held his slim wrists, restraining him. Yet Peter was not struggling. He lay still underneath her. She knew that he could push her over if he wanted to but he didn't. She was surprised that he hadn't already flipped her. She squeezes his wrists. She could feel his pulse racing. Susan felt confused."No. I, High King of Narnia, will refuse to submit to you, Queen Susan…" There was a pause and he smiled innocently. "But I, Peter Pevensie agrees to surrender to you, my darling Su." Yes, I shall give you anything you want that is within my power to give, he promised. I will give you anything and everything.Susan was stunned at her older brother's words. The implications were huge. This was just a game right? Susan felt herself longing for Peter. It's wrong, she told herself. His darling Su. She sighed inwardly at the warmth that spread in her heart. Right now, she wanted to be his darling forever. She releases his wrists. They were slightly red from her grip. She had unknowingly tightened her grip as she fought with herself. Susan winced inwardly at her own handiwork. She lifted them to her mouth and kissed the sore skin."I'm sorry Peter. Why didn't you tell me I was hurting you?" Susan looked at her brother with sorrowful eyes. "You know that I would never try to hurt you brother? I didn't mean to…"Peter hadn't noticed before. "I'm fine," he laughs. "It's nothing." It was because of this that Peter knows that Susan would never hurt him. "I'm not afraid." He answered the unspoken question. Peter wasn't afraid of wanting more.Susan looked into his eyes and understood. Peter wasn't referring to his wrists. "It's immoral Peter," she whispered. She makes a move to get off him but he holds her hands and pulls him towards her. Their faces are inches apart."I love you Susan. It doesn't matter. Remember what you told me yesterday? You told me that I should enjoy life more and live everyday like it was your last. It reminded me of Dad." Peter's eyes mist over. Peter was usually the strong one. Susan knew that he had tended to avoid talking about their father because Peter was the one closest to him. It had hit Peter the hardest when their father was drafted into the war – but he had never told Susan that. He didn't need to. Susan found him sitting alone in the dark dampness of the air raid shelter. She didn't say anything. Susan had sat and cried with him. She held him until his incoherent sobs subsided. Then she wiped his face with her handkerchief and held his hand as they walked back to the house in the dark. "It was the same thing you told me as we were walking from the shelter that night."Susan nodded in encouragement. She knew what he meant. The week that their father had been drafted. The week before their father left to fight in the war.Peter stared into the eyes of Susan, the windows to her gentle soul. They gave him the strength to continue. He could see her support and faith in him. "You told me to spend the little remaining time with Dad as if it were his last and not to waste anymore time brooding over his drafting. You told me to tell him how I admired him…because I might never get to tell him again but to tell him I such a way that it would show that I believed he would come back. I asked you how I could do that and you said simply, 'Hug him and tell him that you love him.' Su, you always knew what to do."The barriers were fell. Peter saw that Susan's eyes were filled with sincere care, concern and love. A kind of love both knew was forbidden. Beyond that of a brother and a sister. So much more."I don't know what to do about this." Susan sat up straight and turned away. "Let go, Peter," she said tiredly. "I don't want to play anymore."Peter refused to liberate her small wrists. He pulled her to him and in the shock of the moment, she collapsed against him. Her brown hair now laid under his chin. Peter kissed her head. Then he left go of her and wrapped his arms around her. "No Susan. You let go."Susan was reluctant. Peter could feel her body tense against his and he could see her trying to struggle."Just for this week. For me Su." Peter pleaded. Like this is the last week of my life, Peter thought. I would want to spend it with you. "I love you."Susan surrendered. She pulled Peter so that they were side by side and then she kissed him. She let herself get caught up in the passion of moment. She let Peter's hands roam her body. She allowed herself to respond to his feather light touches. She kissed him back. Again and again. She gave him an unforgettable memory, a kiss so tender and prolonged that he was left gasping for breath. Gasping for more. She was his life, his breath and pulse. She was free.Just for the week. Peter could pretend, surrender to this fantasy. He could feel like he was in heaven with an angel. Just for the week, she surrendered.
|
143628
|
The Cuckoo in the Nest
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Sybilla Semple, Khaireddin Crawford",
"Fandom": "Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by ishafel",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-24T00:00:00",
"words": "1,009",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Yuletide 2010",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
All their lives, Sybilla loved one of her sons-- one of her children-- more than the other, and set the two of them at each others' throats when it suited her. And now they are grown old, and wise, and almost friends. Richard has sons, and Francis, daughters, and though she loves them all the grandchild Sybilla loves best is not hers at all.The boy that prowls her still-room is, like Francis, small and blond and clever, but there is none of Francis's delicacy to him, mind or spirit or body. “Come, Khaireddin, and sit down,” she tells him, and he heels like a well-trained hound.But he smiles at her, too, as if he wants her to know that he came because he wanted to and not because she wished it. His eyes are his father's, dark blue as the sea; his nature is like Philippa's, straightforward and fierce-- like Joleta's. The others persist in hoping, but Sybilla knows whose son he is.She loves him despite it. She teaches him, as she taught Richard and Francis and Eloise: he is as quick, as clever. His small hands are easy on the hilt of a sword, the rein of a fine horse, the carved arch of a bow-- as easy as on a quill, the pages of a manuscript, the strings of a lute.Today's lesson is on medicinals, and she lays the herbs in their small bundles before him on the table, and shows him which is which. Poison is a woman's work, but Sybilla is practical. There is no land waiting for Khaireddin, no title, nothing but what Francis may choose to give him. Everything she can teach him, he may need. Bastards, like women, have a hard time of it.“See the notches in the leaves,” she says, and the boy nods. “A spoonful will send a big man to sleep, so that he never wakes. A good thing to have on hand, sometimes, but dangerous, Khaireddin, and not to be used lightly.”He makes notes in the herbal she gave him, flame-bright head bent close to the table, and she almost puts out a hand to stroke his hair. But he is growing too big for such affection, and she has never been the sort of woman it came easy to.“Now, this one,” and she pours a few berries on the table top, “will bring a woman's bleeding, should she wish it.” Sybilla alone of all of them has never wondered why Joleta kept the child, when there are so many ways a child could be lost. She, who made the same choice herself, and made it three times over: three children born to an awkward and uncertain patrimony, when barrenness would have been wisest.She does not say so to this child, bastard born of incest that he is, but this time she does touch the small shoulder as he writes. Francis saw something in Gabriel that no one else could see; so too did Sybilla understand Joleta. Like calls to like, always. Sybilla's choices were unwise, and sometimes unfair, and if she had been in Joleta's place--. It does not bear thinking of.Khaireddin looks up at her touch. She marvels sometimes that no one else sees the red-gold of his hair where Francis's is pure gold, the squareness of his chin where Francis's is pointed, the steadiness of his eyes where Francis's dance away. This is Gabriel grown small again, this handsome and capable boy who loves war and music and hunting equally.“Feverfew,” she says, putting out the next. “I'll wager you know what this one is for.” She wonders sometimes what will become of this boy, it is true. The church will not have him, nor the court, and he is too good and too ambitious to waste as bastards are often wasted, serving Culter or young Kevin Crawford as a steward or factor. Yet he will be wasted as a soldier, too. It would have been kindest, perhaps, not to raise him as family.To foster him on a family on the estate, apprentice him with a printer in Edinburgh, send him to America to make his own way-- but in doing so they would have been acknowledging that there is nothing of the Crawfords in him, and Sybilla does not think Francis could have borne that, or the implications of that. Her poor, fragile, damaged son, who unlike Joleta has had to live with the choices he has made.On the whole Sybilla is grateful that Francis married where he did. Philippa has passed both her courage and her good sense on to their daughters. They are not, perhaps, as interesting as Sybilla's children, as her first Francis-- but they are a good deal easier to live with. And Richard, too, has done well; his sons have none of Mariotta's love of drama, but they do not have their father's overly gullible nature, either.And Khaireddin, whose mother was a whore-- a Scots whore or an Irish one, Sybilla sometimes thinks-- whose father lived by no rules but his own, no matter who his father was. Khaireddin is the most sensible of all of them, his temperament engaging, his nature peaceable. He steps between Kevin and Beatrice when they quarrel like dogs and cats, deflects the worst of Francis's temper, comforts Philippa when comfort is called for.Sybilla, who loves the boy best of them all, is not blind to the fact that no son of two such parents should be so malleable. Khaireddin is everything the situation demands, whenever it demands it. Richard takes him stag hunting and remarks on his courage; Francis writes music for him and praises his playing. If they wanted something else from him-- viciousness or stupidity or indolence, Sybilla thinks he would oblige, and do so convincingly.Like recognizes like, which is how Sybilla knew Joleta-- but in Khaireddin she recognizes something else entirely, and bows to his mastery. She loves the child, but she will never trust him.
|
114209
|
Aromatherapy
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "Pete Wentz, Ashlee Simpson-Wentz, Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by orphan_account",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-06-29T00:00:00",
"words": "1,390",
"Additional Tags": "Community: schmoop_bingo, Pre-Slash",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Pete/Ashlee, Brendon Urie/Spencer Smith",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Bandom, Panic At The Disco, Fall Out Boy",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/M, M/M",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
TITLE: AromatherapyWORD COUNT: 1,300-ishRATING: PGSUMMARY: Fucking aromatherapy. Ashlee hasn't talked about anything else in almost two days. If Pete never has to hear another word about the effects of cinnamon oil on diarrhea, it will be too soon.PAIRING: Pete/Ashlee (mild Spencer/Brendon pre-slash)~Look, Pete's not, like, a rugged manly tower of testosterone or whatever the fuck, okay? He's not that dude. He spent quite awhile sharing eyeliner with his wife, back before she was his wife, and he still does about half of his non-formal clothes shopping in the Junior Miss department. He's...like. Secure in his masculinity. Or comfortable with his femininity. Or—whatever the term is for a sensitive, socially-conscious dude who thinks gender-stereotyping and heteronormativity are stupid.But even Pete has his limits."Spence," he mutters into his phone, as soon as Ash's back is turned. "You gotta come over, seriously, I need...I need dude help, okay?""What, exactly, do you mean by 'dude help?'" Spencer asks suspiciously. "I already said I wouldn't make out with you so Ash could watch, right? We're not going back down that road again?""No, no, nothing to do with that. Though, remind me to ask Brendon later, okay? But this—it's Jessica, man, she got Ash into this—""Pete?" Ashlee's voice is close. Too close."Fuck." Pete ducks backward into the hallway and out of sight. "She's coming back, just come over, okay?"He hangs up without waiting for an answer, just as Ashlee reappears around the corner. She's got a bunch of white paper test strips in one hand and what looks like a smallish tool box full of tiny glass bottles in the other, and there is a certain glint in her eye that Pete doesn't care for. She kind of looks like a mad chemist, but the truth is much, much darker."Hey," she says, smiling. "I found some more test strips. Come on, I need your nose." She leads the way back to the living room, chatting eagerly all the way. "You know, a bunch of these are supposed to work wonders for insomnia. There are actually recipes, and you can use a nebulizer or even just soak a cloth and put it inside your pillowcase—"Pete sighs, and throws a longing look at the front door. Fucking aromatherapy. Ashlee hasn't talked about anything else in almost two days. If Pete never has to hear another word about the effects of cinnamon oil on diarrhea, it will be too soon.~Spencer shows up within half an hour, and brings Brendon with him. Pete is so pathetically grateful to see them that he might actually get a little carried away with the hugs."Still not making out with you," says Spencer, after Pete has spent a little too long just clinging like a limpet with his face in Spencer's neck. He can't help himself; Spencer smells like sweat, like salt water and skin, and after a day spent sniffing every known variety of essential oil in the universe, Pete thinks he might like to stand here sniffing Spencer's neck forever.Brendon seems mostly entertained when it's his turn. He's even stinkier than Spencer, it's fantastic. Pete breathes in deep, eyes closed."Is he...sniffing your neck?" Spencer asks in an undertone.Brendon laughs. "It's my animal magnetism. Someday, you too will succumb, Spencer Smith. Someday, you too will succumb.""Yeah, keep holding your breath. Hey, Pete. You...everything cool, dude?""Yeah." Pete makes himself pull away from Brendon's neck. "Sorry, yeah. It's just—Ash is on this kick—hey, no, don't go in there!"It's too late. Spencer has already stepped through the front door, directly into the Great Wall of Smell. Pete cringes, but Spencer just sniffs once and wanders off toward the living room."I guess we should go in, too," Pete tells Brendon dejectedly. He'd kind of been hoping they could smuggle him out of here unnoticed.Brendon grins. "You're weird today. Like, weirder than most days." He steps inside. "Did something—ooh, hey, is that bergamot?"Pete's jaw drops. "What."Brendon's already on his way into the living room, kicking off his shoes and sniffing eagerly. "Dude, I love that shit. Hey, Ash, is that bergamot?"Ashlee, who was already beaming in total delight at the top of Spencer's head while Spencer pokes interestedly around her weird smelly tool box, lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. Pete is pretty sure there are actual stars in her eyes when she looks at Brendon. "Yeah, do you like it? I think it's my favorite.""I love bergamot," Brendon says seriously.From his position in front of the tool box, Spencer says distractedly, "I like ylang ylang better. Do you have any of that? I can't find it.""Kinky," Brendon tells him, kicking him lightly until he moves over enough that Brendon can poke through the tool box with him. "That's an aphrodisiac, horndog. I'm intrigued.""It's also for stress, gutterbrain," Spencer says primly. "I have stress. I have you, and you are stress.""Any time you'd like to work off some stress," Brendon says suggestively, nudging Spencer with his shoulder. "All you have to do is say the word. Least I can do, happy to help. Hey, tea tree oil!"Pete is still stuck in the doorway, watching with open horror as his so-called "dude help" for the night settle down happily with a handful of Ashlee's test strips and start sniffing."Honey?" Ashlee tilts her head at him. "What're you doing?"Pete's life is over. He needs new friends. He misses Patrick."Nothing," he says glumly, and goes to find Bronx.~"You know a lot about aromatherapy," Ashlee is saying happily to Brendon in the kitchen an hour or so later, when Pete comes in to grab another beer."Ryan went through a phase," Brendon says with a shrug. "There was a lot of shit about 'centering ourselves' and 'boosting concentration,' and helping us 'harness our creativity.' It didn't really work—mostly we just avoided the bus a lot—but some of them were pretty cool."Ashlee darts a thoughtful glance at Pete, and Pete hastily ducks back out into the living room before she can start asking any more questions.~The night does, eventually, get a little less scent-intensive. Some Halo is played, and also some Ring Around the Rosy with Bronx, and even a little bit of music. There is a little more wine than is probably wise, and a whole lot of shameless flirtation from Brendon, which leads to a whole lot of blushing and eye-rolling from Spencer, which leads to a whole lot of laughing at both of them from Pete and Ashlee. All in all, it's a pretty good night, aromatherapy and all.By the time Spencer and Brendon have finally taken their leave, clutching tiny bottles of ylang ylang and bergamot respectively, and Bronx has been put to bed and the living room straightened up, Pete has practically forgotten how cranky he was about the whole thing earlier in the day. So when Ash climbs into bed, fresh from the shower and smelling amazing, Pete doesn't think twice about dragging her across the bed and burying his face in her neck."Mmmm," he mumbles, still pleasantly buzzed and relaxed from the wine.Ashlee laughs and slides her arms around him. "A little too much aromatherapy for you today?" she asks, rueful. "I did get a little carried away."Pete bites her shoulder, and slides his hand up under her shirt to rest flat against her stomach. "S'okay," he says, his words muffled in her hair. "You smell like you now. I like it."Ashlee grins, and twists in his arms until she can hook her leg up over his hip suggestively. "That's because my soap is vanilla," she says, and waggles her eyebrows. "Vanilla's a sexual stimulant scent, you know."Pete laughs, and rolls them both over until he's got her underneath him. "See, now this is a test I can actually get behind," he says against her mouth."Yeah," Ashlee mumbles back, distracted and happy. "We should test this one a lot." She wraps her legs around Pete's waist, and Pete rolls his hips a little."I fucking love aromatherapy," he says seriously, and means it.~END
Aromatherapy
|
163808
|
Words Per Minute
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Roy, Jen, Moss",
"Fandom": "The IT Crowd",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by RandomBattlecry",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-02-19T00:00:00",
"words": "1,990",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Roy/Jen",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Words Per MinuteIn the aftermath of the magician, Jen’s taking the time to have a bit of a listless stare, leaned back in her office chair, eyes fixed on the lone playing card that’s been left behind on her desk. Some sort of commotion in the outer room, a little Irish swearing, and Roy appears at her door with a ginger tap and a tentative smile.“How’s my soldier?” he says, moving in without waiting for an invite, and edging carefully to the chair across from her. He crosses his legs at the knee and clasps his hands. His attempt at an ingratiating smile makes her just a bit twitchy.“I hate breaking up with people,” she says, keeping the listless stare trained on the card. “I hate it worse when they break up with me, of course.”“Of course,” he agrees, closing his eyes briefly and inclining his head. She glances up, narrows her eyes at him.“Why are you being so agreeable?”His mouth opens, but nothing particularly coherent comes out. Just something along the lines of, “Ach— I— sh— what?”Typical.“You feel guilty, don’t you?” she presses. “You feel guilty for saying he looks like a magician and making me break up with him.”He raises his hands, palms outwards. “Hey now. I didn’t make you break up—”“No, but you must have known I couldn’t possibly go out with him. Not with a magician. Not with a non-magician who looks like a magician, Roy. It’s like—” She fumbles briefly for what it’s like. “False advertising!”Roy sits with his mouth shut and stares at her for a moment, while she reflects that he’s always doing this. He’s always doing something to ruin whatever thing she’s got going. Usually without quite meaning to, but she’s not willing to give him credit for that.He says, “You’re right. I’m sorry. When I mentioned that he looks like a magician, I forgot to take into account the fact that you’re completely anal retentive, and sort of mental. Next time—”“Next time!” screeches Jen, slamming her hand on the desk. “There won’t be a next time! I forbid you to make any comments on any of my boyfriends from now on. I absolutely forbid it. No. No, no no.”“Next time,” continues Roy, loudly, overriding her, “I will keep my mouth shut.”“But how will you breathe?” she retorts, not lightly, not jokingly; but Roy has suddenly decided it will serve his mysterious purpose better if he acts like this is all a tremendous joke, and he laughs, falteringly.“You— you’re in a bad way, Jen. I can tell things like that, just by looking at you. But you know what would fix us both up? What would really do the trick?”“What?” says Jen, frostily. The card is beginning to stare back.Roy thumps his foot down on the floor and slaps both knees with his hands, as though he’s proposing a lunch out. Or something really helpful, something she’d actually appreciate, like a nice cup of tea and a lie down. “If you kissed me.”In her time in the IT department, Jen’s become the master of the spit-take; she has a sudden sharp feeling of regret that she isn’t drinking something now as he says this. She would have gotten maximum propelling from that. She could have made the imaginary beverage go for acres. She could have reached Roy, probably, even though he was outside the traditional splatter zone. And it would have served him right, too.As it is, though, she throws back her head and cackles. Post-cackling, she looks at him and says, “What?”“Just a nice little kiss,” says Roy, edgy, nervous, though apparently not at all surprised to have his suggestion met with derision. He half-stands, hesitantly, as though her response has been interpreted as a maybe. “Nothing to it. No— funny business.”This, of course, is even funnier, and Jen takes another moment to get control of herself.“You can’t be serious!” she manages eventually, and Roy takes another half-step towards the desk.“I’m dead serious!”“No, but Roy, you can’t mean that. You don’t go around kissing people just to cheer them up.”He stands still, and swallows, and looks a bit guilty. She scrutinizes him.“Do you? No, you can’t, you can’t. I mean, who’d let you?”At this he straightens up, and folds his arms defensively. She’s finding everything funny now, though, so even this doesn’t help. She pushes herself out of her chair, punchdrunk from laughter; the chair rolls away as though desperate to escape— she can’t blame it— and Roy catches her arm to keep her from falling. He has been nice to her, for the most part, she reckons; and it probably isn’t very polite to hoot with laughter when someone offers to kiss you. But she can’t stand it.“Why?” she manages at last. “What’s in it for you? Are you— no— hold on— are you blushing?”His free hand comes up to hide his face; the other tightens around her arm. He shakes his head, curly hair swaying wildly.“‘M not!”“You are!”“No, I’m not, Jen.”He is, though. She steadies herself against the desk, and scrutinizes him for a minute. Roy— well, Roy’s a good sort. In a manner of speaking. He isn’t handsome, God knows, and he’s callow and inept and socially retarded. But for all that, she has a soft spot for him. He knows what she means, for instance, when she says that looking like a magician without actually being a magician is false advertising.She’s taken a step forwards, without quite realizing it.It’s not that she fancies Roy, heavens no. But there’s a certain something. And the height difference is intriguing, in a way. The capper to all these considerations, she realizes as he ineffectually tries to hide the flush of embarrassment on his face, is that he apparently fancies her. At least he has good taste, she congratulates herself, somewhat facetiously, as though she’s giving the compliment to someone she doesn’t much like. In fact his sudden interest is nothing if not suspicious— Roy doesn’t have good taste, and she knows it, and it’s been proven a dozen times over— but she’s caught away by enthusiasm for this poor schlub and his unrequited love affair for his boss, and before she knows it—“You are,” she says, and puts a cool hand to his cheek. “You see?”He is staring fixedly downwards, in the direction of her chin. So she leans up, and says, “Alright.” And she puts her hands on his shoulders and her mouth on his. And though in her mind she is painting a pleased picture of the uneducated prole yearning hopelessly after a noble maiden, after the first second or two Roy’s instincts kick in and he seems to realize that, yes, he is being snogged. Snogged as thoroughly as possible, given his height and Jen’s lack of it. And so he wraps his arms around her and pulls her upwards against him and, well, he’s quite good at this after all.That is unexpected.So unexpected, as a matter of fact, that she’s quite excited about the idea of exploring just how unexpected it is, and what else he’s good at. She’s not entirely sure if her feet are even on the ground, at this point; and when she buries her fingers in his curly hair and finds that it’s soft and clean— thank God for that, you can never tell with these geeky types, some of them might not even believe in running water— she makes a vague sort of pleased noise and that’s when Roy decides that enough is enough.With difficulty, he detaches, and they stand staring at each other for a moment.Then Roy says, very rapidly, “Thank you, Jen,” ducks his head, turns away, and makes for the door.“Wha—” says Jen. She manages to get back to the chair before she sits down, but only just barely; turns dulled eyes in the direction of Roy’s retreating back. “What? Hold on a minute. Get back here.”He stops, and his shoulders hunch before he turns back. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets and he looks like an abashed student called before the headmaster. The headmaster with a reputation for caning.Jen leans forward over the desk, still stuck in “excited” mode, and gives him her best seductive leer. It’s a habit. She doesn’t mean to do it, but it happens all the same. Roy gives a slightly sick half-smile in return.“You never did tell me what was in it for you,” she says, as though the answer to this is obvious to everyone in the room. Obvious, but she wants it stated anyway. Just to put it out there. Just so it’s absolutely clear.Roy disentangles a hand from the depths of one pocket and scratches at the back of his neck.“I’ll be honest with you, Jen.”“Please do,” she purrs, and slaps herself mentally. Stop it!“Something—” He pauses, and tilts his head to the side. The next words come out as though he’s biting them. “Something happened earlier, and I didn’t want it to be the last thing that happened, if I should get hit by a bus or something.”Something.Jen frowns. “What?” she says, and the irritability makes a reappearance. Hello there, old friend.He grits his teeth. “I didn’t really want to say—”“Just tell me, Roy!”“I don’t—”“You can’t be so vague about things and expect people to understand you. This is a problem you need to work to overcome, Roy. As relationship manager, I have to tell you, it will continue to get in the way of any and all relationships you intend to have in your life. Nobody wants their questions to be answered with generalities, and in the event that—”He claps his hands over his ears, squinches his eyes shut, and says, “Moss kissed me!”Jen takes a very deep breath.“Moss—”“Yes.”“And that’s why you—”“Yes.” He shuffles his feet and has the grace to look somewhat embarrassed. Jen stands up, very slowly.“Moss kissed you, and you were afraid that would be the last kiss you ever got, and so you came here to get one from me?”Roy shrugs, and looks helpless. “I tried to get someone else, Jen. I did ask. I asked everyone I knew. All the girls on Seven. I even asked a homeless lady on the way in, but nobody was having any, Jen—”“Moss kissed you— don’t tell me why— and then you came and—” She brings her fingers up to her lips. Her violated, IT-department-tainted lips. Oh, God. “Oh, God,” she says, involuntarily.“And there was a very good reason for it,” Moss’s voice drifts in from the other room, where— oh, God!— he has apparently been listening in all this time. “But no matter what Roy says, Jen, we can keep it professional in the office. The tongue was negligible.”Roy has gone into freeze-mode, and is just shaking his head in tight little jerks. Jen knows the feeling, but she is not going to show any compassion at the moment.“Out,” she says, and Roy winces and mouths, “Sorry,” at her before obeying.As the door closes, she hears Moss say, “In the interests of research, Roy, who’s the better kisser? Me, or Jen?”“Oh, God,” says Jen, helplessly, and subsides into a listless stare again; a stare even more listless than the one prior to it. The phone rings, and she pokes at it; but she can hear Roy pick it up outside the door. Hear him say what he always says.“IT, have you tried turning it off and on again?”And it’s only Monday.This is going to be a very long week.
|
101244
|
Four Children Sam Carter
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Stargate SG-1",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by noveltea",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-07-18T00:00:00",
"words": "1,011",
"Additional Tags": "five things",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Sam Carter",
"Relationships": "Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill, Sam Carter/Cameron Mitchell, Sam Carter/Martouf, Sam Carter/Jonas Quinn, Sam Carter/Pete Shanahan",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
I.Eva was born on another planet, but that wasn't surprising.It had been years since Sam had lived full-time on Earth, and during her pregnancy both her father and Martouf had advised strongly against unnecessary 'gate travel. And it wasn't like she couldn't continue her work where she was; Elosh was a world formerly habited by humans displaced from Earth and more recently settled by the Tok'ra.There were times when she wondered whether bringing a child into the universe during a time of war was such a good idea, but every moment she spent with her daughter, all their problems paled in comparison. Watching Eva was with her father...There was nothing that could compare.The decision to leave Earth had been difficult, although the prospect of being able to see her father more often had been what sold the idea to her after Martouf asked her to marry him.She'd never thought of herself as the marriage type - the whole white wedding and flowers thing scared the hell out of her - but what she'd found here was less 'showy' and more substance. It had been a small wedding, after some months, and then they went about their lives. The only difference was that both she and Martouf had someone to come home to at night.He was a wonderful father, and between Martouf and her own father, Eva was as doted on as any child could hope to be. Already two years old, she was a precocious child, with an eye for adventure. Sam had to keep an eye on her - Eva, they discovered early on, liked to disappear.They often joked that one day she would be a great adventurer.Just like her mother.II.Claire was born in a hospital; a sensible place to be born.The only concession Sam made for Jack was that he could keep his cabin for fishing - but they needed a real house. A house with more than one bedroom, and an assortment of electrical appliances.Sam shopped for educational toys; Jack locked them in a box and replaced them with 'fun' toys.Jack couldn't spend time with his daughter without making her laugh at least half-a-dozen times, and Sam was usually laughing alongside her.Their little family wasn't perfect, but it was theirs.III.Mary was born in Colorado Springs, but grew up in Minnesota.Pete was transfered there shortly after they were married and Sam followed, content in her new role. For years the Stargate program took up more and more of her life, and eventually she needed some space. She told herself it wasn't permanent, and she knew Pete worried that she believed it, but for now a simple life was something that she craved. She continued working for the Air Force as a scientific consultant; her research often sending her to Washington to present the latest results on the Stargate to a committee.On those trips, Mary came along.All her childhood, Mary had to listen to her mother talk about her research. When she was a baby, and wouldn't sleep without tears, Sam had discovered the fastest way to send her to sleep was to read out research papers; the fact that it also worked on Pete was a coincidence not lost on her.She had high hopes that her daughter would follow her path into science.But she would be proud of her no matter what.IV.Matthew Cameron Mitchell would never sit still.By the time he was three, Sam was seriously considering chaining him to a chair, if only for his own safety. Like his father, he had a penchant for trouble, and both she and Cam had seen their son through cuts, bruises, and broken bones.Kids would be kids, Cam pointed out, before he went back to teaching Matthew another baseball rule.He had a room full of toys, both educational and not. The prized collection of motorcycle replicas and Air Force fighter planes that sat on a shelf (a very high, above-reach shelf) were his parents' way of sharing their interests with him.He had his mother's eyes, and his father's smile.His curiousity he got from the both of them.... and one she did.V.Jacob was born on Atlantis.He was the first Earth child to be born on the lost Ancient city since the expedition started.Prior to the defeat of the Ori, Jonas Quinn had returned to the SGC with knowledge that proved useful to the defeat of the galaxy's newest foe. The relationship Sam had started before he returned to Kelowna was rekindled in short order, and when she was given command of Atlantis, she asked Jonas to follow her.Since arriving in Atlantis, Sam's method of running Atlantis was less of command, and more of facilitating communication between the factions within the city. Trying to step into Elizabeth Weir's place was the farthest thing from her mind, and she'd worked hard to gain the respect of the expedition members. It had been easy to do with Jonas at her side.Now Jacob occupied every free moment she had, and it wasn't an uncommon sight to see her standing in the control center over the gate room with Jacob on one hip and her datapad in her free hand while receiving reports from the staff. Nor was it unusual to walk into Rodney's lab to see him holding Jacob - as far away from his own body - while Sam worked on something at a terminal.Unfortunately for Rodney, Jacob thought he was the best uncle he had.When he wasn't with Sam, Jonas took his son on excursions throughout the city, and took on the role of educator and grown-up playmate. The both of them formed a united front when it came to persuading Sam to come 'home' at night, and were the ones who kept her sane.Jacob inherited his mother's love of blue jello, and his father's insatiable curiousity.In Sam's mind, her family was perfect and she wouldn't change it for the world.
|
144445
|
More Than Living
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "Dale Turner, Skylar Stevens, Jake Green, Robert Hawkins",
"Fandom": "Jericho (US 2006)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by nightwalker",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-25T00:00:00",
"words": "1,899",
"Additional Tags": "Apocalypse, Growing Up",
"Relationship": "Skylar Stevens/Dale Turner",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Yuletide Madness 2010",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/M, Gen",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Skylar's bedroom is huge and full of useless things: cds, a stereo, her ipod, the digital television she'd just talked her dad into buying for her, dvd player, her desktop, the laptop her mother bought her for school but which Skylar really only used to chat. There are other things, like her old dolls, lined up on the shelves over her bed and her stuffed animals, displayed on the window seat, left over from when she was young, kept because they were cute. Perhaps slightly less useless now since they can all still be played with.Her bed is huge, queen-sized and canopied. Her father had bought it for her over his wife's objections. She had been thinking about boys, he had been thinking about his little princess, neither one of them had been thinking about warmth. But three days after the generator finally runs out, Skylar appreciates that canopy more than anything else her parents have given her.She's learned a lot, these last few days. All the same basic kind of thing - how to not freeze to death - but she feels oddly proud as she puts that knowledge to work. She dresses in layers, adds blankets to the bed, because Dale has told her that no matter how nice her quilt is, three of them will be even better. In the mornings, she never opens the curtains unless she can feel the warmth of the sun on her face and hands. If she can, she opens them and lets the sun in to work its magic. On overcast days, she leaves them closed.The canopy curtains are light and gauzy, but Dale helps her pull them down and put up drapes instead. It's not as pretty as her princessy pale curtains had been, but it keeps the warmth in so much better and, as Dale points out, it's probably more authentic this way anyway.But it's only December, and the real heart of winter is still coming.***She's at Gracie's, manning the store alone, because Dale has disappeared before she even woke up again, something he's been doing a lot lately. Mrs. Folsom is negotiating for some dried beans and the last box of tampons when Lucy Miller and her mother come in. Mrs. Folsom wraps up negotiates fast, taking the beans, but leaving the tampons. She smiled and waves to the Millers but doesn't stop to chat. People have been doing that a lot lately, hiding what they buy, being secretive about what they have to trade. Skylar thought they were all just being weird until Dale mentioned that people were starting to go hungry and that the mayor was worried about stealing and violence.Skylar figures things don't get much more violent than twenty-three nuclear bombs, but she doesn't want to get robbed either."Skylar," Lucy's mom says in a low voice. She has one eye on her daughter who is skipping up and down the aisles, looking at the nearly-empty shelves but not touching anything. "Do you have any toys?""Toys?" Skylar echoes, a little blankly, because she's used to secret conversations about toilet paper and dried meat."Dolls, stuffed animals?" Lucy's mother says. "I'd settle for a board game or a deck of cards, even. My husband and I can trade for it," she adds, because everyone tends to assume Skylar really has what they want and is just playing dumb as a negotiating ploy. "We've been putting a little aside here and there.""Sorry," Skylar says. "We don't have anything like that. Just the food and supplies."Her face falls. "Oh. Well, thank you anyway, Skylar. We'll have to find some other way to make Christmas special this year.""Sorry," Skylar says again."How is Dale doing?" she asks as Lucy skips over to join them."He's fine," Skylar says. She waves at Lucy as the little girl stands up on her tiptoes to peer over the counter. "Kind of quiet, lately."Lucy's mom shakes her head. "I think he's too young to be going on rounds, but my husband says we can't afford to treat teenagers like kids anymore. We all need to grow up faster." She smiles at Skylar, maybe a little sadly. "You seem to have done all right. I'm sure Dale will be fine as well."****She has no idea what Mrs. Miller meant by rounds, or why she was worried about Dale, particularly. She is tempted to ask, but when she gets back to the house, Dale is asleep on the couch, buried under a million blankets. He'd started a fire, too and that takes all other thought out of Skylar's head. She grabs a can of soup from the kitchen cupboards and cooks it over the fire. The smell wakes Dale and they share the blanket and the soup until the fire starts to die down. He never says anything, aside from a quiet 'thanks'.When she finally, reluctantly, leaves the relative warmth of the living room for her bedroom, she's too tired to think straight. But she can remember Lucy Miller skipping through the store, and Mrs. Miller telling her that children need to grow up faster now, and she can't sleep for hours, thinking about all the useless things surrounding her.****"I need a favor," she says.Jake Green kind of frowns at her - the same look his father has, sometimes. Like he isn't quite sure what to do with her, isn't quite sure whether he likes her. He's never been rude, like some of the people in Jericho who accuse her and Dale of taking advantage, and Dale says Jake's the best guy in town, although Dale's definition of best lately has been geared toward survival. Skylar doesn't doubt that Jake Green is the guy most likely to get them out of this. She just doubts that he thinks she's a nice person and it kind of bothers her.But whatever that little frown might have meant - and maybe he was just busy, or had a fight with someone, or heard some bad news - he slows down so she can keep pace without jogging. "Hi, Skylar," he says. "What's wrong? Problem at Gracie's?""No," she says. "I need information. A list, actually.""A list?" he repeats. He's dressed for the cold in a heavy winter coat and gloves, but no hat. His cheeks are red from the cold and the wind, but he doesn't seem to mind. Skylar feels a little self-conscious in her fur-lined parka, aware of the moisturizer she used to keep her skin from getting too weathered."Yes," she says firmly. "I have an idea and I need your help."He looks a little skeptical until she tells him her plan. "I can probably get that for you," he says thoughtfully. "I'll ask someone in the mayor's office - if nothing else, the schools might know. I'll give the list to Dale on rounds. Sound good?"She almost asks what these rounds are, and why she's never heard of them, but admitting ignorance is a sign of weakness and she can't afford to look weak - especially not in front of Jericho's go-to guy. So she nods and is about to walk away when he says, "Was Dale all right yesterday?""Quiet," she says, remembering the evening spent silently."It was a rough day," Jake says, and he sounds kind of rough himself. "Two suicides, one of them an entire family - the Millers. It looks like their mom shot them all and then her husband and herself. And old Mr. Portnoy froze to death."Rounds, Skylar realizes. The morning patrol that went out at sunrise to see who had died the night before.Growing up was overrated, Skylar thinks as she slips away to let Jake get back to whatever he was doing. Right then she'd give anything to have people go back to treating her like a little girl.And then she thinks, Oh, Lucy.****Christmas morning was bitter cold.Her face hurt and her fingers ached and she really couldn't feel her toes anymore. She'd been up all night and ached to her bones and she still had more to do.A horse would have been nice, she thought wistfully. Especially since she was going to have to skip the farms outside town.She's making her last delivery on that street when she hears horses.She clutches her sack a little more tightly and ducks off the street, remembering what Dale had said about people stealing. But when she peeks around the corner of the house all she sees is Jake Green and Robert Hawkins on horseback.Their morning rounds, she realizes. But it's too early. She glances at the sky but there's no hint of pink to signal dawn. It can't be more than two or three in the morning.Jake offers her a casual salute. "Need a ride?""I'm okay," she tells him, curling and uncurling her toes inside her shoes."It's a long walk out to the farms," Jake says. "You sure you don't want a ride?""I-" she says. "How did you-"and Robert Hawkins holds up the stuffed bear she'd left on his doorstep. A piece of string is tied around its neck with a paper tag that reads, "To Sammy, From Santa"."Oh," she says."Jake tells me you're planning to deliver to the whole town in one night," Mr. Hawkins says."That's the plan," she admits. She feels silly, all of a sudden, playing at Santa.Jake holds out his hand. "Come on. You look like you're freezing.""I have to finish," she says stubbornly. "There are still a lot of kids on the list you gave me. And I don't want to - I don't want to find out tomorrow that they all died like Lucy Miller. Not without trying to help.""Your store keeps this town alive," Mr. Hawkins says."There's more than living," she tries to explain. "It takes more than dried beans and gasoline to keep this town going.""We know," Jake tells her. He hasn't pulled his hand back, just patiently waiting for her to take it. "That's why we're going to help you."****Dale is coated in a fine layer of snow when he comes home from his shift at the store that night. He looks better than he has in days and he's humming under his breath. "Hey,"he says. "Merry Christmas!"She smiles at him from the couch, where she's curled up with a book her father had been reading when he left. "Merry Christmas. Dinner's on the coffee table."The plate is covered in tinfoil. He lifts a corner and practically drools. "What-""Venison and roasted potatoes with carrots," she says. "Mrs. Green brought two plates over. Apparently when her sons were our age all they ate was frozen waffles and soup. So she thought she'd make sure we had a real Christmas dinner.""I love that woman," Dale says earnestly. "I'll get forks."They eat and then Dale grabs one of the blankets and claims the other end of the couch and starts to doze off. Skylar nudges him with her foot. "Aren't you cold out here?"Dale nods without opening his eyes. "Yeah. But it's warmer than sleeping in the store.""My room is warmer," Skylar says.Dale opens his eyes."We'll both be warmer there," she says, and holds out her hand.
|
166201
|
A Million Ways
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Kris Allen, Adam Lambert",
"Fandom": "American Idol RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by celli",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-01-19T00:00:00",
"words": "245",
"Additional Tags": "Established Relationship, Community: help_haiti",
"Relationship": "Kris Allen/Adam Lambert",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Look, I have the uncensored Kama Sutra," Adam said gleefully, sitting cross-legged on the bed, books and printouts and--were those pages torn from Cosmo?--piled around him. "And The Joy of Gay Sex, which, okay, good starting point but a little unimaginative, and A Beginner's Guide to Japanese Bondage, and some Brazilian thing that has diagrams, and I bet we're well on our way to a million already. You can pick first!"“Pick?” Kris opened a book at random. Two women were twisted into an impossible position, each with her fingers in the other’s--he dropped the book. “Lesbian sex positions?” he asked, trying not to let his voice squeak.“Never close your mind to inspiration,” Adam said solemnly, like some weird sexy art teacher.Kris licked his bottom lip. “Hey, Adam.”“Hm?” Adam asked, looking at an illustration from the Brazilian book.Kris shoved him. Adam flailed, lost his balance, and went down in a heap. Books went sliding everywhere.“What the--oh," Adam said as Kris straddled him.“Found my inspiration,” Kris informed him cheerfully, and bent to kiss him.“Well, fine," Adam said, laying back. Kris thoughtfully removed a well-worn Magic Eye version of the Kama Sutra from under his hip. “But next time I pick.”“Mm-hm.” Kris bent to kiss him again, long and sloppy. He slid one hand up under Adam’s shirt. “My turn first.”Adam’s eyes were full of sly glee. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
|
151057
|
Some More Attitude From
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Robots - Isaac Asimov",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by CatBar",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-01-11T00:00:00",
"words": "1,746",
"Additional Tags": "Robots",
"Relationship": "Robot Friendship / No Slash",
"Character": "Daneel and Giskard",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
In the local Town Square that Saturday night some yobs started fighting just as the two Spacer robots,, Daneel the humaniform and Giskard the metallo, were entering from a side street.The usual Saturday night activities were in full spate: al fresco eating, drinking, strolling about, listening to whatever live band or artiste might be busking that night, often with more than one performing at a time and usually alongside any karaoke and jukeboxes that might be blaring out of pub and club entrances. However, nobody seemed to mind, it was just all part of the atmosphere.Giskard and Daneel noticed other robots around, Earthish ones mostly and doing pretty servile sort of work: waitering and bartending mostly; later it would be the cleaning up of streets and premises. Assiduously tending to humans' every need and then clearing up the detritus afterwards. The robots looked lumbering and old-fashioned, forever completely at the mercy of human whim; it was an old jokeü on Aurora that stupidity was bred into the very circuits of Earthish robots so that they were rendered more docile. Or, rather, less argumentative – should such a near-improbable occasion ever arise."Oh buggeration," Daneel groaned, on seeing the yobs. "Now we'll have to bloody well go and sort this out.""Stupid illogical dickhead humans!" Giskard groused. "I was looking forward to a nice evening out."It was amazing how humanized Daneel and Giskard had become in just a few weeks working amongst humans on Earth. By incremental trial-and-error they had realized they could think quite rude thoughts about humans and it gave their positronic thought-paths, 'pozzies', not the slightest gyp. In fact it even gave them a bit of a high, and the more they thought these thoughts and then began, between themselves, to speak them out loud, the high became a positive surge, like a great gush of warm oil gliding over their brain-circuitry. Unwittingly, Earthers, in their sometimes uninhibited behaviour, had no doubt impressioned more apon these two robots than they, the humans, would've probably liked.So as the quasi-human in Giskard and Daneel groaned, cursing all humanity and its bestial illogical ways, the robotic got on with the process of readying them for the job that they must do. Deep in their circuitry the first law had stirred just enough as a reminder. Oh well, all in a robot's lot…. Sighing, the two robots moved with unhurried purposefulness towards the fracas that was going to interfere with their evening by having to have something done about it.Yet, for a few nanoseconds, conflict had reared its annoying little head and niggling thoughts dashed around their brain paths, colliding head-on with contra-logic and starting up their own little brawls.'Oh-shit-here's-another-human-brawl-about-to-start-up…..which-we'll-have-to-stop-it-or-stupid-sodding-humans-will-get-hurt…..stars-and-flaming-galaxies-how…? we're-not-supposed-to-manhandle-humans-in-case-we-hurt-them…..but-we-fucking-must-or-more-humans-might-get-hurt-too…..oh-fuck-now-our-pozzies-will-go-ballistic!...(and then the grand finale)….. hey-hey-hey-they-haven't!... (and then more of that gorgeous surge of comforting certainty that wiped out all doubt and uncertainty)…..so-maybe-we-can….'In a millisecond they had taken in the scene before them. Some bloke lay on the ground, groaning and holding his face, and three others jostled menacingly around him, before one drew back his foot.In a blur of movement Giskard propelled himself into a low dive, shot out a hand and grabbed the ankle of the yob's drawn-back foot before effortlessly swinging him upside down so that, most humiliatingly, he dangled, swearing and flailing. With another flicker of movement Giskard then managed to catch the bloke's other ankle in the same hand so that both feet were securely restrained. When another lout tried to rugby-tackle Giskard the robot merely flicked out a foot and tripped him onto his back where he lay winded."Crapping hell!" He caught sight of what his assailant was. "I'm being attacked by a fucking robot!""Sure you fucking are, mate," Giskard answered, and the yob did a double-take – or as best he could from upside down. A robot answering back – and in matching language too!Partially recovering his wits the youth snarled, "Well you can bleeding – I order you - to put me down, robot." Giskard merely gave him a hard green stare and said, "Not so fast, mate. Where orders are concerned I know my priorities," which made the youth almost lose what wits he had recovered. Not only a robot answering back but one who could prioritize orders from a human."Coo," a third yob sniggered, jabbing a finger in Daneel's face. "And is this pretty dude gonna fight too?""Let's try him out," another smirked. "Won't look so pretty then will he?"They made the mistake of lungeing at Daneel who, with a neutral almost pleasant expression, simply whipped up both hands and grabbed all four of their wrists, holding them at arm's length, and fending off a rear attack by two more blokes by whirling round so that his two captives' feet clonked into the others' faces. A third was despatched by a simple roundhouse foot flick. When one of the other two tried to get up he too was neatly tripped. Daneel gave them his beautiful easy smile. "See," he said. "This pretty dude fights - OK."He did too. Not by obvious fisticuffs. Just scarily fast reflexes. And, with not the slightest flicker of strain, he could, one-handedly, swing them about like ragdolls whilst pivoting on one foot. Inhuman! It was one of the slightly brighter youths who said, "You're one of these fucking creepy humaniforms, ain'cha," and Daneel replied in a voice of dulcet steel, "Yeah. I'm one of fucking those." The momentarily startled look on the youth's face at this like-for-like rejoinder from such an unlikely source was almost comical. Meanwhile Daneel had flicked up a foot as one of the other yobs was scrambling to his feet and the knife he was wielding went flying. The yob yelled and swore but he didn't try to attack; instead he hovered, trying to look menacing. One of the others, still in Daneel's grip, tried to bellow out an order - maybe if one fucking yelled it loud enough it might have an effect! - but all it produced was another steely smile that only the worst sort of human robot could give."You're hurting me, crapface. Robots ain't supposed to hurt humans.""If you kept still you'd be hurting yourself less."The yob tried to kick. Daneel merely, gradually, tightened his grip on the youth's wrists until he slightly winced. "H-hoi, tha-that's fighting dirty, you–.""Well stop kicking then. I'd rather not have to break anything." That steely look, without the smile this time. "I came out for a evening stroll yunno. Not to get into human's illogical crap messes."Pointless to then demand 'well why get into it then?' Even the dimmest yob knows that a robot has to do this because of its first law. The law that demands a robot takes action to supposedly stop humans coming to harm and such stuff. Well, this humanized sod didn't seem to mind doing a bit of hurting did he in order to appease the demands of his first law. No doubt he was fucking human enough to actually be enjoying it!Throughout Daneel and Giskard's hands and feet moved with a speed that a karate fighter would envy and in under a minute eight drunken swearing louts were adroitly coralled into a bewildered heap."Fuck this!," snarled one. "Think I'm gonna let two fucking tin drongo's beat me!" He clumsily tried to charge, head down and fists flailing. All that happened was that he found himself deftly tripped forwards and his fists caught in Giskard's scarily steel grip. Another had a go and got the same treatment. Well, even if a lost cause, go down fighting, and yell a lot like one was getting hurt bad. But, fuck it, even that was a gonner: these robots knew how to hurt just enough to stop one yelling so that all a guy could do was gasp like some bloody wet as his wrists felt like they were being crushed by pincers!"It's only a robot, stupid. It can't really hurt you, it should have the three laws and stuff. Just fucking order it to let you go.""Don't you ever listen." Giskard's tone would've withered steel. His captives started kicking, so he simply let them dangle over their mate on the ground, who swore as their kicking feet mostly got him in the face rather than anywhere near the loathsome creature who dandled them so effortlessly and seemed worryingly capable of breaking all their wrist bones.Quite an audience had gathered by now, fascinated by these two extraordinary beings; one obviously a robot – though, judging from its sinuous build and grace, clearly of un-Earthish origin -, with the other appearing human until one witnessed his most inhuman agility and strength. And both having, most effectively, overcome half a dozen very belligerent louts with great prowess and no apparent ill-effects: appearing unfazed by a few orders and by manhandling and restraining (without actually beating up) a bunch of troublesome humans. There had been a scary moment when the troublemakers had shouted out orders which, with Earthish robots, might well have altered the balance of power by bringing the second law into action. All eyes had been on Daneel and Giskard, fearful now in case the second law prove too strong to overcome, and half a dozen rampaging and very angry louts would at any second be let loose. The two robots had done a magnificent – and unprecedented – job [up to now], but surely there was no counteracting of the second law: an order given by a human being to a robot was just that, and robots were hardwired to obey at all costs, surely….Some of the more nervous had backed away, one or two fled, which later turned out to be a pity as they would've witnessed one very extraordinary event: robots apparently ignoring orders. Even answering back – and not overly politely either!What was funny was that, sure, other robots had gathered round the fracas, their first laws twitching, but – because of the dilemma between preventive action to protect humans from hurt but not manhandling humans in case they hurt them – these simpler robots dithered and a few went into shutdown.And what was funnier still was that the Police emerged from the crowd, in which they'd been standing for the past few minutes, and as they surrounded the group of glowering but well-restrained louts their leading officer said how much they'd enjoyed the show!
|
161491
|
Introduction to the
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Josef Konstantin, Mick St John",
"Fandom": "Moonlight (TV)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Emerald",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2009-01-17T00:00:00",
"words": "825",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Josef Konstantin/Mick St John",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Josef/Mick Moonlight",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
“You’re not thinking of wearing that, are you?” Josef regarded the younger vampire standing in front of him with barely concealed annoyance.“Newly turned vampires.” Josef thought and mentally rolled his eyes, “Why do they always think they automatically have to start dressing like their auditioning for a role in one of Hollywood’s tragic tales of the undead?”Coraline had left him to look after her latest pet project and Josef was none to happy about it. Playing babysitter to some wet behind the ears fledgling was not exactly his idea of fun. Even if that fledgling came with the face of an angel and a name to match. Mick St John. Josef tested the name on his tongue, silently forming the letters.“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Josef heard Mick ask, brow furrowed and head tilted in a question.“Well it’s very Vlad the Impaler meets Bela Lugosi,” Josef arched an eyebrow and offered Mick a flippant smile, “but I wouldn’t be seen undead or otherwise out in public with you dressed like that. Take it off; you can wear something of mine.”Mick hesitated for a moment, wary, and then slowly began working on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them and slipping the billowing garment off his shoulders and down his arms.“What did you say your name was again?” Mick thought it best to at least try his hand at small talk, hoping the sound of their voices in the room would break through the crackle of electricity that had begun to form in the air around them.“I didn’t. It’s Josef Kostan.” He leant against the wall behind him and made a circular gesture in the air with a finger pointed in Mick’s direction. “Pants too.” He instructed.Josef shifted and began to prowl circles around Mick as Mick hesitated and then stripped off the pants he was wearing as well.“What are you doing?” The way Josef was looking at him, as if he were drinking him in through his eyes was making Mick decidedly nervous.“Nothing.” Josef shrugged half heartedly and gave Mick a school boy innocent smile, “Just checking out what size you are.”Josef approached Mick then, placing one hand on the small of Mick’s back and draping the other over his shoulder, pressing his palm against Mick’s chest. “You should learn not to slouch so much,” He told him. “Clothes hang better when you maintain correct posture.”An unneeded breath hitched in Mick’s throat as Josef trailed his hand down Mick’s chest and skipped his fingers across Mick’s abdomen.“And relax.” Josef’s lips hovered barely an inch away from the side of Mick’s neck, his breath fanning hot against Mick’s skin. “You’re far too tense.”Mick let out a half strangled groan of surprise as Josef slipped his fingers beneath the elastic waistband of Mick’s underpants and then grasped Mick’s cock with his hand.Coraline hadn’t quite gotten around to instructing him on this part of being a vampire. Mick knew the man who had introduced himself as Josef Kostan was a good deal older than he was in vampire years and probably considerably more powerful. He couldn’t be sure if this was a normal part of vampire relations or just an individual particularity. Nevertheless he wasn’t about to risk making a mistake and offending the gentleman by telling him to stop.Josef felt Mick harden under his touch as he wrapped his fingers around Mick’s shaft and began to stroke the length of him, running his hand from the base to the tip of Mick’s cock and back down again.Mick felt warm wet lips pressed against the side of his neck then, a barely perceptible scraping of fangs against flesh. Josef began to increase the pace of his hand movements with each pass, smiling to himself as he heard Mick’s breath start to come in short ragged pants and Mick began to thrust his hips and moan almost in spite of himself.And then suddenly Mick was dancing on a knife edge, feeling his fangs descend and the overwhelming urge to bite into flesh flow through him. Josef pressed his wrist to Mick’s mouth and whispered a single command.“Come.”Mick gave a final cry of release and fell into the abyss, sinking his fangs into the skin of Josef’s proffered wrist as his body trembled with pleasure and he flooded Josef’s hand with semen.When it was over, and Josef had squeezed the last drops of fluid from Mick’s cock, he bent down to pick Mick’s shirt up from the floor and casually wiped his hand on it.Handing the shirt to Mick, Josef gave a brief, satisfied nod of his head and then offered Mick a perfect snake charmer smile and told him,“I have a feeling we’re going to be friends, Mick. As a matter of fact I have a feeling we’re going to be the very best of friends.”
|
155633
|
Dust Echoes
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Eusebios (Clash of the Titans), Ixas (Clash of the Titans), Solon (Clash of the Titans)",
"Fandom": "Clash of the Titans (2010)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by smaragdbird",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "2011-01-25",
"published": "2011-01-24T00:00:00",
"words": "1,039",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Eusebios/Ixas",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "New Year's Resolution 2011",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Eusebios stared into the dark forest. Everyone else was asleep around the fire as it was his turn to keep watch.“You’re so deep in thoughts one could mistake you for a philosopher.” Eusebios startled when Ixas suddenly appeared behind him.“Maybe I’m a philosophising warrior.” He replied, trying to cover his surprise. Ixas lay a hand on his shoulder and sat down next to him. His already messy hair was even more unruly now that he was fresh out of bed so to speak. Seeing him like this, Eusebios was struck with the desire to detangle the knots and braids in Ixas’ hair until it fell down smooth and soft around his face and shoulders like a lion’s mane.“Come on, tell me what had you so deep in thoughts tonight?” Ixas grinned and nudged his shoulder against Eusebios’. Eusebios felt himself blush against his will and, ducking his head, he murmured: “Nothing.”“Please don’t tell me you’re homesick already.” Ixas teased him lightly.“Of course not.” Eusebios protested, glaring at Ixas. He felt his face heat the longer he felt Ixas’ eyes on him. Eusebios liked his eyes. “Sea-kissed” the people in Argos called them and they had the same shade of blue as the waves on the shallow beach near Argos where Eusebios had grown up.Finally he gave in to Ixas’ intent stare.“It’s something Draco said,” He didn’t look at Ixas while he spoke. He knew himself that it was ridiculous he spent this much time thinking about Draco’s words. Ixas laughed softly.“Draco says a lot of things when the day is long enough.” When Eusebios looked away, embarrassed, he amended: “But that doesn’t mean the things he says are pointless.” He nudged Eusebios again: “What was it?”Eusebios hesitated for a few moments until he, still avoiding Ixas’ eyes, said: “Before we were leaving Argos, in the armoury, Draco said that we were only an honour guard. Young men who look good on the reviewing stand and old soldiers heading towards retirement, but where does that put you?”“Me?” Ixas looked like he didn’t understand.“It seems like Draco considers you...expendable.” it took a moment but then a smile broke out on Ixas’ face.“That’s how you interpreted his words?” He laughed and Eusebios felt even more ashamed but Ixas caught the look on his face and stopped.“Hey, “he said more gently: “Draco implied that we’re all expendable compared to Perseus. That doesn’t mean we won’t make it home.”“Do you think so?” Eusebios asked, still uncertain.“You’re not afraid to die, are you?” Ixas’ tone was light, teasing. They were warriors. It was expected of them not to be afraid of death.“No.” Eusebios answered and it was true. He had been resigned to it, accepted it as his eventual fate when they had put him into training when he had still been a small boy. But he was lying at the same time because a part of him was afraid to die - a part of him was terrified if he was honest with himself. It was the part of him that was desperately in love with Ixas, the part of him that was afraid to think that Ixas would die, possibly before him: “Are you?”Ixas was silent for a moment before he answered staring into the flames.“I don’t want to die, “he finally replied carefully: “but I’m not afraid, no.” Then he looked up, grinning, and added: “Someone has to tell our story anyway. And Perseus, demigod or not, is a lousy storyteller.”Eusebios laughed at that because it was true. Perseus was too prosaic, too straightforward in his stories, at least in the few he had told when Ixas had teased him about being familiar with sea-monsters already.Ixas on the other hand seemed to know all the stories about every God, hero and monster that had ever walked the earth. Every place in and around Argos had its own myth, even though Eusebios suspected that Ixas had made most of them up himself. Solon had called him the ‘forgotten son of Calliope and Poseidon’ more than once for that and his blue eyes.“You’re the best storyteller of Argos.” Eusebios more or less murmured and blushed.“I’m glad you think so.” Ixas answered and leaned in to kiss him. Ixas’ beard scratched against his skin. He didn’t break the kiss but instead searched with his free hand for Ixas’ and tangled their fingers together.They only broke apart when they heard steps behind them and someone clearing his throat.“Solon,” Ixas said, looking up: “Do you want to join us?”“Do I look like I want to join you?” Solon asked disgruntled.“We were only telling stories.” Eusebios muttered. Solon, the most experienced of all of them even including Draco, always made him feel flustered.“So, that’s what you call it these days?” Solon asked with raised eyebrows. Despite his protests he did sit down next to Ixas. He looked sceptically at Ixas’ and Eusebios still tangled hands. Eusebios, feeling self-conscious would have pulled back but Ixas answered Solon’s look with an unimpressed one of his own and kept their hands where they were.“Go away, it’s not your shift anymore anyway.” He told them.“If you insist.” Ixas answered with a wide smile and pulled Eusebios up with him.“Don’t get eaten by dryads.” Solon called after them.“We’ll be close by.” Ixas assured him.“But not so close that I can hear you.” Solon warned them before they slipped between the shadows of the trees. The last thing he heard from them was Eusebios’ light laughter.They stumbled through the woods, Eusebios following Ixas’ lead without a question.“Right,” Ixas said when they finally stopped: “Where were we?”“I think you know.” Eusebios grinned, leaning against a tree and pulled Ixas towards him until he was caught between Ixas and the tree.“Really?” Ixas asked with a grin that hovered only a few inches from Eusebios’ face. He let go of Eusebios’ hand to slowly slide his own up Eusebios’ thighs. Eusebios wrapped his arms around Ixas’ shoulders to pull him into a kiss after he had said: “I think you do.”
|
151032
|
Adventures in
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/F",
"Characters": "Keith Olbermann, Rachel Maddow, Susan Mikula",
"Fandom": "Real News RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by sarken",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-08-20T00:00:00",
"words": "693",
"Additional Tags": "TSP Comment Fic, Nursing Vampire Babies, Real Life Significant Others",
"Relationship": "Rachel Maddow/Susan Mikula",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "TSP Comment Works",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
When Rachel comes home late, weighted down with a baby and a tote bag full of supplies, Susan is quick to relieve her of half the burden."He's adorable," she coos, balancing the baby on her hip. She tries to give Rachel a suspicious glare, but she can't keep her eyes off the baby. "What's his name, and who did you steal him from?""Keith," Rachel mumbles as she sets the bag down. She drops her keys into one of the the outer pockets and hopes she'll remember it in the morning."Keith?" Susan repeats, incredulous. She narrows her eyes, but she's smiling when she swats Rachel on the arm. "You didn't even tell me they were expecting."Rachel sighs and reaches for the baby. "The baby's not Keith's -- the baby is Keith."Susan's smile fades. "What?""I don't know," Rachel says through clenched teeth. She shifts Keith's weight around a little, but her body is tired from carrying him home. She gives up and sits on the couch. "Something to do with his vampirism. He was in the middle of explaining it when this happened. Can you get Batly out of the bag for me?"Rachel sees the question forming on Susan's lips, and she shakes her head. "You'll know Batly when you see him."With a shrug, Susan opens the bag. There's a stuffed bat near the top of the bag's contents, and it rattles when she lifts it out. "Batly, I presume?" shes asks, holding it up.Rachel nods. "I don't know if that's actually his name," she admits, watching Susan press the fuzzy bat into Keith's tiny hands. He immediately shoves the corner of Batly's right wing into his mouth. "It probably has some sort of Monty Python name, but, like I said, we didn't really get that far, so I took some liberties."Susan joins Rachel on the couch and reaches a hand up to stroke Keith's hair. It's still silver in front, dark in back."He's cute like this." Susan's voice is cautious, like Keith might suddenly launch into a Special Comment.Rachel snorts. "Oh, he's cute, all right. He spent the first half of the trip home trying to bite my neck and suck my blood. I thought he was going to gum me to death."Susan laughs and grabs Keith's little foot. "And what did he do on the second half?" she asks, using a baby voice as she gently wiggles Keith's foot."Tried to nurse." She makes a face. "Which, by the way, was when the fangs came out."Susan laughs even harder. "I'm sorry," she says, trying to hide her snickering behind her hand when Rachel glares at her. Keith takes the bat out of his mouth and looks at Susan with wide, innocent eyes before joining in the laughter. He rattles Batly in time with his baby giggles, and Rachel melts, resting her forehead against the top of his head."You're horrible," she groans, and she's not sure if she means Keith or Susan or both. Keith coos, and Rachel repeats herself in a lighter, baby-approved tone. "You are. You're both horrible, horrible people who delight in seeing me suffer, but that's okay. Do you know why that's okay?" She looks across and Susan while tickling Keith's belly and making him laugh harder. "It's okay because I love you, both of you, and because Susan is taking diaper duty to make up for laughing at my pain. Right, Susan?"That gets Susan to finally stop laughing. "Diaper duty?""Diaper duty," Rachel confirms. When Susan starts to protest, Rachel shakes her head. "I have to work with him when he's an adult again. I'm not going to be able to look him in the eye on national television knowing I've changed his stinky diaper."Susan sighs loudly. "All right, but only because I know how you feel about getting blotchy and embarrassed on TV."Rachel grins. "I'll totally make it up to you," she promises, passing Keith and Batly to Susan. She covers Keith's ears and lowers her voice. "After he goes to bed, I'll let you see where his fangs got me."
|
195994
|
Coming Home
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Xtro-II (1990)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Tarlan",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2004-06-03T00:00:00",
"words": "6,963",
"Additional Tags": "Fantasy, Horror, Magic",
"Relationship": "Baines/Original Male Character (Xtro-II)",
"Character": "Baines (Xtro-II)",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Nick Lea Fiction and Art",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
As he looked through the lower hatchway at the fast approaching bottom of the elevator shaft, Baines knew his life here was over. Above him he could hear the snarling of the creature that had crossed from a parallel dimension through the Duo-Tangent Vortex. With nimble fingers he primed the C4 and then closed his eyes. Only moments remained, but if he had to die here then so be it. He was a warrior and he would rather die taking this obscene creature with him than save his own skin.Saliva dribbled from the open jaws onto his shoulder and he could feel the monroth's hot, fetid breath stirring his hair. He closed his eyes; his lips moving silently as he recanted a small charm for protection in these last moments even though he knew it was a useless gesture. Suddenly, with only seconds to spare, the monroth recognized its danger and tried to leap to safety but it had left it too late. Once Baines knew it could not escape its explosive death he used what few precious seconds remained to call upon all the strength left in his body to utter the recall spell - and try to save himself.Blinding light and heat swept up around him, singeing his clothing and hair, and he cried out in fear that he had cut it too fine. His cry was lost within the roar of the explosion and the dying scream of the monroth. Then he was falling hard and fast, his body and senses spinning as the vortex grabbed hold of his physical essence and hurled him back to the place of his origin. Brilliant lights blinded him; incredible smells - both salivating and nauseating - assailed him, and then he could hear the whistle of air around his body.Emerald green leaves covered in morning dew slapped against his face as he tumbled, and his remnants of his clothing snared on the gnarled fingers of Oak branches. He hit the ground hard with the air rushing from his abused stomach and lungs; his fear rising as he fought to draw precious oxygen back into his abused lungs. Finally, he gasped in the needed air, drawing his legs up to his chest to ease the task.He screamed in agony as the jagged edges of bone in his broken leg ground together. For a moment all he could see was encroaching darkness but he fought against it. Slowly, he regained control of his breathing and his eyes opened. Baines gazed around the beautiful glen into which he had fallen. Butterflies with large wings of blue and gold chased each other across the tall, sun-dappled grass and the sweet song of birds filled the air, breaking the silence caused by his abrupt arrival. His heat-seared lungs and throat made him cough and he placed his hand around his throat as the raw pain filled him. Gritting his teeth, Baines pushed himself upright and, with unsteady movements, he dragged himself across the glen to where his sensitive hearing had identified the tinkling of water babbling in a small brook.He stopped by the water's edge and scooped some of the clear, spring water up in the palm of his hand; quickly quenching his thirst. The magical powers of the water eased the burning, and he drank deeply of its healing properties before sitting back. He closed his eyes, breathing in the purity of the clean air as a fresh breeze lifted strands of his hair. His mind replayed those last few seconds on the parallel Earth and he nodded solemnly.He remembered the searing agony when the monroth grabbed hold of his booted foot and tore him from the wall of the elevator shaft. He recalled the terrible snap of the bone breaking, and then another crack as his head hit the top of the elevator car. With fear sending adrenaline racing through him, he had scrabbled back inside the car only to feel it lurch and plummet as the monroth's weight came down hard upon its roof.Baines splashed some of the crystal clear water over his face.He had killed one of the monroth that had breached the worlds through the Duo-Tangent Vortex - carried by the human called Marshall - but the voracious female monroth was still on Earth and Baines could only hope that the others managed to destroy her.His greatest fear was that the pair might have mated before they took incorporeal form and seeped into Marshall's body. If this was the case then one of the few humans left trapped in the Nexus complex might be carrying their spawn.Baines shook his head. There was nothing he could do about that now except make his way to the Elders as quickly as possible to inform them of his failure. He dragged himself back towards the trees and search for two decent sticks he could use to make a splint. Baines pulled off the tattered remnants of his muscle shirt and ripped it into lengths. He choked back a sob as he strapped the splints tightly around the broken leg, and then he rested for a while. Eventually, he gathered up his courage and forced himself onto his feet, using another slender branch of oak as a crutch. He turned south to follow the brook as it rippled and babbled through the Great Oak Forest and hoped he would come across a windwalker or some other form of transport soon. Otherwise, it might take him days to get a message to the Council of Elders.While he hobbled along, he reflected on the years he had spent on the parallel world that was so different from his own. The Council had sent him there after the humans on that world managed to create the first vortex. Dr. Ron Shepherd had been the intelligence behind those experiments and the Elders had charged Baines with the duty of ensuring those experiments did not endanger either world. It was only on arriving there that Baines realized the seriousness of his position, and the nearly impossible task he had accepted from the Elders.They had sent him because he was one of the best of the Elven warriors, and the only one who had the ability to adapt to whatever the parallel world might throw at him. However, they had assumed he would retain most of his Elven powers but, in truth, the bleakness of the other world had sapped almost all of his strength.On his world the powers of magic still held sway but there, the humans had spread across the face of the planet forcing the extinction of most of the Great Races. Witch hunts had broken the powerful Covens and, over the millennia, the loss of their blood had thinned the magic even further until only a few of the cross-bred possessed even the slightest of mystical abilities. Pollution and heavy metals had permeated every drop of water and bite of food on their world. It had weakened his power until he had no option but to work his way into a position where he might be able to help the humans should disaster befall them.With careful planning and cautious use of his rapidly fading magic, he had managed to find a place on a Special Team created to deal with strange phenomena. The authorities called in the Team when the first vortex opened into the barren Valley of the Monroth, but Shepherd managed to slay the single monroth that crossed over. In doing so Shepherd destroyed the Nexus facility and Baines had, almost, uttered the recall spell at that time, believing that the human meddling was over. However, a vision had come to him that showed even greater danger lay ahead for humanity.So he had bided his time and tried to blend in with the humans. He had even begun to make friends among them. He thought of the small unit that he had joined only four months earlier: McShane, Zunoski and Mancini.Depending on them to watch his back had brought a comradeship that he had missed since leaving his world behind. There had been moments of friction between them, but greater understanding of one another came from those bouts of conflict. It did not negate the growing friendship between the four.Baines sighed as he recalled the death of one of those whom he had started to call friend; the death of Mancini. They had faced so many dangers together but, until then, Baines had no idea the man was not so good with heights. Perhaps it was the overload of fear that had frozen Mancini's hands to the ladder. After all, the unfortunate man had only just witnessed the death of their Colonel and then found himself trapped with Shepherd and Dr. Casserly when the monroth reappeared. Baines grimaced. He had felt the monroth's approach and had slipped away to retrieve McShane's weapon, returning in time to save the others, only to lose Mancini in the vertical air shaft when the monroth attacked the defenseless man.Baines stopped and rolled his shoulders, feeling the tightness of muscle and numbness of his senses begin to ease as the power of his own world infused him. The constant pounding in his head - which had started almost the moment he arrived on that other Earth - was also lessening. He moaned softly in appreciation. He had missed the tingle of energy that thrummed through his body and mind, setting his senses alive.His attempt to divert his mind failed miserably as his thoughts drove on mercilessly. He started forward again, leaning heavily on the slender crutch he had improvised from the dead wood lying on the forest floor.McShane and Mancini should not have died, and neither should have Jedburg and Lisa Myers. He wondered how many others would die because of human meddling in things beyond their knowledge and control. Why did they not learn from the first incident? Why did they rebuild the Nexus and recreate a vortex into the same parallel dimension? His world.When the call came for assistance at the new Nexus project, Baines knew, deep down, that he might be all that stood between the monroth and humanity. On his world, ancient magic held the monroth on the desolated plains within the Valley, and they were unable to breed with impunity so their numbers were few. On the other world there was no magic to keep them from breeding and spreading across the face of the planet. It would be the end of humanity as they fell victim to the voracious appetite of the deadly creatures.Baines shuddered as he recalled his own brush with death on two occasions. No one had faced a monroth in millennia; not since the evil warlock Caspian released one into the world. And no warrior had ever faced a monroth without the power of magic at his fingertips.Baines felt a moment of shame as he remembered his first encounter, after it had slain the beautiful doctor. The terror of finding himself so close to the nightmare creature with no magical means to protect himself had almost overwhelmed him. He could recall the stench of its fetid breath filling the air around him. He could hear its hiss and snarl as it snapped its massive jaws together. Jagged teeth held ribbons of torn flesh from where it had sated part of his hunger on the unfortunate Lisa Myers, and its eyes had held true malevolence as if it knew that he was not human.The same monroth had come after him later and Baines knew he no longer had a reason to feel ashamed. He had faced the monroth. He had stayed in the elevator until the last moment; the lure of his Elven blood keeping the creature too preoccupied to realize its danger until it was too late.Baines blinked away the memory of those final moments. He did not want to dwell on the thought of his own blood mingling with Jedburg's and the monroth's at the bottom of that elevator shaft had the recall spell failed.He stopped and gazed down at the brook that had become a stream. There was a small pool of still water near the edge and, carefully, he lowered himself to catch sight of his reflection. He stared long and hard before he pushed back the mahogany strands of hair to reveal the tips of his ears. Baines grinned, and then felt a little foolish at this sudden vanity, but he would be pleased to see his elfin tips once more, as well as the finer feathering of his eyebrows. He was tired of looking into a mirror and seeing an almost fully human face.At least his eyes had lost the lackluster of a body choked on the pollution of that other world, regaining the crystal clarity of deep emeralds even if they were clouded with pain. His lips had taken on a pinker hue and the lines of stress were slowly easing from his face. He laughed softly as he recognized his true self in the mirror of water for the first time since he left his own world all those years ago - in spite of the more rounded ears and thicker eyebrows.That thought turned his pleasure to dismay. They had sent him there to protect the other world but he had failed in his task. Circumstances had forced him to return before he could ensure both of the monroth had been slain and any spawn sent back through the vortex to the forbidden Valley. Now, all he could do was hope that Shepherd, Casserly or Zunoski found a way to destroy the remaining creature--and hope that none of them carried its spawn otherwise the monroth would spread throughout their world.The beating of wings intruded upon his dismal thoughts and Baines looked up; his face lighting in pleasure as he recognized the great beast as the charge of a windwalker.On the world he had left behind, this fantastic creature was a thing of myth and legend: a Wyvern. Its pearlescent scales reflected every hue of green and gold beneath the brilliant sunlight of this beautiful day. It came to a halt above Baines; its serpent tail scything through the air only a few feet above his head before coiling beneath it as it landed not twenty feet from where Baines sat. Huge talons scraped across the ground, gouging the earth and leaving furrows in the grass. It remained balanced between its single set of front limbs and its magnificent tail before lowering onto its huge belly and laying his head down upon its massive arms. Upon its shining back Baines could see its rider, and with a shock of recognition, Baines dragged himself to his feet and hobbled forward as fast as he could to grasp the man who was climbing down to greet him.He dropped the crutch and pulled the tall but lean man into his arms and hugged him tightly. It had been so long since he had seen a familiar face--let alone that of the person he held most dear in two worlds--that he had trouble focusing due to the tears that filled his eyes. Baines sighed raggedly against the firm lips that took his own with such ferocity; welcoming the bruising kiss that sent licks of fire racing through his blood. He had missed the easy companionship of his mate; the loss made harder by the unwillingness of the parallel world to accept that two warriors could love one another and not be weakened by the act. Instead, he had kept his feelings for his soulmate hidden, unable to share even the smallest memory for fear they would question him further.Baines pulled back from the embrace and dragged the hard leather helmet from his soulmate's head. His fingers carded through the locks of blond hair that tumbled free, finally alighting on the elfin tips. With gentle fingers he traced the delicate ears and then the other fine features that gave his lover such an air of vulnerability when compared to the bluntness of the human face.Warm fingers came up to trace his own features, gliding smoothly down from high cheekbone to delicate chin. Baines looked deep into eyes that were a deeper shade of green than his own. Malloran smiled; his fern-green eyes lighting with the pleasure of their long-awaited reunion, but then the smile faded. Baines knew that very little happened by pure chance in his world so he waited for the explanation that would come."Old Sethryr foretold of your return. I've been riding these winds for days searching for some sign of you.""Did he also say that I failed in my duty? The humans drew two of the monroth into their world. I destroyed one but I fear not only that the other may still live but that one of the humans may carry its spawn."Malloran gave a wry smile and reached out to caress Baines's face."Both of the monroth are dead, and the parallel world is safe from the spawn. The humans sacrificed the carrier... sending him back through the vortex--""Which human?""I--I know only that the carrier had been male and wore white clothing.""Summerfield." Baines swallowed hard.The doctor had been antagonistic from the very beginning; becoming worse than a hindrance to them as time progressed and had, indirectly, caused Mancini's death. In hindsight, Baines realised that all the signs that Summerfield had been infested with the monroth spawn had been there. However, his preoccupation with outwitting the creatures meant that he paid scant attention to the increasingly strange actions of the doctor."There is more. The spawn were released within the vortex and they exploded in all directions. When the carrier and spawn materialized, most of the seed were contained behind the barrier but more than fifty materialized in the free world.""Fifty!""The Elven were prepared and managed to destroy all but nine. These others were lifted by the high winds and, because they had absorbed some essence of humanity from their host, they could not be easily detected through Elven magic.""Damn. This is all my fault--""No. It is no one's fault. I should have known I would find you when old Sethryr told me to search this way and to bring you to him. He believes you may carry enough essence within you from the other world to allow him to seek out the nine. We must find them... and destroy them... before they reach maturity and seek to mate.""Then we'd best not waste another minute."Malloran looked closely at him before tilting his head to look at the splintered leg."You've injured your leg.""Old Sethryr can fix me up."Malloran nodded; both of them were aware that there was little more that either of them could do for Baines out here. However, he reached inside his tunic and drew out a small pouch."Here. Medura leaves. Chew on them and it will ease the pain."Baines smiled wryly, knowing the leaves were as good as morphine but without the addictive qualities. He should have recalled that the windwalkers always carried Medura leaves in case an accident befell them. He picked up several leaves and popped them into his mouth and began to chew; grimacing at the disgusting, bitter taste but, very quickly, he felt the pain seeping from his body.Malloran grinned. He beckoned the Wyvern to his side with a shrill cry for the great beast had wandered in search of small animals and birds to feast upon. As the Wyvern folded back its massive wings, Malloran strapped on his helmet and climbed into the saddle placed high upon the creature's back between the great wings. He reached down and assisted Baines up behind him, leaning back into the arms that Baines slid around his waist. Malloran turned his face, and Baines obliged him with another kiss."Hold on tight", Malloran whispered silkily.Baines tightened his grip on his soulmate and, with an eager yell, Malloran ordered the Wyvern into flight. The Wyvern rose high into the sky; its green and gold wings beating the air with powerful strokes. Baines felt his spirit fly as, below him, the land passed in unmarked beauty. Gone were the columns of toxic fumes belching out of factories; gone was the sprawling metropolis whose ever-expanding suburbs encroached onto what little land remained, destroying woodland and pasture in the name of progress. Baines recalled the many parachute jumps he had made in the other world; of how he had floated down through darkened clouds of acidic rain to an Earth scarred by millennia of abuse. He sighed as he recalled how his grief for the world had distracted him as he floated down over the country they called Panama. He had landed awkwardly; wrenching his knee but, unlike in this world, the healers had insufficient skill to fully repair the damage as they had long ago spurned the use of natural remedies - and magic - in favor of their man-made drugs and machines.Baines threw aside those memories and let the richness of his world fill him. Far below, the stream had become a great river, and it sparkled in the sunlight as if someone had scattered a million diamonds across its crystal surface. The canopy of the forest, through which the river flowed, was a rich, vibrant green but, all too soon, they left the forest behind as they traveled over rolling hills and meadows full of blue cornflower and red poppies. Looking forward over Malloran's shoulder, Baines could see the silver tipped blue mountains that ringed the Valley of the Monroth. A vast forest stretched across the lower reaches and through the deep rift that led to the forbidden valley. As they flew closer, a darkened area at the edge of the forest took form and Baines realised that this was where the Elven forces had set up its camp.Malloran circled the camp twice before easing the Wyvern down into a large open space just south of the camp. An eager attendant took the reins while Baines and Malloran dismounted, and then led the Wyvern away to where two others of its kind were coiled in rest. Baines stared as the huge silver eyes of the Wyvern opened wide; hearing them snort softly through large nostrils as they welcomed their brother back into their midst.Malloran grasped Baines arm and gently tugged on it, drawing it over his shoulder to give his soulmate support, and Baines could only respond with a chagrined expression. He had forgotten how amazing his world was and found himself captivated by the magnificence of the great beasts and the natural world surrounding him. Colors seemed purer and brighter; the air was fresh and clean with just a hint of a salivating aroma permeating it from the nearby cook fires. His stomach rumbled and he licked his lips in hunger but Malloran drew him onwards towards the largest of the tents.The Elven guard drew apart as they reached the entrance, allowing them to pass unchallenged into the bright and cheerful interior. Baines grinned in pleasure as Malloran lowered him to carpeted floor in front of the high Elven lord."Father."The older elf dropped to his knees and reached out to cup his son's face; his eyes bright with unshed tears of joy. He drew Baines to him and hugged him tightly, but then he pulled away."Malloran has told you of our plight?"Baines glanced back at his soulmate before returning his attention to his father."Yes. And I must take the blame for I failed to destroy the monroth and the spawn that escaped to the other world."Quickly, he outlined his experience on the other side of the vortex; his cheeks becoming red with shame as he spoke of his fear during that first encounter with a monroth."You did all that was possible in a world where magic no longer has a place. None will question your courage in facing a monroth without the armor of magic to protect you."Someone drew back the heavy curtain behind Baines and he turned his head to see who the new arrival might be. He smiled as Old Sethryr moved slowly towards him. Even though the Elven lifespan was more than twice that of a human, the sorcerer had still reached an incredible age. Sethryr looked exactly the same as he had done in Baines's earliest elfling memories from when he would sit quietly at Sethryr's feet while the old man told him legends from ancient times.Sethryr shuffled towards the group."Good to see you, my boy. Now, let's begin before those monroth spawn become a real threat to the People." He frowned. "Hmmm... the essence of the other world is still strong in you. It will be days before you're fully cleansed and until then, my boy, your powers will remain diluted." He grinned and mussed Baines's hair in that familiar way that he had done since Baines was an elfling. "Still, it's good news for us as now I will know what to search for." His expression turned serious. "As long as we can find them before they are cleansed of the other world's impurities."Sethryr turned and started to walk away. He glanced back, and his eyes widened in dismay as he watched Baines struggled to his feet with Malloran's assistance."Oh my dear boy. Let's set up the seeker spell and then I can mend that leg."After another light gesture of affection from his father, Baines allowed Malloran to support him as they followed the old sorcerer from his father's tent.****Droplets of his blood were added to the potion and Baines watched closely, mesmerized by the power the frail old man exuded at times like this. He felt Malloran's hand fasten on his shoulder, and he laid his own hand upon it as a mist formed in the air between them and the sorcerer. Images came of dark forests and lowlands flitting passed so quickly beneath them. Shadows appeared that coalesced into the hideous form of the monroth as the seeker sought and discovered each one in turn.Baines wrote swiftly as the sorcerer identified each location, passing the message to the sorcerer's apprentice to carry outside to the waiting Elven warriors. The galloping of horses receding into the distance followed within moments of the boy leaving the tent, and Baines imagined a unit of warriors hastening away to face the discovered monroth. Some would remain on horseback while others had greater journeys and would ride the wind on a Wyvern.They had found eight of the nine monroth but the ninth remained elusive.The sorcerer pricked another finger to draw more blood from Baines, and squeezed the pierced flesh above the cauldron while watching the droplets splatter into the mix. The mists deepened, and then the image sharpened but still it remained focused on the small Elven encampment near the edge of the forbidden valley. Sethryr let out a sigh of exasperation and shook his head in anger."The essence of the other world is too strong in that one and it is overpowering the spell. The seeker will not seek."Baines chewed his lip in agitation. The power of the Medura leaves had faded but, though he was in pain, Baines was determined to be strong and forgo healing until Sethryr had tried every means possible to locate the missing monroth. It was as if the old sorcerer had heard his thoughts though, for Sethryr narrowed his eyes and sighed deeply."Alone it cannot mate and news of its whereabouts will soon reach us as it gives into its lust for Elven flesh. Now we must tend to your injuries."Baines felt Malloran's grip tighten upon his shoulder in reassurance and they watched as Sethryr concocted a new potion. The sorcerer gave him a draft of herbs and he drank it in a single swallow, shuddering at the bitter taste of Medura that coated the inside of his mouth. Very quickly, the pain eased away to nothing and he gave a sigh of relief when the pain stayed away while Sethryr manipulated the broken bone back into position. Sethryr applied a sticky mess around the damaged area before standing back and washing his hands thoroughly.A full minute past before Baines felt a tingling sensation around his leg. The sensation grew stronger; the tingling becoming warmth and then burning. He summoned his courage and tried not to cry out in pain; grateful for the strong arms of his soulmate that held him so tightly. The burning agony spread through the leg as if the bone was on fire and he could not stop a whimper from falling."Soon be over, my boy. Soon be over."Waves of agony rushed over him but almost as soon as they reached an unbearable level, Baines felt the pain recede. The burning sensation lessened until all that was left was a numbness in his leg. He looked down, noticing that the sticky mess had formed a hard blackened shell around his leg and then watched as Sethryr tapped on the shell with a small metal pick. The shell cracked and Sethryr removed the pieces until Baines's leg was free of the hard casing. The old sorcerer looked at the leg, murmuring gently in approval. His hands ranged over Baines's face, touching his ears and eyes, and Baines felt a less intense heat flare in those places as his elfin features were restored to him.Sethryr's pale blue eyes were sparkling when he looked closely at Baines, and he spoke with a voice filled with both satisfaction and affection."There's my young elfling. As to the leg? Good as new... so long as you take it easy for a week or two."Baines flexed the leg muscle, grinning back at Malloran when it moved with ease. He thought back to the broken arm he sustained back on the other Earth, and how it had taken months before it had healed using their so-called modern medicine. Baines pulled on the pair of rough pants that Sethryr's apprentice handed to him and, as he stood up, he realised that the dull ache in his right knee had also disappeared. He had wrenched the knee months ago and no amount of physiotherapy had eased the ache until now.That thought led him back to the beautiful doctor at the Nexus project. He'd used his wrenched knee as a chat up line even though he had no intention of following through. He had employed similar tactics on other occasions so no one would question his preferences."Don't forget to ask her to check out your prostate."Baines had taken the remark as a joke but, at the time, he had a feeling Zunoski meant something far different. Zunoski had been with him on that day, two months back, when he saw someone who looked so much like his Malloran that it had taken his breath away. Perhaps Zunoski had figured out that his interest in Lisa Myers was but a smokescreen. Why else would he have used such a cryptic remark? Baines sighed. It was too late now to uncover the truth. If he was still alive then Zunoski was a dimension away and it was highly unlikely that their paths would ever cross again. It was a shame really as Baines knew they could have become firm friends - given time."Your thoughts are troubling you, boy. You must leave the past where it belongs... in the past. Go and rest now. I'm certain you and Malloran have much... catching up... to do?"Baines grinned sheepishly at the old man's inference but he had to admit that he was looking forward to holding his lover in his arms once more. Behind him, he heard Malloran's soft, melodic laughter fill the tent, and the love he felt for Malloran seemed to fill him to bursting point. Malloran pressed a bow and quiver into Baines's hands, and Baines realised, with a start, that they were the ones he had left behind when undertaking his journey to the parallel world. He stroked the bow lovingly, remembering the day when he had carved it. His hand still fitted perfectly around it."You kept it safe for me.""Of course."Baines held both bow and quiver loosely and reached back for Malloran's hand, feeling the warm fingers entwine with his own, and then he led Malloran from the sorcerer's tent. He drew his lover towards his father's tent, knowing his father would have made arrangements for him to be accommodated close by. There would be fresh clothing waiting for him there but, what is more important, there would be a warm bed made of soft pillows. He grinned in pleasure. He had every intention of putting the past behind him, and reaffirm the present and future with the man whose hand he clasped in his own.Greetings rose from familiar faces, welcoming him back, and he acknowledged them with a smile but then a figure caught his eye. Baines stopped, trying to determine what had made his hackles rise. The Elven woman was a short distance away, moving slowly but purposefully towards his father's tent. He watched her steady progress before slowly closing the distance between them, and then she turned.Baines gasped, releasing his hold on Malloran. He ran forward, drawing the bow from his shoulder and an arrow from its quiver. He notched the arrow and yelled out to the woman in challenge.Marshall's elfin figure dissolved as the monroth threw off its disguise, revealing the creature's hideous true form. It snarled; it's sharp teeth glistening as saliva drooled from its open mouth. Long talons curled wickedly as it threw back its large head and let out a howl of rage before charging towards Baines.Baines held his ground, waiting until he was certain before releasing the arrow. It flew straight and true, piercing the creature's black heart and Baines watched, dispassionately, as the monroth fell dead only a few feet from where he stood with Malloran at his back. Other warriors pounced on the creature; their sharp swords sinking deep into its flesh to ensure it was truly dead.Baines sagged against Malloran as the weight of his previous failure lifted, freeing him from the last vestiges of the guilt he had felt for not destroying all the monroth in the other world. He held on tightly to Malloran's hand as he was torn from the embrace to be lifted high upon Elven shoulders. They carried him to his father in triumph, depositing him onto his feet and pitching him into the Elven Lord's proud embrace.Sethryr arrived with news that the Elven warriors had destroyed the other eight monroth, and that the world was safe again from the voracious, dark-souled creatures.****A short while later, Malloran tugged at his hand and led Baines towards the area where the Wyvern were basking in the late afternoon sun. The celebrations would soon begin in earnest and they would expect Baines to attend as guest of honor but Malloran felt they had their own moment to celebrate first; their reunion after years of separation."You heard Old Sethryr. We have some catching up to do... and I intend to do that some place where we will not be disturbed."His smile was bright and his green eyes were dancing in joy. Sunlight turned Malloran's blond hair to spun gold, with the slight breeze lifting the strands from the boyish face, and Baines found he was more than eager to obey Sethryr's implicit command.The green and gold Wyvern that Malloran commanded was stretched out across the ground. It snorted as its master approached. Malloran stroked the pearlescent scales beneath one silver eye and then leaned in close to whisper softly to the creature. With his hand still clasped in Malloran's, Baines did not resist the pull as his lover drew him down into the hollow between the Wyvern's huge limbs. The massive head came down to form a living roof above them, hiding them from the rest of the world yet allowing sufficient light around the edges for them to see each other clearly."We'll be safe here, from prying eyes... and from anyone searching for us."Baines laughed softly, momentarily wary but then relaxing. He trusted Malloran with his life, so if Malloran trusted this great beast not to roll over and crush them, then so would he. He drew Malloran into a tight embrace. Hungry lips found his and he moaned in appreciation of the talented mouth that he had missed so sorely these past years. Agile fingers found their way beneath the light tunic he had donned since the death of the last monroth. They teased across a nipple, rubbing and pinching, fueling the flames of desire that were building within him. His own hands worked under his lover's clothing, re-acquainting themselves with every reachable inch of warm flesh.He dragged his mouth away; his lips nuzzling along the strong jaw line and his teeth nipping at the small ear lobe before his tongue rimmed the familiar contours of elfin ears."How I've missed you."He breathed the heartfelt words into the delicate shell and sighed as strong arms tightened around him, holding him close to the longed-for body. His hardened flesh rubbed against his lover's; his hips grinding against hips but Baines wanted more. He wanted to feel his lover's silken skin against his own naked flesh; he wanted to feel the warmth of his lover's body against him.Urgent hands were tugging at his pants but were becoming frustrated with the fastenings. Baines chuckled softly and opened them before Malloran lost patience and tore the clothes off him. He was pleased that one of them still retained a little control else he would be looking for a third pair of pants in one day, having already had his army fatigues cut away from his body.Malloran wriggled as he pulled his own clothes free from his body, often colliding with Baines within the confines of the hollow between the Wyvern's limbs as they both sought to undress quickly. They bumped into the creature's arms in their hurry but it merely opened one huge silver eye to stare down at them in bemusement before returning to its sun basking.Baines pulled Malloran's naked body into his arms, glorying in the feel of the warm flesh against the whole length of him. He laughed at their desperate antics and kissed the nape of Malloran's neck. His hard shaft pressed into the cleft of his lover's ass and he moved his hips rhythmically, experimenting with the sensations that licked a path of fire through his body to ignite every nerve ending."Want you so bad.""Then take what you want. It's yours... I'm yours.""I can't. I haven't got--""In the pocket of my tunic. Sethryr pressed it into my hand as we left his tent earlier."Baines grinned and gave silent thanks for the old man's foresight. He scrabbled through the pile of discarded clothing and found the item in question, scooping out two fingers of the warm grease. With careful strokes, he teased the tight opening, his fingers moving gently in and out as he waited for a sign that his lover was ready to accept more. Beside him, Malloran moaned out his pleasure; drawing back his top leg to give Baines greater access to his body. It was the sign Baines was waiting for and he slicked the remaining grease over the length of his engorged flesh. With infinite care, he thrust into the relaxed hole, savouring the heat of his lover's tight channel surrounding him. Baines bit down on the ivory flesh at the juncture of neck and shoulder, drawing a small cry from Malloran as he marked his lover in possession. He moaned his own pleasure as Malloran's hand reached back to stroke his flank from waist to mid thigh as Baines thrust deeper into his welcoming body.They moved together, slowly, all the urgency fleeing from them as they reveled in knowing each other intimately once more.The hand left his flank and Baines followed it, wrapping his hand around the strong fingers that had sought out Malloran's own aching flesh. They rocked together, hands sliding in synchronization with the deep, even thrusts. Baines could feel the pleasure building, could feel his blood boiling and his limbs melting as every sense spiraled towards ecstasy. He gasped as the wave of sensation engulfed him, jetting his essence deep inside his beloved's body. Hot juices coated his hand as Malloran came moments later.Their movements slowed, becoming languid as the rush of pleasure seeped from their bodies leaving them happily exhausted. Malloran turned in Baines's arms and they kissed leisurely, bestowing ragged sighs of contentment upon each other. Warm lips pressed against his gently perspiring forehead."If you ever go away again you must promise to take me with you.""If it's within my power to do so, then I promise you, I will."He smiled as Malloran accepted his promise, lying back and pulling his lover tightly against him. The large silver eye of the Wyvern blinked down at him and Baines felt his smile become a grin of elation. All those years of fear and loneliness - for himself and for his lover - melted away as he held Malloran in his arms once more.Finally, he was home.END~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
|
123857
|
Therapy
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Witchblade (Comic)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by sister_wolf",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2003-02-14T00:00:00",
"words": "1,430",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Ian Nottingham/OFC",
"Character": "Ian Nottingham",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Phoenix: Ian naked, skin slicked with oil that gleams dully in candle lightWolf: *thud*Wolf: *contemplates slicking Ian's body with almond oil* *thuds again*Phoenix: Oh, scented with cedar and sandalwoodWolf: Ian lying on his stomach on a white sheet, his hair smoothed out over a pillow. Slowly running your hands up and down his muscular back.Phoenix: Mmmm... all that long, silky black hair smelling of sandalwood and musk...Phoenix: ::pant pant::Wolf: Ian making little rumbling noises in his chest as you knead his shoulder muscles, working your way down along that long, long spine...Phoenix: ::swoons::Wolf: Feeling the heat of his body through your fingers and palms, the smoothness of his back, the taut, strong muscles of his body...Phoenix: And then he flips onto his back underneath you...His eyes are open only a little, gleaming mysteriously in the flickering shadows of the candle.You start to work on his shoulders again, gently kneading the heavy muscles that lead from the tops of his wide shoulders down along his breastbone to the little dip at the center of his chest. You can feel his heart beating under your fingertips, feel his chest rise and fall with his deep, calm breaths.You know he's completely naked, though you don't trust yourself to look farther down his body, afraid that you'd lose your concentration. It's difficult enough to keep yourself calm when you smooth your palms down his chest and feel the little pebbles of his nipples.Deciding it might be safer, you decide to concentrate on his shoulders. You brush aside a little tendril of his long, black hair that's fallen across his shoulder, controlling the strong urge to just bury your hands in that shining mass of hair.For the first time since he walked into your massage room, he speaks. "Work on the legs." You're surprised by his voice-- he's clearly British, with that clipped tone you associate with the upper class. His voice is like smoke and silk, a rich baritone. Trying not to tremble, you move down to his legs.You start with the feet, gently massaging the stress out of his arches. This momentary respite gives you a chance to calm yourself down. You rub naked bodies for a living-- you're a highly trained masseuse, and you thought you'd lost the ability to get turned on by a client years ago. But there's just something about this one-- his tall body is amazingly muscular, not with the bulges of a body builder, but with the toned, hard muscles of someone who uses his body in his work. What is he?, you wonder. Bodyguard? Millionaire? You don't know, and with your clientele it's safer not to, but you wish for once it could be more than just an hour of massage.You move up to his hard calves, soothing away the tension. The warmth that's building in your body makes concentrating on your job difficult, but you try to give him the best massage you're capable of. The calves done with, you move up to his thighs, using the heels of your hands to press deep into the muscle as you stroke up his right thigh. There's no way not to look, and so you do, and feel a hammer of erotic heat deep inside your body as you notice that he is fully erect.Your eyes dart up to his, and find that he is looking directly at you, a small smile on his face. He says nothing. You swallow with difficulty and move over to the left thigh, trying to get a handle on your rapidly swirling thoughts. What are you going to do? You're a professional masseuse, not a call girl. You could ignore his erection, finish the massage, send him out the door. But you don't want to.He's gorgeous. Not just his face, with the high cheekbones, the cold grey eyes, the cruelly sensual mouth, not just his tall, muscular body, but also the way he moves, so smoothly controlled, like a jungle cat. This is the most attractive man you have ever seen, and in a moment you decide that it doesn't matter how much this is against the code of conduct of your profession. You want him. And it's obvious, from the hint of moisture at the head of his engorged penis, that he wants you.You glance back up at his face and realize that he knows what you've decided. His eyes are so dark. You finish running your palms up and down his thighs, and instead of pulling the sheet over him as you would normally do, you slowly caress his narrow hips, your fingers dipping into the bowl of his pelvis. You hear a faint sigh from him as you stroke your fingertips down from his hips to the inside of his thighs.You gently trail your fingertips from the inside of his thighs, around his balls and penis, and up the center of his pelvis to his bellybutton. Your fingers slide through a trace of pre-cum dripping from the head of his penis. You glance up at his eyes as you lick the salty pre-cum from your fingers. He's starting to breathe a little harder, and you feel a certain sense of power as you slowly lower your mouth just above the head of his penis.He sucks in a little breath as you flick your tongue over the little slit. You slowly lick your way down his penis, getting a sense of his size-- he's big, easily eight inches. The little curls covering his balls are silky-rough, and jet black. He smells of musk, that indefinable male scent, and you can feel your panties moistening as you take a deep breath and then lick your way back up to the tip of his shaft.You lick your way across the mushroom-shaped head of his penis, tasting more salty pre-cum in the slit. You glance up at his eyes again and watch him as you lower your mouth over the head. His eyes close and he moans a little, the sound sending another surge of heat through you. You dip your head and take as much of his shaft as you can into your mouth. He's too big to take in all the way.Pulling back, you tongue the bundle of nerves under the head of his penis and are rewarded by a surge of pre-cum. You suck just the head of his penis, swirling your tongue around it. His hand rests gently on the back of your head, not pressing, just caressing your hair. You start setting a rhythm, sucking him in, pulling back, and you can hear his breath quickening.The muscles in his thighs are bunching along with the rhythm of your sucking, raising his hips slightly to meet your mouth on every downstroke. You increase the speed a little. He's making little noises at the back of his throat, so quiet you almost can't hear him. His fingers are tangled in your hair.You wrap one of your hands around the base of his penis, squeezing gently, rhythmically. You increase the intensity of your sucking. He's close. His thighs are spread slightly and he's bucking up into your mouth.He's moaning breathily. You're tingling, burning up, and you think you might actually come from giving him a blowjob.Suddenly he stops moaning, stops breathing, and his hand pushes down on your head as his hips buck up. You feel a strong throb through the hand on the base of his cock, and then he's coming, filling your mouth with hot salty liquid.You feel a spasm deep within you, and you moan around his cock, feeling the rhythmic spasms of your orgasm. He's breathing again, his hand on your hair relaxing, his hips pumping a few more times as you suck his cock gently.Finally you let his cock slip out from between your lips. You look up and meet his eyes. He's smiling at you, the most relaxed expression you've seen from him yet. He rolls on his side and slides back slightly, patting the massage table with the universal gesture for 'come lie down.' Exhausted, you climb onto your own massage table, curling into his broad chest. He strokes your hair with one hand, not saying anything.You must have dozed off-- you wake to the sound of the door clicking shut softly. He's gone.Stretching luxuriously, you wonder if he made any more appointments to see you. You really hope he did.
|
143208
|
Emotional Desperation
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Stargate SG-1",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by anxiousgeek",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-23T00:00:00",
"words": "997",
"Additional Tags": "Romance, Angst",
"Relationship": "Sam Carter/Teal'c",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Sam Carter Is Just That Hot, Stargate Rare Pairings",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
She woke up alone.Which was normal for her, even during the few relationships she'd had in her lifetime, except these weren't her quarters and she hadn't gone to bed alone.The covers were softer than her own, the walls had an orange flickering glow over them. Her own lamp was a glaring bright white and this was much nicer. She wasn't completely alone either, the bed was empty but there was still a presence in the room, breathing deeply.She rolled over onto her stomach and looked to see Teal'c sat in the floor facing her, his legs crossed and his wrists resting on his knees. His breathing was even, soothing too, and the only way she knew he wasn't in a state of Kel-no-reem was the fact that he didn't do that any more. Just meditated deeply. Not so deeply, she realised, when he opened his eyes and looked at her.She pulled the covers close to her chest from under body. It was a foolish thing to do in both of their opinions but she did it anyway and he didn't comment on it.Verbally at least."Don't you have a room for that?" She asked."I did not wish for you to wake up alone." He said, his posture remaining static."Oh."He was too good to her, too good a friend and too good in bed.Shame it wasn't going anywhere but she just didn't feel it. She needed him all the same though, at times of emotional desperation. She wasn't sure if she was using him or not because Teal'c wasn't the kind of person to let anyone use him in anyway, but it didn't feel quite right because tomorrow everything would be the same as it ever was between them."How are you feeling?""Better."Last night she had collapsed in his arms like he was the only thing that would keep the rest of her life from falling apart. They hadn't even talked, he hadn't even asked her what was wrong. From the first kiss he had known exactly what she needed. Maybe he was using her, but that seemed even more unlikely.She sighed, burying her head under a pillow."You are over thinking matter." He said, she peaked out from the pillow, hair falling over her face before she blew it away. O'Neill called it cute, Teal'c was inclined to agree."What about Ishta?" She fought the urge to cover her head up again, and instead threw the pillow behind her onto the bed. Teal'c relaxed a touch but it wasn't visibly noticeable to Sam."What of Shanahan?" She paused before she answered."I left him. I called the wedding off.""I see."She didn't respond."I should get up." She waited but he didn't move and she realised he wasn't going to give her any privacy. She really wasn't sure what was going on here, between them, but she turned onto her back and threw the covers aside with a dramatic flair before getting out of bed to find her clothes had been neatly folded and placed on the chair.She tried to ignore the fact his eyes followed her around the small room as he sat on the floor."Are you sure this is not an emotional decision you may not rationally have made if your father had not died?" He asked, standing to face her as she pulled her underwear up her legs."I'm sure.""You still have feelings for O'Neill." It wasn't a question so she didn't answer, doing up her bra and pulling her t-shirt over her head instead."What about you and me?" She asked after a pause, feeling more clear-headed now she was fully clothed again."We are friends." His answers were infuriating sometimes, simple but never quite what she wanted. She knew not to expect much more from him but she wasn't awake enough for him to be cryptic Teal'c."Do this for a lot of your friends?""Only you. No one else needs this type of physical comfort." His eyes flittered to his messy bed and back. She wasn't sure of that was an insult of not, or if it was meant make her feel special. Or both."O'Neill will be most upset if you do not come fishing.""I'm coming." He smiled then, and her cheeks blushed bright red at the memory before her mind twigged onto it. "Ah, I..""I have often found solace in sex Samantha, do not be embarrassed," he bent down and picked up her boots from where they had been neatly placed beside his, "I cannot imagine Daniel or O'Neill being able to do this for you."She didn't even want to think about how complicated either of those two situations would be.She sat on his chair and laced up her boots quickly. Looking up at him he was still standing, hands behind his back, head titled towards her, watching her."I hate how easy you make it to just walk out." He nodded."I understand."She doubted that, she didn't think anything this intimate could be easy for Teal'c after everything that he'd been through. It also made her realise that perhaps Ishta was not the person she thought the woman was to Teal'c. It had been a while since anyone had heard about her from him and he was loyal.Though she couldn't really see sleeping with her as being loyal to Jack.She stood up, just as confused as she had been the night before, when she had found herself knocking on his door, trying not to cry, and gave him a sad smile and a kiss on the cheek.It wasn't that easy to walk out."Thank you Teal'c."For caring, for making it easier. "You are welcome." He nodded again and she turned away, leaving his quarters and leaving him alone.And then she was alone again in the corridor but she felt a little better.
|
172000
|
Score
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Steve McGarrett, Danny \"Danno\" Williams",
"Fandom": "Hawaii Five-0 (2010)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by RaeC",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-18T00:00:00",
"words": "2,041",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Steve McGarrett/Danny \"Danno\" Williams",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
You look up from your paperwork thinking now's a good time for a break. You'd have gone home hours ago, but really, the report needs to be finished and he's not there. So why? Why give in, give up, and call it day. You could go back to the house, but the drive home would be too quiet. No Danny talking or arguing with you. No sound of the fridge opening as he takes out a beer, making himself at home on your sofa, butt planted firmly in his corner. No one ever sits there but him. It’s as if there is a sign there that says “Danny’s”. You’re not sure how you feel about that.He spends a lot of his time with you when he’s not with Grace or working on a case. You’ve never realized how much of your day revolves around him. Right now, you feel that emptiness keenly, because he’s not here to fill up the space, the silence. No, he's on Moloka'i. Chasing down a lead with Chin. And you can’t remember why you sent Chin instead of going with Danny yourself like you usually do. Frustrated, your pen hits the desk and you lean back, hands behind your head.You think.Let your thoughts wander.Pieces build, twist, images fitting themselves into a whole like you used to do when you were in Naval Intelligence. It’s how you process. When there is too much data and not enough of a solid lead. It works for you. As you open your mind to the possibilities, pictures form in your head. Danny, his hands tucked into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Just a silent presence backing you up. Ready to move at a moment’s notice in violence or retreat. For someone who talks as much as Danny does, it’s amazing how still he can be.How he leans in so near to talk to you. Like that time at dinner with his brother. Was there really a need to be that close? He’d touched your arm to make his point as if he couldn’t resist. The smile that lit up his face describing putting handcuffs on his brother.His face is remarkably expressive. His emotions on display for everyone to see. The love that he has for his daughter. You know that he loved Rachel just as much because every once in a while, it’s there. In a look or a twist of his mouth. How sometimes he looks at you the same way. You blink, thinking that maybe you’re on the right track to figuring him out.How about that day on the beach? When the entire team was hanging out, Danny in his swimming trunks that honestly should have been thrown away. They hid more than was strictly necessary. He wasn’t classically cut, but the strength in his arms and chest were on display. A hint of powerful leg muscles just beneath the cuffs of his shorts. Women were looking, how could they not? He was too serious, too intense. You wanted to see the passion. That’s when Danno shown the most.How gentle Danny could be. That one hits you hard. Pure clarity. Blinding and stark in its power.You see him in your bed.And your breath has just been taken away. Doubling over to rest your head on your knees because this was not something you expected. It was too much. To disquieting. Surprising. Upsetting.You should not be thinking about your partner this way. That’s the kind of thinking that could get you killed. Has killed men before.But now that you see it, you can’t not see. Your bedroom, Danny on your rumpled sheets. And God, you want that. The wind drifting in from the cove, cooling the sweat on your skin, on his. Oh hell, that’s stunning. His breathing harsh in the quiet of the room. And his blue eyes so focused you, heavy lidded and still wanting even though you’ve just spent the last hour touching him. Pleasing him. Ruining him for anyone else. And doesn’t that just make you want him even more.This is what Danny would look like, you think, as your breath comes faster and faster. If you don’t get a handle on yourself, you are going to pass out. You reach for control, shaken and fighting for air. You can smell the musky scent of him in the office with you. His cologne, that you didn’t realize you knew, in the air. Slightly spicy, and sharp.And you want more. Imagine more, even though you shouldn’t.Your hands on his skin. Your palms inching at the wanting to feel, to touch him. Feel the hair on his arms, on his chest rough and masculine, his blood burning under your hands. Would his breath hitch with a touch to his wrist? Like it did that time you grabbed him to keep him from moving when Sang Min was threatening Kono. That slight twitch under your finger tips. You didn’t even realize that you’d filed that reaction under “Danny” in your head.Would he do the same thing if you ran your hand over his jaw? You want to do that, touch his face at the end of the day, when stubble is just starting to appear, rough and unkempt. And that mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Fuck, you are in so much trouble. You want to feel him under your hands, your mouth, pressed against your body. Feel and taste and smell.What would he taste like? Salty, needy, the power just waiting to come to life, always ready in his muscles. Every flex in response your touch, as your tongue tastes him for the first time, and the next, and the next. Each bite, each sample new and different and exciting. Rich. His mouth, no longer pinched but open, waiting? Would he taste of the coffee that he drinks every day? You want to know. You need to know now.What would his legs feel like wrapped around you? Would he grip you tightly? Muscles tense, holding you in place, because that’s how he wants you. Pushing against his ass. Straining, wanting to thrust inside of him. Controlling you. Making you work for it. He’s made you work for his respect since the day you met him. Challenged you in every way.There’s more here than sex. Danny doesn’t do casual. It’s not in his genetic makeup. Danny puts his whole heart into everything. You couldn’t even approach him without knowing that, and fuck if that doesn’t make you want him more.You can imagine the heat of his body as you slide into him for the first time, because yeah, he trusts you enough to do this. Has a confidence in you that you don’t feel in yourself, but you’ve seen it on his face before. When you’ve least expected it. There’s nothing quick or rushed as his body closes around you. It’s almost too much. Tight. And you want to curse because right then the rumble of his moan that’s half pain and half ecstasy, reaches in you and pulls at you. You are so close already and you’ve just begun. You pause, resting your forehead against his, sharing the same air. Waiting until you hear him snarling for you to just fucking move.You want that sound to repeat against you for, forever. You capture his lips again, the desperation you feel bleeding through your kiss because you want to please him so much. You want this, him. He’s the one allowing you into his body, but it’s you who fills so full. His cock hot and heavy, throbbing against your stomach. You can feel the ache building in him as you thrust smooth, steady, and deep.He’s almost there. You can feel it in the fingers that are digging into your forearms, in his legs that are becoming ever tighter on your flanks, in the counts of his gasps as you hit that spot inside of him that makes every man come apart at the seams. He’s pushing against you to make you go faster, harder, but you won’t give in. You want to see him fall apart. It’s your only goal now. This is such a gift to see the pleasure rolling across the shudders in his muscles and the expressions on his face. You can’t believe how lucky you are in this moment. You are responsible for this. You made this happiness. You.Just as he comes, you are startled out of your daydream by the sound of his voice no longer in your head.“Hey! Sleeping Beauty!” And Danny’s there, in the flesh, touching you.Fuck. You feel wetness spilling into your cargoes, but you can’t let on what’s going on, because, yeah, it was Danny’s voice, his hand that brings you off. His presence taking over your office where you shouldn’t have been having these thoughts in the first place.You shudder and breathe. His name on the edge of your tongue wanting to be released.“Steve?”You sit up, take your head off the desk, not even realizing when you’d moved to put it there, your mask slipping into place. The one you always use when you don’t want to get caught or don’t know how to react. But you don’t get up from your desk, because right now you are trying desperately to control your breathing and don’t have any idea what the front of your cargos look like and you’re afraid. You pull your t-shirt down with one hand and wipe your face with the other.And there he is, his eyes bright with victory and you think again how much you want him. No more so than at this moment because the happiness in his eyes bleeds into the world around him. And you have to let it go. Let it go, let it settle because what you want can never happen. It would mean that you’d give up these moments. And that’s something you can’t do. You couldn’t not see him every day. Couldn’t be limited to mornings or nights or whatever time in between your job and his if you took that step.“Danno.” You nod. Your voice is too deep and not right tone for someone who’d been asleep. And you don’t know it, but that one word tells him more than you wanted to let him know. It’s made him pause and really look at you. “How’d it go?”“Score one for the good guys. What are you still doing here?” There’s concern written in every line of body, in the way his eyebrows draw together.You gesture at your desk. “Paperwork.”He snorts, obviously not convinced. “What, by osmosis? You know, it usually requires a pen and ink. Movement across the paper. You might be convincing if you’d been doing more than breathing heavy when I came in.”You flip him off and go to grab your ballpoint but he grabs it instead.“Alright, so don’t tell me. However, whatever you were dreaming about has obviously put you in a bad mood. I’m in the mood for beer. You look like you could use one yourself. Now, get off your ass, Cinderella. You can drop me off on your way home.” That makes you laugh breaking the mood in what could have been too dangerous for you both.“Where’s Chin?” You grab your shield and your gun from your desk drawer, a smile breaking across your face. The world is righting itself.“I saw your truck and sent him home. I figured one of us should make sure that you left the office sometime today. Come on, babe. I’m driving.”“It’s my truck!”He smirks, and just like that…You think that maybe you can have him. In your bed, sheets rumpled, sweat covering you both and his hand on your cock, stroking in time to his voice encouraging you to come. That it might be worth testing the waters to see what might happen if you let it. Waking up to Danny. Every day. Especially if you can come home to him like that every night.The End.
|
182066
|
Take The Plan Spin It
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/F",
"Characters": "Katherine Pierce, Elena Gilbert",
"Fandom": "The Vampire Diaries",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by waltzmatildah",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-04-11T00:00:00",
"words": "461",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Katherine Pierce/Elena Gilbert",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
And in the end it will be only them. A vampire and her doppelganger as the embers die to blackened ash on sweat sticky fingertips. * It starts with blood, proffered.Accepted. Liquid red and seams torn. Tearing.To say that it ends there would be a lie.(But it won't be the first she's told...) * Like a mirror image, cracked, caked to slick and sliding, Elena comes in the bright light of day. Picks an unsteady path to the tomb under a heavily misguided notion of relative safety.A position of power that would never truly be hers to have.Pleasantries exchanged, dry words that catch on tongue tips. Drip to the mottled dust that separates them.(Though so much more than dust separates them now, fingerprint bloody. Draws them back together again...)There are syllables that they don't share. Names that hide the faces of the people they thought they might one day like to be.Like to be with...A clocks ticks somewhere on the horizon. Full moons fade and are re-born as the casualties begin to pile up.Until the dead and the undead outnumber the living ten fold. Stories of war, waged and still waging, fill her bones to overflowing with regret and revulsion and something that tastes a lot like she thinks sadness might.The ghosts of those who have come before cling silently to the cobwebs in the highest reaches. Tinkle every so often with a silver laugh that settles over them like a cloak they can't quite shake free.Katherine watches her leave again, a crab crawl to the stone staircase that will take her one more step out of reach. Heart pounding to a thrumming beat that rocks them both to the core. * Later, a line is crossed. Both literally and figuratively.On the day the battle is finally lost forever. A town razed to rain dampened flat.Fingers twist, skin on skin on skin, sweat slick and ice cold in the same raging exhale. And watching her leave is suddenly so much harder than it once was.But she has no where left to go now.Persuading her to stay becomes a lesson in grief therapy.Katherine hears her. She cries for them in sleep. For all of them, for none of them. For everything and nothing at all. She smiles into hair that tangles, a fallen halo around the neck of the only martyr that ever watched everyone else become the sacrifice.Tries to remember if she knows that emptied out feeling. Fails.Figures, probably not.Probably not yet. * And in the end it is only them. A vampire and her doppelganger as the embers fade to barely forgotten sparks that once lit a fire of the fiercest order.The End
|
158907
|
You and Me Against a
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by shirasade",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-04-10T00:00:00",
"words": "1,152",
"Additional Tags": "Wall Sex, Established Relationship",
"Relationship": "Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Author's favourites",
"Fandoms": "Bandom, Fall Out Boy",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
When Pete stumbles off stage, his whole body is still buzzing with endorphins, the screams of fans ringing in his ears. He hands his bass to the tech and highfives some of the guys milling around backstage. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dirty barrelling towards him, but before he can brace himself for the impact, he catches sight of Patrick at the other end of the corridor.His blood suddenly rushing downwards, Pete holds up a hand that stops Dirty in his tracks and, ignoring the commotion around them completely, moves purposefully to where Patrick is leaning against the wall in a carefully relaxed pose, belied by the intensity in his gaze, which is fixed on Pete. Then Pete reaches him, and Patrick springs into motion, all pent-up energy suddenly released as he pushes Pete backwards, away from the people and against the back wall of the dimly lit hallway.Pete goes with it, his fingers already twisting in Patrick's sweat-soaked shirt, pulling him closer. He gasps as Patrick pushes a thigh between Pete's legs, grinding up, and their lips slide against each other rather than make proper contact. Then Patrick captures him in a real kiss, deep and messy, and Pete almost loses the ability to breathe as a pair of determined hands bunch his hoodie up and splay over his chest. He can feel the cold brick scrape against his lower back and pushes back, downwards, hard cock against strong thigh, feeling Patrick's own erection against his hip, clinging to Patrick's shoulders as he is almost lifted off the ground from the force of their movement.Patrick curses into Pete's mouth, and Pete slides his fingers inside Patrick's collar, desperate to touch his skin, hot and flushed with need and want built up during an amazing performance. Pete loves it when Patrick gets like this, when his control snaps, and without looking Pete knows that Charlie is standing at the other end of the corridor, his massive form shielding them as he has many times before. Pete can't hear anything except the pounding of blood in his ears and Patrick's low whispers of filthy nothings against his neck as their grinding becomes more frantic, less controlled, but he knows without a doubt that Dirty is out there somewhere, creating a disturbance, giving them the privacy they need because there is no way they can wait until the hotel.Patrick's hands slide down to Pete's hips, strong fingers pressing into his skin just inside his pants. Patrick will feel guilty about the bruises afterwards, proof of his loss of control, but Pete cherishes them, cherishes knowing that, when Patrick snaps, it is because he wants Pete so badly. Pete's grin at the thought is distorted into another groan as Patrick sinks his teeth into his shoulder, and Pete's head hits the bricks behind him with a dull thud. He curses and his fingers scrabble for the fly of Patrick's jeans, fumbling to unbutton them as Patrick slides both hands arounds Pete's back and between his ass and the wall, hoisting him up as he sets the pace.They kiss, open-mouthed and interrupted by gasps for breath, and Patrick's hat falls off as Pete grabs Patrick's neck uncoordinatedly with his free hand. But Patrick doesn't seem to notice, half-growling as Pete finally manages to curl his fingers around Patrick's dick. Pete squeezes a couple of times, lacking technique or finesse, but Patrick's grip on him becomes tighter anyway, almost painful again, and Patrick comes breathing Pete's name.He rests his forehead against Pete's shoulder for a moment, then he shakes himself slightly, and it's Pete's turn to repeat Patrick's name like a prayer, because Patrick is pulling away and, before Pete can complain, dropping to his knees and opening Pete's fly nimbly. Pete flattens his hands against the rough brick behind him to keep himself from grabbing Patrick's head and forcing himself down his throat, not a good idea with another show scheduled the next day.Patrick's mouth is hot on him, around him, sucking hard, and Patrick is slipping the hand not currently holding the base of Pete's cock around to his balls, teasing his scrotum and the hole behind. Pete is really trying not to buck too much, but then Patrick is humming something, a snatch of a song or just wordless encouragement, and Pete comes with a hoarse cry.Patrick swallows neatly, tidily, and keeps him in his mouth until the aftershocks subside, then he smoothly rises to his feet, tucking himself and Pete back into their pants, his hands skimming Pete's sides as he pulls down Pete's hoodie. Pete hears himself make a whining noise and Patrick smirks slightly but obeys the unspoken plea and kisses him, letting Pete taste himself. Pete sucks on Patrick's tongue greedily and is rewarded with a full body shudder from Patrick.They're both coming down now, the urgency that propelled them gone, but Pete is reluctant to let go and Patrick seems content to stay as well. They kiss slowly, almost like breathing, Pete's fingers curling gently against Patrick's neck, Patrick's whole body still holding Pete pressed against the wall, warm and safe, grounding them both.Finally they pull apart a bit, and Pete can feel the huge satisfied grin on his face. Patrick grins right back, shaking his head a little as if he can't believe what just happened, although they've done it before, many times, and will in all likelihood do it several more times before this tour is over.Pete bends down to retrieve Patrick's hat from where it has fallen and jams it firmly on the reddish curls, almost blinding Patrick in the process, who protests and swats Pete's hands away. Order restored Pete hooks an arm around Patrick and holds him tightly, leaning heavily against him for just one moment longer, feeling Patrick's breath fan softly against his cheek. Then he lets go and jumps on Charlie's broad back, demanding a piggyback ride, claiming exhaustion.No sign remains of what happened in the dark little hallway, Patrick pulling a jacket over the telltale stains on his t-shirt, but Pete can feel it heavy in his bones even after Charlie puts him back down on his own two feet. It makes him fall silent, warm and lethargic, and he finds himself latching onto anyone who stands still long enough. Everyone knows the signs, and Joe rolls his eyes and redirects Pete's attempt at a human pretzel with practised ease when they climb into the van that will bring them to the hotel.Pete ends up with his head in Patrick's lap, a position he thoroughly approves of, especially when Patrick's fingers begin to comb gently through Pete's hair even as he carries on a low conversation about the show with Andy. Pete turns his head slightly and nuzzles Patrick's hand tiredly before nodding off.
|
174936
|
Fathers Day
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison",
"Fandom": "The Sentinel",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Liz_Jarvis",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-28T00:00:00",
"words": "1,134",
"Additional Tags": "Father's Day, Blair Sandburg's Father - Freeform, Angst, Friendship",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Jim hated Father's Day. To be honest he hated any day which involved spending vast amounts of money on presents which no one wanted and tacky cards which were displayed on a mantle for 2 days maximum then thrown in the trash. Unless it was his birthday of course, by which point he'd have given out enough hints about what he wanted as a gift. He'd been talking about needing new fishing gear for months; God help the fool who turned up with a wrapped mug and a flimsy card reminding Jim that he was no longer the young whipper snapper he'd once been.And Christmas. Every year he vowed he wouldn't be sending Christmas cards. Waste of time, money and precious energy. Not to mention glitter. Why did people have an obsession with sending glittery cards? The stuff ended up everywhere and he couldn't count the number of times he'd nearly zoned whilst looking at yet another sparkly snowman. But then cards would start arriving in the mail and Sandburg would make him feel guilty for not being in the Christmas Spirit. And so he ended up having to write cards in return, if only to stop his room mate signing off each of his own cards 'Love Blair and Jim xxx' as if they were a married couple.Although Jim and his father had finally starting talking again after years of near silence it was a very tentative relationship; neither one quite comfortable with the other just yet. Which was why Jim was having such difficulty picking out a Father's Day card. Pictures of father and son playing soccer and sentiments of "World's Greatest Dad!" just seemed too contrived.Which brings us to the card aisle in a very busy supermarket -- "Come on, man! Would you just pick one!? The game's starting in 20 minutes -- Look, just get this one," Sandburg clamored away as he picked up one card after another, shoving them into Jim's hands. "This one's nice, or how about this one? Nice picture of a dad fishing with his son -- Oh, or how about this one? Come on, Jim, choose already!"Sandburg's incessant chatter was starting to grate on his already grated nerves. His headache-now-migraine was growing stronger by the second. The clanging of trolleys and baskets; the tantrums of children being refused candy; the gossiping of mom's discussing the latest marriage break-up; the flicker of faulty tube lighting overhead...."SANDBURG, WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP AND STOP TOUCHING EVERYTHING!" Jim roared. Blair stopped mid-sentence, shocked, and turned wide-eyed to face the detective.Despite a little voice at the back of his mind telling him to 'Stop! Stop now!' Jim worked himself up into a fury and let rip."I know you think you know best about everything, but just back off, OK!? Why are you even here anyway? It's not like you even have a dad to buy a card for! Just back off, and let me choose one in peace, capice?!"Blair stared at him for a moment and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it abruptly, turned on his heel and stalked toward the exit.Jim closed his eyes, shook his head and swore under his breath. 'Nice one, Ellison.' Opening his eyes he swiftly glanced back over the cards. Grabbing the least offensive one he could find he hurried over to the check-out to pay for his purchase then out to the truck. Blair, thankfully, was still waiting for him.----------The drive home was a quiet one. As was the elevator ride up to their floor. Jim unlocked the door and sighed as Blair brushed past him and headed straight for his room under the stairs. "Chief, I --" he started but was cut off by the slamming of the french doors. Jim resigned himself to the fact that he was in the dog house for the foreseeable future and decided that the best course of action was to make a start on dinner. Maybe the smell of fresh lasagne would coax the anthropologist out of his room long enough for Jim to attempt an apology...An hour later and, despite the delicious aroma of a home cooked meal, Sandburg was still hiding in his room. The game had been on for a while; the fact that Blair hadn't come out to watch it was an obvious testament as to how pissed he presently was with his so-called Blessed Protector. Sitting on the couch Jim could hear him shuffling around and opening and closing drawers; at least Blair was still in the loft and hadn't climbed out the fire-escape. He took comfort in that.The snick of the french doors opening brought him out of his musings and he looked up to see Blair hovering in his doorway holding what looked to be an old shoe box. Jim opened his mouth to form an apology but Blair cut him off."Jim, don't say anything, just listen to what I have to say, OK?" Blair paused and sighed before he continued. "I'm not going to pretend that I wasn't hurt by what you said, but I know you didn't mean it so I'm not going to make a deal out of it. Just put it down to fear-based responses, yeah?" As he talked, he moved closer to the couch and placed the shoe box on the seat next to Jim. At Jim's inquisitive look he motioned toward the box. "Just open it," he said.Jim picked up the box and placed it on his lap. He removed the lid, reaching inside to remove a handful of cards. Father's Day cards. His brow furrowed with confusion and he glanced up at Blair. Receiving a nod he opened the card on the top of the pile. To Dad,Happy Father's DayLove Blair
Jim opened the next one. Dad,Wishing you a wonderful Father's Day,Your son, Blair
Each card was dated, and Jim realised there were years worth of unsent Father's Day cards in the box."I may not know my father," Blair murmured, "But I still have one. Somewhere. I figured -- I figured that maybe -- one day, if I ever met him -- well I could give him these cards." He stopped and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "And if I don't -- well, at the very least I know I've done my part in being a son."Lapsing into silence Blair stared at the coffee table. Feeling a hand grasp his shoulder he glanced up to find intense blue eyes gazing at him."Chief," Jim said softly, "Any man would be proud to have you as his son." He smiled at his room-mate. A smile which grew wider as it was shyly returned."Thanks, Jim," was the whispered response. --
|
158199
|
Independence Day
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Queer as Folk (US)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by Ceala (DecemberWine)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-02-01T00:00:00",
"words": "4,141",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Brian Kinney/Michael Novotny",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
In the years that followed, Michael often thought of a TV interview he’d seen. Some reporter was talking to a survivor of one of the massive hurricane/tornado’s that had hit Texas/Florida/New Orleans. The survivor said that just before the storm hit, there was an eerie silence and the air had become thick and hard to breathe. Then they had felt something in the air that made the hair on their arms stand up and then the storm had slammed into them.Michael thought that was a tad dramatic but after surviving his own natural disaster, he knew just how they felt. Michael’s storm hit one quiet Thursday afternoon. He was enjoying a rare lull at his store. Two hours earlier and the lunch crowd would have filled the place. Two hours later and the after school kids would be crowding the aisles and lounging on the sofa’s looking at their favorites and trying to decide which one to buy first.Now normally, a smart business man and believe me Michael was a smart business man, would be dreading a lull in business but Michael enjoyed the opportunity to catch his breath and just think about what had been happening in his life. When he looked back on the last few years, well the last seven to be exact, he was amazed that he’d even survived to tell the tale. God he was such an innocent.************* FLASHBACK ******************He’d thought if he ever had a child, he would be the best father in the whole world. He would always be there for the important things and the not so important but loving moments. Maybe if the mother of his child had been anyone other than Melanie Marcus that could have been a possibility but instead, his time with his daughter had been a battle almost from the beginning. When he agreed to become a sperm donor for Lindsay and Melanie’s second child, he was thinking of the same loving environment that had been waiting for their first child; a beautiful son named Gus sired by Michael’s best friend Brian Kinney. Instead, the two were in the middle of a bitter break-up caused by Lindsay’s one night stand with an artist she’d been working with. Maybe it wouldn’t have been quite so bitter if the artist hadn’t been a man. Michael knew from firsthand experience how nasty Melanie could get when she was crossed and he didn’t want his baby girl to be raised by two feuding parents when he and Ben could provide a warm, loving, stable home.The ensuing custody battle had turned into a three-way spectacle worthy of the ancient Roman bloodbaths. Everyone had lost, most of all Jenny Rebecca, as the adults in her life battled over her like she was a choice piece of meat and they all wanted a bite. Michael still felt almost bowed down by grief when he thought of those times; not just because of the battle over Jenny but also because it caused a rift between him and two of the most important people in his life. His mother had openly sided with Melanie against Michael claiming that a single mother could raise a kid just as good as two parents anytime; after all, she was a single mother and look how well she’d done. But the betrayal that hurt Michael to the bone had been that of his best friend Brian; the one person in the world Michael would have bet he could count on for support. Brian had provided Lindsay with the money to hire a vicious cut-throat lawyer and in the end Michael had been portrayed in open court as a pervert who took drugs, wrote porn and generally wasn’t fit to be a part of his daughter’s life. Thank God, the judge didn’t take all that as gospel and awarded a three way split which meant Jenny was handed around from Melanie to Michael to Lindsay and back again. Michael never understood how his friend and his mother could have hurt him like that and he never forgave either one.The whole mess straightened itself out when Lindsay dropped out of the dog-fight saying no one was thinking about the needs of Jenny and she couldn’t be a party to it any longer. Michael grudgingly agreed that a baby as young as Jenny needed to be with her mother and he backed away also only to have his daughter taken away from him again.When the dance club Babylon was blown up, it set off a cascade of corresponding explosions that just kept going. Melanie and Lindsay got back together but decided they didn’t want to raise their kids in a country that considered them inferior so they took the babies and moved to Canada. Now Michael only got to see his little girl when he could get away for a few days and fly to Canada. Michael had been seriously injured in the blast and spent many painful weeks recovering from his injuries. Brian decided that life really was too uncertain to keep putting things off and proposed to Justin. Michael and Brian tried to mend their badly fractured friendship and Brian even asked Michael to be his best man. The next thing Michael knew, he and Ben were going to their engagement party only to have them announce the wedding was off and then Justin left to conquer New York.After that, things just seemed to go downhill faster and faster; like a run-a-way bobsled. Ben and Debbie got all caught up in Gay Rights and were not pleased when Michael refused to put his privacy aside and let the media know every detail of his life as a gay husband, father and business man. He and Ben grew further and further apart. The only bright spot in Michael’s life for the last 8 months had been Hunter and his few visits to see Jenny.It didn’t help that right after the bombing Michael got the chance of a lifetime to buy the building housing his comic store. He literally scrapped together every single cent he could. He used all his money from Rage (that is what was left after he’d paid his half of the big Victorian house he and Ben had bought together) and he sold most of his collector pieces to get what he needed for the purchase and the many renovations the old building required. He’d gotten no encouragement from Ben or his mother. They both thought he was crazy to even consider the idea; Ben because he couldn’t see a grown man trying to make a living out of selling comic’s and Debbie because she felt he should be spending his money and time supporting his college professor husband while he fought the good fight for gays everywhere.Neither one of them gave Michael credit for being as smart as he actually was. He’d spent a big sum to hire a contractor Brian recommended who went over the old building from top to bottom and gave Michael a written report on its current condition and the amount of money needed to bring it into tip-top shape. The bottom line was the old building had great bones. It had been built back in the early days when buildings were hand built out of real wood. The foundation was solid as a rock; all the supporting beams were either 10 by 12 or 12 by 12. As the contractor said, ‘you just don’t see workmanship like that anymore.’ The biggest expenses were the plumbing, electricity, heating, A/C and a new roof.Michael turned the top floor into a luxury apartment similar to Brian’s loft with access to a beautiful roof-top garden. He made the third and fourth floors into apartments; 4 to a floor. He kept the 2nd floor for expansion and storage for his shop and he put in a big freight elevator to allow his tenants to move in furniture and get to the upper floors if they didn’t feel like climbing the stairs. The whole area where Red Cape was located was being discovered by the young and affluent who didn’t want life in the suburbs but rather downtown, loft living. Within two months of completion, all eight of the units were leased and Michael had three offers for the upper floor. Every time he tried to make a decision about leasing the space, he would go visit the premises and invariably he found himself furnishing each room right down to the pictures on the wall. He realized he felt more at home here in these empty rooms than he did in the big house he shared with Ben and Hunter.He often wondered if his love for his top floor had anything to do with his final break with Ben. He never could decide for sure. All he knew was he was out of the house within a week of their breakup and had moved all his stuff to his new apartment along with his son Hunter who decided he wanted to stay with Michael and not Ben.Ben was only marginally angry; after all he was so busy with his appearances and interviews and lectures that looking after a teen-ager could have cramped his style somewhat. He was more than agreeable to selling and they unloaded the big house for a healthy profit just before the housing market collapsed. Michael took his considerable share and used it to pay Brian back for the loan he’d given him to completely renovate his store. He’d taken one third of the second floor and turned it into storage and offices for his shop and the other two thirds became an open lounge where his customers could relax and browse to their hearts content. He planned on eventually having after-hours club meetings for young artists to get together and discuss story lines and plots and draw new and better super heroes.************ END OF FLASHBACK ***************Michael didn’t have much time to reflect on the last few years. He caught a movement through his large glass window and looked up to see Hurricane Debby heading into land or rather his store. He felt the air get thick and heavy and sure enough, the hair on his arms was rising. His door slammed open and the storm slammed into him.“What the hell do you mean by walking out on your husband and son and moving your selfish ass down here? This damn hobby of yours is already taking way too much of your time that could be devoted to better things and why the hell did I have to find out from strangers and not you? When were you planning on telling me that you had decided to ruin your life AGAIN?”“One, I didn’t walk out on Ben and Hunter; Hunter is living with me. Two, this is my place of business not my hobby and three, never because it’s none of your business.”For a brief moment there was complete silence. Michael thought if you put a red wig on a guppy, a large guppy, you would have a perfect picture of Debbie at that moment.“You watch your language young man; everything you do is my business.”“No ma, it’s not. It hasn’t been your business since I moved out of your house and started supporting myself and I might add, contributing to your support also. You’ve lived your life. This is my life and I’m going to live it the way I want, not the way you think it should be. You have meddled and interfered in my affairs for the last time. From now on, you stay out of my business and leave me alone. If I want you to know something, I will tell you.”“How dare you talk to me like that? I’ve sacrificed all my life for you and I’ve always had nothing but your best interest at heart. Especially since you never seemed to have a clue what was right for you. Running after Brian ever since you were a kid. You let him interfere all the time and I don’t hear you yelling at him.”“You know ma, you have been beating that same dead horse for years now. Don’t you think you ought to get some new material? In case you haven’t noticed, Brian hasn’t interfered in my life or my relationships in a long long time now. He and I have come to an understanding. He realizes I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. Now how about you getting the same clue he did?”Debbie walked up to Michael and lifted her hand and started to slap him the way she had for all his life only this time there was a difference. Michael grabbed her wrist before she could finish the action. She had no idea Michael was so strong. He was actually hurting her he was holding her wrist so tightly.“Let go of me, you’re hurting my wrist.”Michael loosened his hold but didn’t let go. “OH no, no more. You have slapped me for the last time. I didn’t like it when I was young and I really don’t like it now that I’m grown. You don’t have the right to touch me like that ever again and if you ever do raise your hand to me again I guarantee it will be the last time you touch or see me.”Debbie could not believe her ears. Her child, her obedient child was talking back to her; actually threatening her. Of course he didn’t mean it. He was just upset over the breakup with Ben. It was up to her to be the adult now and get him to realize his whole future lay with Ben. Ben was smart. He was a college professor. He was gaining a reputation in the gay community and there was some talk of running him for councilman in the next election. Surely even Michael could realize that Ben was going places and his little comic store couldn’t hold a candle to the brilliant future he could have as Ben’s significant other.“Michael, I know you’re hurting without Ben but it’s not a sure thing. I know Ben loves you enough to forgive you for this little disagreement you two are having. All you have to do is apologize to him and reassure him that your marriage is the most important thing in your life not this dusty little shop.”Michael looked at his mother in complete astonishment. ‘Dusty Little Shop’. Had she actually looked at his store in the last year?“Ma, have you even looked at my store lately? This is hardly a ‘dusty little shop’ anymore. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve expanded to almost twice the original size. Everything in here has been renovated and updated. Red Cape has been written up in the Advocate as an example of one of Pittsburgh’s unique privately owned businesses. I do almost a quarter of a million dollars in business a year and I’m growing.”Debbie listened to Michael and started to argue with him but forgot what she was going to say as she looked around the store. What the hell? What had happened here? What she remembered as dirty, dusty and cramped was now bright and clean with comfortable chairs and tables scattered around. She saw stairs leading up to an upstairs area lined with glass walls and bright neon banisters. There were display cases of comics and action figures and games everywhere but still placed so there was plenty of room to move and see everything.“I have no intention in the world of apologizing to Ben and I sure as hell am not hurting. Maybe it’s a little shallow of me but I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am right now. I have my son with me full time and he loves our new place and has his friends over all the time. We are going to Canada next weekend with Brian and the three of us are going to spend a week with our kids and just sight-seeing and enjoying ourselves. I’m making more money than I ever thought possible between the store, my on-line sales, my revenue from my stories, my fees from doing evaluations for private owners and auction houses and that’s not even including the income from my apartments.”“Wait just a damn minute. What do you mean income from your apartments?”“You mean Ben didn’t tell you? I thought he shared every detail of our private lives with you. I know I didn’t and yet you always seemed to know everything that was going on in our house.”“Well of course Ben told me you were pouring money into your business but neither of us could see any good reason for you wasting your resources like that.”“Boy you two really do have a high opinion of me don’t you? I wasn’t wasting my resources; I was buying this building and renovating it. I own this place. The top floor is our home and we have eight apartments on the next two floors that bring in more money than you could ever imagine. I’m getting ready to open at least one and possibly two new Red Cape’s and Hunter is designing our own web site so we can merchandise on-line. What do you know Ma, when you weren’t looking and without a single bit of help or interference from you, I’ve become a fuckin’ big success. I just received an invitation to join the Pittsburgh Chamber of Commerce. Actually both Brian and I have been invited and I think we just may do it. It’s a good business move and the prestige of having two openly gay business owners as members will be good for our community. What have you and Ben accomplished lately?”There was complete silence from Debbie. She didn’t have anything to say. She looked at her son, really looked at him. She saw the slight lines around his eyes but they were hardly noticeable when you also saw the laugh lines around his beautiful mouth. His hair was as glossy black and silky as ever without a hint of grey. He was no longer a little boy. He’d become a man; a strong beautiful, confident man who was looking her right in the eye. There was no anger, no defiance just complete confidence in his own worth. She was about to say something when the door bell jingled and Hunter came breezing into the shop.“Hi Debbie, long time no see. Hey Dad, can Banko spend the night? I want him to work with me on the web site. He’s dying to see what we’re doing.”“Of course he can Hunter. Are you going to be here for dinner tonight?”“Nah, not tonight. We’re going to a pizza party at Dino’s place and then to see a midnight movie so we’ll be in late tonight but we will be in all day tomorrow and most of Sunday if it’s okay with you.”“You know it’s okay with me. I’ll make sure I load up the fridge so you two don’t starve while you’re slaving away over a hot keyboard.”“Thanks dad, but take it easy will you. I think Banko wants you to adopt him already and if you keep feeding him, we’ll never get rid of him.”They both laughed at the idea of Banko with a collar and leash around his neck. Hunter walked over and gave his dad a big hug. It was so funny to see Hunter towering over Michael and yet still so obviously needing a hug from his dad. Hunter waved goodbye to Debbie and headed to the back of the shop.“Where is he going?”“We have a back staircase up to the apartment as well as an elevator and a big internal staircase. I wanted to make sure we had several exit points in case of fire. I’m pretty careful when it comes to my kid’s safety.”“Well, I guess it’s pretty obvious you no longer care about your commitment to your marriage or your husband anymore. Now that you’re a captain of industry.”“God, you really can’t get your theories straight can you? I’m either a failure with a dusty little cramped shop or a cold-hearted captain of industry. Which is it?”“I don’t know where you got this sarcastic mouth of yours but I don’t appreciate it one single bit.”“I got it from you Ma and now you know how I’ve felt for the last 23 years. I haven’t appreciated being put down and told how dumb I am and how I don’t know what’s good for me. I’ve watched you lavish praise on Justin for his drawings for Rage while you were putting me down for writing the stories. I’ve watched you rave about how crazy Brian was about Justin while telling me over and over that I meant nothing to him and he was just keeping me around for laughs. Do you really think Brian Kinney would put up with anything for 23 years if he didn’t want to? Do you see Brian running off to New York because he just can’t live without his Sunshine? No, he’s still right here in Pittsburgh and while he hasn’t been to New York one time to visit Justin, he’s gone with me to Canada every single time we’ve had a chance. We’ve also taken some vacations away from here just to spend time together and get our friendship back on track. I’ve listened to both you and Ben put down my store and my efforts to support myself. I’ve built all this up with no help from either of you but Brian and Hunter and Ted and Emmet have always been here for me and so was Uncle Vic when he was alive. They all were proud of me and my struggle to make a life for myself that had some meaning to me and wasn’t just a dead-end job.I’ve had to go to outsider’s for the love and support I should have had from my mother and my husband and while it used to make me sad, it’s also made me strong and independent so this is my Independence Day. I will always respect the fact that you gave me life and you struggled to put a roof over my head, food in my belly and clothes on my back. I will continue to support you and care for you but you will never hit me again. You will never come barging into my place of business and start yelling at me like I was fourteen years old. If you do, I will cut you out of my life. Have I made myself clear?”Again, Michael had rendered his mother speechless. She didn’t know what to do with this quiet, calm supremely confident man looking back at her with his clear, beautiful brown eyes.“Ma, do you understand that I mean what I say? No screaming, no yelling…that’s your style not mine. I’m through with Ben and it was mutual no matter what you may think. When I find some man I want to spend the rest of my life with, I will do it without any assistance or input from you. If you respect my dignity, you will be part of my life. If you don’t then we’re through right here and right now. So what will it be?”Debbie couldn’t talk. There was nothing to say. She just nodded. She realized it was her admittance of defeat. Michael had won. He was the adult now and he was setting the rules. She hoped he would be kinder to her than she had been to him.Michael finally had a moment to take a deep breath. Debbie had just barely gotten to her car before the after school crowd came pouring in. Michael was aware of the fact that she had not driven off but was sitting in her car watching the people coming into his store. Not just young kids but college age, young professionals and older collectors. He was pretty sure she had also noticed the number of folks who left carrying his distinctive glossy black sacks with the bright red capes emblazoned across their surfaces. He smiled contentedly to himself when she finally drove off. He’d done it. He’d finally cut the apron strings once and for all. Who knows? Now that he’s on a roll, he just might go face down Mr. Kinney and tell him it was time to face up to some facts they’d been dancing around for years now. Yeah, maybe it was time to declare Independence Day to everyone!
|
152798
|
Shattered
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Sara Sidle, Warrick Brown, Gil Grissom",
"Fandom": "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Soraya (soraya2004), soraya2004",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2005-03-29T00:00:00",
"words": "2,374",
"Additional Tags": "Established Relationship, Angst, Voyeurism",
"Relationship": "Warrick Brown/Gil Grissom",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Grissom could have died just hours ago.That alone would have been enough to cut through her reservations, if she'd had any as she pushed open the door to his house. It was a horrible breach of his privacy. She remembered how he'd looked the last time she'd come over like this, unannounced and uninvited. He'd seemed so disappointed, as though his heart was breaking and she was somehow personally responsible. Only, this time, she hoped he might forgive her; at least, she felt he would understand.She let the door swing shut then she leant back against it, staring into the space that didn't quite pass for a hallway. The house was dark and the living room empty, just as she'd prayed it would be; and when several minutes passed with no one coming to investigate, Sara heaved a sigh of relief. This was what she'd been craving all day. Some peace and quiet in a place where no one was there to watch her control shatter.Because, a few hours ago, in an alley full of trash and rats, Grissom had almost died right in front of her. It was the only clear thought she'd had since the accident, and the image of it was as sharp in her mind as the moment it happened. What scared her the most was how powerless she'd felt. Even if she hadn't been paralysed with shock, she realised she wouldn't have made it to him in time; she wouldn't have been able to save him.The thought of that made her hands shake; they were still shaking nearly five hours after the end of her shift. She rubbed them over her face, the back of her neck, her thighs, but still she couldn't get warm. This chill she felt ran far deeper than a mere shift in temperature, and it clung to her body, no matter how hard she rubbed, or blew, or scrubbed at it.What she really needed was a drink, several of them, in fact. The urge was so strong that, if she closed her eyes for a second, she could almost feel the whiskey wetting her lips, and taste its rich flavour on her tongue, before that long soothing burn down her throat. And the more she thought about alcohol, the more she wanted that particular brand of oblivion. It was the only way she could truly relax. But, she'd given Grissom her word that she wouldn't solve her problems at the bottom of a bottle, and this was not the day to break that promise, even if that meant being haunted by flashes from that dirt-filled alley.The little things stood out the most: the sudden speckling of dust on Grissom's jacket, followed by the screech of sound as the AC-unit came loose high above his head. She could still remember the horror of watching it fall only to land mere centimetres away from him. A few inches to the right and all that eccentricity and brilliance would have been gone. Dead. Lost forever. Only a stroke of pure luck and Warrick's speedy reflexes meant they weren't burying the crushed wreck of Grissom's body.Sara let out a small laugh, but the sound was harsh and bitter, and the accompanying smile didn't reach her eyes. *There* was the proof that the universe had it in for her. Warrick had been the one to save Grissom, not her. Warrick had pulled him out of harm's way then shielded him, leaving her with a throat dry with fear and hands that refused to stop shaking. Still, she tried to look at the bright side. Grissom was alive, which meant that in spite of whatever mistakes she'd made with him, she still had a chance.She pushed off the door and moved further into the house. Of all the places she knew, there was something so soothing about being in Grissom's home. The living room always smelt of spice and some scent she associated uniquely with Grissom; and in the silence, walking among the personal items he'd collected over the years, it was easy for her to tell herself that she was close to him. So much about him was hard to read. He hid behind his logic and his role as supervisor in a place where she couldn't reach him. But here, within these four walls, he couldn't hide who he was. For someone who knew how to look, the clues were everywhere, and Sara was well versed at observing Grissom.She wandered around aimlessly, letting the tips of her fingers trail over the things that were dearest to him. A display case full of butterflies, a book on civil liberties, a jar of larvae, a set of golf clubson the surface, such a strange collection of objects, yet each one spoke to her about some facet of the man she loved. She picked out a five-iron, let her fingers curl gently around the handle, imagining that she could feel the warmth from his hands touching her through this object.In reality, it was cold and pointless, because what she really wanted was to be able to touch him.The golf club slipped through her fingers, back into the bag, and Sara turned away. Her hands were shaking, though now the emotions behind that were much closer to frustration than fear. She pressed the heels of both palms to her eyes, forcing the tears back before they could fall. She'd promised she wouldn't keep doing this to herself, or to him. In reality, she knew that in the next few months there would be many more moments like this where she wandered from room to room looking for something Grissom wouldn't give her.By the time she reached the bedroom, she had herself back under control. The door was open, and the bright light streaming through the windows made it seem more inviting than the rest of the house. Nonetheless, Sara hovered outside, suddenly uncertain. Entering this particular room without permission seemed like the worst kind of betrayal, far, far worse than everything she'd done so far. It wasn't that she expected to find anything there; just, there were certain lines of intimacy Grissom never let people cross. While he seemed happy enough to invite the team to his house from time to time, not one of them, to her knowledge, had seen behind this door.It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Sara laughed a little at the ridiculous idea of herself as a modern-day Goldilocks, who broke into her supervisor's home, searched through his things and slept in his bed. She was about to step inside the room when she saw him: Grissom, right there, on the bed she'd just been imagining.Sara froze.He was sitting in the middle of it, the long, pale lines of his back stiff with tension, and for a moment, she thought he'd seen her. His head was turned to one side, cocked in that familiar way, which said he was listening to something or evaluating some new piece of evidence. Then, she noticed the downward sweep of his eyelashes on his cheek. And the sight of him like that, with his eyes closed and his skin glowing in sunlight, nearly took her breath away.All these years, and she'd never seen him so naked. He was beautiful to look at, more beautiful than she'd ever imagined, with his broad shoulders and pale skin and the way the line of his back curved gently into the swell of his ass. And now that she was finally here, she couldn't stop staring at him. The consequences of being caught, the embarrassment and the humiliation: none of that mattered weighed against the chance to see Grissom like this.It took a moment for her to realize he was moving. Slowly, such a slow and subtle motion she'd missed it at first. But his movements were far more obvious now that she knew what to look for. It was there in the way his back arched, the way his hips rose and fell in a rhythm only he seemed to hear. A line of sweat ran down his spine, disappearing into the sheets that tangled at his hips, and when a dark-skinned hand suddenly drew those sheets back, Sara took an involuntary step back.In all her fascination with Grissom, she hadn't noticed that he was not alone. The hand, large and long-fingered, was undeniably male, and something about the way it touched Grissom's skin with almost careless possessiveness made her uncomfortable. It was a lover's touch, one that was absolutely sure of its welcome; and when Grissom did nothing to shake it off, Sara's heart went cold.It hurt more than she could ever have imagined to watch those blunt-tipped fingers splay across his lower back, while another dark hand cupped his waist, steadying him. She couldn't help noticing that Grissom's movements were cautious, as though this was new to him. He arched again, eyelashes fluttering as he pressed back into those hands. And they held him still while the man beneath him lifted and circled his own hips, grinding their bodies together in a way that made Grissom shiver and groan out loud.The sound was low and deep, shocking in its intensity. It raised goosebumps on her skin. She'd never heard anything like that from Grissom before, never heard him sound so sexual. And that was the only possible explanation. The sound he'd made was pure sex, and her mind slowly caught up with what her eyes were telling her.Grissom was naked in bed with a lover, his male lover, and he was sitting astride him, riding him slowly.That knowledge triggered a rush of awareness as all her other senses snapped into focus. She could see them, she could hear-- God, she could even smell them in the huge, gulping lung-fulls of air she took as she struggled to breathe. They had to have been at it for a long time, because the air was thick with the scent of sex. And how could she not have noticed that? How could she not have heard the sighs and moans that were now so loud that they were battering her eardrums?It was only when her shoulders hit the wall that Sara realized she'd been backing away. For long, long minutes she leant against it, shaking as feelings of fear, embarrassment, arousal and shame crashed over her like a wave until she was drowning under the weight of them. She had to get out. Under no circumstances could she afford to have Grissom or his lover catch her there. But her legs refused to co-operate, and she was trapped in the nightmare of watching Grissom having sex with someone else.For a moment, Sara closed her eyes trying to block it out, to make it not happen. But she could still smell them and *hear* them, and God that was so much worse. All those noises from the bed creaking and sheets rustling and the endless slap of skin on skin as their bodies moved against each other. And above it all, a voice that sounded rough and needy, and which instinctively she knew was Grissom's cried out in obvious pleasure."Oh yeah, you like that, don't you?" his lover asked him, playful and sensual all at once.But even without that, Sara would have known who was with him. Her eyes opened, and she *knew* from the way those dark hands held Grissom as though he were the most important thing in the world. Suddenly so much made sense. From the way Warrick always seemed just that little bit possessive of Grissom, to how Grissom let him get away with the most outrageous things, and why, no matter how hard she tried, she could never get close to him.Warrick was already there; that left no space for anyone else.Despite all that, Sara found she couldn't tear her eyes away. Never in a million years would she have imagined Grissom as the one being taken or that he would love it or beg for it. But he was; his groans got louder and louder, and she watched him suddenly curl over and press his face into Warrick's chest while he shivered on top of him.Then, even that was gone as Warrick rolled them to one side, one hand gently cupping Grissom's nape. "It's okay. I've got you, I've always got you," Warrick whispered.He put Grissom on his back underneath him, and all Sara could see of Grissom then were his legs, wrapped round Warrick's waist, with his feet perched on smooth, hard buttocks that were clenching and flexing as Warrick thrust into him again, and again, and again.They were both close now, she could tell. Grissom's moans poured out with devastating casualness, as though she weren't even there, as though she couldn't see his toes curling or the way his fingers clutched desperately at Warrick's shoulders. The hopes she'd carried for so long just drained away, leaving her feeling empty and alone.She didn't want to be there when Grissom came. That would be just too much to handle. So, she drew back from the bedroom, made her way to the front door, then she walked out into the sunshine, quietly closing that door behind her.Inside, she was screaming.Once she made it to her car, she managed to drive for a few blocks before she had to pull over. Then, for several minutes, all the she could do was hang outside her door heaving out her pain and frustration in a rush of bile. When, finally, it stopped, she sat back and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths.Grissom and Warrick. Together.On some unconscious level, she'd always known Grissom was seeing someone. She'd watched him pull away from her over the years. She just hadn't wanted to accept that he was lost to her.Sara brought her hand to her mouth, and then she bit down hard, screaming in pure agony. And when the pain slowly faded into nothing but a dull ache, she realized that her hands had stopped shaking.The End
|
150850
|
Lone Wolfe
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Nick Wolfe, Amanda, Liam Riley, Duncan MacLeod",
"Fandom": "Highlander: The Raven",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Wilusa",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-01-10T00:00:00",
"words": "15,034",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Finale Followups",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
IFather Liam Riley thrust a wad of bills into the cab driver's hand, opting to over-tip rather than wait for change. Seconds later he was out of the car, clutching his duffel bag as he raced up the path to his church.The whole time he'd been in Marseilles, making arrangements for a teen basketball tournament, Liam had felt there was a crisis at home. That he was needed.He'd battled the feeling. Reminded himself that even though no one in Paris knew where he was staying - he'd accepted a friend's last-minute invitation, to save the parish a hotel bill - he did have his cell phone with him. Surely, anyone who needed him urgently could have reached him.He knew better now. When he'd finally attempted to use the phone - on the train home, to check the messages on his answering machine - he'd discovered the battery was dead.His greatest fear was for the church. Most churches were locked at night nowadays, to guard against theft or vandalism; that was one concession to changing times that Liam refused to make. He argued that the known presence of a young, vigorous priest in the nearby rectory was safeguard enough.But he'd been away for three days. And with vocations on the decline, he was Ste. Marie's only priest.I should have asked someone to watch over things. Maybe Nick. He could have stayed in the rectory, and locked the church at night.He flung open the door, rushed in - and saw nothing amiss. A wave of relief washed over him. He took time to genuflect and offer a hasty prayer. Then he made a thorough inspection of the building, choir loft included, looking for signs of trouble.All was well. No desecration, no vandalism, not even a broken lock on the poorbox.So it wasn't the church. But he still couldn't shake that feeling of dread.He headed for the rectory, and found it as he had left it, locked tight as a drum.Once inside, he debated what to check first, e-mail or phone messages. The e-mail won out, and he went rigid when he saw the subject line of a message from an elderly parishioner. Translated from the French, it read, "NEED YOU DESPERATELY!"Trembling, he opened it...and dissolved in laughter. Her "desperate need" was for gardening advice.By the time he got to the answering machine, he'd decided his fears had been foolish. He was humming as he listened to the first three messages, all inconsequential.But the fourth...Liam froze. Nick Wolfe's familiar voice had never sounded like this. Strained, stifled, as if he was in pain. "Liam, it's Nick...ohhh, I just remembered you won't be home till tomorrow." A long pause. Then, choked and barely audible: "Goodbye, Liam."Something was very wrong. Forcing himself to remain calm, the Immortal priest began trying to call Nick. His apartment. The offices, a floor below, that housed the European branch of Bert Myers' private security firm. His cell phone.No answer anywhere. Liam had left messages at home and workplace, but knew he couldn't let it go at that.He wiped sweat from his brow, and doggedly tried Amanda. Living quarters. Sanctuary. Cell phone.Nothing.As he stood with the phone in his hand, pondering what to do next, he found he had little choice.He sensed the presence of another Immortal.xxxAnd the doorbell rang.The doorbell? In Liam's experience, Immortal enemies tended to barge right in. Friends like Amanda - and the pre-Immortal Nick, whom he could only sense at close range - also strolled in, as did most of his parishioners, after a perfunctory tap on the door. They wouldn't enter the more private rooms uninvited, but the front parlor and adjoining office were almost as public as the church vestibule.Liam was in no mood for mysteries. He strode to the unlocked door and opened it, no questions asked.The Immortal on his doorstep was a grim-faced Nick Wolfe.Who said politely, "I didn't want to startle you."xxxLiam gulped. "Come in, Nick!" His heart was racing. Why wasn't I prepared for this? The way he lives his life, I should have known it could happen any day.He locked the door to assure privacy. Then he followed the younger man into the parlor. Nick remained standing, seeming less at ease than usual. But under the circumstances, his composure was downright eerie."Uh, Nick," Liam ventured uncertainly. "You do understand what's happened, don't you?"Cool green eyes met his. "Oh yeah, I understand. I'm Immortal." He said it with no inflection, no emotion.What's wrong with this picture? Liam stiffened as an unpleasant thought crossed his mind. "Nick, can you sense me? I mean...feel something...odd, that you didn't feel before you came near me?""Sure I can sense you." Nick seemed mildly surprised by the question. "Sort of a thrumming in my head. Felt it way down the path. But it seems I can...mute it, for want of a better word. Just by willing it to fade into the background."Liam exhaled a sigh of relief. "That's good. It takes most new Immortals weeks to gain that kind of control. And they usually feel it as an intense, blinding headache - may even get sick and throw up.""Huh. I guess after yesterday, I'm desensitized to pain."That statement was delivered as calmly, almost casually, as the others. But it sent a chill through Liam. He noted that his friend was badly in need of a shave, and his trenchcoat looked as though he'd slept in it. If he'd slept at all."I take it your...becoming Immortal...wasn't quick and easy?" he asked carefully."Yes and no."Yes and no?Liam took a deep breath and asked the next obvious question. "Does Amanda know?"An expression that could have been anger flitted across Nick's face, then was gone. "Oh, yes. She knows."What's wrong here? Only that use of the present tense kept Liam from blurting out, "Is Amanda alive?"Instead, he said, "I wish you'd sit down." He set an example by flopping in a chair. Nick shrugged, then sat. But there's still this icy reserve about him, Liam reflected. He seems like a stranger.Before he could decide how to proceed, Nick surprised him with a question."Why did you ask if I could sense you? Okay, I wasn't complaining about a headache - or puking. But can't all Immortals sense other Immortals?"Liam squirmed. At least, he imagined he was squirming. "Hate to answer your first question with 'I don't know'...but truth is, I don't."Sensing ability varies from person to person, like eyesight or sense of smell in mortals. There's a theory that some Immortals can't sense others at all. And most of us never run into anyone like that, because they don't last long.""Um, I can imagine." A corner of Nick's mouth quirked, in something approaching a smile. Black humor. "But my radar is working fine."His eyes narrowed. "What about pre-Immortals? Can all full Immortals sense them?"Liam felt the color rising in his cheeks. "No. The usual guess is that only about half of us can."Caught up in his own embarrassment, he failed to see the pursing of Nick's lips, the slight nod. "But if you're wondering about me, I did know what you were, Nick. I - I hope you won't hold it against me that I didn't tell you. I'll try to explain -"Nick came back from some distant place, startled by Liam's concern. "That's all right!"The new Immortal collected his thoughts, then quietly told the priest, "I could see when you came to the door that it wasn't a total shock. And I think, even a month ago, I would have been pissed. But now I understand."You know Lauren and I reconciled the night before she was killed." For the first time, his features softened. "I think we would have remarried, Liam. I know I wanted to."And at our age, if babies didn't come right away, we probably would have adopted, without wasting any more time. I might have had twenty or thirty years of happy marriage, children, even grandchildren, before I had to deal with this. Learn I'm not...normal."That's the main reason for not telling people, right?""Right," Liam breathed thankfully. He didn't add the corollary: allowing that "normal" life was especially desirable because in the modern world, most new Immortals survived less than a year.xxxHe took a closer look at his disheveled friend. If he'd paid that little attention to his grooming... "Nick, when did you eat last?""Eat?" Nick frowned, as if he found the idea repugnant. "Day before yesterday, I think.""Day before yesterday?" Liam was on his feet before the words were out of his mouth. "Come on. I'm hungry - I just got home from Marseilles - and if you're not, you should be." Lunch first, then maybe you'll open up and talk about what happened.Nick was still holding back. So Liam yanked him out of the chair and half-dragged him to the kitchen. "Take that coat off! And set the table. I'll see what's in the fridge."After a long hesitation, Nick obediently shed the coat.Liam was turning back from the refrigerator when he remembered his friend's omnipresent gun."Get rid of the gun, too," he ordered. "No guns at the table..." His voice trailed off.Nick was laying the gun with his coat.But Liam saw only his jersey. The ugly patch of brown on the black fabric...dried blood. And the bullet hole directly over his heart.xxxWell, at least he doesn't have to look at it. With all the good cheer he could muster, Liam said, "I don't feel like cooking. How about ham-and-Swiss sandwiches?""Okay. Whatever you say."While Liam made sandwiches and brewed coffee, he stole occasional glances at Nick. The new Immortal was setting the table with his usual efficiency, but his mind seemed far away.The impromptu lunch was ready within minutes. Liam, genuinely hungry, attacked his portion with gusto. But after three or four mouthfuls, he looked over at Nick.And then he simply sat there, staring dumbstruck at his friend.Nick was eyeing his sandwich almost fearfully. At last he took a small, experimental bite. Chewed for a remarkably long time, then seemingly had to force himself to swallow. His face was contorted, and he fought to suppress a gagging reflex.He waited. As if he's expecting pain or nausea, Liam realized.Finally, he took another bite, and repeated the process. With not quite the same degree of tentativeness.Liam returned to his own meal, while still surreptitiously watching his companion. Oh, Nick, what happened to you? Something more drawn-out and traumatic than that shot through the heart.But now Nick was relaxing, eating more naturally with every mouthful. Liam smiled to himself as his young friend polished off the first half of his sandwich, and promptly started on the second.He slid the bread and meat down the table. "I think you'll be ready for more soon. Help yourself."Nick grunted happily as he reached for the bread.xxx"Feeling better now?" Liam wore a broad grin as he filled his friend's coffee cup for the fourth time."I was feeling okay before."Ouch.Then Nick relented, and produced his own wisp of a smile. "But I was famished, and I didn't know it. Thanks, Liam.""You're welcome." Liam refilled his own cup, then dropped back into his chair. "Now, would you like to tell me how you became Immortal? Must've been a rough experience - it always is. Most of us have found that it helps to talk it out with a friend."Usually the first non-threatening Immortal we meet. I wonder if you've discussed it with Amanda?"Sure," Nick replied softly. "That's why I came. I need your help. But talking about it means reliving it, and that's harder than I expected..."He cleared his throat, sat up straight, and resolutely began his story. "Are you familiar with an Immortal named Evan Peyton?"Liam thought for a moment, then said, "No. At least, not by that name.""Lucky you. Amanda knew him in the seventeenth century, and even then, he was a murderer. In our day he'd become a high-tech bank robber. Not waltzing into banks with a gun - stealing millions via computer."A private eye, Tom Ross, disappeared while investigating him. Murdered by Peyton, as it turned out. I was looking for Ross -""Wait a minute," Liam cut in. "I want to get this straight. Were you investigating for Myers?""No. Good point - I should have made that clear. Myers had nothing to do with it."The detective's sister, Janet, is a friend of Amanda's. She told us her brother was missing. Not asking for help, just explaining why she was canceling a dinner date. She didn't know about Immortals, or what I do - did - for a living. I offered to help her."So I ran into Peyton." A nerve in Nick's jaw twitched. He was gazing through the open door behind Liam, probably focusing on a crucifix on a distant wall. Avoiding the priest's eyes. "He threw something like a tear-gas canister at me. Made me inhale poison, a slow-acting poison that would have killed me in twenty-four hours. Twenty-two, by the time he showed up at Sanctuary to gloat.""I...see."Really, Liam didn't see. A nasty turn of events, yes. But if Nick had learned what was going on after only two hours, there shouldn't have been much suffering.A ghastly possibility came to mind. "Don't tell me Amanda wasn't there?""She was there."Liam puzzled over that. At last he said, "So...you had a difficult decision to make."Wouldn't have been difficult for most people, but it apparently was for him.Nick's eyes glittered. "No. I didn't have any decision to make. Amanda decided everything."His words hit Liam like a hammer blow.Oh no, Amanda, no! You couldn't have done such a thing. Violated Nick, wrecked your best chance for happiness...He found his voice and stammered, "Y-you...you mean, she just shot you? Without explaining and letting you choose?"He was hoping against hope that the answer would be, "No, you misunderstood."But he didn't hear the answer, because his mind had raced on to confront other horrors.The voice on my machine. He was in agony. That ties in with his remark about being desensitized to pain, and his fear of eating.If Peyton told him about the poison after only two hours, it shouldn't have been that bad.Unless Amanda not only made the decision for him, but let him endure hours of torment before she did it.He looked at Nick - who was, by now, watching his changes of expression with almost clinical interest.Clinging to a shred of hope, Liam said, "She told you. You decided, for some reason, that you wanted to die. And in the end, she snapped because she couldn't bear to see you suffer?" That would still be out of line, but easier to understand.Nick shook his head. "Sorry, Liam. She never told me at all, never tried to learn my wishes and honor them."But there was more to it. Peyton said he had an antidote, and he'd give it to us if we didn't interfere with his collecting his stolen money."I was becoming more and more ill, and I'm not sure the things Amanda and I were doing made sense. But the idea was that we couldn't trust Peyton. So we didn't call in the police, but then we stole ten million dollars of his ill-gotten gains, to put pressure on him to keep his word."And Amanda insisted on taking me everywhere with her, when I could hardly stand up. Supposedly, so she could administer the antidote right away."Liam winced. "Sounds like a nightmare.""It was...pretty bad." Nick's control slipped for a moment; then he steadied his voice again. "On top of that, Peyton took Janet Ross hostage."We went to the rendezvous. Janet was tied up but not guarded, and she made enough noise that I was able to find and rescue her. Peyton was waiting to ambush Amanda."She defeated him. I was barely conscious at that point, but I heard him yelling about the antidote, and Amanda saying she didn't believe there was one. Then she whacked him."I...I remember seeing the Quickening lightning. When it was over, Amanda came to me... I was lucid, but even then, she didn't tell me the truth and give me a choice. Just picked up my gun and shot me."xxxThey sat for a long time in silence. Liam knew he was shaking, and tears were trickling down his cheeks. Why wasn't I here when he needed me?Nick, white-faced but impassive, watched him intently.It was Nick who finally spoke. "I'd like your honest opinion.""My...honest opinion?" Liam hitched himself upright in the chair, fought to keep his voice from quivering. "I love Amanda, but she was wrong. Dead wrong, and she had to know it."The younger man's taut muscles relaxed. "I was afraid an experienced Immortal might side with her, think my objecting was unreasonable.""No. Not this Immortal." Liam decided that answer required explanation. "There are some of us - very few - who believe a pre-Immortal must never be told the truth. But that's irrelevant here. I know for a fact Amanda doesn't hold that belief."And those who do hold it oppose any form of interference. Even they wouldn't condone her shooting you."Nick mulled that over. Then he said, "She told me I wouldn't have become Immortal if I'd died from the effects of a slow-acting poison. I take it that's true?"Liam grimaced. "Yes. Doesn't seem logical. Injuries that cause a slow death, from loss of blood, will make us Immortal. But we know how poison works, from observation.""What about a fast-acting poison?""That wasn't what Peyton used -""I know. Just curious.""All right." Liam wracked his brain, then said, "A fast-acting poison would have made you Immortal. I'm sure I've seen it. Forget where, but I was with Amanda at the time...""Ah." For some reason, that seemed important to Nick. "Getting back to Amanda, and my situation - what should she have done?""Told you the truth, right away," Liam said decisively. "The only 'rule' here is common sense."It's a matter of priorities. Once you'd been poisoned, concern about messing up your presumed-mortal future should have gone by the boards. Even if Amanda hoped to obtain an antidote, she should have told you what options you'd have if she failed. Given you as much time as possible to think about it."You might well have decided not to bother with the antidote - to spare yourself hours of needless suffering by becoming Immortal then and there. Why not? You're what, thirty-two years old? At your physical peak."Most pre-Immortals would have chosen to make themselves Immortal. I think I would have."But if you decided you didn't want Immortality - would prefer, in the absence of an antidote, to let the poison do its worst - you'd be within your rights. You're a competent adult, and the choice was yours to make."What Amanda did was...inexcusable.""Inexcusable," Nick echoed softly. "I notice you didn't say unforgivable.""God forgives all things, Nick. And He wants us to try to be like Him."Their eyes met and locked.After perhaps a minute, Nick mumbled, "I'll take that under advisement."Then Liam made the mistake of trying to press his advantage. "What I can say in Amanda's defense is that her heart was in the right place. I suppose she was afraid you'd choose death, and she wanted you to live." Trying to lighten the mood, he added, "Better that than the other way around!"Something in Nick's face stopped him cold.What isn't he telling me?After a beat, Nick responded with a near-change of subject. "If Amanda could have been expected to tell me the truth, and most pre-Immortals would have solved the problem by becoming Immortal right away, does it follow that Peyton didn't know I was a pre-Immortal?""Right," Liam said after a moment's thought. "He didn't know, or he wouldn't have seen anything to be gained by poisoning you.""His motive had me stumped," Nick admitted, "till I learned from you that not all Immortals would have known what I was.""Glad I'm good for something," Liam grumbled.Nick leaned forward in his chair, eyes alight with a new intensity. "You're good for more than that. I've already told you I need your help."Liam...do you remember my last Confession?"xxxAn hour later, Liam knew further argument would serve no purpose beyond leaving him hoarse."It's your life, Nick," he said wearily. He gazed out the kitchen window, past the brave new blooms in his garden, at the reassuringly solid, centuries-old stone church. A symbol of permanence in a world in which even "Immortality" could be all too brief. Am I seeking guidance, or consolation?He turned back to his friend. "I want it on record that I'm still opposed to this. Speaking as your priest, I'm opposed to it.""I know, Liam." There was a new gentleness in the younger man's voice. "But I have to follow my own instincts."You see God's hand at work in everything. Maybe I was given a special opportunity to discover what is and isn't right for me, before I set out on a path from which there'd be no turning back."Liam was too distressed to make the concession of saying, "Maybe." Instead, he gave a barely perceptible nod. "I'll do what you want.""Good. Thank you, Liam." Nick joined him at the window, seemed about to offer a handshake. But then he made a small sound that was close to a sob, and swept the priest into a crushing embrace.xxxShadows were lengthening when the two men exited the church. Liam was relieved to find no one sitting on the steps. He'd heard the door rattle twice, and he couldn't think of a plausible excuse for its having been locked."You're welcome to stay over in the rectory," he told Nick as they walked toward it. "As many nights as you want. Or are you going back to your apartment?""Thanks for the invite. But it's back to the apartment, at least for now." From his tone, Nick had reached that decision reluctantly. "I don't intend to hide from Amanda. I'm not the one who has something to be ashamed of.""True enough," Liam acknowledged. "I'll make some phone calls about the other matter."Ah, thinking of calls...!"They'd just gotten close enough to the house to hear Liam's phone ringing. He grinned, clapped Nick on the shoulder, and broke into a sprint.Nick matched him stride for stride. They were both laughing - a badly needed release from the tension of the last two days - when they burst into the parlor.Liam had left the answering machine turned off. He was still winded when he picked up the phone, on what might have been its tenth - or twentieth - ring. But the brief taste of exercise and camaraderie had buoyed his spirits, and he extended the unknown caller a hearty greeting.The voice on the line brought him down to earth with a thump. Pascal, Amanda's assistant manager at Sanctuary.As he listened, Liam watched the expression on Nick's face change from curiosity to concern. Mirroring his own."I'll go right over there, Pascal. Nick is with me, can't say whether he'll go too... Yes, something did happen between them. I suppose that explains it."He hung up, and looked bleakly at Nick. "Amanda's in Saint-Luc's."Nick's jaw dropped. "The hospital? That's...ridiculous!""For psychiatric observation," Liam said heavily. "She, uh...apparently had some thought of letting herself be decapitated by the Metro."xxx"She may talk her way out of this before we even get there, Nick." Liam had been on his now-functioning cell phone, talking to Pascal again, while Nick maneuvered the priest's car through rush-hour traffic."A suicide attempt? I'd expect the shrinks to take that pretty seriously.""Well...it seems the engineer's stopping the train in time wasn't the only thing that saved her. She'd had a change of heart, rolled off the track. There are witnesses to confirm that." Liam cast an anxious glance at Nick, awaiting his reaction."Ah."Not another word was spoken until they'd reached the hospital and found a space in the parking lot.Then Nick turned to Liam with the question he'd been dreading. "You've known her a lot longer than I have. Was this a real attempt to kill herself, or just a bid for attention and sympathy?""I honestly don't know, Nick. And I suspect she doesn't, either."Nick absorbed that, gave a noncommittal nod, and reached for the door handle.Suddenly, Liam was sure of one thing. Nothing I said would have influenced him. Whatever Amanda's "needs" may be, Nick will be true to himself.xxxII"You're at least fifteen years too old for these shenanigans, Mlle. Montrose. In future, try to act your age.""Yes, Doctor," Amanda said meekly.Her sense of humor, which had gone AWOL two nights ago, belatedly reported for duty. A tad sluggish, but it was there.The gray-haired, gray-faced psychiatrist regarded her sternly over the rims of his half-glasses. "You're free to go. Here are your discharge papers. Take the elevator to Ground, follow the black line on the floor to the Security Desk, and they'll retrieve your purse and any other valuables from the safe.""Thank you, Doctor." She grabbed the papers and fled, before he could change his mind.Going down in the elevator, she thanked her lucky stars that she'd left her sword at Sanctuary. Explaining that would have taxed even her powers of invention. A game of "chicken" with unnamed friends on the Metro track, and a scavenger hunt to account for the sword?Ugh.She stepped out of the elevator and dutifully followed the black line. Probably would have been hanging my head in any case. God, when I screw up, I do it royally.But right now, she was too weary to dwell on what she'd done. Her embarrassingly public yielding to a moment of weakness in the Metro station, or the debacle with Nick. She wouldn't let herself think beyond reclaiming her purse and cell phone, calling Pascal to pick her up, and collapsing into her own bed.She had a five-minute wait for the purse, and spent the time drumming her fingers on the desk. Then a clerk insisted she confirm that the correct amount of money was in her wallet. She had no idea how much she'd been carrying, but she solemnly counted it and announced it was all there. Signed a receipt.At long last, she reached into the purse to pull out her cell phone.And sensed, behind her, the presence of another Immortal.xxxShe gripped the desk, realizing for the first time that this was what she'd been half dreading, half hoping for.Do I want it to be Liam? Or Nick? She feared facing Nick, yet yearned to know he was alive and well. Coping.She turned slowly.Both men were standing there. Liam's sensitive face radiated compassion, while Nick's was an expressionless mask.But after the first instant of recognition, she saw only Nick.She made an instinctive move toward him, then caught herself. Now, of all times, she mustn't intrude on his personal space."Nick!" Her voice was husky with relief. "You look so much better than when I last saw you."He sighed, with something very like his old, good-humored exasperation. "Amanda, I haven't even combed my hair since you last saw me. Let alone showered, shaved, changed my clothes -""Mmm, yes, that's obvious."I, on the other hand, changed into my smartest new outfit and spent a half hour on my makeup before I tried to kill myself.She made a show of wrinkling her nose. Then she moved closer, careful not to touch him. "But your color is good now, your eyes are clear. And I don't smell alcohol on your breath. Those are the things that count.""Glad you approve."She sensed no malice...but no warmth, either. The man she'd known two days ago would have divined her need and taken her in his arms.Blinking back tears, she didn't hear Liam's question till he repeated it. "How are you, Amanda?""Oh, I'm all right," she said airily. "It was just a misunderstanding. I caught my heel and fell on the track."Damn, that was a good lie. If I'd been able to keep my voice steady, they might actually have believed it.Liam gave her the hug she craved. "I take it you've been discharged?" he asked kindly.When she nodded, with an undignified sniffle, he gently offered her a ride home.Once more, she could only nod.xxxShe'd feared the men had come separately, and she might never see Nick again. But after she'd gotten into the front passenger seat of Liam's car, Nick surprised her by climbing into the back.They both accompanied her into Sanctuary. The place was closed - hadn't opened at all that evening, or the night before. But Pascal was waiting for them, and didn't leave until he'd chewed Amanda out for giving him such a scare.He had some choice words for Nick, too.By the time he made his exit, still huffing and puffing, all three Immortals were grinning in spite of themselves."I'll be fine now," Amanda assured the others. "Nick, are you planning to stay in your apartment?""For the time being." He met her gaze squarely. "But I may not be around much longer."What does that mean? Where is he going? She was afraid to ask.She swallowed hard. "Can we...can we talk about what happened? What I...did to you?""Now? Tonight?" His expression was unreadable. "You're not too tired?""I seem to have gotten my second wind." And I won't be able to rest till I know where we stand. "But maybe it's too soon for you.""No, tonight's fine. If you really think we have anything to talk about.""Of course we do!" She flinched, hearing the note of desperation in her voice."Would you like a referee?" Liam asked, deceptively casual.To Amanda's surprise, Nick spoke up quickly. "No, thanks. If Amanda wants to discuss this, we should do it in private." He smiled to take any sting out of his words. "I promise I won't become violent.""Neither will I," said Amanda. In a feeble attempt at humor, she added, "I won't even shoot him again."She regretted that line immediately. But Nick was ready with a quip of his own. "No, she won't. I'll sit on the gun."xxxSanctuary was a members-only club dedicated to the appreciation of fine wines, quiet conversation, and - in a soundproof ballroom - late-night music and dancing. But it also served light meals. Now, before Liam left, Nick insisted on invading the kitchen and whipping up a cold supper for the three of them. Amanda offered to do it - this was, after all, her club - but he dissuaded her.She breathed a prayer of gratitude as she watched him bustling about. Functioning in a surprisingly normal way, despite that stained, bullet-punctured jersey that tore at her own heartstrings whenever she saw it.He's going to be all right.Nothing else matters.But she couldn't help wondering if he was concerned for her nutrition because he didn't want her to faint, later, when he released the rage he'd been suppressing.They ate at the bar, making game attempts at small talk. Then Liam gave her an encouraging squeeze and a kiss on the forehead, and took his leave.xxxAmanda and Nick adjourned to a cozy corner table, that would have been secluded even if they hadn't had the place to themselves. She brought along a bottle of wine and two glasses. Let him see she'd passed over the premium vintages in favor of an undistinguished Italian red that he preferred.He murmured acknowledgment, but didn't touch the wine.She poured drinks for both of them. He still seemed oblivious to his; she took a few sips to screw up her courage. Then she blurted out, "Do you hate me now, Nick?"The question didn't seem to surprise him. "No," he said mildly. "I don't hate you. I've just accepted that you...are what you are."For some reason, that chilled her to the bone. Trying without success to keep her voice firm, she said, "What I am is a woman who loves you."I've never told him that before. Why the hell didn't I? Is it too late?He replied, "You don't know the meaning of love."She took a deep, shuddering breath. Then she saw a hint of challenge in those green-or-maybe-hazel eyes across the table. Could she convince him he was wrong?"Nick, I do know. I think I've loved you since Day One. I hope you're not imagining I was only interested because you were a pre-Immortal, that I felt some kind of responsibility to semi-prepare you -""No."No, of course not. She should have known no trauma or series of traumas could shake his quiet, but eminently justified, confidence in his own sex appeal."But our relationship was never honest." At last, a trace of emotion in his voice."Are you saying I should have told you what you were, all those months ago? I can try to explain why we don't -""No, I understand that." Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. "I agree you shouldn't have told me then. Maybe you should have gotten out of my life altogether. I don't know."But here's what I do know." Animated now, his color rising. "There was a powerful attraction between us. And yet I always sensed you were holding back. Most obviously, that you weren't ready for sex."I thought I understood why. I was mortal, and you'd either been hurt badly by the deaths of previous mortal lovers, or seen it happen to Immortals who were your friends. Sex between us couldn't be casual - we were already way past casual. So I figured you were resisting a deeper commitment because you were afraid of being hurt. And I could accept that."With a lump in her throat, Amanda recalled Methos's soul-shattering grief over Alexa. Only the most recent of a hundred such tragedies she'd known, with varying degrees of personal involvement. "You're a wise man," she whispered. "If you'd been mortal, that is what I would have been feeling.""Yeah," he said curtly. "Only I wasn't mortal. So what was your problem?"You don't have to tell me. It's obvious now. You knew all along that the more you let yourself want me, need me, the more you'd be tempted to do what you did yesterday. Make me Immortal yourself, before I got gray and packed on the pounds and became...less desirable."Amanda wanted to curl up in a ball and retreat deep within herself. Hide, as she must long ago have hidden in an unknown mother's womb."That's...true," she said at last, in a choked voice. "But I didn't give in to temptation. I didn't do it until I had no choice.""Bullshit." He was angry now. "But in any case, our whole relationship was founded on a lie. Or at least, a false assumption. I never knew you."Suddenly, she found herself flaring up as well. "That works both ways!"You were holding back all those months, too. Don't try to deny it."I thought you were afraid of commitment because you'd been hurt. A wife had left you - okay, you never said anything against her. But it was obvious she'd done the walking out, and you were bitter and disillusioned."More recently, you'd lost your police partner, and felt it necessary to quit the force. Your whole life had been yanked out from under you. Plus, I knew you were a pre-Immortal, and many of us are abandoned and rejected as children."So until about two weeks ago, I thought I knew where you were coming from. Afraid to love me because I might either be killed, or desert you as you aged."But I was wrong. You weren't afraid of being hurt, any more than I was. You were carrying a torch for Lauren!"Unlike her, Nick didn't seem embarrassed. "That's right," he said evenly. "I was still in love with her. But until two weeks ago, even I didn't realize it."Amanda stared at him, saw the truth in his eyes."So I've done it again, have I?" She tossed back her drink, furious with herself. "Lost my chance by not moving fast enough. I suppose, centuries from now, I'll still be competing with Tessa's ghost -"Too late, she realized what she'd said."Tessa's ghost? Oh, that's interesting."He didn't ask for an explanation. His trained detective's mind didn't need one.xxxThey sat looking at each other. Amanda glaring, Nick coolly appraising.Hands shaking, she poured herself another drink."All right," she said at last. "Neither of us understood the other as well as we thought we did. That's life."B-but it d-doesn't change the fact that I love you. And you love me. Or could, with Lauren gone.""No." The finality of a death knell. "Yesterday killed any chance of that.""I did it because I love you!""Let's look at what you did, Amanda," he said softly. "First, the only valid reason for your dragging me around all day, without telling me the truth, would have been that you genuinely wanted to give me the antidote. Agreed?""Of...of course." She fought down the ugly stirrings in the back of her mind."After you defeated Peyton, he tried to bargain for his life with that antidote. Hell, it was supposedly one of the main reasons we were there! But you said, 'We both know there never was one,' and whacked him."Why, oh why, did he have to be conscious and hear that?Nick's eyes bored into her. "Why did you suddenly conclude there never was an antidote, Amanda?""Because...because Peyton had been lying in wait to ambush me. That proved he wasn't acting in good faith."He shook his head. "Never expected him to act in good faith. All that proved was that he hadn't intended to give it to us. Not that it didn't exist, or couldn't be made up in an hour's time."Peyton had used poisons for centuries. There was no reason to think he'd designed that one specifically for me. It's much more likely he'd had the formula for hundreds of years. I'd say there was at least a fifty-fifty chance he had or knew how to make an antidote."If you'd believed in the antidote all along, Peyton's trying to kill you wouldn't have changed your mind. The only way I can explain your saying what you did is that you'd never given a damn about it, so you hadn't bothered to think through the likelihood of its existing."Amanda tried to stare him down. "If he'd given me something he said was the antidote, I couldn't have been sure it was the real thing.""True. But there were only three possibilities. It would have been what he said it was, or something as ineffective as water, or a poison that would have killed me outright."Peyton didn't know I was a pre-Immortal, so he might well have tried a stunt with another poison. But a fast-acting poison would have made me Immortal, and you knew it. A placebo would still have allowed time for you to explain, learn my wishes and carry them out."So there was no good reason not to take a chance on an antidote. You just decided, on your own, to make me Immortal and get it over with."She struggled to find justification, as much for herself as for him. "Time was running out. You were dying, you know that!""I thought I was dying. Big difference." He finally sipped his drink, but only because he was getting hoarse. "That poison was supposed to kill in twenty-four hours. I wasn't keeping track of the time, but it was late at night when Peyton poisoned me, and still daylight when I went into that warehouse. Even when I came out.""He could have been lying about the twenty-four hours. Or twenty-two, or whatever.""It was twenty-four from the time he poisoned me. And I don't think that was a lie, Amanda."Peyton was an astrologer, a numerologist. Fascinated by order and symmetry. I can picture him slaving for months to create a poison that would kill in exactly twenty-four hours."Besides, he only needed us to leave him alone for twelve hours. If he wanted to put added pressure on us by lying, he would have claimed I had less time than I really did, not more.""All right, all right!" She buried her face in her hands.xxxAfter what seemed an eternity, she forced herself to look up.Into eyes that were unloving, but not unkind."So...what are you saying?""You knew me - or thought you knew me - well enough to feel sure I wouldn't choose Immortality. And you believed I'd never forgive you if I told you my wishes, and you went against them."So you stalled all those hours, pretending to be interested in the antidote. But you always intended to do what you did. You hoped I'd be so out of it by then that you'd be able to convince me, later, there was no antidote. And claim that by the time you found out, I'd been too far gone to understand."Silence.He's too decent to point out that while I was stalling, he was in agony.xxxIn a small voice, she ventured, "You said I thought I knew you well enough. Does that mean you would have chosen to become Immortal?""I don't know," he said bleakly. "Now I can't know what choice I would have made. And I feel cheated because I've lost that piece of knowledge of myself."They lapsed into silence again. By now Nick was fiddling with his wineglass, gazing into it as if it held the secrets of the universe."You are repelled by Immortality," she said. "I was right about that.""Oh, yes.""Why? What is it that troubles you so?"He lifted the glass, tipped it, studying the blood-red wine."Vampires.""Vampires?" Amanda exploded. "What do vampires have to do with this? They don't even exist!""I think they do." He peered over the rim of the glass. "They're called Immortals."Then, in an apparent non sequitur, he said, "I wish I'd never seen a Quickening," and gulped down the wine.In a flash, she understood. "You see the Quickening as feeding on someone else's life-force!"Nick, there are so many differences. We only...do it...to each other, not to mortals. And we don't need anyone else's life-force to survive."But even as she spoke, she saw disturbing parallels. Some Immortals did lust for Quickenings, become addicted, kill for no other reason.I'm the only Immortal he's seen receive Quickenings. I've never openly exulted, have I?Surely not while Nick was looking...Have I?Is this how a mother feels, when she fears she's unwittingly set a bad example for her child?"All these months, I've tried reminding myself of the differences," Nick said. "Told myself, for example, that a person's destiny - mortal or pre-Immortal - can't be changed. That Immortals don't 'bring people across' against their will, like vampires."Then you went and brought me across."xxxAmanda shakily poured drinks for both of them. Clutched hers as a drowning woman would a life preserver."We've come this far," Nick said. "We may as well discuss...the worst thing."I didn't tell Liam, by the way."Amanda felt a sudden, urgent need to pee.She hadn't experienced that particular panic reaction since she was six years old.The worst thing.Oh yes, God forgive me, I know what he means.It's not fair. Any self-respecting fatal poison should cause at least some mental confusion. Why does he have to remember everything with such damnable clarity?Her need to pee resolved itself.The same way it had when she was six.But if her face betrayed her discomfort, Nick didn't see. He was sipping his wine reflectively. Then he said, "Remember how Lauren died? She took an unnecessary risk, to protect me. Wanted to keep me alive, even more than herself. And I would have done the same for her."That's what love is."Amanda's stomach was in knots. Even now, though, she tried to defend herself. "I've risked my life for you, too. I fought Peyton..."Mistake! Don't go there!"Yeah, you fought Peyton." There was no anger remaining in his tired eyes, only sorrow. "Have you forgotten what happened outside, before that fight?"I felt too crappy to go any further, so we agreed I'd wait for you there. You knew you might have to fight him, and you might lose. You actually said, 'If I don't live...'"I tried to be brave, said something like, 'Then Peyton doesn't.'"And you left it like that. Went into a situation where you knew you might be killed, leaving me to die a slow, painful death, and never told me there was a simple way I could save my own life - by shooting myself. Even though you knew I always carry a gun."You weren't trying to keep me alive, Amanda. Only to keep me with you, which isn't the same. You wanted me to live if you lived, and die if you died."xxxShell-shocked, Amanda didn't realize she was biting her lip till she tasted blood.Then she looked at her wineglass. And saw only blood there, too.Vampires.xxx"Maybe I would have decided to die with you," Nick said wearily. "But the choice should have been mine."I don't blame you. That self-centered attitude probably follows naturally from centuries of believing 'there can be only one.'"Real cheery thought, huh?"He pushed his chair back from the table, then changed his mind about getting up. "Has it even occurred to you to wonder what became of Janet Ross? Or her brother Tom?""Oh, my God!" Amanda knocked her glass over, spilling half the wine in her lap, but wasn't aware of it. "Nick, I forgot!"She'd forgotten, she told herself, because she was so concerned for him.Concerned for him, or afraid she might lose him?Her head ached.He took pity on her. "Don't worry about Janet," he told her, more gently than she deserved. "She's okay. Peyton had her tied up in a car trunk, only a few yards from where you left me. She started making noise, and I released her. Before I went in the warehouse."Before you saved my life. Amanda knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he hadn't been thinking of the antidote when he dragged his ravaged body into that building. Only of helping her - or fulfilling his rash promise to avenge her, beheading Peyton while the Immortal was weakened by her Quickening."Later," he continued, "I phoned home to check the messages on my machine. There was one from Janet, telling me Peyton had murdered Tom. She saw the body.""Damn," Amanda said softly. Then, as an afterthought, "Since he wasn't dealing with us in good faith, I wonder why he didn't kill Janet?""My guess is that he meant to rape her first. When he had time...after he'd disposed of us."Amanda shuddered.Nick quietly rescued her wineglass, which was about to roll off the table, and poured her another drink.xxxThey drank in silence. Close enough to touch, yet worlds apart.At last Amanda said, "I can't expect you to be able to see this through my eyes, Nick. Even I don't always understand what my nasty little subconscious is doing."But...I've been under a strain for months, watching you rush off to tangle with killer Immortals. At least some of them knew the truth about you. I've lived in fear of someone's shooting you when I wasn't around, then taking your head before you could even learn what you were."Yesterday, I had this nightmare vision of you making a snap decision against Immortality, and being too proud or pigheaded to change your mind. Going off someplace where I couldn't find you, to die alone. Possibly wanting to save yourself at the end, being paralyzed and unable to use your gun -" Her voice cracked.She cleared her throat and forced herself to go on. "Like a fool, I imagined that if I let you get close enough to death to smell it, taste it, and then suddenly restored your life and health, you'd be deliriously happy. Eternally grateful to me."Yeah, right."I think that even when I made that split-second decision to leave you outside the warehouse, I was weighing one horrible possibility against another. Gambling that I'd get back to you. I've always been a gambler."But that was wrong, whatever my motive. Unacceptable risk. If I was determined to do things my way, I should have given you your Immortality before I risked losing my own.""Fundamental difference of opinion here," Nick said gravely. "I'm not a child, I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. As I see it, you had no right to 'do things your way.' "And also, she thought bitterly, there's been so much dishonesty that you can't trust a word I say.xxxShe extended a trembling hand toward one of his, then lost her nerve and pulled it back. "C-can you ever forgive me?""I already have."That was too easy.His troubled eyes found hers. "I forgive you. But I can't love you."She couldn't stop the words that tumbled out. "Because of Lauren?""No. I'm not like the guy who's in love with Tessa's ghost."Lauren and I both screwed up in our marriage. But then we found each other again, set it right, had our happy ending."I think, after all that, her death gave me the closure I needed. Set me free. For the first time, I would have been able to love again. Not today or next week, but soon."He sighed and got to his feet. Stood with his head bowed, shoulders sagging. "But I can never love you, Amanda, not after yesterday. Not because of Lauren. Because of you."xxxShe sat unmoving, unblinking. Mourning his hunched posture as he trudged dejectedly away.She was still sitting there twelve hours later, when Pascal arrived to open the club.xxxIIIDuncan MacLeod took the stairs three at a time, not pausing until he reached a floor on which he couldn't sense either the Immortal below him, or the one said to be above.Then he stopped to collect his thoughts. Privacy was assured: Pascal had told him the unmarked doors on this landing led to Bert Myers' suite of offices, which had been closed for days.He hoped Pascal had been able to keep Amanda away from the windows. If she realized he hadn't left, she'd expect him to intercede for her with Nick Wolfe. He didn't intend to do any such thing. From all he'd heard, Wolfe was a mature man with a legitimate grievance, and not the sort to take kindly to unsolicited advice.MacLeod was still miffed that when he and Amanda had been together in November, she hadn't told him her new friend was a pre-Immortal. Her excuse? She had feared he'd let it slip to Joe Dawson, the Watchers would put a tail on Nick, and Nick would spot the tail and guess the reason for it.Bull. She felt I'd pose a threat to him if I saw him as a potential long-term rival.How full of herself can the woman be?Then another thought, all too familiar, snaked its insidious way through his mind.With my track record, maybe people should keep their loved ones well clear of me.He sank down on the dimly lit stairs. The cheerless surroundings suited his mood as he reflected on past tragedies - and the worrisome task ahead.If I'd been a little more civil, Riley might have given me a better idea of what to expect from Wolfe.MacLeod had never liked Liam Riley. The Irishman was in some ways the antithesis of his Immortal priest friend, Darius, who'd been murdered some years back by renegade Watchers.Darius had kept a low profile. For the last century and a half of his life, he had never left the grounds of St. Joseph's Chapel - which, because of its location, served travelers rather than neighborhood residents. That choice had enabled him to conceal his Immortality, yet always be accessible to his many disciples. It had also kept him safe from Grayson, the archenemy bent on killing him.Liam Riley, while equally opposed to violence, took a different view of a priest's mission. He had always been out and about in the community, trusting God to protect him as he ministered to the young, the poor, the petty and not-so-petty criminals. He had to relocate every few years. But as often as possible, the Church superiors who knew and guarded his secret sent him back to his beloved Paris.Had Riley uttered veiled criticisms of Darius, or had MacLeod simply been oversensitive, troubled by the contrast? He was no longer sure.But when he'd arrived from South America that morning, tired and anxious, he had - unfairly - blasted Riley for not having been in town when his friends needed him.The very human Riley had shot back that he had been attending to his priestly duties, while Amanda's sometime lover, Duncan MacLeod, had been indulging in "aimless globetrotting."It hadn't been aimless.After his brush with death in November, MacLeod had finally found the courage to return to Seacouver, make decisions about his dojo and loft apartment (keeping both, for now), and tell Richie Ryan's friends he was dead. That he had killed him, in a "hunting accident."Ever since, he'd been looking up other mortal friends and acquaintances of Richie's, to do them the courtesy of telling them in person.Letting the angry men deck him, the women kick and claw and bite.But he wasn't about to share that with Liam Riley.So Riley had given him only the vaguest idea of why he was asking him to visit Nick Wolfe. With the ominous conclusion, "Maybe you can talk him out of what he wants. I can't."MacLeod didn't like either of the two things he was imagining.xxxSitting here is getting me nowhere. He rose decisively, and headed for the next flight of stairs.Midway up, he sensed the presence of the man he sought.He slipped a hand inside his coat, from force of habit, to grasp the hilt of his katana.Holy ground, MacLeod! Not to mention the fact that you're calling on a new Immortal who's probably unarmed.With a slight shudder, he withdrew the hand. Reaching for that sword had become too easy, too natural.At the head of the stairs, he gave a light tap on Wolfe's door. Under the circumstances, there was no chance the occupant of the apartment would be puttering in a far corner. He'd be waiting warily, not two feet away.A chilly male voice inquired, "Amanda?"For her sake, MacLeod regretted the lack of warmth.That surprised him."No," he said easily. "But I'm a friend. Duncan MacLeod. Father Riley said you wanted to meet me - or maybe, someone like me. It wasn't too clear."The door opened at once, with no sound of bolts being turned or a chain released. Keen eyes looked MacLeod up and down. "Hmm. Sounds like you and Liam aren't close friends. But he must respect you...unless you really were the only one he could think of."Wolfe stepped back, waving MacLeod inside. "I asked him to help me meet an older Immortal who isn't a priest or a criminal. Preferably a guy.""Guess I qualify." The Highlander tried to keep his voice casual. "In four hundred years, there have been some killings I regret. But I've never been a bank robber, kidnapper, or professional hit man." He avoided the word thief. "Definitely not a priest. And yep, I appear to be a guy."Wolfe didn't seem in awe of his visitor's age. He gestured toward his liquor cabinet and said pleasantly, "Take your coat off and have a drink - uh, can I call you Duncan? I'm Nick.""Beer would be fine. Thanks, Nick." MacLeod folded the coat and laid it on the nearest chair, aware his host's eyes were following his movements. He's speculating about the sword. "Maybe you'd better call me Mac. For some reason, only women call me Duncan.""Ah. Yep, I also appear to be a guy." Nick produced chilled beers for both of them.While trying not to stare, MacLeod was taking in everything. This new Immortal cut an impressive figure. A black-clad man in his early thirties, he was about MacLeod's height. Somewhat broader of build. The bulk was all muscle, not an ounce of fat.In light of Amanda's attraction to him, his good looks came as no surprise. What did startle MacLeod was his quiet self-assurance. This soon after receiving an Immortality he didn't want, in a way that shattered his faith in Amanda, I would have thought he'd be a basket case.Both Nick and his apartment were scrupulously neat. The man was clean-shaven, with carefully combed hair and wrinkle-free clothes. His living room was so tidy as to seem almost sterile.The Highlander studied that dark-paneled room. The furniture was modern, masculine, understated. Its blandness helped to reconcile the clash between historic architecture and contemporary decor.But for a man living alone, Nick had a surprising number of chairs. Did he entertain that many guests?MacLeod had learned a lot about him in recent months, from Joe's phone calls and e-mails. Amanda's doings, as reported by her Watcher, had been so interesting that Joe couldn't resist passing them on.Entertaining seemed out of character.And chairs and sofa were rigidly lined up along the walls, suggesting nothing more than a doctor's office.Suddenly, MacLeod guessed at the explanation. That long-ago marriage. The welcome extended to guests had been Lauren Wolfe's idea; her husband had contributed the less-than-welcoming seating arrangement. And in all the years since their divorce, Nick Wolfe had never revised his idea of how a living room should be furnished.Habit, habit. MacLeod thought again of his own instinct to strike out, too readily, with his sword.And the terrible price his last student had paid.I don't want to think about students.Let alone beheadings.xxxHe made himself focus on Nick. The reluctant new Immortal who was, strangely, more at ease than he."You didn't seem to recognize my name," he said. "There's something you should know. I'm an old friend of Amanda's. In fact, we've been lovers, on and off, for over three hundred years."But I'm not your rival." It was important to him that the young man believe that. "I've known about you for months - not that you were a pre-Immortal, just that you and Amanda seemed to be getting together. I was rooting for you as a couple."On the other hand" - he rushed to forestall what Nick seemed about to say - "I'm not going to coax you to give her another chance. What she did was wrong. Only you can judge how badly she hurt you, and decide what comes next.""Glad you understand that." There was a hard edge to Nick's voice. "It's over."The temperature in the room seemed suddenly to have dropped ten degrees.xxxThen the young Immortal said, "I don't wish her ill, though. Did you stop downstairs just now? Is she all right?""She'll survive." MacLeod relaxed slightly. "She's in her best Scarlett O'Hara mode."Nick lifted an eyebrow. " 'I'll think about it tomorrow'?""Uh, no. 'I'll never be hungry again.' You know how some people respond to depression by eating? I left Amanda stuffing herself with caviar.""Caviar? Yeah, that would be Amanda."They exchanged rueful grins.After a moment, Nick said, "How did you know about us? Were you in Paris all along? Was Amanda telling you?""Haven't seen her since early November. But she told me a little then," MacLeod admitted. "She had a stopover here on her way to Egypt, remember?"He scanned the younger man's face for clues Amanda had told him about the O'Rourke incident. Apparently, she hadn't."Oh, yeah. All I recall about that trip is that she tried to re-color her hair, it turned green or something, and she couldn't take time to fix it without missing her flight. Jetted off to Europe wearing a phony-looking black wig she'd used as a disguise on some occasion.""That's right." MacLeod smiled at the memory. "Close to what I think is her natural color, but it did look phony as hell. She wouldn't let me see the mess under it." Had the darn thing secured so well it didn't fall off during sex, or even a kidnapping."Anyway," he continued, "I left for the States a week later. And Amanda followed you to Paris a week after that."He saw more questions coming, and anticipated them. "Remember meeting Joe Dawson? He's technically my Watcher - and one of my closest friends."But I've been traveling a lot the last few months, and Joe hasn't been tagging along. He's been observing new Watchers' performance in the field, helping out where his experience is needed. That's why he was following Andre Korda. With our special relationship, he knows that unless I get killed, I'll send him full reports."He also knows I care about Amanda. So he's been reading her Watcher's submissions and keeping me posted."Nick's expression had turned sour. "I have a low opinion of Watchers. They'll bend their rules to gossip, but -" He needed a swig of beer, his first, to get his voice under control. "You know what happened in that warehouse, with Evan Peyton?""Yes." MacLeod saw where this was going, and flinched."Two Watchers were hiding there, right? They had to be aware of what Peyton was. He murdered mortals, for Christ's sake, and broke all the rules when he fought his own kind."But neither of them would lift a finger to sabotage his damn projector. If I hadn't done it, Amanda and I would both be dead.""I've thought about that," MacLeod acknowledged. "Joe called me in South America to tell me what had happened, and I headed for Paris as soon as I got his message. On the flight home, I couldn't get those Watchers out of my mind."I don't know about all of them - but Joe, at least, always carries a gun. I've asked him if he would have shot out the projector."He told me he thinks so. Hopes so."But he isn't sure."xxxThey brooded in silence for perhaps five minutes.Then Nick said, "If you have a history with Amanda, why were you rooting for her and me?"MacLeod sighed. "Amanda and I have always loved each other. And been good for each other - in small doses. I keep her from being too wild and unruly, she keeps me from getting stodgy."But we're different enough that we can't stay together longer than a few weeks. By then I'm exhausted, and she's climbing the walls."From what I've heard, you and I are very much alike - except in one key area. I really want to lead a quiet, settled life. Never have been able to do it - trouble finds me - but I want to."You seem to thrive on constant action, always being in the thick of things. Just like Amanda."He watched for any revealing change in his companion's expression, saw none. Are you still the same person, Nick Wolfe?"I thought you were the ideal man for her. But I also thought you were mortal. Someone she couldn't have for more than a few years. So I was happy for her, and in pain for her, at the same time."But all the while, he thought silently, you weren't mortal.Amanda could have had it all. Had her ideal man for centuries...or millennia. But between fate and her own bad judgment, she blew it.She and I may not be soulmates, but we sure as hell have a lot in common.xxx"I apologize if I'm getting too personal, Mac," the younger man said tentatively. "But...does the name Tessa mean something to you?""Yes!" How could he possibly have heard of Tessa and not me?"She was the great love of my life," he continued softly. "Mortal. A talented sculptor. We were together thirteen years, longer than I'd ever been with anyone."We planned to be married...and then, suddenly, she was killed. Shot by an ordinary mugger, but she wouldn't have been where she was if she hadn't previously been kidnapped by a renegade Watcher. So, indirectly, it happened because of me.""I know how that feels." Nick's eyes were moist. "Guess you know about my ex-wife Lauren... If I hadn't been around, she would have hired a bodyguard and let him do his job. I volunteered. To protect me, she went out with no guard - and Julian Heller killed her."So I killed him," he added tonelessly.MacLeod's flesh crawled. He still couldn't understand how the young man, believing himself mortal, had been able to do that. Or live with it."How did you know about Tessa?" he asked.But Nick was somewhere far away, and didn't hear.xxxThe silence lengthened.Fear gnawed at Duncan MacLeod.This new Immortal is too calm, too confident.He's a man who wouldn't have welcomed Immortality in any case. In the unique situation of knowing he could have died, and was denied the choice.A wife he loved was killed only a few weeks ago. He feels partly to blame. And he's turned against the woman who might have helped him make a fresh start.He's willing to talk about the past, but he doesn't ask any of the questions I'd expect. "Where should I go now?" "What should I do?"Whatever he intends, it's something Liam Riley opposes.xxxAt last MacLeod had to interrupt the younger man's reverie. "Nick.""Oh! Sorry, Mac. I was wool-gathering." Nick forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Would you like another beer?""No, thanks." MacLeod finished the one he had, just to be rid of it, and tossed the can into a wastebasket. Then he leaned forward intently. "Nick, I have to know why I'm here. I'll help you in any way I can. But -" He swallowed hard. "If you're looking for someone to take your head, I won't do that.""Take my head? Oh, God, no!" The shock and horror were so obviously genuine that MacLeod went limp with relief."Forgive me, Mac." Nick seemed to believe he'd committed a major breach of hospitality. "I should have explained. You knew I didn't want to be Immortal. Of course you'd think that!"I do wish I could turn the clock back, have a choice. But life doesn't work that way."I'm not sure what I would have chosen. I didn't want to be what you are. But I wasn't thrilled about the prospect of dying at thirty-two, either. Like most people, I'm not sure what - if anything - is waiting for us on the other side."If I'd let myself die from the poison, that wouldn't have felt like out-and-out suicide. Asking someone to behead me now would be suicide. And I somehow feel that if I were to throw my life away, after Lauren gave hers to protect it, I'd never be reunited with her. Or maybe I would meet her again, and she'd have nothing but contempt for me."So I'm going to make the best possible use of the gift she gave me, however much I dislike Amanda's. Does that make sense?""It makes perfect sense," MacLeod said weakly. He offered a silent prayer of thanks.xxxBut his fear had given way to confusion. The only other thing he could think of was that Nick was looking for a teacher. Another assignment I can't take on. Not so soon after Richie. Yet there was a problem with the "teacher" notion: Liam Riley's disapproval. MacLeod had thought at first that Nick might have asked for him, by name. Riley undoubtedly knew MacLeod had killed Richie. He would have heard only the "nervous breakdown" story. And might even suspect the Highlander had really killed his former student in a fit of rage, or for his Quickening.So Riley could well have been unenthusiastic about MacLeod's teaching his friend. But Nick had merely asked to meet an older male Immortal who wasn't a priest or criminal! Despite his own pacifist beliefs, Riley must know the young man needed instruction. How could he oppose that?xxxStill, it seemed the only possibility.MacLeod took a deep breath. "Nick, I realize you need a teacher. I'm afraid I can't be that teacher myself. But I can help you find a good one." Carl Robinson? He's not a "criminal" now, never really was. I know he's taught Derek Worth all he can, and Derek has gone off on his own."I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Mac." Nick's tone was apologetic, but resolute. "I don't want a teacher.""What? I don't think you understand -""Yes, I do." Nick gazed steadily into his eyes. "It would be different if I were ten years younger. Or if I'd known nothing about Immortals when this happened to me. But frankly, at this stage of my life, I'm not willing to become someone's...apprentice. Even briefly.""You'll need to learn how to use a sword -""I'll take lessons." No false bravado, just the determination of a man who knew what he was doing. "Fencing is a recognized sport. I can also learn other styles of fighting - claim I'm an actor, and I want to play swashbuckling roles. I've done undercover police work for years, so if anyone asks to see my 'acting ability,' I know I can improvise something like a drunk scene. Quite convincingly.""Most teachers of swordfighting only use aluminum blades, to minimize injuries.""I'm aware of that. I'll ask 'casual' questions about what kinds of real swords are best for certain purposes. Learn what I need to know, buy what I need to own. Work out - alone, if necessary - to get used to the weight." The firm voice never wavered.A dazed MacLeod conceded, "You seem to have thought of everything. Maybe that approach will be best for you." Not that I have any say in the matter. Why do I suddenly feel that he's right? That he represents the future, and I the hidebound, tradition-ridden past? xxxAt least, now, the Highlander thought he understood Liam Riley. Pacifist or not, Riley was a traditional Immortal. Upset because his young friend didn't want the likes of Duncan MacLeod teaching him how to protect his head!One puzzle remained. "Nick. I don't mean to be impolite. I've enjoyed sitting here drinking with you. But...if you don't want me to kill you, and you don't want me to teach you, what do you want?""Oh, that." For the first time, the young Immortal seemed uncomfortable. "I hate to ask this, Mac. But I don't know where else to turn. Certainly not Amanda."Could you...lend me some money?""Money?" MacLeod was so relieved he burst out laughing. "Of course I will. How much? If I have it, it's yours."But even as he spoke, his questioning mind went into overdrive.Why did Nick need money? A man like him wouldn't have gone through all this for the price of a sword - or swordfighting lessons. He doubtless had enough for those purposes.Creating a new identity would have been expensive. But since he hadn't "died" publicly, he had no need of that. Wouldn't even have to change jobs. If he didn't want to stay in France, he could resume working for Myers back in the States. According to Joe, he hadn't given up his old townhouse."I'm not sure how much," Nick said soberly. "But you're probably wondering why I need it. I've decided to quit working for Myers and finish law school.""Finish law school?" MacLeod echoed. "I didn't realize you'd begun.""Oh, yeah." The voice was soft now, melancholy. "That was where Lauren and I met. When we got married, I was supposedly just working as a cop to pay my tuition."My biggest mistake in our marriage was leaving law school. Because of the reason I did it."I've always been a perfectionist. Had to be the best at everything I did. My grades in law school weren't bad - but Lauren's were better. She had more natural talent. I couldn't take being second best to my wife, so I quit."I don't think it was a sexist thing, even then." He wasn't pleading for understanding; rather, he seemed to be talking to himself. "I would have acted the same way if the better student had been my brother, or a guy who was a buddy. Anyone with whom I expected to have an ongoing relationship."The marriage broke up because Lauren couldn't accept being a policeman's wife. But she shouldn't have had to. It took me years to face this... The truth is, I didn't want to be a cop any more than she wanted to be married to one.""Strange how it worked out," MacLeod murmured. "I assume it was the danger you faced on the job that bothered her. But with the kind of law career she chose, she was in danger herself.""Yes." Nick's eyes shone with pride. "She was the bravest person I've ever known. And now, I want to be the kind of lawyer she was. She worked for the International Justice Foundation. If they're still around when I pass the bar, and want me, they can have me. If not, I'll find some other group working for the same goals."I don't anticipate earning big bucks, Mac. But if I can stay alive for a few years, I will pay back any money you lend me.""I'm not concerned about that," MacLeod assured him. His respect for this new friend was growing every minute. "I'll be glad to foot the bill for your tuition and expenses.""Don't speak too soon." Nick hesitated, then appeared to reach a decision. "There's something else you should know. I said I'd repay your loan if I can stay alive for a while. I like to think I can."But Liam doesn't agree. He thinks certain...choices I've made...are going to get me killed. Soon."MacLeod frowned. "You mean your not wanting an Immortal teacher?"The younger man's eyes met and held his. "That's the least of it."xxx"Well, you certainly have my attention." MacLeod groped for the right words. "Nick, I want you to know you don't have to tell me any more of your personal business as a condition of the loan. But if you want to confide in someone with a different perspective than a priest's, I'm here for you.""Thanks, Mac." The young man relaxed visibly. "Yeah, I would like to talk about it. I don't need advice. But I feel like I've been existing in a vacuum. Can't even hang out with Liam, because it hurts to see the anxiety I'm causing him."And Amanda doesn't know anything about this. I want it to stay that way.""Understood," MacLeod said quietly. "What you tell me goes no further.""Okay. To begin with, I assume you know I took Julian Heller's head. Before I became Immortal.""Yes.""Within a few hours of doing it, I realized it was wrong." MacLeod's grunt betrayed his surprise, but Nick continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I had killed men before. And I didn't have a belated attack of squeamishness about the beheading. It was the deed itself, not the manner of it."I killed Heller for revenge, because he'd murdered Lauren. But she herself had said his death wasn't what she wanted. It wouldn't solve anything. Someone else would take his place, and the black market in human organs would continue. The only hope of putting an end to it was to expose it in court."I told Liam in Confession that I was appalled by what I'd done. And he tried to convince me I hadn't sinned. Made a point of how distraught I'd been." He smiled in spite of himself. "Get the picture? A priest telling a penitent it's okay to chop someone's head off. I felt like I'd fallen down a pretty strange rabbit-hole.""I feel that way too at times," MacLeod admitted. "Even after all these years.""I couldn't put that killing out of my mind. Wrong, wrong."Still, if Peyton had taken Amanda's head, I would have tried to kill him after the Quickening. But she won, killed him, made me Immortal. And then I had time to think. I began wondering if it might have been, in part, simple blood lust that drove her to kill him without getting the antidote..."Did she tell you how repelled I am by the idea of the Quickening?""Y-yes." A chill crept over MacLeod."I knew what I had to do." The young voice was soft, but had the ring of steel. "Before I even cleaned myself up and changed my clothes, I persuaded Liam - much against his will - to improvise a formal ceremony, in church. In which I made a solemn vow, before God and my priest, that I will never behead another Immortal. Never taste a Quickening."xxxMacLeod found himself gasping for breath, like a fish out of water.Perhaps he was a grounded fish, thrust suddenly into a world where all the rules had changed.Somehow, he choked out a response. "I don't understand. You've talked about learning to use a sword."Nick nodded vigorously. "I fully intend to. If I'm challenged, or see innocent people being abused, I'll fight."I'm willing to punch other Immortals, shoot them, and if necessary, run them through. But then I'll walk away. While they're temporarily 'dead,' if it comes to that. What I won't do is take their heads."In a voice tinged with regret, he continued, "You probably noticed that I didn't say I'll never kill anyone. I hope I won't."But I'm the same person I've always been. Even as a lawyer, I expect I'll be shooting it out with the bad guys, mortal and Immortal. Some of the mortals may wind up dead."I won't kill intentionally. And where Immortals are concerned, that means I won't kill at all."MacLeod was still struggling to absorb all this. "What about Father Riley? What does he want you to do?"Nick hung his head. "Liam says there are two ways a 'good' Immortal can survive. One is to practice total pacifism, not defend yourself even with your fists, and hope to be accepted as a noncombatant. He admits that will rarely work for anyone but clergy - sometimes, not even for them. He takes a calculated risk when he goes without a Roman collar here in Paris. Wouldn't do it away from home, or advise any other Immortal priest to do it."The only alternative, he says, is to be willing to use deadly force in self-defense. It was very hard for him to acknowledge that and recommend it to me. I'm breaking his heart by refusing to do it."For the first time in his life, MacLeod could empathize with Liam Riley. He's probably as attached to Nick as I was to Richie.He tried to put a hopeful spin on the situation. "Your odds of survival may be better than he realizes. Most older Immortals don't carry guns. You can more easily disable an opponent with your gun than with a sword. And if you don't take his head, there's no dishonor in it..." His voice trailed off."Except for the guy I shot.""Uh, yes. Except for the guy you shot.""That's Liam's argument. He says very few Immortals spare defeated opponents, so the typical bad guy has never lost a fight. If I humiliate them by defeating and not killing them, they'll resort to unfair tactics. Shoot me, intending to take my head. Or maybe gang up on me. And then I won't stand a chance, no matter how good a swordsman I am.""He may be right," MacLeod conceded. "The Holy Ground rule is the only one that's never broken.""Or he may be wrong!" Nick's face was transformed by a sudden, wicked grin. "The revolutionary idea of not killing each other just might catch on."How very young he is.Or is the problem not that he's too young to understand, but that I'm too old?MacLeod's eyes strayed to his coat, and he pictured the lethal weapon hidden within its folds."Nick," he said heavily, "there's something I have to tell you. Consider it a warning."Two years ago, I had the most devastating experience of my life. Killed someone I shouldn't have killed, in a case of mistaken identity. It very nearly cost me my sanity."I was determined never to kill again. Never to carry my sword again. For a while, I just carried a baton that I could use as a defensive weapon."But there came a day when I needed to intimidate another Immortal, to elicit a promise from him. For a good end. So I used the sword, just to frighten him."Then I continued to carry it. And the next time I tangled with an enemy, I beheaded him - even though he had just murdered two mortals, and I could have let the law deal with him."After that I reverted to my old ways. Not murderous ways - but not a pattern I'm proud of, either." He tore his gaze away from the coat, and looked hopefully at his new friend. "Do you see my point?""Yes." Nick was wincing, as if the story caused him physical pain. "You're saying that if I carry a sword, I'll be tempted to make more use of it than I intend. Tempted to kill.""You may be able to resist. You're young, just starting out, and you've only killed with a sword once. I was trying to change the habits of centuries. But you will be tempted - don't imagine you won't.""Thinking of temptation..." Nick seemed to wage a debate with himself for a full minute. Then, after a sharp intake of breath, he forged ahead. "When you were a new Immortal, hadn't taken your first head, did you find yourself wondering about the Quickening? Craving it?" It was his turn to look away, avoiding MacLeod's eyes."I was never in your situation," MacLeod said carefully. "When I first became Immortal, I didn't understand what I was - knew nothing about Quickenings."And then, I actually received one before I'd taken a head! I was still completely in the dark about what was going on, but an old Immortal was determined to give me his Quickening. He provoked a fight - the year was 1625, so of course I was carrying a sword. When he couldn't goad me into beheading him, he grabbed my sword arm and did it himself, with my sword. I received the Quickening, but I didn't know what was happening to me, and I was utterly terrified."You've said you're repelled by the Quickening...""I am," Nick insisted. "But still, now that I'm Immortal, I keep thinking about it. I'm determined never to experience it, but it's like the forbidden fruit...can't get it out of my mind." His cheeks were scarlet.He imagines the Quickening has a sexual component.And, of course, he's right."I'd guess what you're going through now is probably normal, for a new Immortal who knows as much as you do," MacLeod said kindly. "But if you never satisfy your curiosity, you may be in for a very uncomfortable future. One long test of will power."Nick managed a half-hearted smile. "I'll try to convince myself that it 'builds character,' as I told Peyton after he poisoned me. And I will make it a long test! Gotta pay back that loan.""Oh, yes. About the loan..."xxxAfter they'd worked out the details of that arrangement, and shared a surprisingly good meal, the Highlander prepared to take his leave.Nick seemed reluctant to let him go. He lounged in the doorway, finding excuses to prolong the conversation. At last he said wistfully, "I hope I'll be seeing you again, Mac. I don't want a teacher, but I sure could use a friend.""You've got one," MacLeod assured him, in a voice roughened by barely-contained emotion. Why does every new, young Immortal make me think of Richie?"And, Mac?" Nick hesitated, then blurted out, "You'll still be there for Amanda, won't you? I don't know if this makes any difference to you - probably not - but she and I were never lovers. I mean, intimate."MacLeod smiled. "You're right, it doesn't make any difference. And yes, I've been giving her a hard time, but I'll end up letting her cry on my shoulder. And that will lead...where it usually leads with us."Nick sighed. "I almost wish it could have been that simple for me.""Any chance...?" MacLeod asked quickly."No." Nick shook his head, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Different men, different relationships. There's no future for her and me now."But that doesn't mean I won't always have regrets."xxxNick had finally gone back inside his apartment and closed the door. MacLeod was walking slowly down the stairs.Very slowly, as he tried to decide whether to pay another call on Amanda.Problem was, he couldn't concentrate on her. Couldn't forget the aching loneliness he'd sensed in Nick Wolfe.Guess I'm good at spotting loneliness because I've been there so often myself.As he reached the landing, paying no attention to where he was going, he walked right into an equally distracted young woman."Oh! Sorry," they exclaimed in unison, each instinctively grabbing and steadying the other. Then they laughed, both of them embarrassed and self-conscious.But the woman quickly turned serious. Peering up at MacLeod, she said in a clipped British accent, "You - you were upstairs. Please tell me, is Nick all right?""He's fine," the Highlander assured her.Curious, he studied her - as best he could in the poor light.Probably in her late twenties, with curly, dark blond hair. Attractive, but decidedly harried-looking, nervous and anxious. The hair, her best feature, was pulled back with no concern for fashion. And she wore no makeup."You're sure?" she asked insistently. "Are you a doctor?""No, I'm not a doctor." At the moment, he couldn't imagine why anyone would think Nick might need one."Oh. Sorry to trouble you. Please excuse me." She still sounded rattled.He stepped aside and let her continue up the stairs.But then, on a sudden impulse, he drew back into the shadows and waited.He'd be able to sense Nick as soon as the young Immortal opened his door; and that would work both ways. But Nick was so new to this that he probably wouldn't realize his last guest should be out of sensing range.The woman knocked.MacLeod heard the door open, sensed the other Immortal.And then a ragged, desperate voice cried out, "Lauren?"The woman gave a muffled shriek. Moments later, he heard her whimpering in terror.But as he was about to race up the stairs, a distraught Nick began apologizing. "Janet, I'm sorry! The light's so bad... I thought for a second you were someone else. You don't really look like her, just the same coloring. And she sometimes wore her hair like that..."Forgive me for scaring you. Are you all right?""Oh yes, Nick, I'm fine." Though she still sounded shaky. "I came to check on you. I was worried - you were so ill the last time I saw you! But you look better now. Are you, really?""Yeah, I'm okay. It must've been a twenty-four hour virus. Thank you so much for being concerned, with everything else you've had on your mind. I was sorry to hear about Tom..."They took their conversation inside the apartment. The door closed.Duncan MacLeod was smiling, and even his sword-weighted coat seemed lighter, as he continued on his way.xxxThe End
|
146355
|
The Short of it Tribbles
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Pippin Took, Merry Brandybuck, Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, and others - Character",
"Fandom": "Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Grey_wonderer",
"chapters": "14/?",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-31T00:00:00",
"words": "4,447",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Title: "The Biscuit Jar"Author: Grey_wondererPairing: NoneRating: Very 'G'Characters: Frodo and MerryThe frustration was plain in the determined set of his jaw. He was pulling with all of his strength, which was considerable for a four-year-old. He glared at the oval-shaped biscuit jar and pulled harder. Frodo grinned. The child was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table with the biscuit jar between his knees and one hand inside the jar. The other hand was pushing against the jar. “What are you doing?” Frodo asked trying not to laugh. “The bic-cuts are stuck!” Merry said not looking up from his efforts. “They must be very big biscuits if they are stuck,” Frodo said walking over to the table. He leaned over Merry’s shoulder. “What sort of biscuits are they?” “My favourite,” Merry said tugging to free his hand. Now, Frodo did laugh. “All biscuits are your favourite biscuits, Merry.” “But these ones are my most favourite,” Merry objected. “They won’t come out!” He looked at Frodo. “Let go of the biscuits,” Frodo instructed. “But I want them,” Merry frowned. “Trust me, Merry,” Frodo smiled. “If you want them, let go of them.” “But then they will still be in there!” Merry argued. “Try it,” Frodo said. “If it doesn’t work, you can always try it your way again.” Merry looked uncertain but after a minute he reluctantly released the biscuits and pulled a crumb-covered hand out of the jar. Frodo reached over, put his hand into the jar, pulled out a biscuit, and handed it to Merry. Merry looked accusingly at the biscuit and then at Frodo. “How did you do that?” “One biscuit at a time, Merry. They will not all fit through the opening of the jar at once.” “We need a new jar with a more bigger top!” Merry said before stuffing the biscuit into his mouth. GW 09/14/2008
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dinner G-rated Characters: Diamond, Pippin, Faramir Took, and Merry Main CourseShe sent him to the barn to deal with his son. She said, “Explain it to him. You grew up on a farm. You know that the animals are not pets.” He’d meant to do it too. He’d walked into the barn full of purpose and knowing that his wife was correct. All animals were not pets. Hobbits, more than most folks, had to eat. He knelt down and looked into the trusting eyes of his six-year-old lad who was clutching the animal in question in his arms. His intention had been to say, “I’m sorry, Faramir. When Uncle Merry gave us this duck, he intended for us to fatten it up and have it for dinner.” His intentions were interrupted when Faramir said, “Papa, you won’t let mum cook Mr. Quackers, will you? He’s a good duck. He’s going to be a mum. He laid an egg!” The child squeezed the duck so tightly that it gave a small quack and struggled slightly. “If Mr. Quackers has laid an egg, then he’s a Miss and not a Mister,” Pippin said and had watched in amusement as his child had tried to sort this out. “If Mr. Quackers is going to be a mum, we can’t eat her!” Faramir wailed. “You wouldn’t let anyone eat my mum would you?” That evening, they sat down to a table laden with potatoes, carrots, bread, cheese, mushrooms and cabbage but no roast duck. Merry teased him. “No main course? Couldn’t kill the duck, could you, Pip?” “It’s worse than that,” Diamond interrupted an amused glint in her eyes. “After dinner, Pippin has to explain to Faramir why lads can’t have babies.” Merry laughed. Pippin scowled miserably. “ It's your fault, Meriadoc. You just had to give us that duck, didn’t you?” GW 08/31/2008
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Title:Title: "An Unlikely Friendship"Rating: GCharacters: Farmer Maggot and Tom BombadilThe cold wind parted the tree branches. He could see the figure tramping along in bright yellow boots. A song could be heard above the wind.Smiling, he watched his friend approach. Tom would be here directly. You couldn’t rush Tom. He did as he pleased, when he pleased. There was no sense expecting Tom to behave like other folks. No, sir! Tom was unique. He’d learned long ago that his friendship with Tom was of Tom’s choosing. He took great pride in that.Through the years, this unlikely alliance had served Farmer Maggot well. He had no idea what benefit it afforded Tom. There must be a reason Tom continued to visit, but he didn‘t know what it was.No one knew of this friendship, not even his wife. He hadn’t meant to keep the funny man in the blue coat a secret, it just didn’t seem wise to speak of him.Being with Tom, gave Maggot pause. Tom was outside the rules. Things that applied to everyone else held no power over Tom. That realization made Maggot want to turn and run, but each time the notion occurred, it passed as quickly as it came.“Ho, there, Maggot!” Tom called, a brilliant smile on his face.“Evenin’, to you, Tom Bombadil.”“There’s much to tell,” Tom said in that sing-song way of his. “I’ve important tidings. Trouble’s about.” He tapped one booted foot. “Things are in motion that don’t bode well for your little Shire but I think one of your number will set it right.”Maggot wasn’t certain what Tom was telling him but he knew it was important. Even if he left this place feeling that he’d not learned anything, a time would come when this conversation would pop into his head and he would understand. GW 02-24-2009
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Title: "Opinions Author: Grey_wonderer Pairing: None Characters: Sam and Hamfast Gamgee and Lobelia Sackville_Baggins Rating: G She walked quickly past them clutching her coin purse as if she thought they might snatch it. She had a sour look on her face. Sam Gamgee barely had time to think that he’d be glad to see the back of her, when he heard his Father say, “Good mornin’, Mistress. Fine day for a stroll, ain’t it?” Sam watched in stunned silence. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’s steps faltered. She reluctantly turned and said, “I’ve no time to stroll. I’ve business with that worthless relative of mine at Bag End!” Hamfast Gamgee bowed slightly. “Then I’ll not keep you, Mistress. I’ll just wish you a fine day.” She scowled and stalked away. It was like watching a storm cloud move out of the way of the sun. Once she was gone, Sam felt much cheerier. He looked over at his Father. “Why were you nice to her? Mr. Bilbo says she’s a right awful pain in the neck. He don’t like her. I ain’t never heard no one say nothin’ nice about her.” “You watch that you don’t get your opinions from others, Samwise,” Hamfast warned. “You’ve a mind of your own. You may not be as sharp as some folks, but you got enough goin’ on in your head to have your own ideas. You don’t need Mr. Bilbo or anyone else tellin’ you what’s what.” “So you like her?” “That ain’t the point,” Hamfast said. “I have my ideas. Mr. Bilbo’s got his. It’s up to you what you think of her.” The lad shrugged. “I don’t like her.” “Fine, as long as you’re polite about it. It’s your own opinion you should be givin’,” Hamfast said. “Folks’ll tell you their opinions, but you gotta trust your own, Sammy. Never let no one make up your mind for you.” GW 09/18/2008
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A MOTHER KNOWS' for linwesingollo because, she asked for it! Saradoc found it difficult to determine the sex of the child standing in the doorway dripping mud onto the floor. The hair was coated in sun-dried mud, its colour indiscernible. Muddy water dripped down grime-covered cheeks leaving thin streaks of nearly clean, flushed, skin behind. With filthy clothing clinging to a skinny body like paint to wood, and foot hair encrusted with earth, the child looked deplorable.“You’ve been in with the pigs again, Lass,” Maggot groaned.Her lip protruded. “Might have.”“And how many times must I tell you to stay outta that pen? You’re going to get hurt one day, to say nothing of how angry your mum will be if she sees you lookin’ like that.”“S’just mud.”“Any left in the pen for the hogs or are you wearin’ it all?”She shrugged and poked a muddy finger up one nostril.“Go out to the rain barrel, Barb. I’ll come out directly and rinse you off.”She left a trail of muddy footprints as she went, still working to removing something from her nose with one dirty finger.“Barb? That’s an unusually name, Maggot” Saradoc observed. “How old is she and how did she get that name?” “ Fits her once you get to know her and see her cleaned up. She’s five now and can be sweet or tart dependin’ on her mood. She’s got a mouth on her that’s near poison but she’s good hearted. She’ll make a fine farmer’s wife cause she never shies away from hard work.” Maggot grinned. “ She’s my youngest. When she was born her hair stood out in all directions. The rest of her was bright, beet red and thin as a rail. My missus took one look at her and named her Rhubarb. I call her Barb.” GW 02-19-2009
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
THE DREAM-CATCHER The frame had been a gift years ago from the very person whose face smiled back at him from within its enclosure. His mementos of the life he’d left behind were few. This framed drawing was one of those rare treasures that he’d allowed himself to bring to Tol Eressea.“I carved it with some help from Daddy Two-Foot. He’s a fine one with carving, you know?”Frodo could still hear his voice as clear as a bell. So much time had passed but nothing could dim the memory of that voice; the voice that had kept him going when it seemed that nothing could. It was that voice and the look in those eyes that had helped him reach that dreadful place. Even long after his body was weary beyond measure, the sound of that reassuring voice had enabled him to continue.“It’s a simple frame but I thought you might put one ‘o them drawings Mr. Bilbo done ‘o Bag End in it, if you’ve a mind to. Or maybe a drawing of your own. You‘ve a talent and no mistake. Frames need to be filled with someone or somethin special. That‘s what my old Gaffer always says.”Frodo had taken that advice. He’d put someone special within the cherished frame. His drawing failed to capture the warmth of those well-loved eyes but at least the smile right. Sam’s frame was a dream-catcher, protecting his heart’s desire.Frodo ran a finger over the delicate carvings around the edge and sighed. “There you are, Sam Gamgee. Safe within my memories and within this frame until I see you again.”No, Frodo’s drawing didn’t do Sam justice, but it kindled a spark in his mind and let him remember. The best likeness of his dear Sam was in his heart.The EndGW 05/05/2009
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Title:Title: "Weather Woes" (two tribbles)Rating: both GCharacters: tribble #1- Pearl, Merry and Pippin tribble #2- Merry, Sam and PippinTribble #1 “What happened to you?” Pearl demanded glaring at her younger brother.“Nothing,” the eight-year-old said looking confused. “I’m fine.”“Fine? You’re drenched! You’re getting mud all over the freshly mopped floor, Peregrin Took!” Pearl objected.The child studied his muddy feet and watched as a fat water droplet slid down his pointed nose landing on his big toe and washing away one spot of mud. Peregrin wiggled the toe and then shook his damp curls slinging water about the room like a wet dog after a bath.“Pippin!” Pearl shouted.Behind her, seated at the table, his mouth full of milk, Merry tried not to laugh and failed, sending milk out his nostrils and onto the table.Pippin grinned and said, “The water from my hair makes my feet cleaner. See?” He held up one muddy foot, now speckled with clean spots.Merry laughed and Pearl glared at him before turning her attention back to Pippin. “You’re supposed to come inside the minute it begins to rain. Look at you! You’re soaked!”“I did come in the minute it rained but I was up a tree behind the barn. It’s a long way, Pearl,” the muddy child objected. “I hurried but the smial is too far from that tree.”“You aren’t supposed to be behind the barn,” Pearl frowned.“I didn’t know it would rain,” Pippin objected.“You aren’t supposed to be behind the barn even if it doesn’t rain,” Peal reminded him.“Oh. I forgot.”“Go outside. I’ll wash you off. Take your muddy clothing off too,” Pearl instructed.“All of it?”“Except your small clothes,” Pearl amended.“But Pearl, I can’t go out there,” Pippin objected.“Why not?”“It’s raining. I’m not suppose to be in the rain!”Merry fell from his chair laughing while Pearl groaned. *******************************************Tribble #2 Merry sighed, looked around the large, crowded room, then studied his pocket watch. The Thain was late. Not a very promising start.Two sour-faced hobbits in the front row were whispering and looking disgusted. One hobbit a few rows back was snoring. Thirty minutes. Not a record, but still not good. A few minutes wouldn’t matter much if this weren’t the first meeting since the new Thain had taken office.Sam glanced at Merry and raised one eyebrow quizzically. Merry shrugged at the Mayor, and the centre chair remained empty for another ten minutes.“I like these meetings about as much as I like stale biscuits, but I like sitting here while my bum goes numb even less than the dull ramblings about sheep, fencing and egg prices,” someone grunted.“The new Thain must be off on another Quest,” someone quipped. This remark was rewarded by laughter as the big doors at the far end of the hall creaked open.Distant claps of thunder and the sound rain filled the room as the Thain entered dripping wet and spattered with mud.Over the laughter, someone shouted, “Afternoon, Thain. How’s the weather?” Peregrin Took sloshed toward the front leaving generous puddles in his wake, while smiling resignedly at his tormentors.Merry and Sam, both hiding grins, stood, along with everyone else and waited for Thain Peregrin to be seated. Glancing behind himself at the rear of his trousers, Peregrin announced, “Everyone please be seated. Because the Thain’s chair is upholstered in green velvet and the Thain’s backside is covered in mud and bruises due to a fall from a pony, I’ll conduct this meeting standing.”Amid applause and laughter, Merry and Sam sighed, exchanging relieved grins. Thain Pippin, the unflappable, had arrived. The Shire was in good, if slightly muddy, hands. GW 06/15/2009
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“It’s a splendid arrangement. Don’t you think so, Merry? I really think it will solve everything, don’t you agree? You do agree, don’t you, Merry?” Pippin’s voice was at once anxious and hopeful, a very difficult mixture but very like Pippin.Merry wasn’t completely certain that he was expected to respond. Perhaps a nod of his head or a reassuring smile was all that was needed. The difficulty here was that for some reason, even though he wanted to believe that the presence of Sam and his new bride in Frodo’s home would be enough, Merry still had a tiny knot of uncertainty churning in the pit of his stomach. Even a simple little nod of agreement would be less than the truth."Frodo relies upon Sam. Having Sam and Rose right there will keep Frodo from being alone. Sam will make certain that Frodo eats. It really is exactly what Frodo needs isn’t it?” Pippin pressed. There was no denying that he was looking for a response.Merry positioned a smile on his face, clapped a hand on Pippin’s shoulder and managed a nod. When he considered it, Merry saw no reason for both of them to lose hope. *************************** "When did you know?” Pippin asked looking as dejected as Merry felt.“I don’t know exactly,” Merry hedged stirring his tea.“Yes, you do. You always know exactly. When was it, Merry?”“It was after the burials. When the battle was over and folks were talking about a memorial to our dead I knew then,” Merry sighed. “There was a look in his eyes or perhaps there was just something missing in them. Whatever it was, that was when it came to me that he was never going to be the same.”“You never said,” Pippin frowned.“If I had said, what would you have done differently?” Merry asked genuinely curious.Pippin considered this for several minutes and then said, “I would have tried to convince you otherwise. I would have tried my best to cheer you.”“And then?”Pippin stared into his half empty teacup and shrugged. “I would have done the same things that I did when I didn’t know that it was hopeless. There wasn’t anything more we might have done, was there?” He looked desperately at Merry searching his cousin’s face to see if they might have missed something.“No,” Merry said with finality. “There wasn’t.” *************************************************** The child was all sharp angles from the knees right up to the pointed nose. A stream of endless questions poured from the child’s bow-shaped mouth like water escaping a leaky bucket. The bright, green eyes sparkled. As Merry replied to the millionth question, the little one shifted from foot to foot dancing in rhythm to Merry’s words. The imp was a tiny package of constant motion with a crown of auburn curls. Small hands held fast to Merry’s trousers to keep him from getting away. Little did the child realize all that was needed for this was the gaze from those mischievous eyes. Merry was held spell-bound. Then someone called the child’s name. The enchantment broke. The little one ran off calling cheerful farewells to Merry.“I’ve no idea who she looks like,” Pippin sighed. “Faramir has an original there. She’s a charmer but like no Took I’ve ever known. Must be the Gamgee in her.”When Merry turned to object, Pippin broke into a deep laugh, the sort that could be felt right down to one’s toes. “Then again, maybe there’s a wee bit of Took in her,” Pippin conceded.“A wee bit of Pippin Took!” Merry grinned. GW 07/06/2008 Tags: lotr, lotr fic
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“What’d did you get, Merry?”“Ginger bread. You?”“Sugar biscuit. That old hobbit laughed at me!”“It’s your costume.”“Mum made it! What’s wrong with it?”*Giggles* “You look like a fairy princess.”“I don’t! I’m s’posed to be Gandalf!”“Your staff sparkles!”“That’s so it looks like it has light in it.”“That’s a dress you’re wearing.”“It’s my Wizard robe!’“It has lace at the collar.”“We didn’t have time to take that off. It used to be Pearl’s night gown.”“Your hat’s too big or your head’s too little.”“There’s nothing wrong with my head!”“Why is there lace around the hat?”“That’s my long, white hair!”“Gandalf’s hair is grey.”“Mum says white looks better. We didn’t have grey lace.”“Where’s your beard then?”“Got candy apple stuck in it. Left it at home.”“And why is your travel cloak pink?”“It’s lavender!”“Why?”“We didn’t have grey material.” Looks embarrassed. “Does it look pink?”“It is pink! Knock on the door so we can get more treats, Pip.”Knock, knock!“Oh, dear! It’s a scary pirate lad and a fairy princess!”Merry giggles. Pippin scowls.“Mum said the cloak would look purple in the dark.” GW 10/27/2007
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He stood there, breathless, rain dripping from his hair while tears ran down his face mixing with the rain in much the same way that a tiny stream joins with a river and becomes lost in its vast expanse. He gazed out into the grey light of the dawn and waited. He waited for someone to come and take the pain away. There was a dull ache in his heart that would not allow him to rest. No amount of drink or song had been able to lift it from him. His pain clung to him and enveloped him as if he were wrapped in a thick wool blanket. He felt as if he might smother. Just beyond the trees lightening flashed so bright that it hurt his eyes. He squinted as the thunder cracked above him with a force that seemed to shake the ground beneath his feet. He felt the mud from the damp earth pushing its way up between his toes. He did not know how long he had been standing there. He didn’t really care. Nothing seemed to matter. He could hear his own ragged breath, feel his wet clothes pressing against him, hear the rain beating against the leaves of the trees, feel the thunder rumbling in the distance, and somewhere a voice was calling his name. Someone was running hard along the path between this place and the place from which he had come. They were getting closer. He could hear his name over and over and over. The voice grew ever more insistent and sharp with fear. He wanted to answer if only to make the voice stop but he had no strength for such a thing. Besides, what would he say? He was falling again and he didn’t want to take anyone else with him into that cold, dark place. He didn’t want her reaching out and getting trapped inside with him. She was his light, his hope, and his reason for continuing. He needed to know that she was safe. That she was removed from the evil that touched his heart. She was to him as the phial had been to Frodo; she was his light in dark places when all other lights failed him. Strong arms wrapped themselves about him and held on tight. A few strands of cold, wet, blond hair clung to his cheek as she stood up on her toes and willed him to look at her. She pulled his face toward hers with strong, thin fingers and kissed his lips with a force that surprised him. She kissed him with a passion that burned warmth back into his soul and forced air into his lungs. He put his trembling arms about her small frame and held her while she pulled him back into the light. He repeated her name over and over and over again, ‘Rose, Rose, Rose,’ until he was unable to tell where she began and where he left off. They fell to their knees in the mud, clinging to one another like frightened children in a dark room. He buried his face against her shoulder and allowed her to be strong for both of them. The moment that he gave himself up to her, a part of him came back to the Shire. Most of him came back to the Shire on that grey morning to be with her but a small piece of his heart that still dwelled in the land of Mordor breathing in the black smoke as the heat seared his lungs, that tiny piece of him remained lost for a time. Even she could not call it back to her so easily. Sometimes the wounds don’t heal. Sometimes they find a dark corner in your mind where they can take root and grow. There are dark gardens too and in them the weeds are strong and thick and covered with thorns. A tiny seed of fear planted itself in Sam’s mind but Rose Cotton refused to allow it to grow. For a time she managed kept the fear away, to keep it from growing and preying on his mind, until finally she managed to kill that fear by giving Sam a child.GW 05/24/2007
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
N-33 Four Words drabble
Gang, remarkable, blackberry, nicely Sam had nearly given up, when his efforts had been rewarded. There, almost hidden from view, and ripe for picking, was a blackberry bush! It was late in the season. The large, juicy, berries should have been withered, yet, remarkable as it seemed, they weren‘t. Sam filled his hat with a whole gang of them. He started to pick the bush clean, but thought better of it. ‘Mustn’t be greedy,’ He could hear his Gaffer saying. Other travellers might come this way needing food. What he had now, would do nicely for supper. He’d leave some for the next fellow. GW 03-10-2012
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“A Smith?” Sam had looked shocked when Frodo suggested that. Now, as Sam proudly displayed his work, Frodo understood. When asked why he hadn’t built a traditional wooden cradle, Sam explained. “This’ll stay sturdy, no matter how many little ones Rosie and me have. We want a large family.” Sam was the perfect hobbit to don the mantle of fatherhood. The cradle was carefully built by Sam himself. It spoke to his desire to bestow love and protection upon his children. There had always been a consonance to Sam’s capacity for love. The little Gamgees would be very lucky children! GW 03-02-2012
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
This was new. He’d never known such desire. Her voice and her touch, made him feel alive again. She was graceful, strong and intelligent. She didn’t notice that he was captivated by her. Her ability to mesmerize, appeared to be an unconscious talent. He’d spent his life in service to Gondor, trying to please his Father, and follow his brother. His grief at their passing, was still too fresh for mere words.He felt something hard to classify. Guilt, perhaps, for wanting her in the shadow of war. It seemed like an infidelity, but he wanted her all the same. GW03-24-2012
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Where have you come from?” Treebeard boomed.The small tree before him, shook as if a great wind were blowing its branches.“From the forest near the Shire. There, I have flowered ten times.”“Why are you here?” Treebeard asked.“I bring news of the Entwives. We heard you were seeking them.”Treebeard looked skeptical. He leaned down closer.The dogwood looked up, watching the moss cascade forward from the top-most branches of the old Ent. He cleared his throat and began. “I shall not be hasty. I shall tell the tale in proper order.”“A good beginning,” Treebeard smiled.GW03-04-2012
|
137593
|
The Case of the Apparent
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Sherlock Holmes (2009)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Jayne L (JayneL)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-05T00:00:00",
"words": "1,681",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Sherlock Holmes/Mary Morstan/John Watson",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Mary stands at the centre of Holmes's chamber in shoes, stockings, garters and corset. The drapes are drawn, but poorly; a shaft of yellow afternoon sunlight pierces the room's smoky gloom, and Mary has placed herself directly in its path. It warms her bare skin, makes her feel decadent and dangerous: they're doing this in broad daylight.Holmes circles her slowly, consideringly. His attention is fixed upon her as she's seen it fixed upon his experiments, his cases--as it has been fixed upon her before, albeit never in this context. He observes her; she waits, breathing, excitement and arousal firing her nerves, for his observations to lead him to action.Finally, all at once, he closes the distance between them, moving decisively to stand close behind her. She feels the brush of his hand against her bare hip; then, with a firmness that makes her heart pound, he touches the seam of her corset, runs his fingers straight up her back along the smooth weave of laces from her hips to her shoulderblades. From there, his hand skims over her shoulder and proceeds to trace the lines of the garment--the long, stiff sweep of stays, the row of hard little clasps down the front, the edges where violet satin gives way to Mary's slowly-pinking skin--in a studious frenzy of tactile exploration. His other hand travels down, without hesitation or modesty, to curl between her legs, his blunt fingers dipping into her, slicking themselves with each press of his palm. With his arms encircling her, she leans back, her distracted gaze fixed straight ahead; he accepts the weight of her body, stands solidly behind her, so warm as to feel fevered. Her left hand clasps his forearm where it stretches across her abdomen, and she feels the flex of his arm with each movement of his hand upon her, each slide of his fingers within.His hands, so different in size and feel from John's, are no less expert. Mary hadn't quite expected that--not for her--and is caught off-guard by their cunning dexterity, their rough callouses, their lack of delicacy as Holmes strokes her ceaselessly. The build within her is steady and inexorable, yet her climax is sudden, surprising, her legs shaking such that Holmes must support her fully.When she comes back to herself, he is laying her upon the chaise; when he moves to leave her there alone, she sits up, restraining him with her hand on his shoulder. "You're still clothed, Mr Holmes," she admonishes, her voice huskier than its custom, and plucks accusingly at the fabric of his shirt."I am," he agrees, "but that is a matter easily rectified, if only I were permitted to do so." Mary smiles and releases him; in an instant he has stood, pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it away, abandoned his trousers in a pile on the carpet. Having done so, he stops--oddly, arrested in motion as if he has just realised his nudity--and stares down at her, his eyes dark again with the faraway intensity of thought.Mary, holding herself upright with one hand on the back of the lounge, stares at him in return. She is familiar with the lean, trim lines of John's body, his angular frame, the paleness of his complexion; Holmes, in contrast, is broad and square, muscular in a workmanlike fashion--curiously so, for all his hours spent cloistered in study and contemplation. Away from the piercing sunbeam, lit only by guttering firelight and the golden flicker of the lamps, his skin appears burnished.His cock stands hard and flushed against his belly. Mary finds herself surprised again; not because she had thought him in any way incapable, or even wholly uninterested--John has told her of Irene Adler, and she has understood the things he has not said--but because she had rather suspected that, as with Holmes's hands, such of his attentions were not, could not be, for her.Even as she knows she was not entirely wrong in that belief--were it not for John, she cannot imagine Holmes's enthusiasm in this moment with her would be quite so thorough--she is nevertheless satisfied to be proven at least partially so.Satisfied and, as the sweep of his gaze makes her squirm where she sits, eager for more, tantalisingly thrilled.When he moves again, finally, it is to join her on the chaise--or, more accurately, to sit upon the chaise, between her legs but facing forward, her right leg between his back and the cushion, her left across his lap. She lies back, stretching, catlike; his hands smooth restlessly along the length of her leg, from the black buckle of her shoe still fastened at her ankle to the bare skin of her thigh above the clasp of garter to cream-white stocking. She shivers at the roving warmth of his touch, and he repeats it, his eyes fixed avidly upon the path of his hands.When he reaches her shoe again, he begins tugging at the buckle. "Now it is you who remain regretfully attired," he says, working the strap loose and pulling the shoe from her foot. But as he is about to toss it to the floor, he pauses, casting a speculative glance. "Unless you would prefer--""Take it off. Everything." And Mary's breath catches at the immediacy of Holmes's obedience: he skims his hands back up to her knee, undoes the garter and hooks his fingers under her stocking, rolls it down and off with determined efficiency. The other shoe and stocking follow; then, Mary sits up and turns her back to him, sways with the pull and release of his sure, steady unthreading of her laces.The corset falls away. Before Mary can turn back to face Holmes, he is leaning close behind her, his wonderful hands cupping her breasts, the untended stubble on his cheek rasping her skin as his mouth presses hot and open to her throat. She arches against him, reaches up and curls her fingers into the hair at his nape; a little tug makes his head tilt obligingly as she turns hers, and their mouths meet in a fierce, insatiate kiss.The realisation that it's their first sends a shock of pleasure through her, and she moans into his mouth. He jolts at the noise as if startled, the movement pressing him crudely against her hip.She wants that pressure elsewhere. Wants it so much she aches for it, wet at the thought and, oh, *aching*. Abruptly breaking the kiss, she turns to face him fully; Holmes watches with wide eyes that are all black pupil as she rises enough to kneel astride his lap, as she fits the length of him between their bodies, as she rubs herself against him with wanton little pushes of her hips. "Apply yourself, Mr Holmes," she breathes, giving a wicked smile as his eyes widen further, as she hears a huff of a laugh, and all at once Holmes is pushing her backwards, bearing her down onto the chaise with the full length and weight of his body, reaching down to hook his hand under her knee and bend her leg up as he pushes in, smooth and hard and deep.He is not gentle. The part of her mind still capable of thinking about anything beyond the stroke of him inside her, the damp heat of their skin, the play of the muscles in his back under her hands--that tiny part of her takes note of his urgency and revels in it, dwells on the passion to which she has driven him, the great intellectual Sherlock Holmes reduced to panting, rutting need. No sooner has the thought occured than it makes her hips buck, makes her nails claw and scratch on his shoulders, makes her clench tight around him and cry out her release. Moments later, his rhythm falters; the hand that had been hooked under her leg gropes between their bodies to clutch at her inner thigh and spread her wide, and his final, driving thrust catches her on the way down, takes her with him in one last, hard rush as he comes deep inside her.They lie motionless afterward, tangled together, gasping. Staring at each other wide-eyed until Holmes says, breathless and sudden, "I hope my efforts were commensurate with the fulfillment of your needs.""Indeed, Mr Holmes." Mary swallows against the raw feeling in her throat, a little dazed. "Most satisfactory."He gives a slight nod, his focus both solely, intensely on her and yet, somehow, distant. "Your servant, Mrs Watson."A broken grunt turns both their heads: in his chair at the bottom of the steps, John is spending himself into his hand.Earlier:"You would do well to apply yourself, Mr Holmes, to the utmost of your ability," she said, using the dry tone usually reserved for the more recalcitrant children in her charge.Holmes smirked, his attention on his wine glass as he splashed it with the dregs of the bottle they'd shared at tea. "My dearest Mary, you betray yourself. Your exhortation reveals a preoccupation with your own satisfaction--a selfish, and therefore rather unhandsome, quality in a lover.""On the contrary." She curved a smile at his sidelong glance. "What you have failed to consider is that pleasing me will, in turn, please John. And is that not the desired object of this endeavour?"His expression turned pensive. "My pleasing you pleases Watson."She nodded solemnly. Then, with an air of artless nonchalance belied utterly by the mischievous gleam in her eyes, she added, "Of course, as you have no doubt already surmised, my pleasing you will, naturally, cause the same effect."Holmes stood very still, arrested in both motion and thought. The final drop of wine beaded on the lip of the bottle, clinging stubbornly."You must admit, old boy," John said in the silence, peering over Mary's shoulder as he finished unbuttoning her dress. "Her logic is irrefutable."The drop fell. End.
|
131374
|
Cheater
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter",
"Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by star54kar",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-09-10T00:00:00",
"words": "720",
"Additional Tags": "One-Shot, Character Study, Friendship, Gen Fic, Missing Moments, year written: 2009 - Freeform",
"Relationship": "Ron and Hermione Friendship",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "The Quidditch Pitch",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Title: CheaterSummary: Ron was desperate to complete his Charms essay.Rating: GWarnings: NoneFeatured Characters: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.Word Count: 626Beta: The magnificent queenb23more. Any and all remaining errors are my own.Author's Notes: Written for the 50 Kid Stories table at yay_potterkids, with the prompt of cheater. I imagine this piece as a missing moment taking place some time in the trio's first or second year of Hogwarts. I hope you all enjoy:)ETA: Now with Beautiful Art by leochi, which can be found here!CheaterThey had been given a week to complete their Charms essay. Ron knew that he should have started on his ages ago, but with so many more interesting things to do like playing Wizard's Chess or talking about Quidditch with Harry, a week seemed like plenty of time. The problem was that now he was out of time because the assignment was due tomorrow and he hadn't even written one word!He knew there was no way that he was going to be able to finish in time, so that night, when Hermione wasn't looking, Ron quickly nicked her essay out of her bag and fled with it back to the safety of the dorms. It was wrong. Ron knew it was wrong. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Ron was desperate.He moved quickly. Hermione had written nearly twice as much as what was required for the assignment, so Ron copied some of the more important sections into his own handwriting while switching around a couple of words and sentences so it wouldn't be noticeable. Hermione's writing was very thorough so it didn't take him long to finish. Smiling, he put his copy away in his bag, carefully hid Hermione's essay under his jumper, and headed back down to return it.But his smile disappeared when he got to the common room and found Hermione crying against Harry's shoulder."What's wrong?" Ron asked as he approached.Harry looked up at him and answered, "Hermione lost her Charms essay.""I can't find it anywhere!" Hermione sobbed as she buried her face further into Harry's shoulder. "I'll never be able to re-write it in time, it took me all week!"Harry gently stroked Hermione's hair in an attempt to console her and offered, "You can copy mine if you want. I know it's probably not as good as yours was but if you rearrange the words, I'm sure you could make it look like you wrote it.""Thank you, Harry," Hermione said as she finally looked up. "But I can't do that. I'm not a cheater and neither are you."Ron felt horrible. He had been so busy worrying about his own problem that he hadn't even thought about what he was doing to Hermione. But looking at her now, tears streaking down her face yet so determined not to copy Harry's offered assignment, Ron knew what he had to do."Don't worry, Hermione, I'll look for it," Ron said as he moved to the other side of the room where they had been sitting earlier. He looked around for a moment before asking, "Did you check under the seat cushions?""No," Hermione answered softly. "I didn't."Ron knelt down on the ground and as he removed the cushions off the sofa, he carefully slid Hermione's essay out from under his jumper. "I found it!" Ron cried as he held up the parchment.Hermione beamed at him as he handed her assignment back to her, and a second later he found himself caught in a crushing hug. "Thank you, Ron! I don't know what I would have done without you."Feeling guilty, Ron blushed and said, "I'm sure you would have been fine.""Well, thank you all the same," Hermione said as she pulled away.He sat and talked with Hermione and Harry for a few minutes before he said goodnight and headed back up to the dorms. Walking over to his bag, he took his copied assignment out and, with a sigh, threw it into the fire. Then he picked up his quill and began to write. It was going to be a long night but Ron knew that he had done the right thing.Hermione wasn't a cheater, and now, neither was he.
|
112780
|
Pretty Little Boy
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Underage Sex",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Royal Pains",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Lady Angel (dameange)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-09-06T00:00:00",
"words": "428",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Hank Lawson/Tucker Bryant",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Staring down at the dark head buried in his naked lap, Hank knows this is wrong, but he doesn't care. This is what Tucker needs and wants and ever since he first met the kid, he's wanted to give him whatever he needed. Tucker's father is away again, non-existent to the core, leaving this pretty little boy all alone in the great big house overlooking the sea.Hank moans softly at a voracious suck, praise and sin all in one breath.This should have never started, but he couldn't say no that first time, when Tucker's pale hand had covered his cock, and Tucker's pink lips whispered his pleas into Hank's ear. Careful, careful, fragile heart and fragile body in his hands, taking the kid just hard enough to assuage their desire, gentle enough to make up for everything Tucker never had.Hissed in disappointment when Tucker pulled off his cock, smiling when that long, lithe body slithered its way up his own. Hank kissed those gorgeous lips, tasting of himself and of his pretty little boy. Cupped slim hips as their cocks rubbed together, one hand slipping between rounded cheeks to find slickness and heat. "Are you going to ride me, baby?"Sweet, floppy black curls brushed against his forehead as Tucker nodded, biting his lip and angling his hips.Delicious whimpers and low groans filled the summer air as Hank slid honey-slow inside Tucker's tight, tender ass."So beautiful," Hank murmured, hands sweeping up and down that lovely arch of a back, nuzzling into sweat-slick skin. "My beautiful, pretty little boy."Tucker's breath hitched, body melting around his cock, taking Hank deeper.They barely moved, savoring the feel, the quiet, until Tucker's youthfulness kicked in and he started to ride.Hank watched and felt as Tucker rose above him, rolling hips and arching back, hands clenched in his own hair and pinching tiny pink nipples. He cupped Tucker's adorable balls, playing with them, smiling when every small tug earned him a whimper and a sigh. Lightly trailing his fingers along the exquisite cock bobbing and begging for attention.Grit his teeth when that touch was all it took for Tucker to spasm and clench, orgasm ripping through his body and out of his lips, a long, low keen. Hank caught his pretty, little boy, snuggling the pliant body as his hips snapped into Tucker's delectable ass filling it to the brim.Tucker's soft sighs and coos as he curled up in Hank's arms as he fell asleep made his arms tighten in guilty pleasure.The End
|
199082
|
What Lies Beneath
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Greg House, James Wilson, Robert Chase, Eric Foreman, Allison Cameron",
"Fandom": "House M.D.",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Macx",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-05-13T00:00:00",
"words": "7,431",
"Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe, Paranormal, Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Hurt/Comfort",
"Relationship": "Greg House/James Wilson",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Denuo",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
When it happened, Wilson had no time to prepare. He actually had no time to do anything, either prepare or defend or retreat or whatnot. He was wide open, he was completely vulnerable, and it hit him with the force of a small missile right between the eyes.His schedule had been blessedly appointment free for a few hours and since there was a lull in reports and he didn't feel like tackling the consults and journals right now, Wilson had decided to work on a different kind of track – empathy.He had gotten better with his abilities. A lot better. He could control his shields to a degree, though massive emotional overload from one person, directed solely at him, would still be painful. So far, there was only one person he was trying to shield from, and that was Foreman. He was getting used to the feeling of walking on broken glass when he was around the man. It stung to be looked at with a bland expression while Foreman's emotions went into the negative field of the scale, grating on his nerves, making his brain cringe and head hurt.But he was getting better.So now Wilson worked on actively using his empathic powers to scan people, to be more in control of what he could pick up. He couldn't work on relatives or patients, since for now it required his full concentration.Currently he sat in his office, eyes closed, reaching for the presence of his lover, which he could distinguish easily. House was a complicated mix of sarcasm, cynicism, with a healthy dose of absolute bastard and a lot of cranky genius thrown in. Underneath so many snarky, snappy and snarly responses lay someone only Wilson had ever really seen. It was a tender person, gentle and warm, so completely not the House that was on the surface. It was a person who hid and liked to stay hidden. That he had seen that man warmed him, made him happy.House made him happy.Huh, what a contradiction. House… happy… No way that could work, but it did. It had for a long, long time.Wilson knew the tenderness this man could give, the gentle kisses, the caresses. There was nothing rough or dominating, nothing possessive or more than a hint of temporary bastard in their encounters. Of course, House teased and taunted, and he could develop a mean streak, but never with malicious intent.Cameron, Chase and Foreman were in the same room. Wilson would attempt to seek them out individually and 'read' them. He knew they were working on a case, one that had captured House's attention, that didn't let him go, and Wilson loved to sit back and watch the genius at work.There was a shift in House's presence and Wilson frowned. From one moment to the next the playful taunting had shifted to alarm. The alarm was rising, became overwhelming. Then there was a moment of total shock, panic, and then…Wilson didn't know if he screamed. He might have.The pain was terrible.It seared into his mind, cut through his brain, and it overwhelmed his senses. It wasn't just there either. It went through his body, his right side burning, then turned into pure agony.He didn't hear the shots from the other room.He didn't hear the cries, other than the scream in his mind.He lay on the floor of his office, panting, eyes screwed shut, his body trembling. His neck was on fire. His side hurt like hell. His mind was a raw, open wound that was being fed by House.Greg… something had happened to Greg…Wilson whimpered.He wanted to move but couldn't. It was an all-freezing sensation, the pain making him immobile and sending spikes of agony through his receptive mind.Greg…His breathing sped up, and he was close to hyperventilating.Control the pain. Raise shields. Get the damn shields up!Wilson had no idea how much time passed before that order finally reached his overtaxed mind and he could place a few moderate shields around himself. It was a relief how much the agony faded, left only the sharp throb of each heartbeat and the frantic pants.He blinked his eyes open, his vision blurry.He was on the floor of his office, the door was still locked, no one was banging against it to get inside.Getting up was a master piece of coordination and trying not to throw up. Wilson managed both, but it was a close call on the vomiting part. At least until he stumbled to the door and unlocked it. The moment he was outside his office, blinking into the lights, he lost the battle. He made it to the men's room and threw up, his body heaving painfully.Again, an unknown amount of time passed. He sat in the stall, trembling, fighting the echoes of what he had gone through, and pushed his shields higher.When Wilson finally left the men's room, he was pale, looked like he hadn't slept in days, and he was still shaky. Eyes roamed the curiously silent corridor and his feet took him to the glass-encased office next to his – Diagnostics.There was no one there.But there was evidence. A lot of evidence.Something shivered through him, something sick and foreboding and something screaming 'nononono' all the time.Because there was blood.Lots of blood.Red and still sticky, close to the whiteboard. Smeared in places.Blood.His stomach lurched as he connected the emotions he had felt to the blood he saw."No…" he breathed his denial.Wilson wanted to reach out for House, check on him, but his overtaxed brain refused to listen to his orders. It was survival instinct, pure and simple. Touch House now and lose it. Totally.Bloody towels drew his eyes to them and he shuddered. There was some emergency medical equipment, too.Wilson turned away from the gruesome sight of what had happened here, still not understanding why, and stumbled toward the elevator.When it opened two floors later, he almost ran into Cuddy. She looked as bad as him. Her hair was a bushy mess, her eyes too large for her pale and narrow face, and when she looked at Wilson, she immediately reached out to steady him."House…" the oncologist managed."Come with me," was her reply and Wilson was glad for her hand on his arm, leading and steering and strangely supporting him.They ended up in the doctor's lounge outside surgery. Cuddy made him sit down, pushed a hot drink into his hands, then took a seat across. Close, but not crowding."Do you know what happened, James?" she asked softly."No… I wasn't there… I…. I saw the blood…"He could hardly tell her he had been there, in House's mind, when it had happened. That he had spent whatever time curled up on the floor of his office, fighting the echoes."House was shot."Wilson's head whipped up, his eyes widened, and he stared at Cuddy, unable to comprehend."Sh-shot?" he stammered."Yes.""How…?!""A former patient. Security got him. House is in surgery.""How bad?" Wilson managed, his mouth dry, his hands clenching around the mug to stop the tremors."One bullet lodged in his abdomen, the other in the neck. We don't know any more right now."The world seemed to fade around him and the pain in his own neck and abdomen was a faint pulse, a reminder of what House was going through."James?"He blinked and looked at Cuddy."They're doing everything they can.""Yeah."He gazed at his by now much colder coffee and finally closed his eyes. Wilson took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, to keep his shields. He was bad with shields on a good day, and this had wiped everything away in a heartbeat.House had been shot.House was in surgery.Greg was…A hand was on his, fingers closing over the white knuckles. Cuddy said nothing as he looked at her, no smile, no empty words. She just met his gaze and touched him. It was enough. It was his only support.* * *Cameron, Foreman and Chase drifted into the lounge throughout the next hours. Cameron looked as bad as she had throughout the first days after the possible HIV infection. Foreman's face was unreadable and Chase was the total opposite, an open book. The Australian leaned against the wall next to where Wilson sat, a silent show of friendship and support. Foreman just sat on the other side.Wilson tried to tune out what came from the neurologist. It was thankfully very muted, Foreman being in too much of a shock right now."Anything?" Cuddy broke the silence.Cameron shook her head.It was all that was spoken.Hours passed.And finally Dr. Mike Gillick walked into the lounge, looking tired. He was still in his surgical scrubs and Wilson could have thrown up at the faint traces of blood. He had never been that touchy before when it came to post-op appearances.But this was his lover's blood.Five pairs of eyes were on Gillick and the surgeon smiled. "He pulled through. Not out of the woods, but we didn't lose him again."Again… the word echoed through Wilson's head. Didn't lose him again.He tried to hide his anguish and nearly missed Chase shifting slightly closer. The intensivist never made eye contact, his attention on Gillick, and Wilson couldn't help but wonder. Then he was listening to Gillick again."The bullet in his abdomen pierced the stomach, nicked the bowel, and lodged in the posterior rib. The one in his neck went right through, severed the jugular. It was a clean through-and-through. No spinal damage, it didn't nick either the esophagus nor the larynx. We patched him back together and he's currently in ICU. We'll move him when he's stable enough.""Thanks, Mike," Cuddy said, her voice heavy with relief.The others said something, asked questions, but Wilson didn't hear it. He only felt the squeeze on his shoulder and glanced up at Chase, who met his gaze with a firm, reassuring one. Then the hand was gone, and so was Chase.Wilson closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath, then opened them and pushed to his feet. Cuddy was still there, her expression very empathetic."I want to see him," Wilson only said.She nodded, expecting no less.*Dressed in the appropriate gowns that covered their clothes, Wilson and Cuddy were allowed to enter ICU. Wilson's eyes were immediately drawn to his lover, and he didn't even notice that Cuddy stopped a little further away, giving him privacy.House looked… like House. Just worse. A lot worse. The stubble did nothing to help alleviate the condition of looking bad. Pale skin, closed eyes looking bruised, sunken, a thin tube leading to the nose where it was fastened securely under the nostrils. Air. To help with the oxygen intake. Thankfully there was no ventilator. The bandage on the neck showed a few flecks of blood. The other, over the abdomen, was hidden from Wilson's view. It was underneath the gown, underneath the blanket. An IV line ran into one hand. Attached to the IV was another drip. Morphine.Wilson stopped at House's bedside, reaching slowly for the hand that didn't have the IV in it, and ran his finger pads over the too cool skin. The empath in him was drawn between reaching out and shying away in fright of what might happen.Another breakdown. Another vomiting fit. Mental pain.His emotional pain was too great already to consider this option. He had to make due with physical touches, with looking at the unconscious man, and hoping. Hoping for a full recovery."James?"Cuddy's gentle voice drew him out of his study. He glanced at her and she smiled a little."Give it time. Gillick is a great surgeon. The best. I'll have his report and all of us want to make sure House is okay. Go home, shower, sleep. I'll call when something changes. And give Williams a call."Tom Williams was an oncologist, working in Wilson's department, and he usually took charge of matters when Wilson wasn't there. James nodded tiredly.He wanted to argue, to scream, to fight. He wanted to stay and watch. He wanted to wait as close as they would let him, wanted to be with his lover, but he knew he would lose any of those fights. Almost everyone knew or was aware of the relationship between House and Wilson. At least all department heads and many of the other doctors. Gillick would probably let him stay. So would Manning, who ran ICU. Irene Manning was a hard-nosed woman, but she had a soft spot and that soft spot included Wilson, and with it, to an extent, House."Go home," Cuddy repeated."Call," he only said tiredly."I promise I will."Wilson squeezed the lax hand he had been caressing. He had to force himself to let go, but he did, and he walked out of ICU.It was the hardest thing he had ever done.* * *The apartment seemed barren and empty even in its cluttered state. Wilson walked in on automatic, dropped his bag and his coat on the couch, then proceeded into the kitchen. The fridge was near-empty. He had planned on going shopping tomorrow. There was some alcohol, but the mostly sane part of him decided that getting drunk wasn't top priority.Later.Yeah, later sounded fine.So he got himself a glass of water and walked into the bedroom.Their bedroom.He shivered as he looked at the bed, mechanically pulling off his tie and removing his jacket. The shirt and pants followed until he was naked. Wilson padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the hot spray that started to pound his skin.The tremors increased and he braced himself with his palms flat against the cool surface of the tiles, feeling the tightness in his chest increase. Water ran into his eyes, mixing with the tears starting to leak from his eyes.He didn't want to cry.Crying was… weak. He wasn't weak. He wasn't going to break down over this.But his mind had the bad timing of dredging up memories of what he had felt throughout the shot, when House had gone down, and he groaned. Fingers curled, trying to bury in the hard tiles and he rested his head against the coolness, such a difference to the hot water.House had been shot.So had been Wilson.House had been in surgery.For Wilson, surgery had been a nightmare of hoping and waiting.House was in ICU.Wilson was at home, sobbing painfully under a hot shower.House would probably tease him to no end about it. He laughed weakly, a bubble of desperation rising. He wanted to get teased. He wanted to hear the sarcastic remarks. He wanted the taunts and the warmth of the blue eyes and the touches, and the kisses…Wilson's hands were curled into fists now and he banged them against the wall, all his fear and anger and frustration unloading. It was a rather weak and brief display. It ended with a silent scream, and he viciously turned off the water.Dripping wet, shaking, hands hurting, he stood in the shower cubicle.He couldn't lose House. Not like this. Not after things had started to look up. Not after Greg had gone through so much with the healer in San Diego, getting the pain in his leg treated. Not since the pain there was gone.Wilson dried himself, then curled up on the large bed, still in the nude, still shivering. The empath was reeling with the echoes and they wouldn't stop. Nothing would ever stop. Someone had tried to kill his lover and he had hit them both.With the echoes of the pain, the shock and the agony of the bullet inside his abdomen, Wilson drifted off into an uneasy sleep.* * *House was unconscious for two days. Wilson was with him as often as possible, simultaneously trying to work his department until Williams got into his way."James, take some time off," the older man had told him."I'm fine," had been the automatic answer."You're not. You look like a ghost. I wouldn't trust you to read an MRI scan."Williams had looked sympathetic and Wilson had hated him for it. Just a second. He felt like House that moment, hating the sympathy, the pity, the empathy. Then that feeling had vanished, leaving only his mental exhaustion. He slept badly, he kept reaching for House, always running into the last wall he had established himself. It was a wall built of fear, of apprehension to touch something that had hurt him so badly, and so he lingered there, needy and wanting, but unable to take the last step."James, go sit with him. Just sit," had been Williams' last advice before he had turned to get to work.Wilson had taken his advice.Sometimes one of the team joined him, mostly Cameron. She looked as bad as he did. Chase dropped by repeatedly, always in the evening. Cameron had told him that the Australian was pouring himself into NICU work. It helped him forget for a few hours.Foreman was rarely seen. He just looked in, saw Wilson, and left again. Wilson didn't care. He couldn't care less about Foreman.It was on that third day that House woke. Slowly, eyes sticky, blinking once, twice, then closing again. When he finally opened them for good, Wilson knew he was smiling a rather goofy smile, but he didn't care. He was holding his lover's free hand, squeezing it gently."Hey."House was looking at him, a glimmer, maybe even a spark of recognition in the blue depth, then he closed his eyes once more.A nurse came in, checking his vitals, and shortly after that Gillick appeared, looking pleased."He's sleeping naturally now. So far his injuries are healing perfectly. I'll keep him in here one more night. If nothing happens, if his temperature stays down, we'll move him to a normal room."Wilson nodded, relief making him weak-kneed. When House came around the second time, he was a lot more awake. The spark was stronger and the lips twisted into a smirk."I always say, if you’re going to get shot, do it in a hospital."His voice sounded raspy and the words were a little slurred.Wilson was smiling widely. "Yeah. So you.""Did I lose any organs?""No. All accounted for. Pierced stomach, nicked bowels, and the bullet in your neck went right through the jugular. Looks like your vocal cords are working, though."That had been a fear. Wilson only knew too well what that meant. The scar on his own neck proved it."Second bullet?" House asked. "Don't remember that one.""You're lucky. Surgery went fine. No post-op complications.""Who?""Gillick."House nodded minutely. He looked tired again and his eyes were drooping. Wilson reached out and caressed one heavily stubbled jaw. There were flecks of gray and he smiled fondly."Sleep.""Doing nothing but," House murmured, but he couldn't fight it. He was asleep not much later. Wilson closed his eyes, feeling so very tired. He had read Gillick's report and he knew that while the gun shot wound to House's neck had bled a lot, it wasn't all that bad.There had been injury of the right internal carotid and internal jugular vein. House was neurologically intact and his bleeding had been completely controlled. Gillick had made the decision to treat him conservatively and so far House recovered uneventfully with no neurological deficit and no further bleeding.His stomach was a bit more difficult, but Gillick had said it could have been worse. Much worse.House could have died.The empath grit his teeth at the image and pushed it forcefully away. He didn't need this right now. House had woken, he was coherent, and things were looking up. That counted.* * *Recovery was going well. House was bitching and complaining in no time, especially about the fact that he was stuck in a hospital bed and Foreman was probably running the Diagnostic Department into the ground. Wilson dutifully gave him reports on what was going on, which wasn't all that much. The Scoobies were still rattled by the attack.For the first few days House wasn't allowed any food other than IVs straight into a vein. His pierced stomach wasn't able to handle digestion yet. Unlike the myths floating around outside the hospital walls that IV treatments let you lose weight rapidly, he didn't starve down to skeletal. IV nutrients were plenty and he actually gained two pounds.The shooter had been arrested and Wilson hadn't really followed what had happened to him. Cuddy had, though. A detective had been in to ask House a few question, leaving a scowl on his face not much later."You really had to annoy him," Cuddy commented when she entered not much later."He was asking stupid questions," House growled. "I don't know who the guy is, why he shot me, and what happened after that first bullet. Still he keeps asking questions. Idiot."Cuddy sighed. "Well, at least you're feeling better. Gillick is all for releasing you home.""Good! I'm fed up with this bed and this room and the whole nursing stuff!""Doctors make the worst patients.""Last time I was here I woke with a few less parts," House snarled. "Sorry for not being more enthusiastic.""You still have all your parts," Cuddy replied wryly."Why, Cuddy, you sneaked a peek!"She grimaced. "It's not like I haven't seen male body parts before, House. Yours aren't special."He grinned. "Ask Wilson. He thinks they're a treat."Cuddy sighed the sigh of the martyr dean of medicine."Go and get my papers signed by whoever needs to scribble something underneath the release form," House told her. "I'm packing.""You're impossible," Cuddy only said, then her face changed into a much softer expression. "And I'm glad you're okay, House."With that she left. House smiled with a little amusement, then wondered how to manage packing, dressing and everything else associated with leaving this hell hole.Damn.Where was Wilson when you needed him?And thinking of him, why was his very empathically linked to him partner and best friend not walking in right after Cuddy had left? He must have felt House's emotions, which were all over the place.Curious.* * *House clenched his teeth, cursing softly all the way from the car to the apartment door, up the two stairs, into his living room, and over to the bedroom where Wilson was steering him with gentle insistence. The shot wound in his side hurt like a bitch and he barely had the strength to keep upright, using the cane to limp along, and coordinate where he was going.Sinking onto the bed he closed his eyes as the pain spiked.House knew pain. Really, really well. He knew it intimately and he had lived through worse, but the last few weeks had been incredibly pain-free, thanks to the healer. His leg was giving him no trouble, but the new injuries did."Lay down," Wilson ordered, voice firm but gentle.Patient voice. Relative voice. His doctor voice. House smirked, but the smirk was wiped away by the new wave of needles and fire emanating from the wound. He breathed a sigh of utter relief when he was prone on his back.Wilson was looking at him, visibly fighting with himself. House reached out and grasped one hand, squeezing it."Come," he murmured, wanting his lover with him, pain be damned."I'll get your medication. You need to take something for the pain."House sighed, but he dutifully swallowed the pills Wilson brought him, then grabbed the hand again, tugging insistently. There was enough room and Wilson could join him on his good side."I might jostle you," James argued."I don't care.""You do when it hurts.""I didn't care when it was still the leg."Wilson was fighting with himself now. It was all in his eyes."Bed's big enough," House told him."I better take the couch.""Jimmy, please…" He let enough plea seep into the word to make Wilson wobble in his decision. "Please," he added with a little more power."Greg, I…""What are you afraid of?"Wilson drew away, but House held on tight to the trapped wrist."You've been shot, House!" his lover argued. "You're in pain! If I jostle you, the pain will multiply! You don't need that right now!""I need you," he played one of his best cards.Wilson's defenses were crumbling. House wasn't a malicious man when it came to his lover. He knew what buttons to press, but so did Wilson. They knew each other too well to play the other for too long. Right now he wanted the younger man with him, in his bed, at his side. There would be no cuddling, but he wanted the simple presence. A week of lying in a boring hospital room, with only his overactive brain and his faulty body had driven House up the walls. He was like a hamster with a broken wheel. No more exercise."Greg…"He tugged again and Wilson came forward. Another tug and his lover surrendered."I need both hands to undress," James said softly.House leered. "Make it a slow strip.""You're too doped up for sex.""Not to mention in pain. But I can still enjoy."Wilson indulged him to a degree, peeling out of his clothes until he was only in an undershirt and boxers. He oh-so-carefully joined House on the bed and drew the blanket over them. Laying on his side, he watched House, the deep brown eyes full of untold emotions. Wilson brushed a kiss over his lips and House smiled. His neck hurt, but the injury was less extensive than the stab wound Wilson had suffered.House let himself drift off into sleep, his still too weak body demanding rest. Compared to the hospital, his home was heaven, mostly because of the company. And it was easier to let himself relax here than in an environment he knew too well.* * *Things were complicated in the beginning. Getting up was more difficult than with a bum leg. House cursed every morning when the abdominal wound reminded him that things were not as a good as they seemed. He could barely turn his neck to the right and he was limited when it came to the left. The wound either pulled or pulsed.Wilson weathered the storm of indignant curses, or yelling, of ranting and even threats against the shooter, Cuddy and whoever else House thought of. He silently waited for House to wind down, then helped him as much as House accepted help with anything.He couldn't shower, so it was washing himself in front of the sink, and that was limited because of his restricted movement. House accepted Wilson's help on the third day at home. As much as standing naked and getting wiped down by his lover looked erotic, it was far from it. Wilson was professional.Throughout the days at home, where Wilson was mostly with him and rarely went to work for more than half a day, House began to notice that while he himself had reason to look bad, Wilson shouldn't. His lover was almost a mirror image of a man with gun shot wounds, but he hadn't been shot. And even a worried Wilson never neglected himself.So far House had noticed Wilson's tendency to eat little, sleep even less than House, and work himself into the ground in the few hours he was at the hospital.It was all symptomatic, but of what, House had no idea – yet.So he kept watching, and cursing the pain.* * *"Hey, matching scars."House looked at the rather red and ugly scar that was visible against his neck in the mirror. The bandage had come off and now it was only taped. House had been given an antibiotic cream to treat the wound with and he applied it liberally before covering up the injury.Two weeks had passed and things were looking up. The pain was receding and everyone was happy with the speed he was recovering.Glancing at the man leaning against the door jamb of the bathroom, he saw the shadows dancing in Wilson's eyes. His lover had become quiet in those two weeks. Very, very quiet. He was his usual caring self, tender and gentle and helpful. Just Wilson. But something was underneath that shell, underneath all the care and worry, and it lurked and prowled and wanted out.House turned and limped toward the other man, gazing into those dark brown eyes, reading more than ever. This need… it was only matched by the need he had seen in James' eyes the first time they had kissed after his separation from Julie. The first time they had truly let themselves feel, when House had been unable to let go of Wilson. When he had been shown that life was fragile and Wilson could be taken from him by some crazed out man with a glass shard.He trapped Wilson against the door jamb, touching the healed but still visible scar of that attack. Wilson shuddered, but he didn't move."Yours is prettier," House whispered.Because of his injuries there had been no physical activity in bed or anywhere else. Even a blow job would require functional and pain-free stomach muscles, which he didn't have. He was only now getting around to that. The occasional twinge was bearable.House leaned in, capturing his lover's lips before he could reply. Wilson's scar was a stab/cut wound. It was cleaner, thinner, with the one or two irregularities. And it had started to fade from red to white. House's was ugly. Shot wounds tended to have frayed edges and he knew it would be much broader when it was finally healed.Wilson made a soft sound, one hand clenching into House's shirt, the other resting on his left hip."Starved," House rumbled as they separated.He looked into the deep browns, needing and loving the emotions he could see there."Very, very starved. I really need to find you a hooker for the occasions I'm not around."Wilson swallowed, looking away briefly. "I'm fine.""Sure. You're always fine. Getting overwhelmed by emotional outbursts from people who dislike you and you're still fine."His lover was paling a little, one cheek muscle jumping. House's mind suddenly put the last puzzle pieces together, came to the right conclusions."Getting backlash from someone close to you as he's shot… and you're just fine," he added.Wilson closed his eyes and the hand clutching the shirt clenched."That's it, isn't it?" House went on relentlessly. "You got empathically whiplashed. Somehow all that happened, it happened to you, too? What did you do? Touch me?""I was training," Wilson whispered, voice painful. "I didn't know…" He broke off and bumped his head against the door jamb.House looked at the delicious piece of neck that just begged to be kissed, and he couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and planted kisses along the smooth column, down to the neckline of the t-shirt Wilson wore, where he nipped gently. His lover's hands clenched again and he hiccupped slightly."You felt everything," House went on.Wilson didn't look at him and his pulse was speeding up. House felt it under his touch as he again caressed the scar."You felt everything," he repeated. "You were wide open. The pain and the agony and the confusion…""Stop!" Wilson cried out, pushing at House's chest to get room.House remained where he was, trapping his lover, looking into the frantic eyes."You touched pain, Jimmy. My pain. Sudden, acute, fresh pain. Not the old one. You know the old one. You could have handled it.""House…""But you couldn't deal with this. You're too much anchored to me, too empathic…"He knew he was cruel. He saw it in his lover's eyes, saw the emotional pain, saw the memories."Greg, stop! Stop it!""You haven't stopped it, Jimmy. You're not letting go.""W-what?""When was the last time you touched me?""I…? What? What are you talking about?"Things were crystal clear now and House smiled more, knowing the answer to the puzzle that was James Wilson."You touched pain and like everyone who has, you shy away from it. You've been burned. You are wary. You hide.""I'm not…!"He leaned in again. "You do. You look as bad as you did after I went to San Diego. I was gone and the empath was lonely. I was shot and the empath was burned, retreating into his hole and crying himself to sleep. Touch me, Jimmy.""I'm not hiding," Wilson protested."Touch me.""I… Greg, it's not easy…""Do it. Open up and touch me. There's no pain, Jimmy. None at all. It's safe. Lower that barrier and touch me."Wilson looked ready to bolt. Like an animal trapped in a corner, he was torn between fight and flight. He was scared and House could see it, but if he gave up now and soothed away the hurt, it would serve nothing.Wilson screwed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip, and his body was as taut as a wire, ready to snap. House leaned forward, stubble scraping over clean-shaven skin."Open up for me," he whispered into one ear.His hands started to caress the frightened man. He drew circles over the chest, caressed his arms, kissed him, repeating his request. There was a tiny whimper and Wilson seemed to sag a little.House caught him in an embrace, pressing their lips together, demanding entry into that mouth. He was granted permission and he proceeded to give his lover a first class tonsillectomy. Wilson was clinging to him, still unconsciously keeping away from the abdominal wound, and while House's neck muscles protested, he ignored them.The feverish kiss turned gentler, loving, House's body almost flush against Wilson. He felt every little tremor, knew that his lover still held on to that last wall, but he was fighting.House smiled as he blindly reached for a small cabinet and his fingers found what he wanted.Pushing Wilson away from the door, he maneuvered him deftly over to the couch. The bedroom was too far and he wanted this right now. He needed this right now. Glassy brown eyes regarded him, filled with need and so much more, and House ignored a few more twinges of healed flesh as he got Wilson where he wanted him. On the couch, no longer fighting, so close and still not ready to take the last step.His leg was good. It was actually fine. No overexertion, but he had to be careful of the shot wound. It had been a little over three weeks and while his intestines had finally assumed their original positions after being pushed around throughout surgery, thankyouverymuch, House knew better than not to listen to the pain.Right now, no pain. Just twinges. He could live with twinges.Wilson was prone on the couch and he smiled down at his lover as he undid the fly of the pants and pushed inside to find what he was looking for.Starved, yes. Very starved. Wilson was pushing up toward his questing hand with a sigh of appreciation.House took the hardening length and stroked it firmly. There was no time for finesse, other than seducing his lover with what little mobility he had. He would have loved to give him a thorough blowjob, but that would have resulted in some embarrassing moments afterwards, with House cussing whoever had shot him and Wilson guiltily dragging him back to bed.He would leave the blowjob for later.So it was his hand now, squeezing and stroking and fondling, fingers playing with the growing arousal and knowing some mean tricks. He stopped for a moment, enjoying the confusion and need in his lover's eyes, as well as the realization as he opened a small tube and squeezed some lube into his hand. So much better for this.Wilson was watching him with rising passion, and when House undid the shirt buttons, leaving him bare-chested and looking oh so deliciously debauched, his lover surrendered to the inevitable. House risked leaning down and his side didn't protest too much, giving the perked nipples their deserved attention. He bit each before going back to the other. It was a light bite, just enough to stimulate, and Wilson reacted beautifully. Like expected.So needy.House felt his own rising arousal, but it was weaker, battling through too much medication and physical weakness to be a runner-up for Wilson's hard-on.Their lips crushed together and House gave Wilson's hardness a rough tug, making his lover moan with pleasure."Open up for me, Jimmy," he whispered against the thoroughly kissed lips. "Touch me."Wilson screwed his eyes shut in ecstasy as House sped up his motions. The other hand was finding the nipples quite interesting and when he flicked one with a thumb, Wilson cried out softly, jerking. It took another moment for the oncologist to finally lose it, coming hard and with House's name on his lips.House couldn't feel the connection. He wasn't an empath. But by the expression in Wilson's face, James had finally broken down the wall. He was breathing hard, shaking all over, and it wasn't just the orgasm. It hadn't been such a spectacular session. House had been aiming for only one thing, and he had gotten it – through sex.He looked into the still rather dilated brown eyes, smiling wryly."You're so easy, Jimmy."Wilson laughed breathlessly. "Bastard.""Love you, too."House gazed at the other man, shirt undone, leaving his chest completely bare, pants open, showing everything, and the face flushed.Yeah, debauched. And so fuckable. If not for the fact that House couldn't do anything about it, this would be perfect. And he refused to fuck his lover with a dildo.Nudging Wilson a little, he got him to scoot up so House could sit down. House leaned over and capture the familiar lips in a much more tender kiss, stroking over the bare chest, hands coming to rest over the deflated erection. Cupping it, he pushed the length back into the pants, humming when Wilson deepened the kiss."Think of it as an emergency meal for the sexually starved," House murmured huskily. "You'll get the main course soon."Wilson chuckled, leaning against him with a tired but pleased sigh."Still hurt?" House wanted to know."No.""Told you so."That got him a weak glare. "I know. And I knew. It was just…""The memory."Wilson nodded. He looked embarrassed and House was torn between teasing him and letting it slide. He let it slide in the end. His lover had gone through the same hell he had; unwillingly.He rose with some difficulty, feeling his torn muscles protest. With a little grimace he straightened. Wilson's worry was immediately back and House gave him a warning look."Come on," he said instead, limping toward the bedroom.Wilson followed and he didn't protest much when House told him to get into bed. House followed. It was much easier to cuddle like this, Wilson against his good side, and he knew from past experience that his lover needed this. Wilson was a touchy-feely guy. He had always teased him about it, but now he understood. It had been the empath in him, back then just breaking through. Now he was fully there and he needed this reassurance.House had been, much to his own surprise, very willing to give it.His side twinged more and he shifted a little, Wilson smoothly adjusting his position. His eyes were closed, one hand was resting on House's chest as he lay on his side, and House played with the longish strands of chestnut hair. Smiling to himself, he enjoyed the warmth of his lover.* * *It took him six more weeks to be allowed to return to work. Six weeks at home, three of them able to finally take advantage of the fact and have his wicked way with one James Wilson. Not that Wilson objected much. It was a token protest, actually. The empath was in need of the reassurance, of the physical contact, and House willingly gave it. Wilson did go back to full time work at the hospital the day after he had torn down that last wall, and he was visibly improving.Cameron came by once, bringing him some hospital stuff and spending an awkward hour with House. Foreman was a no-show. Chase called. Wilson looked mystified after the phone call and House just shot him a 'tell me' look."I'm not sure."That was all Wilson would say, and House left it at that, too. For now. Coming back into the hospital, his department, the place where some crazy guy had shot him, had House feeling strangely apprehensive. He hadn't told Wilson about the dreams he had had in the beginning, of the fragments of nightmarish moments when some faceless creature had pointed a gun at him, pulling the trigger once, twice, three, four times. All bullets had torn through his body and he hadn't been able to move. He hadn't gone down. He had stood there, bleeding, and then he had seen his lover. Wilson had shown the same wounds, barely hanging on to life, pleading with him to help him.House had a suspicion that Wilson knew. After the connection had reopened, the younger man was again very much aware of him in ways House wouldn't have thought possible before.He gazed at the pristine, blank whiteboard. The floor was scrubbed clean, no sign of blood. There was the smell of coffee and a bowl of animal crackers was on the table. He smirked."Welcome back," Cameron said, rising from where she had sat at the table."Got no case to work on?" House asked gruffly, brushing off her concern and wide-eyed look."Dry spell," Chase remarked, his crossword puzzle before him."Huh, figure that. All those healthy people. Gotta hate them."Foreman gave him a once-over. "We didn't expect you before Monday.""What can I say? I was bored. At home, only my TV for entertainment, not to mention that hot body in bed…"Foreman looked like he wanted to say something, then just kept his mouth shut."All right, if there's nothing to do, I'll be at lunch. Page me if you can dig up an interesting case."He pushed open the glass door, strangely relieved to be out of the room. He shook his head at his own stupidity. As he limped into the cafeteria, many eyes on him as he got himself a coffee and something sweet, House was joined by Wilson. His lover looked his smooth, professional self. Hair combed to perfection, clean-shaven, tie in place – a dark green one that fit nicely to the dark suit he wore and that House found very, very attractive on the slender frame."First days suck," House grumbled."That bad?""That boring.""You could do some clinic hours."House gave him a scandalous look and Wilson smiled. House stole the last piece of donut from his lover, smirking. Moments like these let him relax and enough time back at the hospital would help with the apprehension. That and cases that occupied his overactive mind. He needed to stretch his brain muscles, get them going again, and any case would do. Even ones solved within an hour.So maybe the clinic was an idea, he mused.Figure that. Voluntarily clinic time. Cuddy would have a coronary. Pop a blood vessel. Well, pop a blouse button, too.House grinned. Yep, clinic hours it would be.As he rose, Wilson shot him a quizzical look."Clinic," House answered the silent question."Clinic? For real?""No, I'm hallucinating and the clinic is a figment of my imagination," House replied sarcastically. "Of course the clinic. I like to suck up."Wilson chuckled, raised his cup in a toast, and House limped off, feeling strangely happy.
|
151968
|
ThorLoki
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Loki (Marvel), Thor - Character",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by flatbear (duffnstuff)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "2011-01-14",
"published": "2011-01-13T00:00:00",
"words": "0",
"Additional Tags": "Fanart, Slash",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Marvel, Marvel 616, Thor (Comics)",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
| |
137242
|
No Chemistry At All
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris",
"Fandom": "Buffy the Vampire Slayer",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by a2zmom",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-05-21T00:00:00",
"words": "100",
"Additional Tags": "Drabble, Community: open_on_sunday, Humor",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Will, that chem test was totally unfair. I didn't have enough time to study.""It was the final. We've known about it for a month.""It's the sacred duty of every student to put off studying for tests until the night before. But I wound up helping Buffy with vamp patrol last night. So, completely not my fault that electrons and neutrons looked the same.""They do look sort of the same. Both part of the atom.""So the test also had trick questions?""Your logic and your brain are not connected.""Probably a good thing in the long run."
|
123107
|
Love the Ones You Hurt
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Madara, Hoshigaki Kisame, Uzumaki Naruto",
"Fandom": "Naruto",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by ivoryandhorn",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-10-02T00:00:00",
"words": "1,499",
"Additional Tags": "1000-3000 words, AU: evil goateed universe, Challenge: AU Bingo",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
The scene wavered around him, reality unraveling thread by thread. First color faded, then depth, then shape. And only then—with a sound like a taut wire snapping—did Tsukiyomi finally break.Sasuke fell to his knees as soon as the genjutsu was gone, clutching at his eye socket; the pain was horrifying, what was left of his vision swimming from the sheer brutality of the assault on his nerves. How—when—"You've grown tremendously, Sasuke," came Itachi's dispassionate voice from above, "but you are still too weak."Madara wiped his hands clean of blood before lifting the genjutsu. The shift to consciousness was subtle—the soft sound of moving air, the barely perceptible rise of his chest as he took in that first deep breath. Itachi swung his legs off the operating carefully, already reaching up one hand to probe at the bandages around his eyes."Well, Itachi?" Madara said, handing him his shirt. "How do you feel?"Itachi turned his shirt around by feel before pulling it on, motions careful but not tentative. "Difficult to say. Better, I think. Even accounting for fatigue from the battle.""That's the advantage of being immortal," Madara said, handing Itachi his cloak. This Itachi also pulled on by feel, conscientiously buttoning it up to its usual height halfway up his torso. "You'll need to rest for a few days in order to recover from the surgery.""Mm," Itachi replied noncommitally, already stepping away from the table."Well then, off you go." Madara pressed a hand between Itachi's shoulder blades, feeling the way he stiffened automatically at the unexpected touch, and guided him out the doorway. "I'll check in on you tomorrow to see how you're adapting to Sasuke's eyes."The door slammed shut behind him. Itachi paused for a moment, hand on the wall, pulling up a mental map of the Akatsuki's Amegakure base."Done?" Kisame asked, striding up behind him."Yes," Itachi said. "Though it seems I'll require a few days' rest.""Ah. Stands to reason." He heard the scuff of Kisame walking up to him. "Want some help getting back to your room?"Itachi paused for a moment. "That would be appreciated.""Alright. 'Scuse me, here." Kisame slid his fingers around Itachi's arm and tugged gently. They set off down the hallway, side by side. After a while, he asked, "Was it really necessary to let him live? Your brother, I mean.""There was no point to killing him," Itachi replied. "Without his eyes, he's useless. He's no threat to me.""Huh," Kisame said after a moment. "Well, I always said you were a cold one.""Itachi was sending information about the clan to the village," Madara said impassively. "I believe the common term is 'double agent.'" Sasuke had curled on his side some time earlier, hands knotted in the blanket draped over his body. Madara paused for a moment to let his words sink in, with only the sound of Sasuke's ragged breathing to disturb the silence. He lowered his voice and continued softly, "You can't even begin to imagine the burden he had to carry—""Stop feeding him lies, Madara," Itachi broke in. Sasuke shifted his head slightly at the sound of his voice, but otherwise made no move."Whoops, looks like I got caught," Madara said cheerfully, chair scraping over the rough ground as he stood. "Ahh, well, it made a good story at least, didn't it, Sasuke?"Footsteps receded from the bed. "I'll just leave you two brothers to some quality bonding time, shall I?" Madara said, before the door slammed shut on his voice.For a long moment, neither of the two left behind moved. Then Itachi dragged the room's lone chair chair closer to the bed and said, "Sasuke. If you sit up, I'll change your bandages."Sasuke curled up tighter, mouth set in a flat, stubborn line."If you have questions, I'll answer them now as well," Itachi said. "But even if you don't wish to speak to me, your bandages need changing."After a long moment, Sasuke sat up, hugging his knees to his bare chest. Something was set down on the bed beside him, and then he felt the tug of the bandages around his eyes being unwound. Itachi didn't say anything, seeming content to keep quiet if Sasuke would.As the last of the bandages left his face, Sasuke screwed up the last of his will to speak. "Why," he began, but the croak that came out of his mouth hardly sounded like speech at all."Wait." There was the rustle of cloth as Itachi turned away, then the chink of glass against glass. Something cool and tall and round was pressed into Sasuke's hands, Itachi cupping his own hands around them in order to guide the glass to Sasuke's mouth. "Drink."The worst had already happened. It barely occurred to Sasuke to be suspicious as he drank deeply of the cool water, rolling the faint metallic taste around his mouth. No sight, he thought in despair. All he had left was everything else.When the glass had been emptied, Itachi pulled it away and set it aside. "What was it you wished to ask, Sasuke?"Sasuke opened his mouth, but somewhere along the way the question he'd wanted to ask became, "Was everything Madara said about…the Kyuubi attack, and the coup…true?""Without knowing what exactly it was that he said, I can't say," Itachi said, hands moving briskly as he wove the bandages under Sasuke's hair and around his eyes. "But yes. The second Kyuubi attack did foster a great deal of mistrust of the clan, and the clan did eventually decide to plan a coup.""Then…" Sasuke swallowed. "Were you really a double agent?""No," Itachi said. From the sound of his voice, they might as well as have been discussing the weather. "My position in the ANBU made my loyalties suspect from the start. I was never approached for any such thing.""Then…did you spy on the clan for the village?""No." Itachi paused, slipping fingertips between the bandages and Sasuke's forehead to test their tightness. "My position as clan heir also made my loyalties suspect from the start—though from the opposite direction."Sasuke paused for a moment, searching Itachi's cool voice for any trace of the brother he had once known, and hating himself for it. "Then…that night…""I had no reason to lie to you," Itachi said simply, tying off the ends of the bandages. "That night…I spoke what I thought to be the truth.""What? Then why didn't you just kill me when I failed?" Sasuke said bitterly, words ashen in his mouth. "All that crap about testing your capacity—"For a long moment, there was no reply. Sasuke was beginning to be afraid that Itachi had just left, that he was huddled on this bed waiting for an answer that would never come. But he was wrong, but eventually Itachi moved in his seat and said, "For the same reason I didn't kill you the night of the massacre.""What does that even mean?" Sasuke demanded angrily. "That's not an answer, that's—""We'll always be brothers," Itachi said. "Even when you hate me. Even when I take away your light. Always…you will be my brother.""What? What kind of answer is that?" Sasuke turned blindly. "That doesn't answer anything!""You should rest, Sasuke," Itachi said abruptly, voice rising upwards and away. "I'll come change your bandages again tomorrow.""Itachi—Itachi—!"The only reply was the sound of the door swinging shut. Sasuke sat in his bed feeling angry and stupid and helpless; why had he expected anything different? He lay back down, pulling the blankets over his head, and thought of the day three years ago when he walked away, when Naruto had tried to pull him back, and he thought: I should have listened. I should have stayed.Naruto froze as a familiar figure stepped out from behind a tree just ahead. Sasuke was lying in his arms—it had to be him, had to be; Naruto would have recognized that duckbutt hair anywhere."You bastard!" he shouted, hands balling into fists at his side. "What did you do to him!?"Unfazed, Itachi simply knelt and placed Sasuke on the ground, before rising and taking out the kage bunshin leaping at him from behind in one smooth movement. "He's merely sleeping," Itachi said. "The drug will wear off in a few hours."Every instinct in Naruto's body shouted for him to run over to Sasuke's still body, but he forced himself to stay still. If it's one, run and flee… he thought. No eye contact. Watch the body and the feet for clues…But instead of fighting, or even dissolving into the by-now familiar crows, Itachi simply turned to go as if Naruto was of no consequence whatsoever. "Take care of him," he said. "You are better qualified to be his brother than I."
|
167066
|
Observer
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "The Sentinel",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by persephone_il (the_ragnarok), the_ragnarok",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2002-03-02T00:00:00",
"words": "2,250",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "852 Prospect Archive",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Hey," Jim called as he walked inside the loft.No answer. Funny. He knew Sandburg was here - heard his heartbeat and breath all the way down from the street.He walked into the living room, and yes, there was Sandurg on the couch, present and awake, staring at the blank TV screen. "Chief?" he said, hesitantly.Sandburg turned to look at him, and the look in the kid's eyes was frighteningly calm and empty. Jim cursed himself for talking to him about self control - he wasn't supposed to be hiding himself from Jim, damn it."Yes, Jim?" No trace of emotion in his voice. Fuck."Are you alright?" A bit tentative, but then Jim really had no idea what kind of dangerous ground he might be treading in."Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"Jim raked his mind for a reason. "I don't know. The academy--" Jim's heart sank as he realized what he was saying. "Shit. The academy. You graduated today, didn't you?"Blair nodded once, raising level eyes to look into Jim's again.Jim sat on the couch with a sigh. "Shit. I can't believe I forgot -- I mean, I know you didn't want a celebration or anything, but still -- shit." He looked at Blair ruefully. "I'm an asshole, huh?"To his surprise, Blair just shrugged. It could have been a stoic routine - the goddamned stoic routine he spent months teaching Sandburg to show, damn him - but Jim suspected things ran deeper than that. Either that, or Blair was even a better actor than Jim thought.Blair seemed to notice the line of Jim's thoughts, and attempted a weak grin. "It's not that - not really." Blair took a deep breath and let it out again, and Jim wasn't so out of touch with the kid that he couldn't recognize his calming routine.At last, Blair spoke again. "It's stupid, you know? It's just--" He shrugged helplessly, and the gesture made Jim's fists clench. It seemed wrong that Blair should be out of words, when words were his strongest weapon. It made him seem too vulnerable. "The thing is, I always get that way in times like this. You know - when it's more than just a formality, when it actually has meaning. And this graduation thing - it's got 'rite of passage' written all over it.""Get what way, Chief?" Jim asked, as gently as he could."Like--" Blair moved his hands in a frustrated gesture that could have meant anything. "Like an outsider, you know? All the other cadets had their families there, and they were all kissing and hugging and thumping each other's backs--""Fuck." Jim leaned his head against the couch pillows. "I knew I should have come.""No." Blair was looking at him soberly. "I'm glad you didn't. Don't take it the wrong way, but it would've only made it worse."Jim opened his eyes and watched him wearily. "Worse how?"Blair started fidgeting with the seam of his pants. "I don't know. Worse."Jim didn't let go. "Why?"This time, when Blair looked up to him, his eyes were darting. Seeking an escape. He forced out a nervous laugh. "You don't get it, Jim, and I can't explain this.""Try."The laugh came again, brittle slightly too high. "Try? Alright. I'll try." He fixed Jim with a look, a wavering smile on his lips. "I'm an observer, right? So I observe. And even if you were there, and some part of me would have felt the companionship and belonging and all that bullshit," Blair continued, his tone rising at the last word, "there would still had been a part that would've only seen a bunch of primates getting drunk on their own testosterone, and being one of them would've only been worse."I don't like that part of me much, but it's there, and if you'd've come along tonight that part would've been screaming to the sky it's wrong. Trust me, man, you don't wanna know that part."Jim was growing more and more concerned as Sandburg talked on. The kid's hands were shaking badly as he finished the last sentence, and without thought, Jim put his own hand on them, trying to steady and comfort. Blair pulled his hands as if they were bitten, but Jim grabbed his wrist with no intention of letting go."Look, Sandburg, I've seen pretty much the worse parts of you up to date. This observer personality can't be as bad as you make it out."But the flashing, insane smile would not go away. "You know, that part hates it when you touch me."Jim held on. "Why?"The smile disappeared. Instead, Blair's normally handsome face contorted into an ugly expression. "Because you're a fucking prick tease, that's why."Appearantly getting some twisted satisfaction out of Jim's shock, Blair went on. "Did you even realize you were doing it? You can smell my arousal, I know you can. At the beggining, I thought it was just male bonding shit. But you don't touch anybody else like that, do you? Then, I thought you were coming on to me - imagine my surprise when you turned out to be straight."Blair laughed again, a short, bark-like sound. "My most recent theory is that this is some kind of Sentinel thing - get your Guide so turned on by you he can't leave. And, you know, I was okay with that. You've got enough abandonment issues to fill out a goddamned book - I should know, I practically wrote it. No fucking wonder you were using all means possible to get me to stay." He laughed again, but the sound was strangely close to a sob. "I'll stay, man. But now, now this part is screaming at me that you're a jerk and I'm an even bigger jerk for sticking around with you so please, just let me go before I do something we both regret."Blair fell back into the couch and Jim, stunned, let his wrists slip. When Blair looked up to him again, his eyes were tired and sad. "Look, Jim, can we just go to sleep and forget this whole conversation ever happened? I'm feeling like shit and you're probably feeling even worse, so let's end this thing before it becomes any weirder." He rose, and started towards his room."No." Jim wasn't sure which of them was more surprised at the sound of his voice. Blair turned back to look at him, wary. "Jim...""Come here." Jim's throat felt strangely tight. Maybe he caught that flu that was going around lately.Reluctantly, Blair stepped back to the couch. He sat down wearily. "Yeah?"He took Blair's wrist in his hands again, this time for comfort rather than restraint. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't come. I wanted to. So did the guys in Major Crimes, except that I told them you didn't want them to.""I didn't.""What, because of this obsever personality shit? Don't be an idiot. I've seen you drink with the guys, Chief, and if that isn't a bonding ritual I don't know what the fuck is. You were fine."Blair shook his head. "It's not the same. You don't understand."Jim's hand tightened. "Don't understand what, Sandburg? What it's like to be an outsider? A freak? Like hell I don't."Blair retreated immediately. "I didn't mean that."Jim looked up into Blair's eyes. Very slowly, very deliberately, he said, "And if you think I don't know what it's like living with a prick tease, you're wrong again."Blair opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes were huge."You smell like pheromones every waking moment. You think I started the horndog jokes because of your dating record?"Blair seemed to recover his voice. "Yeah."Jim's mouth felt suspiciously like smiling. Jim stomped on that urge. "Well, that too. How the hell was I supposed to know you were interested in me when a fucking tree can get you hot?"Blair flushed. "I, uh, have some fond memories of what happened near that tree."Jim made a face. "Too much information here, Junior." He rubbed Blair's wrist. "Look, all I'm saying is, if you wanted to--" he shrugged awkwardly, "you know, all you ever had to do was ask."Blair's eyes turned very, very dark. He licked his lips. "Well," he said, voice raspy, "I'm asking."Suddenly, there wasn't any distance at all between them, and Jim's mouth was on Blair's, and Blair felt hot and aroused and alive beneath him as Jim pinned him down on the couch. Blair's body was hard and soft and real under him, and his hair smelled like rosemary and chamomile.He slid his hands under Blair's shirt, wondering if this was the beggining of a flannel fetish. It felt soft and warm and smelled good, a lot like Blair's skin, a lot like Blair himself.After an eternity of bliss, he remembered he needed to breathe. He let go of Blair's mouth."Oh man," Blair gasped. "Oh man."With a voice that Jim wasn't sure at all was his own, he said, "My bed's bigger, Chief. How about it?"Blair laughed a bit, breathless. "Your bed? Yeah. That's good."He never did remember how they managed the stairs without falling, only being completely tangled in Blair's arms and hair and presence.Eventually, they made it to Jim's bed, and Blair jumped on it, bouncing slightly. Jim came after him, and Blair's chest heaved with repressed laughter under him.After a while, there wasn't any laughter or words, just soft exclamations, the noises of pleasure Blair made under him as Jim tried his best to show Blair.To show Blair that, yes, he wasn't like other people. That he was beautiful and smart and shining through the dull gray of the world like a fucking beacon, for caring about people who, for the most part, didn't give a shit and weren't given a shit.But Jim did, Jim cared, but he'd still let Blair sit all alone between kids who were surrounded by family and friends. He'd let Blair retreat into a dark, cold place where he was hardly human anymore - Jim knew that place, had practically lived there before Blair came along and dragged him out by what little hair he had."I know you," he rasped into Blair's ear, licking it gently."You do, oh man, you do," Blair sobbed beneath him."You're not an observer. You're the kid who looked from the side because the other kids threw him out."Under him, Blair's body went still. Jim slipped a hand into those wonderful curls, touching the warm skin that coated such a briliant mind. "And you know what, Chief? They were damned idiots, those kids."Blair laughed quietly, not quite pleasantly. "So everyone keeps telling me."And Jim gave up on words, because Blair had all of them, all the words in the world, and if he couldn't convince himself, what chance did Jim have?Instead, he let his hands skim reverently over soft, hair covered skin, memorising the smallest details. Taking Blair's clothes off, to show that wonderful warmth that seemed to glow in the darkness of Jim's bedroom. Maybe, if he were lucky, some of that warmth would stay here forever, warming him in the long, cold nights.After a while, the quiet tones of ecstacy settled in Blair's voice, and the both of them were naked now, the glide of skin against skin threatening to drive Jim mad. He kissed Blair's hands, such strong hands, and pushed them firmly down to the mattress. Blair could touch him later, if he wanted; now, it was Jim's turn.He put his mouth on Blair's chest, licking his nipples, taking in the heated taste of flesh, the crinckled texture of the skin as it hardened under his tongue. He went on, down Blair's body, until he reached the place where Blair wanted him the most.Blair's cock was hard in his mouth, and the amazing fragility of Blair's situation caught Jim in the gut, unprepared. Blair had always had Jim's life in his hands, under his reign, from the moment they first met. How could he bear such responsibility and not crack?But Jim didn't crack, and he knew with absolute surety that he never will, not as long as Blair needed him for strength and comfort. It wasn't difficult at all, now - he remained still as Blair went in and out of his mouth, forcefully, driven out of control. That was good; maybe a little of the horrible, terrible bitterness hidden in Blair would burn away from the pleasure Jim could give him.Some time later, Blair arched and came in Jim's waiting mouth, crying out as he did. After that, he flopped down on the bed, a soft smile of satiation on his face.Jim crawled to Blair's face, to kiss that beautiful mouth once again, and let his cock bump into Blair's thigh, soft warm skin over solid bone. He filled himself with scent and taste, with the impossibly beautiful warmth of touch, and climax washed over him languidly, with a tiny whimper.Blair's hand, stroking his head, led Jim back to his body afterwards. "You didn't have to do that, you know," Blair whispered into his ear. "I would've reciprocated if you'd've given me a second to recover." But there wasn't any more bitterness in Blair's voice, just tired amusement, so Jim just told him, "Maybe next time," and slid into a comfortable sleep.
|
197086
|
Another Lonely Christmas
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Alex Krycek, Fox Mulder",
"Fandom": "The X-Files",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Tarlan",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "1998-09-09T00:00:00",
"words": "4,291",
"Additional Tags": "Angst",
"Relationship": "Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Seasonal",
"Collections": "The Basement, TER/MA, Nick Lea Fiction and Art, All Things Rat",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Cover art by Tarlan
Krycek sniffed and rubbed his hand against the side of his leg to try and warm his cold fingers. It was so much easier when he had two hands to rub together but then, he mused sardonically, he'd have ten cold fingers instead of five.
A man pushed passed, mumbling an apology as he tried to negotiate his way through the crowd while laden down with brightly colored shopping bags. Krycek watched him go with envy. No doubt the bags were full of gifts for friends and loved ones. He looked down at himself. He was carrying only two things; a wallet containing fake ID and about 50 bucks, and a gun. He couldn't remember the last time he had shopped for Christmas presents but it must have been at least five years ago, maybe six. His father had been alive then, not that he gave a damn about his son but the old man had been partial to a good imported Russian vodka at this time of year. It reminded him of the old country. Krycek snorted. From his perspective there was very little to choose between the two.
He stopped to stare at the passers-by, watching their faces. Young couples were laughing and holding on tight for added warmth. Others looked tense, trying to find those last few presents while fighting their way through the surging tide of humanity but they all had one thing in common. They were laden down with tinsel and gaudy wrapping paper, bags from this store and that. They all had someone to buy for, someone to be with. All of a sudden he felt terribly alone within the crowd.
So what was new.
Another lonely Christmas.
Krycek moved on but paused outside one of the larger stores. The display was as glamorous as ever with little Christmas elf figures prancing around a tastefully decorated sled. Rudolph's bright red nose blinked on and off, the white lights around the side twinkled like the stars in the Tunguskan night sky. He stamped his feet. Christ, he ought to be used to this weather. The snow lay quite thick on the sidewalk but the air was far less chilly than that in Russia at this time of year. He started to turn away when something caught his eye. It seemed like 'little gray men' were in vogue this year and the six-inch doll with its large unlidded black and silver eyes made him smile for the first time in days.
Krycek checked his wallet. It would leave him with only 36 dollars and 52 cents. Not much to show for all the work he had done over the past year but then, he had left Russia in a bit of a hurry. Of course he could have asked the Well-Manicured Man for an advance but his pride had already bent as far as it could go when he accepted the free accommodation and clothes. Now the man was dead. Long dead... and he was between jobs. At least the rent on the apartment had been paid up front and was good for another 3 months.
"Merry Christmas. Ho, Ho, Ho."
The large red and white clad figure, with full curly white beard and mustache, shook a bell as he strode passed the window shoppers. Krycek's eyes narrowed. Why the hell not! He wandered into the store, pleased to find the display of 'little gray men' near the entrance. That saved him the effort of pushing his way through the throngs of shoppers. He selected one, singling it out from the others because of its slightly pointed head and took it to the cash register.
"Cute, aren't they. Do you want me to wrap it?"
The assistant, a comely lady probably just the other side of forty, smiled at the handsome young man, gazing into the most gorgeous green eyes she had seen all evening. He nodded and smiled, not a big smile but the eyes lost a little of their despondency, making her friendly overture seem more than worthwhile, and then he was gone. Their transaction completed.
Krycek decided against wasting money on a cab. He took the first bus heading in the right direction and rode in silence, the single bag containing its festively wrapped present lying on the seat next to him. A matronly woman boarded, looked at the bag disapprovingly. Her determination to sit in that seat wavered as she looked into the hard, uncompromising face. She clucked again and moved beyond him to another seat. As the bus moved away from the bright, colorful Christmas lit center of Washington DC, the darkness of the city fell down like a curtain and Krycek glanced at his watch. 20:50 on Christmas Eve.
Although he had only been there a few times, he recognized the nearby streets and left the bus about a block away from his destination. Right opposite was a 7-11, gaudy lights flashing in a row of blue, red, green and white, linking up to a small silver tinsel tree decorated with a mismatch of red bows, golden angels and boxes of chocolates. Krycek frowned in puzzlement but then sniffed. It was Christmas, and what better way to display the luxuries.
He pulled the collar of his leather jacket tight and shivered in the cold wind. The moon was large and pale in the night sky, seen momentarily between the clouds when it cast eerie shadows across the snow-laden sidewalk. The air seemed even colder after the warmth of the bus and the report had said there was more snow on the way. An old song drifted into his head:
Moonlight and Vodka takes me away
Midnight in Moscow is sunshine in LA
In the good USA
He glanced back at the 7-11 and made another rash decision. Well, maybe not so rash this time. The entry bell tinkled as he opened the door and he went straight to the counter where a Hispanic man in white apron and Santa Claus hat stood rubbing his hands over a small heater.
"What can I do for you, Sir?"
Krycek looked along the line of shelves behind the man until he spotted what he was after.
"I'll take the Smirnoff."
"Hope you like it cold, the heater systems busted. Jeez, I'll be pleased to close up tonight."
Alex Krycek smiled. With vodka, the colder the better. The man wrapped the bottle in a fancy bag covered in tiny mistletoe, took Krycek's money and gave him the change.
"Have a nice one."
"Yeah, you too."
At least the cold inside the store meant he did not feel the bitter cold outside quite so keenly. He pulled his collar up once more and headed down the street, pausing only one more time as the familiar apartment building came into sight.
****
Fox Mulder pushed the remains of his TV dinner around the tray then dropped it onto the coffee table in disgust. The television belted out canned laughter from one of those candid camera shows and he wondered, for the nth time, why he was sitting here alone on Christmas Eve when Dana Scully had generously invited him over to share in the celebration at her apartment.
"I must be crazy."
He seriously considered dropping by on the off-chance but, although the thought of sharing Christmas Eve with Dana was quite pleasant, she was surrounded by her family this year. Her mother was staying over and tomorrow they would make their way to Dana's brother, Bill, and his family. He liked Mrs. Scully but he was never good company at this time of year and it didn't seem right to spoil their Christmas.
He thought back to his own family festivities. Nothing had been the same after Samantha disappeared. Christmas became a thing to dread as everyone remembered the gaping hole in their lives. His mother would sit up in her room, crying and drinking gin. His father would sit in his den, drinking bourbon, and Fox Mulder would sit in the lounge, drinking cola, with only the TV for company until one of them remembered his existence and ordered him to bed.
He gazed at the TV. Nothing ever changed.
Another lonely Christmas.
Time for another beer.
Mulder glanced in the refrigerator, slammed the door and laid his forehead against it. Empty. He thought about going out but shuddered at the idea of exposing himself to the wintry elements. He amended his earlier thought. Not just another lonely Christmas... it was far worse.
It was a sober lonely Christmas.
The buzz on his door bell brought his head back up. He frowned.
Who the hell's that?
Certainly not Scully, she would let herself in having decided it was safe as long as she didn't touch anything. Not because she feared his reaction but because she was afraid of what she might find.
Finally, curiosity outweighed his reluctance to speak with anyone and he moved down the small corridor, gun in hand, and opened the door. No-one. He glanced down. Someone had been there, he could tell by the snow-prints leading to and from his door. He was about to close the door when he heard the soft shuffle and looked along the darkened corridor.
"Who's there?"
Krycek took a deep breath as the light from Mulder's apartment glinted off the gun held in the FBI agent's hand, wondering what the hell he was doing there. This was a bad idea.
"I said, who's there."
****
Oh, what the hell! If I have to spend another day alone I'll probably shoot myself.
Krycek closed his eyes, took another deep breath and stepped out of the shadows.
"Krycek. What the fuck are you doing here?"
Alex took a few more steps forward and held out the gaudy bag containing the present and vodka.
"It's Christmas, Krycek. You can take your latest orders and stuff them where the light don't shine."
Krycek shook his head.
"No. No, this is personal." He took another step forward, the bag still held out like a shield. "Merry... Christmas?"
Mulder's hazel eyes narrowed. If this was another trick then he really wasn't in the mood but he reached out and snagged the offered carryall. A glance inside revealed a small gaily wrapped box and... Mulder smiled. He stared long and hard at the cold, wet and bedraggled man suddenly understanding what had driven Krycek to his door and relented. Even Krycek's company seemed better than being alone. Mulder holstered his gun and indicated the entrance to his apartment. When Krycek hesitated, he sighed and went back inside leaving the door open behind him.
He listened over the noise of the TV for the sound of the door being closed gently from the inside and for the soft footfall along the corridor. Moments later, Krycek's leather-clad form leaned against the door frame, hesitating on the threshold.
"Make yourself at home. I'll get two glasses... and a towel for your hair"
The evening passed in a strangely domestic way. Neither made much small-talk, there were too many pitfalls to remind them of the different paths they had taken and neither wanted to argue. Instead they drank vodka and watched a schmaltzy holiday romance in companionable silence.
Mulder looked sideways at the younger man, noticing how gaunt he appeared since the last time. He felt his cheeks redden as he remembered the last time they met. Krycek had leaned across and kissed him. He could still feel the soft, wetness of his mouth against his skin, at odds with the rough stubble that grazed his cheek. His eyes focused on Krycek's mouth as the man raised his glass, the full bottom lip and sensually curved upper, beautifully shaped, eminently kissable. He watched them caress the glass and then the tip of Krycek's tongue peaked out catch at the vodka left behind on his lips as he lowered the glass back to the table. Krycek turned his head, suddenly, as if sensing the scrutiny.
Mulder controlled the urge to look away and their eyes met. His breath caught as he read the desire and need in the teal green eyes.
The Consortium agent looked away, head lowered, eyes closed as he waited for Mulder's fury to erupt but, instead, he felt soft fingers as Mulder reached out to caress the soft lips with the tips of his fingers. He turned back to face his ex-partner.
Mulder's eyes widened, entranced by the way the pupils in those green, green eyes dilated further, feeling the fine tremble as Krycek's breath grew more ragged. He closed the distance between them and leaned forward to brush his lips against the other's mouth feeling the hardness yield beneath his touch until he was crushing their mouths together. The lips beneath him parted and Mulder slipped the tip of his tongue between them pushing more insistently until he could taste the bitter vodka. His tongue dueled with Krycek's before pushing it aside so he could explore this new territory, tasting new textures from the ridged palate to the soft, silkiness of inner cheek.
Krycek pulled back, almost gasping for air. He wanted to tell Mulder that, if kissing was an Olympic sport, then he would bring home gold... but he didn't want to shatter the warmth that had grown between them. Mulder smiled and took the lips once more, forcing Krycek backward against the end of the couch. His hand reached to tug the dark T-shirt from Krycek's pants and, once released, he pushed the flat of his hand underneath to slide across warm, soft skin. He deepened the kiss, moving most of his body weight on top of the other man, one hand stroking round the side of the rib cage and across the broad back. His other hand paralleled the first, pulling Krycek into a strong embrace, the weight of his body preventing the other man from escaping.
Krycek moaned into Mulder, the deep sound vibrating through him, sending impulses along his nervous system, centering in his groin. He pushed his hips against Krycek and felt an answering hardness. Excitement rippled through his body. Alex wanted this, wanted him. His bony hips ground into those beneath him, savouring the friction of fleecy cloth against his engorged flesh. His mouth devoured Krycek's, slid away to suck and bite the exposed throat leaving a trail of love-bites in his wake.
Mulder pulled away suddenly leaving Krycek aching and confused but leaned back to plant another kiss on the lips before the other man misconstrued his actions.
"If we don't stop now I'm gonna come in my pants... and I'd rather come in you."
Krycek blushed. There was no question now of what Mulder wanted.... and no question that he wanted it too. He nodded. Mulder sprang off the couch and offered a hand to his would-be lover. It was clasped and Mulder pulled the younger man to his feet. Keeping a gentle grip on the fingers he led his companion towards the bedroom, giving Krycek a chagrined smile as he took in the pile of papers strewn across the coverlet. He let go of the hand he held and, gripping the cover, folded it over itself and pulled the whole lot to the floor then indicated the cleared bed with an expansive gesture. Krycek grinned at the incredibly weird situation he found himself in but moved back into the beckoning arms for another kiss.
His hand reached up to cradle the back of Mulder's head, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Mulder tightened his own hold around the slim hips, crushing their groins together. His tongue sliding between Krycek's kiss-swollen lips, fucking his mouth as hip thrust against hip.
They parted, both men trembling from the need to reach fulfillment and Krycek started to pull off his T-shirt, wanting the feel of skin sliding against skin.
"Uh uh."
Mulder pushed the hand away and grasped the base of the shirt, gently pushing it upwards with one hand while he investigated the revealed flesh with the other. His fingers pinched an exposed nipple, rolling the tightened nub as he lowered his head to take the other in his mouth. Teeth raked across the sensitive bud, sending frissons of electricity racing through Krycek's body. He threw back his head, mouth gaping as he dragged air into his heaving chest. Mulder released him and pushed the T-shirt higher, helping Krycek pull both good arm and head through before rolling it down the prosthetic. The T-shirt dropped to the floor at their feet. Mulder moved back, tugging off his sweatshirt and throwing it aside. He sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned Krycek forward. Alex came closer and watched as the seated man reached out to unbutton his Levi's, slowly lowering the zip. Krycek's hard erection sprang out.
"No... underwear? Alex, you are a naughty boy."
Mulder's arms circled the narrow hips, hands clasping the muscular buttocks, pulling Krycek closer until he could nuzzle the satin, steel shaft. He licked along the underside, feeling Krycek's cheeks clench as his tongue slid across the sensitive g-spot before swirling across the head. He pulled away, licking his lips as he tasted the copious precome that seeped from the swollen shaft then dived forward once more to swallow as much of the length as he could, almost gagging as he felt the head touch the back of his throat. Krycek cried out as the heat and wetness engulfed him, knees starting to buckle as Mulder began a deep sucking. A warm sensation swelled from the pit of his stomach and across his thighs. His eyes opened wide as he realised how little control he had left.
"Mulder..! I can't... I'm gonna....Mulder!"
Mulder held on tight to the bucking figure, redoubling his efforts when the man stilled, buttock muscles contracting, hips pushed forward. The swollen shaft rippled as wave after wave of bitter, salty fluid gushed into his mouth. He swallowed hard, his own arms suddenly supporting the boneless man as Krycek's knees gave way.
Krycek fell forward, leaning heavily on his lover and found himself being lifted, maneuvered round and then gently laid on the bed. Mulder leaned across the prone man and kissed every available piece of flesh before renewing his assault on the kiss-swollen lips, waiting for Krycek to spiral back down to Earth.
"Merry Christmas, Alex. Now what do I get?"
In answer Krycek lifted his hips invitingly allowing Mulder to push the Levi's from the narrow hips and down the well-muscled thighs. Mulder followed the path of the jeans avidly sucking, biting and licking the exposed skin. He pulled off the boots, peeled off the socks and finally removed the Levi's leaving Krycek naked on the bed.
Mulder stood up and gazed down at the supine figure.
God, but you're beautiful, Alex.
He closed his eyes, wishing he could say it out loud but afraid of giving so much control over to this man. He examined the muscular form, its perfection destroyed by the missing arm but only through symmetry. In other ways Alex was perfect. The pale skin tone that spoke of months out in the cold, silky and unblemished. The hard muscles that rippled with each movement, showing that Krycek worked-out regularly despite his 'recent' disability. The rose-colored nipples, stiff with desire. Mulder's gaze reached the man's face, taking in features both angelic and satanic. If anyone were ever to ask him what Lucifer looked like then he would describe this face with its wide-spaced, green eyes, high cheekbones, softly pouting mouth and slight uptilt at the end of the nose. A fallen angel.
The bedside lamp cast a glow around the room, highlighting the red in the mahogany hair. Mulder reached out and gathered some of the strands, pleased Krycek had let his hair grow longer having sported a close-crop at their last meeting. He had always loved Krycek's hair.
His gaze traveled back down the well-proportioned frame and he smiled when he noticed the hair trickling from navel to groin was almost a shade lighter. He reached out and twisted the sweat-dampened curls around his finger, breathing in the heady musk of sex.
Mulder peeled off the remainder of his own clothes and stood before the other man, allowing Krycek to drink his fill of the athletic frame, before moving to the night-stand. He burrowed around in the top drawer for a moment then removed two objects; a tube of KY and a condom, placing them close at hand, then knelt back on the bed, straddling Krycek's head until his cock was close to his lover's mouth and his own mouth was buried in his lover's groin. Alex needed no instructions. He placed his hand around the back of Mulder's thigh, pulling him closer still until he could swallow the engorged shaft.
Alex felt the tingle of blood filling him as Mulder's mouth worked on his drained organ, hands parted his legs pushing them wide as Mulder released his shaft and began to lick his balls, cradling the soft sacs in one hand then moving beyond to the taut skin. He gasped as the tongue rimmed the tight ring of muscle before trying to force entry, trembling at the odd sensations; the warm wetness, the hot breath that cooled his dampened skin. No-one had ever done this to him before.
There was a pause and then Krycek felt a slick finger rub across the muscle, digging into the puckered surface until it achieved penetration. The hot, slippery digit circled inside, stretching his skin and relaxing the taut muscle. Mulder pushed in deeper, scraping against the soft inner wall until.... Krycek gasped as liquid fire ran through his being. He mumbled incoherently around the fully erect shaft that was fucking his mouth in rhythm with that finger.
Mulder pulled out of both ends but returned his attention to Krycek's ass. Two fingers twisted deeper, opening Krycek further, pressing against his prostate, bringing Krycek's erection to full aching glory. He sobbed when Mulder left his body despite the cool night air bringing relief to his burning sweat-soaked skin, sensing rather than feeling the other man move around the bed until a pair of hands urged him over onto his stomach, drawing him to the edge of the bed with his knees tucked under, chest and face pressed onto the mattress, his ass raised and fully exposed.
Mulder ripped open the packet and started to roll the condom over his engorged flesh then paused. He pulled it back off and threw it to the floor. Health risks be dammed. At this moment he didn't care what happened to him several years down the road. He wanted Alex. He wanted to pump him full of his seed, to fill that sweet ass.
He pushed the blunt shaft against the tight ring of muscle, hearing Krycek moan in pain and pleasure as the head slipped inside then paused. He wanted Krycek to enjoy this, to know he had been taken willingly by Fox William Mulder. In the cold light of day, Alexei Krycek would have to admit to himself that he had loved every minute of this.
Once he knew Alex had adjusted to his bulk he began to push forward, sinking himself gradually into the inferno of Krycek's body until he could penetrate no further. He withdrew almost to the tip and then plunged back, angling his descent to bring a cry spilling from his lover's swollen lips. Mulder reached around and grasped Krycek's rigid shaft. The body beneath him bucked, internal muscles clenching around him as Alex came hard with just a touch and Mulder found his own existence expanding in a blaze of heat. He screamed as he was shattered into a million pieces, his soul soaring free from his body before reaching the stars and falling back to Earth.
Mulder collapsed across the broad back, his chest heaving, senses still spinning. He wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand then leant down to kiss the back of Krycek's neck. Words he dared not utter trickled into his mind and spilled from his mouth before he could stop them
"I love you, Alex."
He held his breath. Nothing. No sound. No movement. Mulder disentangled himself and flopped to one side. He looked into the beautiful face. Asleep.
Thank God.
He lay down and pulled Krycek into his arms, succumbing to the same physical exhaustion that had claimed his lover.
Alexei Krycek felt the world dimming around him but he had never felt so safe. He felt the gentle kiss on the back of his neck and, as he floated away, words of love drifted with him.
The sound of a door closing awoke him from a wonderful dream and, for a moment his heart sank as he imagined his dream lover had left without a word... but then he felt the weight and warmth across his chest. He opened one eye and peered down at the mahogany hair pillowed on his shoulder. Alex.
Mulder grinned and wrapped his arms around the hot body before kissing the top of his lover's head. This elicited a sigh and gentle movement as Krycek tightened his hold upon Fox Mulder. The sleepy green eyes opened to gaze across a definitely masculine chest with its light splattering of brown hair. Yes, definitely male and most definitely Mulder. He smiled and raised his head. Mulder rolled on top of the naked man and took the still swollen lips in a deep and thorough kiss.
"Merry Christmas."
They hugged each other tightly.
Another lonely Christmas? Not this year.
END
*** Moonlight and Vodka by Chris de Burgh
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Date: Sep 1998
|
138557
|
Missing
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Major Character Death",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Maurice Boscorelli, Bobby Caffey",
"Fandom": "Third Watch",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Kirsten",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2006-12-01T00:00:00",
"words": "148",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Maurice Boscorelli/ Bobby Caffey",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Advent Challenge 2006",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Days like today, you really miss Bobby.
Maybe he would've been off today. He would've been at your place when you made it home. There'd be pizza and beer on the table by the couch, and a game on the TV.
Bobby would've taken one look at you, and he would've said, "You look like shit."
"Bad day," you would've told him.
Then Bobby would have grinned and said, "So how 'bout I fuck you, make it all go away?"
So Bobby would've fucked you, and it would've all gone away. Afterwards, you would've said, "That all you got?"
"No," Bobby would've said, and he would've kissed you and smiled and been happy. "I got you, too."
You would've laughed and maybe mocked him a little bit: "You're nothin' but a big fairy, Caffey."
And Bobby would've laughed as well, and you would've forgotten all about that call.
|
132720
|
That Which Does Not
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by perlaret",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-11-11T00:00:00",
"words": "2,251",
"Additional Tags": "Drama, Minor Character Death, Introspection",
"Relationship": "Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It is 1891 and Roy is six years old. It's a hot, heavy day and he is overdressed for the weather but not the occasion. The officiant carries on and Roy can feel the way he's being watched. It's uncomfortable and distracting, like the way his shirt collar rubs the back of his neck and leaves him itchy. He doesn't fidget.He's old enough to understand death, though perhaps not well enough to explain it. He knows enough that when people said there was an accident what they really meant was your parents are gone forever. He also understands that's why everyone present keeps glancing his way – subtly, of course, from the corners of their eyes, never openly. Roy doesn't know the word pity, but he comprehends the concept.He misses them. Badly.A hand falls to his shoulder, bracingly. Roy looks up; it's his Aunt Chris. She meets his gaze, but there is something straightforward about the way she looks at him. She misses them too."Come on Roy-boy, it's time to go."-It's getting late.Roy sighs and slumps back a little in the rickety kitchen chair. It creaks ominously beneath the shift of his weight. He rubs his eyes tiredly and looks again at the papers spread over the table before him. There is a yellow cast to everything; the oil lamp flickers at the far corner of the room. There hasn't been electricity in the house for months. The thought depresses him.This isn't exactly what Roy expected to come back to.He grimaces at the thought and leans forward again, picking up his pen. He chews on the end of it, thinking hard. He thinks he's got most of the details taken care of now. The grave site itself had been purchased years ago, when Master Hawkeye's wife died; Roy had taken on the costs of embalming, the coffin, the gravestone, all of the other miscellaneous expenses. Riza had declined an actual funeral service as superfluous, claiming the internment itself was enough. It pained Roy to admit it, but she was probably right. Her father hadn't exactly been a social man, and as it was, Roy's meager savings had spectacularly diminished over the past few days. He was only a Second Lieutenant, freshly commissioned and on a modest salary, and now...Now, Roy's best chances at gaining State Alchemist certification (and the promotion that came with it) had died with his master. His disappointment comes with a feeling of bitter selfishness. He shouldn't be mourning his dreams when his teacher is dead.Roy closes his eyes tight for a moment, opens them again and focuses back on the page in front of him. If he can just get through this, he decides, he can stop for the night."You're still up?"Roy starts, looks back over his shoulder. Riza stands in the doorway, dressed in her night clothes and one hand resting on the jamb. She raises an eyebrow and Roy clears his throat, willing himself not to flush."Yeah," he says around the pen still in his mouth. "Just finishing up.""What are you working on?" She walks over before he can answer, coming to look over his shoulder and read the paper he'd been mulling over. Her proximity unexpectedly throws Roy. She smells clean, pretty. Riza's gotten prettier since he left. He looks up at her, a little dazed. Her expression is unfathomable as her eyes dart over the page. "An obituary.""Uh," Roy begins with great articulacy, averting his eyes. He thinks he must be a lot more tired than he thought. "Yeah."She frowns and then suddenly steals the pen from between his teeth and leans over to correct a misspelled word. "Your spelling hasn't improved much, Mr. Mustang.""My spelling is fine," Roy grumbles, not defensively at all, and snatches it back from her."Well, maybe a little better than before," Riza amends slyly, before growing serious again. "It's very fitting.""It's the least I can do. He was a good teacher.""Yes," she agrees, but her tone is vague, maybe a little sad. There's something she isn't saying, and Roy isn't quite sure what to make of it. She steps back. "I was going to make some tea. Would you like some while you finish?""Sure."Riza nods and goes to light the stove. Roy bends to his writing, but every so often he glances up as she slips around the kitchen, a dozen questions running through his mind that he can't put words to.Tomorrow afternoon they will bury Berthold Hawkeye. He doesn't know it yet, but Roy will learn the answers soon enough.-There are bodies everywhere, decomposing in the sun.Nobody notices the stench anymore. Perhaps that is the true atrocity of war, that which takes the horrific and renders it to a mere piece of the scenery: a rock to step over here, a cadaver there.Amestrian soldiers are never left to rot. After an area is secured, their bodies are retrieved, covered, returned home, back to their families to be honored and mourned. Hundreds, thousands even, loaded onto and off the trains to be buried with all of the dignity the military has to offer, under a crisp green and white flag, a volley's report echoing over the tombstones.The bodies of fallen Ishvallans are offered the same accord as the living, which is to say none at all.It hits him, sometimes, as they pick their way through the ruins towards the section selected for annihilation today. Roy will look down, looking for a steady place to plant his feet, and he'll see something that is not something but someone and it all crashes back in. The dehumanized regains its identity and his stomach curls in on itself as his carefully constructed compartmentalization cracks; fractures.
How did it come to this?
These are the thoughts Mustang does not, cannot, permit himself out here."Are you alright, Major?"Roy looks sharply to his left to the soldier who had spoken. A sergeant, to go by his epaulettes. Roy has never seen him before."What?""You looked odd for a minute there, sir."Roy shakes his head and marches forward. "It's nothing. Let's go."Later that night, back at camp, he stares at his hands but not into the fire. There is no need for pretending here, away from the battlefield. There is only the truth: he was young and foolish, and Master Hawkeye had been right. He's not sure how he's supposed to come to terms with that."Someone should bury them," he says.Hughes and Riza trade a glance. Roy doesn't notice."There are too many," Hughes finally sighs. "Where would you begin?"Riza looks away.-Roy is staring hard at the phone receiver in his hand when Hawkeye cracks open the door. He looks up sharply, the line of his mouth stretched thin."What's the matter?""Hughes called."For a moment, she almost seems on the verge of exasperation, but then pauses, seems to reconsider. One thing about Hawkeye is that she never takes his concern lightly, especially not when he's being serious. "Did something happen?" she asks next, stepping fully into the room and pressing the door shut behind her. Almost no one else is here at this time of night, but caution is a habit not easily broken."That's just it," Roy says. "He wasn't there when the operator put through the call."Hawkeye gives him a look. "Did you try calling him back?"He breathes out, shakes his head, and very deliberately returns the phone to its cradle. It settles in with a soft click. "No, he was calling from an outside line."The Lieutenant is quiet for a long moment, mulling it over."The connection might be bad," she suggests at last, "or he might have been in a hurry and set the receiver down wrong."Roy can see she's unsettled too, but he's not sure if that's due to the situation or his own anxiety. Perhaps both. He feels like they are missing some important detail, some crucial piece of information that will set everything into focus, make it all make sense. Roy can't quite wrap his mind around it. Hughes is often eccentric, often to a purposeful end, but this is unusual."Did you hear anything on the other end?" Hawkeye asks when he doesn't respond, shifting the files she is holding from her right arm to her left."I don't know. Maybe not." Roy sighs, pulls a face. "Maybe all these long hours on this Scar case lately are doing me in. I haven't even had time for a proper date in weeks."Hawkeye hums absently, almost pleasantly, rifling through a few papers as she starts towards her desk. "Well, you are getting on in years, Colonel. Maybe you should slow your pace."Roy snorts, shooting her his drollest possible look even though she's not facing at him. "I'm not an old man yet, Lieutenant."She looks at him as if to say, if you say so, Colonel, but then changes the subject again without missing a beat. If she's smiling, he can't tell. "There isn't that much left to do tonight. If we work quickly, we might be able to get out by a reasonable hour." He glances at the clock: nearly half past eight. They had started at seven that morning. Very reasonable, indeed. Sometimes Roy wished he knew what civilian jobs were like. Nevertheless, it was promising."Alright," he agrees, following her example and heading for his office. Before entering, he pauses, just momentarily, and casts the phone on the wall one last dubious glance and tells himself it's just a fluke.In the morning, he'll receive another phone call.-The sky is beginning to gray, the black smearing like charcoal as morning draws near. Dawn is swift approaching.The months have flown by since Roy was first here, when he watched his best friend's casket lowered into the earth, long before he ever knew the reasons why. There's a certain irony to returning now, in the predawn hours that linger like a breath held before the plunge.Roy has prepared for this day for nearly six years now, creeping his way up through the ranks, inching forward at each chance and wrapping himself in intrigue at every turn. Every step up until now has been slow, deliberate, but the Promised Day is here and there is no more time for preparations: it is all or nothing, a full-on sprint for the finish line.There is still too much to lose, should he fail now. People are harder to protect than they should be.Hughes saw the flaw in his thinking from the beginning -- geometric progression is good in theory, but people are more than straight lines and numerical values. There are too many unknown variables in Roy's math, factors he probably hasn't accounted for, and it's likely that this whole scheme was a bad call from the get go. There's a strong chance he'll never be able to protect everyone, or even just the people care cares for most, like he wants to.But Roy has known this for years, and there's no turning back now. The day is coming whether they are ready for it or not.Besides, his team is good at following orders.Dawn approaches.-This is an ending.It's as if all of Central City grinds to a halt for King Bradley's funeral procession.They don't tell the world that the Fuhrer was a Homunculus. Central Headquarters is still more crater than building, and the populace is shaken by the strange events of the Promised Day. In a way, they are rewriting history, only telling the public what is deemed safe enough to be told and locking the truth away, state secrets of the highest confidentiality. It makes the ensuing transition easier, at least. Roy supposes Amestris will take to the forthcoming changes well enough.He isn't disappointed, at all really, by the changes in their plans. From a purely strategical point of view, it makes sense. Grumman has the years and the rank to be a convincing choice for the Fuhrer's position, and is trustworthy to bring stability to Amestris. Roy knows there will be plenty of opportunity yet to bring about the change he has hoped so long to see.As for now, there is Ishbal.It is almost too much, the thought of returning. Roy isn't sure that he's the right person for this, is actually pretty sure he isn't, and there's no way to be prepared for it, but--still. It scares him half to death, but there's also a rightness to it, like a chemical equation coming into balance.Roy sighs and breaks away from his inward thoughts. The day is bright and clear despite the solemn affair, all blue skies and strong sunlight. He looks to his side and Hawkeye is there, as she should be, steadier than a shadow. She stands half a step closer to him than she used to, as though to make up for all of the distance imposed between them over the past six months. Roy still wishes she were closer."General?" She caught him looking.Her gaze is steady and patient and sure. Roy meets her eyes and takes a breath."It's time to go," he says. "Are you coming?"Hawkeye doesn't miss a beat."Right behind you, sir."This is also a beginning.
|
121763
|
Easy
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Starsky & Hutch",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Nyssa",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "2010-09-28",
"published": "2010-09-27T00:00:00",
"words": "3,904",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Starsky/Hutch",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Dave & Ken's Diner",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
I.It was so easy, being friends with Hutch.Not that Starsky had ever had trouble making friends. He had a decided knack for it. But with Hutch, it wasn't even like being friends, really. It was more like finding the vital missing piece of a puzzle, with the puzzle being Starsky's own life.Even though they had little in common besides a determination to graduate from the Academy and join the Bay City Police Department, they hit it off immediately. Hutch charmed him, with his serious face that crinkled easily into a smile; his choked laughter at Starsky's mumbled commentary on the instructors' lectures; his earnest study habits that kept him up in their shared room long after Starsky had fallen asleep and sometimes compelled him to walk blindly through the corridors, nose buried in a book and narrowly avoiding crashing headlong into exasperated classmates. Starsky had pegged him at first as being too serious. But he wasn't. He liked to have fun, liked to drink beer, liked girls, liked Starsky. He was even delightfully ticklish. Starsky discovered that the night before graduation, when they'd celebrated a bit too hard at the bar around the corner and had to lean on each other all the way back to the room, and Starsky didn't have his key, so he was forced, forced, to pat Hutch down for his. Hutch giggled helplessly, hands against the cinderblock wall, legs spread, gasping, begging Starsky to stop, please, so he could breathe.Starsky found the key, in Hutch's hip pocket, too soon. ***** II.It was so easy, touching Hutch.It came so naturally that he never hesitated. He never worried what Hutch might think of him. He knew, somehow, that it was all right.At first it was the occasional pat on the back, a hand resting on a shoulder, nothing out of the ordinary. It didn't become a habit until they were partnered together. At that point, Starsky discovered very quickly that he needed it. He didn't consider himself a particularly touchy-feely person (unless he was drunk; he knew he tended to become a shade too cuddly then). He didn't favor, or offend, other people with random caresses, but Hutch wasn't other people. Starsky told himself it was because Hutch was his partner. It was only right to feel extraordinary closeness with the man who held your life in his hands, who placed his own body between yours and danger. Only right to need to touch him, feel his solid warmth, remind yourself that he was alive and whole, and that as long as he remained that way, so would you.He touched Hutch's arms, his face, his hair. Sometimes he rested a hand on Hutch's thigh. He walked close to him, brushing shoulders. That last could feel weirdly intimate once they were no longer in uniform, because Starsky wore his gun under his right arm, Hutch under his left, and if he was walking at Hutch's left side they could sometimes feel each other's weapons. Starsky found it comforting.Hutch returned the touches. At first that surprised Starsky. Then it delighted him, and after that it was necessary. He found himself almost holding his breath sometimes, trying to anticipate the next time Hutch would clasp his arm, pat his belly, gently slap his butt. Some of those touches calmed him when he needed it; some of them sent small, tingly shocks along his nerves. Some simply made him glow inside. ***** III.It was so easy, loving Hutch.For a long time, he thought it was all he needed. He loved working with Hutch, eating with him, arguing with him, double-dating with him. He loved irritating Hutch. He loved making him smile so much he found himself going to ridiculous lengths of foolishness to elicit those smiles. He loved watching Hutch, surreptitiously, from behind sunglasses or over the tops of newspapers, at first to memorize the shifting expressions that took up residence on Hutch's face, and later, when memorization had long since been accomplished, simply because it gave him pleasure. He loved the jokes, the pool playing, the beer drinking, the long, sleepy conversations in the Torino when it was three in the morning and the stakeout began to look like a lost cause. Most of all, he loved feeling like one half of a whole. He loved being known, and knowing in return. It was as though, in some inexpressible way, he and Hutch filled in the gaps in each other's souls. He actually thought that, and was amazed at himself. Maybe Hutch had made him a poet, too.Desire was part of it, but Starsky didn't dwell on that. He didn't want to fuck things up. He didn't think about it -- why should he? He wasn't gay -- but sometimes he dreamed about it. He couldn't help that, but he hated it just the same. He hated it because it was a snake in his garden, an ugly worm of discontent. Without the dreams he was happy. After them he felt hollow, restless, hungry. Greed took the place of serenity, and looking at Hutch became like looking at the sun. The pain outweighed the delight.But it didn't happen too often, and he managed to stamp it out when it did. Nobody could have everything, and he had more than anyone had a right to expect. How many people get to work, play, almost live, with the person they love most in the world?Then one night, Hutch kissed him. Starsky didn't think he meant to. They were joyful, giddy, soaring on adrenaline after a chase, a shootout, a big, long-awaited bust. Starsky could see the high in Hutch's eyes. It pushed his own high higher, and when Hutch suddenly leaned in and brushed his lips over Starsky's, the wanting pulled Starsky under in an instant. He buried his fingers in Hutch's hair, felt Hutch's arms go around him like a man grabbing at a lifeline, and he knew, right then, that he'd been wrong. Sometimes you could have everything. ***** IV.It was so easy at first, sleeping with Hutch.It was so simple when they began it, so perfect. He couldn't imagine why they hadn't done it years earlier. Why hadn't he told Hutch how he felt? Why hadn't Hutch said something? What the hell was there to worry about? Nothing. Not a thing in the world.They spent nights at his place, or at Hutch's. Sometimes, for the hell of it, they went to no-tell motels on their meal breaks (reckless, certainly; they knew better, but the thrill of it proved impossible to resist). They necked in the car if it was dark, felt each other up under the table at the Pits (Huggy wasn't easily shocked), dropped their pencils in the squad room so they'd have an excuse to duck under the desk for a quick kiss. They tried to be careful, but it was easy, so very easy, to get carried away.They fucked, hard and hot and wild. Starsky couldn't believe how much he loved it, Hutch's weight on his back, Hutch's cock battering him, Hutch's voice gasping his name, moaning, begging, as if he and not Starsky were the passive recipient. It amazed Starsky, the power of it, the way he could flex his muscles, roll his hips, press backwards just so, and reduce his partner to helpless, pleading desperation. Not that he wasn't just as desperate. He was. Sometimes he was sure the only thing that kept the ugliness of the streets bearable was the anticipation, the knowledge that sooner or later they could go home, close the door, and Hutch would take him, fuck him hard, the steely cock scrubbing away the dirt, leaving him clean again.He knew Hutch felt the same, that he often needed it even more. He worried about Hutch, about the aching neediness that had always been there, buried inside, but that now seemed to stick out all over him. Starsky didn't see how he could ever quench that bottomless thirst. And the way Hutch looked at him, like a starving wolf or something. It frightened him, their mutual dependence. Not just for friendship, safety, protection; that was old stuff. Now they demanded everything of each other. How could anyone live up to that? It wasn't enough anymore, the laughter, the gentle touches, the quiet arm around the shoulder. Not nearly enough. The sex wound everything up so much tighter, made everything so much more intense. Starsky would never have imagined they'd actually fight over who would get to bottom. Get to, not have to. Sometimes the whole thing was like stepping into some weird parallel dimension. Hutch said they never should have started this, that they should have known it was crazy, dangerous, too damn hot to fuck with -- but since he said it between ecstatic yells while Starsky was ramming him up against his living room wall, Starsky didn't pay much attention.It went on, and on, and gradually everything began to take on an edge, a frisson, a tension they couldn't seem to control. They struck sparks off each other everywhere. They burned each other up. Anything from a heat wave to a stalled engine became a reason for a shouting match. They'd stalk around the squad room, seething, until Dobey yelled at them to work it out or not come back in the morning. They worked it out the only way they knew how, in bed. They'd be close again, good together again, because the sex always made everything better, until it started making everything worse. Hutch said they could do with a little less passion, and though Starsky knew what he meant, he still snapped back angrily, defensively. Did Hutch want to call it off, then? Did he, huh? Hutch didn't answer.Things got twisted. Starsky slowly began to suspect, for no reason he could have articulated, that Hutch was laughing at him. He noticed it in the car, could almost hear the silent derision coming from the passenger seat, but when he turned sharply to look, Hutch was always looking out the window. He retaliated one day by slamming on the brakes so hard he almost sent an unprepared Hutch through the windshield. Hutch went home defiantly alone, that night and for a month of nights thereafter. Starsky found girls, flaunted them in Hutch's face, rattled on endlessly about getting laid. Hutch said nothing, nothing at all for days, until he finally grabbed Starsky by the shirt front, practically lifting him off his feet, and told him if he really wanted to get laid, be at Venice Place that night. Since that was the whole point of the exercise, Starsky was more than agreeable, though he told Hutch to go fuck himself. When he got to Venice Place, Hutch wasn't home. Starsky stormed over to the Pits, half expecting to find his partner there smirking at him, but no Hutch. He got drunk, but not too drunk to make it with Huggy's new waitress, in the alley on her break.He had no idea what was happening, or why. He was by turns bewildered, furious, wildly aroused, and so hurt he was terrified he was going to cry in front of Hutch, something it had never occurred to him to worry about before. They still fucked. It was so raw it drove him crazy. It didn't matter who was on top anymore; either way, they clawed at each other like animals. He dreaded it now almost as much as he craved it, the heat and the sweet pain and the frantic hunger in Hutch's eyes. At least it was peaceful afterwards. Hutch would fall asleep beside him, and the lines on his face would smooth out, and Starsky would stroke his hair and remember. Or he'd fall asleep first, and wake to find Hutch watching him with soft, wistful eyes, like a man visiting a fondly remembered home he hasn't lived in for years.Gradually, though, it slowed. Eventually, it stopped. They found other ways to occupy their nights.Neither of them ever exactly said it was over. They knew each other far too well to have to. ***** V.It was easier, in a way, not sleeping with Hutch anymore.He felt calmer, steadier. He didn't veer wildly from ecstasy to misery, from heart-clenching love to unreasoning anger. He breathed easier, got more sleep, experienced a kind of numbness, like a stunned survivor of some natural catastrophe. When he wasn't actually with Hutch, he felt almost normal.It was harder, much harder, in other ways. They were still partners, of course, and they had to work together regardless. At first, the tension was painful. They rarely touched anymore, unless they had to. They didn't look at each other much. Starsky, for his part, was afraid to. He couldn't look into Hutch's eyes now without being assailed by a wave of conflicting emotions he didn't want to feel and certainly didn't want Hutch to see. He tried not to care what Hutch did with his spare time, where he went, who he slept with. But he couldn't ignore him, either. Pretending his partner was just another guy he worked with was absurd, impossible. He had to love Hutch enough to die for him, but not enough to be in love with him. Once, for a while, he'd been able to walk that line. Now he couldn't even see it.He tried desperately not to miss Hutch, and had no luck at all. He'd go home after work and drift around his apartment, his body still expecting Hutch's touch, his ears still tuned to Hutch's voice. He told himself it was nuts. He'd gotten along for years with no Hutch in his bed, hadn't he? He still saw him every day, rode with him, talked to him, did everything they used to do. Only now they did it self-consciously, awkwardly, artificially. It was forced. The ease was gone. He felt choked, smothered by the politeness of it all. He wanted to rip a hole in that suffocating blanket so he could breathe again.They couldn't really stay apart, of course. They drifted together, aimlessly, without trying. Starsky still found himself turning up on Hutch's doorstep. It was such an ingrained habit he just couldn't break it. He'd drop in, they'd have a beer, watch TV, read the paper silently together. Sometimes Hutch talked about his greenhouse. They played pool with Huggy, it being easier, often, to have a third person as buffer. Hutch called him sometimes, not about work. Often Starsky could tell he didn't have a real reason. They'd talk carefully about things that didn't matter much and then Hutch would give him an awkward goodbye and hang up. Hutch sounded lonely, Starsky thought, and the realization tugged at his heart because he was lonely, too, and that thought sent him straight to his little black book.He liked Kira enough to dial her number repeatedly. She was fun, she was pretty, she was good in bed. She made no demands on him. She was a blond cop, and he could talk to her about the job. He found that ironically amusing. But he didn't take it seriously, or feel anything more complicated than mild affection for her, until the first time he saw Hutch flirting with her. In an instant, the muted emotional life he'd led for the past year evaporated and he sank over his head into a swamp of rage, jealousy, and hurt so powerful it was an effort to remain standing.He knew Hutch would sleep with her. He felt it; it was inevitable. He waited for it, waited for Hutch to ignore his warnings, anticipated it with a peculiar, self-pitying eagerness. He even told Hutch he loved Kira, watching his face avidly for the reaction, pushing, prodding for it. By the time he found them together, he'd almost forgotten about Kira. His whole being was focused once more on Hutch. He couldn't wait to beat the hell out of him. And he knew, somehow, that Hutch couldn't wait for it either. It was almost, in fact, as if he'd planned it.They had sex that night. They hadn't in almost a year. They were still shaking with anger and fright and the aftereffects of adrenaline overdose following the grenade incident, and they couldn't keep their hands off each other. They had to do it, had to make it stop somehow, snap the excruciating tension, put an end to the state of suspended animation they'd been living in, quit pretending they didn't give a fuck. Finish it one way or the other, just fucking finish it. It was the only thought in Starsky's mind as Hutch's clutching hands bruised him, as their bodies slammed together, as his teeth scored Hutch's shoulder at climax. The fight, as it turned out, hadn't amounted to much. The sex did.Starsky woke the next morning aching all over, exhausted, limbs leaden, but with a peaceful heart and a head as clear as -- well, as clear as it had been the very first morning he'd ever awakened in Hutch's arms. When he knew without the faintest doubt that there was nothing wrong, nothing, nothing in the world.He couldn't have said how he knew, exactly, but he did. They belonged nowhere but with each other. He could no longer make sense of any other possibilities. Fighting it hadn't helped. Starving it hadn't helped. He knew when he was beaten. He hoped Hutch did.He lay still for a long time, watching Hutch's sleeping face, considering what he would say to quell all the doubts Hutch would have, all the reasons his mind would invent why this couldn't be as simple as it seemed, all the worries, all the fears. But when Hutch woke up, Starsky didn't say anything, because Hutch just kissed him, over and over again.And over and over again. ***** VI.It was easier now, easier than it had been the first time around, easier by far than he could ever have dreamed.They made each other laugh again, for one thing, and God, what a relief that was. So sweet to be able to joke, and kid, and horse around again. So beautiful to see Hutch smile, or see the exaggeratedly serious expression he put on when he was trying not to smile. They could talk again, really talk, and it was so good to not have to watch his words, dance around everything he longed to say, monitor every verbal interaction for fear of metaphoric landmines. It was like ice breaking up inside Starsky's chest, like taking a deep, deep breath after almost drowning.They touched more, just as they'd done for so long, little affectionate touches that were safe for public consumption, and every time it happened Starsky had to fight an impulse to make it unsafe, to pull Hutch into a ferocious hug complete with murmured love words and welling tears. Idiotic, but he didn't care. If he only could have, he'd have given Dobey, IA, and all of Parker Center a soapy scene to end all soapy scenes. And he knew, from the throat-clearing and the way Hutch glanced quickly away from him at such moments, that his partner would have been right there with him.And the sex. Oh, the sex. It had lost, thank God, the frantic desperation, the insanity, the maddening angst. He was no longer afraid he couldn't give Hutch everything he needed, or that his own hunger to be clean would be more than Hutch could deal with. They didn't worry about those things now. They knew what it was like to lose it, and they were careful, so careful.They kissed slowly, fed each other grapes, turned off all the lights and swayed in each other's arms to the soft sounds of Hutch's jazz records. They drank just enough to get silly, and rolled around on the bed laughing and singing "I Got You, Babe." They licked each other all over, seeing how long it took to come from nothing but the gentle caresses of a soft, warm tongue.And they took turns tying each other to the headboard and fucking like feral tomcats until they spiraled into exhausted oblivion. That was good, too.But it wasn't scary anymore. It was just beautiful.It was the certainty, more than anything, that was different. Nothing else in their lives had really changed. The streets were a nightmare, as always. Scumbag perps; devastated crime victims; dead-eyed junkies; hookers who belonged at junior high sock hops, not on street corners. Same old, same old. But the certainty was there now. The knowledge, sure and steady, that nothing, nothing was worth giving up what they had. They'd tried that, and they hadn't liked it. ***** VII.It was easier to be in a coma than it was to be Hutch.Starsky missed all the exciting stuff. When he was finally, finally aware enough to understand, they told him about it. The three bullets, the cardiac arrest, the endless days of unconsciousness, the terrified friends keeping vigil at the window.But all he could think about was Hutch. Hutch, who said less about it than anyone else. He seemed interested in nothing but the future, Starsky's recovery. He told Starsky about the case, about Gunther's arrest, about the links in the chain falling like dominoes, gave him an update every time there was one, but Starsky could tell it was only out of habit, out of a sense of obligation. Hutch didn't want to talk about that. He didn't want to talk about the hit, either. His eyes went distant, his voice flat, whenever Starsky asked about it. And Starsky didn't ask at all about what had happened afterward, before he woke up. Dobey and Huggy had described it to him, and he was glad, so fucking glad, he hadn't seen Hutch like that. He'd gotten off easy. He'd done nothing but sleep, really. For Hutch, it might as well have been the end of the world.He lay in bed -- his hand covering Hutch's, waiting for the latest dose of painkillers to kick in, trying not to take deep breaths -- and he thought about that. There'd been nothing Hutch could do to help him. If he'd killed Gunther and every member of his organization, that wouldn't have helped. It wasn't like the time Starsky had watched Hutch dying of the plague. He'd been able to do something; he'd had a plan of action. He'd brought Callendar in, and his blood had saved Hutch's life. Nothing Hutch could have done this time would have saved Starsky's.Hutch couldn't stand something like that again. Starsky knew it, just as he knew he couldn't himself. That was the downside of letting someone else's life become more important to you than your own. Starsky recognized that, but he felt no regret.He'd quit. And when he did, he knew, Hutch would quit too. He wouldn't have to, Starsky would never ask him to, but he would. They could do something else, anything else. Become wandering folksingers. Something.He looked at Hutch, asleep in the chair beside him. He could see the faintest hint of silver in the bright gold hair.He raised Hutch's hand, very carefully, and kissed it.Me and thee. Me and thee.
|
163176
|
The King of Utgard
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Thor, Loki",
"Fandom": "Norse Mythology",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by khilari",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-02-16T00:00:00",
"words": "1,575",
"Additional Tags": "Retelling",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
The way to Utgard was among sharp peaks of rock rimed with ice, so that Thor had to leave the goats behind for fear of laming them. There were times when the ground shook, with the tremors of earthquakes or the footsteps of giants he could not tell. At last he came to the hall he had set out for. It was a dark place, made from stone blocks stacked haphazardly into a building and mortared with frozen earth. To Thor as he entered the giants feasting there seemed little more than huge shadows in the torchlight. On a black throne twice Thor’s height sat their king, dressed in garments made from dozens of fox furs and so much gold he outshone the smoky torches.‘Be welcome to my hall, Thor,’ he said. He turned to face Thor then and Thor saw that he was Loki, but it was so hard to reconcile the huge and solemn giant with his friend that Thor could only gape. ‘Why stare so, Thor,’ continued Loki. ‘Is this any way for a guest to behave?’Thor shook his head. ‘What nonsense is this, Loki?’‘Did Odin never tell you that I am a king in my own land?’ asked Loki. The look of surprise on his face appeared genuine, but Thor had known him too long to believe it was possible to judge by that.‘Your people are causing trouble in Midgard,’ said Thor. ‘Something I might have expected had I known you were their king.’‘You wound me with such baseless accusations,’ said Loki. ‘My people are so strong that if they intended harm to men not one would be left standing.’‘They would have to face me first,’ said Thor.‘You? Any giant here could crush you with one finger,’ said Loki, laughter in his voice.Thor looked up to meet Loki’s eyes (and how strange it was to be looking up), confused by this disdain when Loki normally had a healthy respect for Thor’s might. Those eyes disconcerted him further for normally light flickered and danced in them like fire behind green glass, now there was only a dull and steady glow. It left Thor not knowing whether he was dealing with his mischievous friend or a hostile giant.‘No giant can stand against me, as well you know,’ said Thor stoutly.‘Shall we put that to the test?’ asked Loki. ‘It is the custom here, in any case, for guests to test their strength so that they may be treated according to their merits.’‘I shall fight any giant you choose,’ said Thor.‘No, no. I don’t intend to see you hurt,’ said Loki. Thor expected him to wave his hand as he said it, used to Loki’s rapid gestures, but his hands remained limp on the arms of the throne, as if they were carved there. ‘I have an idea. There is a drinking horn here which a good drinker may drain in one swallow, we think little of anyone who cannot finish it in three. What say you?’Thor raised his eyebrows. ‘A drinking contest seems little like a fight, but I know that I can outdrink any man in this hall.’‘We shall see,’ answered Loki.The horn was brought and, although it was a big horn, it did not look too much to Thor who raised it to his lips with a will. Although he tasted mead there was something unpleasant beneath it, an oddly brackish taste in the back of his throat. Thor ignored it and continued to drink, but when he ran out of breath and lowered the horn the level was hardly lower than the rim.‘Your brewers are poor, there is something strange about this mead,’ he said.‘Will you blame your failure on lacking a taste for Utgard’s mead?’ asked Loki. ‘Drink.’Thor did, tilting the horn again and drinking until he had to lower it to find the level hardly lower than before. He took a deep breath, tilted the horn, and drank until he thought his lungs and stomach would both burst. At last he could see a difference, the mead was almost a handspan below the rim.‘We shall have to find some other contest,’ said Loki. ‘The youngsters here often compete in lifting my cat, you are small enough that it should be a challenge for you. Even the smallest of them can get two of its feet off the ground.’The cat emerged from where it had been sitting behind the throne, it was a large cat, easily the size of a wolf, with a long sleek body and wicked slit-pupiled eyes. But Thor saw he would have no trouble lifting it and quickly grabbed it around its middle. The cat hung limp in his hands, unresisting but surprisingly heavy, and although Thor pushed with all his strength its feet remained firmly on the floor. With one last burst of strength he pushed until he thought his spine would crack and finally one back paw was pulled from the ground.‘Enough!’ said Loki. ‘It is clearly too much for Thor.’Thor dropped the cat reluctantly and watched it walk over to the throne, where Loki lifted one huge hand to pet its head, before it vanished into the smoke filled darkness of the hall once again. Thor raised his face, now red with exertion and shame, once more to meet Loki’s eyes.‘Let me fight you,’ said Thor, furiously. ‘Then you’ll see what I am capable of.’‘No,’ said Loki, he smiled then, showing teeth sharp as a snake’s. ‘I told you I would not harm you. You are a guest here, and my kin besides. If you wish to fight I shall find someone suitable among my subjects.’ He bowed his head as if in thought, but Thor could see he was hiding laughter and it made him angrier than ever. ‘I know. Somebody find Elli, my old nurse. She should be a match for Thor in strength.’One of the giants left the hall and came back with a giant-woman so old and bent she was scarcely bigger than a human. She hobbled in with her white hair falling in a tangled mass around her wrinkled face.‘I can’t fight her,’ Thor protested.‘Is she too much for you after all?’ asked Loki. ‘Would you rather accept your defeat and let us be?’Thor swore at him, but turned to the woman and reached out his hands to grapple with her. She rested her hands, withered and claw-like with age, on his arms and her touch seemed light as a feather. But when she pushed Thor felt his legs buckle and his head swam with the effort of keeping his feet. Through the smoke he saw Loki’s eyes, narrowed and glimmering with unreadable emotion. The old woman placed her hands on Thor’s shoulder and pushed, causing him to fall to one knee. He gathered his strength, hunching his shoulders like a bear as he refused to be pushed further, but still he couldn’t throw her off.‘Enough,’ said Loki. ‘I think we have had enough of contests. Thank you, Elli.’Thor stood up slowly, feeling a cold ache in his joints and despair in his heart. What would stop these giants should they decide to take Midgard, or even Asgard, if even he, Asgard’s champion, fell before the least of them?‘Come and eat,’ said Loki, softly. ‘The food here is good and you will feel better for it. Perhaps we shall even find some mead more to your taste.’Thor looked away, unable to bear being pitied by Loki. But he had lost, he could at least show grace about it and play the part of guest. The food was indeed good, the mead too was surprisingly pleasant, and Thor set aside his worries long enough to make the most of it. Afterwards, however, he declined to stay the night and set off back to Asgard, wondering what he would say to Odin when he got there.Thor had not gone far when he heard footsteps behind him, far too light and pattering to be a giant. When he looked back he saw that it was a giant, although a small one. Loki was dressed in rough travelling clothes and devoid of gold. Barely up to Thor’s shoulder he was entirely the travelling companion Thor knew. But Thor turned away and strode on rapidly, not wanting to face him now however he appeared.Loki ran to catch up with Thor and grabbed his wrist. ‘Why so cold? I’ve hurt nothing but your pride and I daresay that will mend quickly enough.’Thor shook him off with a snarl. ‘You rule giants who could take Asgard if they chose and know their strength, and you ask why I am cold to you?’‘Indeed they know their strength, and yours too,’ said Loki, eyes dancing as Thor glared at him. ‘They know that Asa-Thor can drink so much that it lowers the level of the sea, lift the Midgard Serpent so high its tail leaves the ground and that even old age cannot bring him down further than his knees. And knowing that it will be a long time before they set foot in Midgard again.’Thor, furious at being tricked, swung a huge fist at Loki which he ducked away from before he fled, laughing, with Thor behind him.
|
111732
|
What Did You Picture
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Tobias Beecher, Chris Keller",
"Fandom": "Oz - Fandom",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by CatHeights",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2001-06-05T00:00:00",
"words": "2,503",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Reverberations",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It couldn’t be. No fuckin’ way. But damn, it sure sounded like Beecher was jerking off. It had to be his horny imagination, though, because the lights were still on. Not that such a thing would have mattered to him, but shit, he’d never heard Beecher whack off, even in the dark.
The bunk above him creaked, and Chris lay still, listening intently. He swore he heard a soft moan and the sound of a hand moving against fabric. Nah, it couldn’t be what he was picturing. Not Toby. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to check things out. He could get a drink of water, wash his hands — stare at the top bunk.
He slid quietly off of his mattress and then walked across the pod. He never quite made it over to the sink, though, as when he glanced up at Beecher’s bunk, the sight was a shitload better than he had been imagining. Jesus Christ! He’d never seen Toby look like that. Chris backed up against the wall, letting it support him as his eyes devoured the scene playing out on the other side of the pod.
Toby, only in his boxers, was lying with his eyes closed and his legs spread open. Chris could see the shirt he had been wearing earlier crumpled by his side, but there was no sign of his pants. Chris’s interest in finding Beecher’s pants, however, was minimal, as his gaze was drawn to Toby’s right hand, which was nestled deep inside his boxers. He watched as that hand moved in a steady rhythm underneath the cotton material.
As Toby began to arch into his hand, Chris felt his own hardness pressing against the confines of his pants. Toby’s hips lifted slightly with each touch, and Chris vaguely wondered when Toby had slipped out of his clothing. He hadn’t heard a sound. Did it really matter? Definitely no, he thought, as Beecher gave one long, slow thrust into his hand, his head tilting backward as he did. Chris wanted to step across the pod and place his lips on that exposed neck. He wanted the right to lick at that flushed skin.
The tip of Toby’s tongue slid out caressing his upper lip. Chris remembered the one time he had felt those lips, the soft pressure of them against his own. A moan escaped Toby’s mouth, and Chris pressed both of his palms flat against the wall behind him. It was only when Toby’s eyes flew open that he realized he had moaned too. Shit.
He didn’t give a damn about being caught by Toby, but he feared Beecher stopping or chasing him away. Fuck, if it had been him, there was no way he could have stopped. Knowing that Chris didn’t want him to stop, Toby, however, would have somehow managed it. Chris let his eyes travel up to meet Toby’s, bracing himself for the sarcastic flood of words that would surely detail what a goddamn pervert he was. Those words never came.
Toby slipped his hand out of his boxers and ran it casually down the front of his groin, while his left hand rested on his hip. The right hand slipped into the fold of his boxers, carefully freeing his erection. Chris swallowed as he watched Toby wrap his fingers around that now revealed shaft and begin once again to thrust, only much harder now.
His gaze locked with Toby’s, and he knew in that moment that this had all been planned. Toby had wanted him to hear the sounds of him jerking off, and he had known Chris wouldn’t be able to resist watching. Toby was sending him a message, and Chris was getting it crystal clear. You can moan that you’ve been thinking about kissing me, brush up against me every time we pass, but it’s not going to get you what you want. This is as close as you’re going to get.
Well if Toby thought that knowledge was going to make him stop watching, he was wrong. For now, if this was as close as he was going to get, then he was going to stay until this show closed. 20 hacks pounding on their pod door couldn’t have convinced him to move. Beecher seemed so comfortable with his body, so in tune with its needs. He’d never seen him like this, and it was the hottest, fuckin’ thing he had ever seen. No, he definitely wasn’t moving.
Chris could hear the harsh intake of Toby’s breath, and his gaze followed the path of those hips as they rocked off the mattress. His eyes glazed with need, Toby moaned, and Chris pressed firmly against the wall. He was so goddamn hard. He wanted to slip his hands inside his pants and touch himself, wrapping his fingers around his penis so that he could match Beecher stroke for stroke.
Trapped by Toby’s eyes, though, he was unable to move. It wasn’t part of the game. He wasn’t supposed to touch himself, and he knew it. This was all about his needs not being satisfied. If he released one hand from the wall, he could change that, but he was no more capable of doing that than he was of walking away. The instant Toby’s eyes had opened, the trap had slammed shut, and for this moment Toby had all the power. It was his game, his rules, and all about what he needed and what he wanted Chris to know.
Toby released another moan, and Chris let his head briefly rest against the wall, extending his neck as his breathing became as harsh as Beecher’s. He lifted his head, and he could see the sheen of sweat on Toby’s chest even as he felt his own sweat pooling beneath his black tank top. He felt a bead of perspiration drip down his face, and he wanted to wipe it away, but his hands seemed to be permanently stuck to the pod wall.
The lust-filled, piercing gaze that held him in place disappeared as Toby’s eyes slid close while the pace of the hand circling his penis increased. Almost hyperventilating, Chris watched Toby’s face flush, his hips rock, and his free hand clutch at the sheets as he approached his orgasm. As he came, Toby released a low, choked moan, and Chris found himself making a similar sound.
His penis ached as he watched Toby jerk with his release. He could feel a stickiness spreading inside his boxers, and Chris yearned to remove his pants so that he could bring about his own release. Toby’s body was still now, but the harsh sound of both their breathing filled the pod. It was over, but still Chris couldn’t move. He didn’t have the will to take his eyes off Toby’s sated body, sprawled so unselfconsciously on that upper bunk.
Silence stretched for a while, and then Toby was carefully sliding down from his bunk. He limped over to the sink, ignoring Chris, and began to clean himself up. Still painfully hard and trying to catch his breath, Chris watched as Toby wiped the cum off of his stomach.
As he began washing his hands in the sink, Toby asked casually, “Something bothering you Keller?” He looked up, the guileless expression on his face not matching the cunning look in his eyes.
Chris mastered his breathing. He’d given Toby quite enough for the night. There was no way he was going to let his voice betray the agony of his desire. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, his tone its normal smooth confidence.
Beecher snorted. “Oh, I’m sure.” He dried his hands off, and without another glance at Chris, limped back to his bunk and slowly pulled himself up.
As he moved away from the wall, Chris felt pain flair through his wrists. He hadn’t realized that he had been putting most of his weight on them. He twisted them around, working out the kinks. He pulled off his tank top, let it drop to the floor, and then carefully removed his pants, letting them fall onto his top. His penis, now free, poked through his boxers.
His gaze was once again drawn to Toby, who was now sitting up in his bunk, his back resting against the pod wall. Chris’s eyes followed a bent leg, the curve of a hip, and then lingered on a now calm chest. The physical need to touch Toby was so strong that it truly hurt. His hands burned to be able to feel Toby’s skin.
Chris watched Toby’s eyes flicker over his obviously still aroused state and saw the smirk appear on Toby’s face. Two sets of blue eyes locked. Beecher’s expression was one of taunting superiority, but Chris refused to look away. He gazed intently at the face that he longed to kiss, until Toby’s smirk faded. Moments before Beecher had been so comfortable in his own skin, but now he seemed to draw in on himself as the heat of Chris’s desire raked over him. Toby looked away first, and Chris resisted the urge to sigh. He allowed himself one more glance at that beautiful body, and then slid into his own bunk.
His need too strong to be denied any longer, Chris slid his fingers along his penis, feeling the stickiness at the tip. He knew Beecher was listening, waiting to hear the sounds of his arousal. And, he knew that Toby would see his giving in and satisfying his body’s need as some sort of weakness. That goddamn smirk would be returning to Toby’s face as he declared his victory. He didn’t give a shit, though, because he knew it had nothing to do with winning or losing. Not this time, not with Toby.
As he wrapped his hand around his erection, Chris briefly wondered how much of a show they had just given the rest of the cellblock. The lights were still glaring, so he was sure they had been entertaining somebody. Not that he really gave a fuck. There wasn’t much to do for entertainment after lockdown. If some poor bastard got a thrill from watching, what the hell?
He grunted as his hand created a welcome envelope of pressure. Chris cleared his mind, seeing only Toby, but not like he had been moments before. No, he was picturing Toby lying beneath him as they made love. In his mind, Chris tasted Toby’s lips while his hand explored the smooth expanse of skin from the chest to the pelvis. Then, he was following the path his hand had made with his mouth. Tasting Toby’s warm flesh, and moving on to lick at the tip of his penis. Slowly, he swallowed more and more, feeling Toby pressing into his mouth.
Chris stroked himself harder, while in his mental picture, he slid his mouth off of that finely stretched hardness, and with his hands pushed Toby’s thighs apart so that he could reach the spot right underneath his balls. In his mind while licking that spot, Chris was hearing Toby moan, but in reality, it was his own soft moans that were filling the pod.
His tongue was moving down further, finding Toby’s entrance, and then he was relaxing that muscle in preparation. Behind his closed eyelids, Chris could clearly see Toby laid out before him. He was positioning himself now, lifting Toby’s legs as he pressed the tip of his penis inside. He had to see Toby’s face as he slid all the way in. He needed to meet his gaze as they connected. In his mind, when his eyes locked with Toby’s, he saw that lust that had been there today, but also the trust and love that had been glowing in those eyes when they had kissed all those months ago in the laundry room.
Yes. He could feel Toby’s muscles clenching, pulling him in further and setting the pace. He wrapped his hand over Toby’s penis, feeling its heat. He was so close. He felt himself releasing into Toby, and at the same time, he could feel fluid spilling over the hand that was wrapped around his lover’s erection. Their timing was perfect. The scent and feel of it all seemed so vivid and real. As he jerked into his own hand, Chris was completely wrapped in that sensual illusion — until he heard the giggling from above. His eyes opened to the reality of his own semen splattering on his hand and stomach. All that had been satisfied was the moment’s physical need.
He gazed broodingly at the bunk overhead. I know there’s a part of you that still loves me Toby. I know it. He clenched the sticky hand that was resting on his stomach. He could play these games, if that was what Toby needed. He just had to know that there was hope at some point of proving his love.
Actually, what had just transpired proved that he wasn’t wrong to hope. A small smile on his face, Chris called out, “Hey, Toby.”
“What?” Toby said sounding incredibly annoyed.
“When you came, how were you picturing me?”
Chris heard an angry intake of breath, and he was sure Toby’s nose was flaring. He didn’t get an answer, but that was all right because he didn’t need or expect one. Chris knew that just as he had been picturing Toby as he stroked himself, Toby had been picturing him. Toby’s game had been fueled by his desire, and Chris was sure it drove Toby nuts that despite everything that had happened that desire just wouldn’t go away.
He understood that Beecher had needed to prove to himself that Chris’s desire was greater, and that he had the power to deny Chris. And you know what? If that was what Toby needed, that was okay with him. Because as long as Toby still felt that attraction, Chris had the opening he wanted to try to regain Toby’s trust and love. With that as a possibility, he would do anything to get back what he had foolishly damaged.
You wanna call yourself the victor tonight, Toby? Go ahead. That’s fine. When I’ve finally proven to you that I really do love you, well then we’ll both win. No more imagining. When I make love to you, it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever felt in your life.
Chris got up and went over to the sink to clean himself off. When he walked back to his bunk, he saw that Beecher was lying on his side facing the wall. Trying to block out my existence? Chris thought as he smirked. Deny it all you want, Toby, but tonight, I know you’ll be dreaming of me just as I will you.
He climbed back into his bunk, again staring at the one above as if he could make its occupant feel his gaze. Hands folded across his chest, Chris vowed that he would get Beecher back. You’ll see, Toby. I can picture it all, and I promise, you’ll see.
|
128436
|
Slide
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Nightwing, Shatterstar",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by JoAsakura",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-10-22T00:00:00",
"words": "743",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Teen Titans (comic), X-Factor (Comics)",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It's not every day that Dick Grayson has a hot redhead handcuffed to a bed. It's not actually the *first* time, nor does he suspect, the last, but still. It's not that it's a regular occurrence.two hours ago:Fresh from the fight with the Sons of Trigon, Raven had been returning them all to the New York Titans compound when something went strangely... wrong. They'd all felt it, a ghostly ripple of non-sensation, and Raven had screamed, her soul-self nearly depositing them in the Hudson River.And where Starfire had been in their midst was a man. There had been a moment of pause where he- (red haired, sharp blue eyes, weird face tattoo and so, so beautiful, Dick had noticed in those few seconds) and the Titans looked at each other in shock. He was bleeding, black and white costume torn to shreds and blades gleaming out of his coat-sleeves in the dying light.Even before Wally had fully formed "what the fuck?" The redhead was in action. Donna caught one blade on her bracelet, the metals screeching together in a hideous shriek while he took Gar out with a boot to the throat.Dick sprang back as Wally moved in, quick as a blink, to subdue him. A moment later, the Flash was staggering back, blood gushing across his face from the head-butt the newcomer had laid on him. Dick waved Roy and Vic off, sliding the escrima sticks from their holders.Donna looked at him like he was nuts, but the interloper quirked a little smile. Dick recognized that smile. He wore it pretty frequently, the joy of a good fight. One of the sticks caught a blade as they tussled, slicing through the nearly impregnable polymer.The stranger grinned fiercely and twisted his arm, flicking the stick away. He startled Dick by retracting the blades on that arm. "There's no honour in it otherwise." He rasped in Dick's ear before they separated. There was the briefest moment, his white leather grinding softly against Dick's black costume, where it looked certain he was going to kiss him.This close, and Dick could could see the exhaustion tight around those bright blue eyes. Despite the speed and the strength, the redhead was running on nearly empty. So Dick decided to end this the easiest way possible. A quick flick of a gauntlet container and a flash of the good old patented "bat sleep""Sorry, no honour in that either." Dick muttered as the stranger collapsed on him, far too light for his size to allow.~~Currently:Wallets were one of those things that always confounded the spandex set, Dick realised as he pawed through the worn leather one that had been in an inner pocket of the redhead's shredded white jacket.Two condoms. Fifteen bucks in money that looked just slightly wrong (But if they were counterfeits, they were the best Dick had ever seen). A driver's license for one "Benjamin Russell" listed for an address that didn't exist in Brooklyn. Two photos- one battered, one new. The older one, the redhead with tons of hair pulled back in a lush ponytail stared seriously at the camera. He was young there, as were the others, all in garish outfits that reminded Dick a little uncomfortably of his first Nightwing costume. The newer picture, the redhead was with a man from the first- handsome and brown, both of them dressed in street clothes and pressed close, awkward smiles on their faces.Dick glanced back at the unconscious figure on the bed. He looked more than a little like Roy, but he reminded Dick of Kory. Kory, whom Raven was frantically trying to find. He pushed off the chair and padded towards the bed. The man was obviously a meta of some sort, the gashes that had criss-crossed his body were almost gone.Cautiously, Dick brushed back a stray, scarlet hair, looking over the tattoo on his face. His fingerprints had come back negative, there were no police records he could find with this man's appearance.. he was a mystery.A mystery that stirred then, silver-blue eyes slitting open and blinking slowly.Dick took a step back as the redhead clicked into full awareness and gave the cuffs on his wrists an experimental tug, eyes never leaving Dick. Surprise slid into anger which promptly turned into a resigned amusement. "You have me at something of a disadvantage." He said, arching an eyebrow.
|
163627
|
After The Fight
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Random Cadets, Seifer Almasy, Zell Dincht, Fujin (Final Fantasy VIII), Raijin (Final Fantasy VIII), Squall Leonhart, Quistis Trepe",
"Fandom": "Final Fantasy VIII",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by durgasdragon",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-02-18T00:00:00",
"words": "3,060",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "After the War",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
After The Fight
Disclaimer: This is a purely fan-made piece that is using the world and characters from Squaresoft’s (Square Enix) Final Fantasy VIII and is made entirely for enjoyment. No financial gain has been made in the making of this pieceSummary: Seifer’s itching for a fight.Author’s Note: Sequel to ‘Late Night Training’, but can be read alone. Possible out-of-characternessConstructive Criticism is always welcomedPublished: 24 March 2009Rating: TZell and Raijin were at it again.It was disgusting, really. Who honestly cared about Goodbye Pupurun or whatever the damn thing was called?This also led to the question of what the fuck was Zell doing at their table, anyway. And why was he still there?Seifer glared at the two of them. It was enough to put him off of his lunch. Why did he let them sit at his table, again?Fujin kicked him sharply under the table.He tried not to wince too visibly. Right, that would be it. Fujin thought that Zell did him some good. Where she got such a harebrained idea, he didn’t know, but since she had taken to kicking him, he didn’t question it. Not to her face, at least.Seifer slouched back in his chair. Now everyone thought he was Zell’s friend because the dumb cluck had started sitting at his lunch table as much as he sat at Mr Princess and co.’s table. And it didn’t help that Raijin hit it off with him so now Seifer had two people to annoy the heck out of him, especially since the huge lumbering lunkhead kept inviting Zell to tag along.Zell was laughing and he turned slightly so he could give Seifer a big grin, like he thought that Seifer wanted to a part of whatever idiocy that he and Raijin were discussing. He gave Zell a nasty look, but the little blond seemed unfazed.Revolted, he shoved his plate away. Maybe he could give his guards the slip and hide out in his dorm room or something.“Hey, hey, Seif!” Zell practically bounced in his seat. “Are you finished wit’ that? Can I have th’ hot dogs you didn’t eat?”“Sure!” Raijin shoved the tray over towards the hyperactive blond before Seifer could say anything. “Can’t let it go to waste, ya know?”“Ah, man, Seif, you’re th’ best!” Zell seemed oblivious to the fact that Seifer hadn’t said a single thing.He was going to yank the tray back, just to see what the stupid Chicken Wuss would say to that, but then Fujin glared at him, single eye promising extreme pain if he tried anything.That did it. Seifer was not going to sit around and put up with this. He shoved his chair back and stormed out, hearing his guards scrambling after him, yelling obscenities because they still were eating or some such shit; he didn’t stick around to listen to them.He could see the furtive glances the stupid underclassmen threw him as he stalked by and he wondered how long it would before one of them finally grew a pair and picked a fight with him. He was sick of all the goddamn pussyfooting around him.“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” One of his more obnoxious guards hollered at him. “You have class next and that’s that way!”Arrogant little Headmaster Princess-wannabe. “I’m taking the long way because you looked like you could use the exercise, Piggy Fatso.”Ah, how he delighted in the shades of fuchsia that his guards’ faces could reach. “Watch your mouth!” The other guard snapped crossly.Seifer smirked. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Prince Chihuahua,” he said, loving how her perfectly made-up face started to match her companion’s, “I didn’t mean to insult you or Piggy Fatso here. Will you ever forgive me?”Her immaculately done eyes narrowed so much that the purply eye shadow disappeared completely behind her fake eyelashes. “This is your last warning, Almasy! Once more, and you’ll get a demerit!”“Yeah? And where do you think one will come from? You?” Seifer snorted derisively. “You can’t even spell your own name, much less write it out. In fact, I’ll bet the only pencil you ever touch is the one you use to make your lips look fat and your eyes bruised every morning.”He felt vindicated when the round guard wasn’t quite good enough to stop the small snort of laughter. As the plastic guard spun on him, Seifer felt almost normal.He loved sowing seeds of dissent among his so-called guards. It was almost like the old days. The only thing that would have made it better was if he could punch them.He smirked slightly. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he’d get the chance.xXxXxXxXxXxSquall glared at him.Quistis was tapping her foot disapprovingly at him, but her pale eyes held worry and the ever present insecurity, though it was much fainter than it had been in the pre-war days. It no longer draped itself over her like a blanket, but now clung to her like a mist.Squall glared at him harder.Seifer smirked—or at least, tried to. It seemed that his jaw and his cheek hadn’t healed completely yet. “What, no flowers?”“You put three students into the Infirmary,” Squall stated, ignoring Seifer’s comment. “And we had to treat seven others.”“What were you thinking?” Quistis scolded. “You can’t just go beating up the people who are protecting you!”“You do know that our investors aren’t going to be happy about this. Especially after I spent all that time arguing to get you to stay here.”“You didn’t do shit other than sign your name to get me here.” It was time to clear the air a little bit. Seifer shifted the compress so he could glower at them with both of his eyes. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see out of one of them right now; what mattered was that they know where he stood. “And let’s get the facts straight about this whole little incident. Prince Chihuahua threw the first punch. After that, it became a bit of a free-for-all, with everyone else involved. I only fuckin’ defended myself.”“You egged your guards so they would start a fight.” Quistis, it seemed, was going to try to pull her authority card on him. “And that kind of behaviour is unacceptable.”“And ganging up on me is?” Seifer shot back. “I fuckin’ don’t care if they want to punch my face in, but when it’s a crowd against one, yeah, I’m going to use a shit-ton of force!” He stood up, ignoring the pain in his legs and back. “Fuck this. I’m not sitting around listening to you guys pin this all back on me.”He stormed out and didn’t let himself try to smirk until he was well outside of the Infirmary.That went better than he expected it to go. He played a very good victim. Betcha that Quistis was feeling guilty and would be pulling a nice trip on Squall right now.He’d have to do this again.xXxXxXxXxXxHe gingerly flopped back on to his bed. He wanted to slam his door shut behind him, but part of his recent punishment included the only time he could shut a door was when he was pissing or showering in the bathroom in common space he shared with Fujin and Raijin. In theory, this was to shame him into behaving better.In reality, all it meant was that he was going to have to be more careful about sneaking out when he trained. It wasn’t like he had any privacy to begin with, so it was just one more thing to add to the list.Really, who did they think they were punishing? It was an annoyance, definitely, but not a punishment.He tossed his less battered arm over his eyes and waited for the pain killers to come up and kick his sense of reality across the room.He wasn’t sure how long he lay there when he heard that annoying voice asking his guards if he was in. Gods, was he blind as well as annoying?“He’s in, but I don’t know why you’d want to bother him.” One of his guards muttered.“Seifer is my friend,” the Chicken Wuss said with great dignity. “An’ I wanna see how he’s doin’ after they beat him up like that.”“Beat him…he threw four people over the rails into the fountain right after he broke three other people’s noses!”“He was defendin’ himself!” Zell said hotly. “I’d like to see you not hurt other people when you got twenty people attackin’ you at once!”Seifer tried to smirk under his arm. It sounded like the rumours were doing their job; it had been more like ten people, but at this rate, he was going have stood up to the entire school trying to kill him by tomorrow morning.“He still goaded them into it,” the other guard pointed out dryly. “So it’s not entirely like he’s the only wounded party here.”“Seifer says dumb shit all th’ time”—oh, that was rich, especially since it was coming from that moronic cluck—“an’ you can’t jus’ up an’ try to punch him ev’ry time he does it! You gotta ignore what he says an’ watch what he does!”He almost yanked his arm down so he could yell at the idiot, but something in the Chicken’s voice made him pause.Maybe the pain meds were finally doing their thing.“You mean like when he trying to break innocent people’s heads?” The dry guard asked sardonically.“Seif’s saved my life!” Zell hissed. “An’ he’s done all sorts of stuff to let me kno’ that th’ stuff comin’ out of his mouth is jus’ verbal diarrhoea!”“Dude, you were his favourite punching bag for years before the War! You call that friendship?!”“He only punched me a few times! He didn’t do it much ‘cuz I could kick his ass, even back then! ‘Nyhow,” the dumb cluck continued with a disgusting show of loyalty, “that was then an’ this is now. He likes hangin’ out wit’ me; he told me so!”“I doubt that.”“If he did, it was only so he could make fun of you later.” The spastic guard snorted.“He told me that before he thought we were gunna die! You don’t lie when you think you’re gunna kick it!”Seifer wondered how all the hell Chicken Wuss got ‘I like hanging out with you’ from ‘I don’t hate you’.…Then again, he wasn’t all sure he really wanted to know. He might sprain his brain trying to figure that one out.“ANYHOW,” the moron was saying loudly, “it don’t matter what you think, ‘cuz Seif’s th’ one who’s a mess right now an’ you ain’t!” With that, Zell stormed into Seifer’s room.Seifer could almost hear Zell cringing as he realised that he’d been loud and Seifer looked like he was sleeping. He almost smirked, but then he’d have deal with the Wuss and possibly acknowledge that he heard what the dumbo had said about him. Neither sounded like options that he wanted to explore, so he left his arm over his eyes and kept his breathing regular and slow.“Sorry,” he heard the Chicken whisper and battle-worn fingers ghosting over his hair.What the fuck? Why was Zell petting him?The hand pulled away and Seifer felt relief set in. He didn’t know what the hell Zell had just done or why, but he better not touch Seifer again. Not if he knew what was good for him.He heard the idiot shuffle around and move a chair, and then mostly silence. He entertained the idea of ‘waking up’ and yelling at the dipshit, but since the world seemed to take on a surreal bent recently, he decided that maybe he’d better not. Best to let reality go away and perhaps when it came back, things would be the way they should be.xXxXxXxXxXxWhen Seifer came back to a state of reality, the first thing he noticed was the pain. Fuck painkillers and fuck what the stupid Princess Haedmaster said, he was going to down a potion or three.He slowly rolled to his side so he could swing his legs out over the side of his bed with the minimal amount of movement needed. He froze when he saw that his chair was not in its correct place by his desk; instead, it was pulled close to his bed. Goddamn it, couldn’t people put his stuff back? He kicked it slightly, but since to move it back into its proper place made him hurt even more, he decided that it could stay where it was for now. He’d fix it for real once he didn’t feel like a heard of ochus had trampled him.Slowly, he shuffled over to where he had a secret stash of potions. Unfortunately, it appeared they weren’t as secret as he hoped they were. Meant he was going to have to find another spot, and he was going to have to get more potions. Fujin and Raijin were always out to help, but people were so convinced that all his friends did was buy him potions, it was a little hard some days.He was going to hit them up for some, anyhow.Fuck, but he was sore.“Hey, man,” Raijin greeted him loudly as he slowly dragged himself into the room. “Wasn’t sure when you were gonna be up an’ movin’, dotchano!”“BETTER?” Fujin looked up from the magazine she was studying.“No, hurt like fuckin’ hell.” He eased himself down on a stool and ignored the guards who were glaring at him. He made a small gesture that he knew that his friends would understand.Fujin gave him a sympathetic look and lowered her voice. “TOOK. HAVE NONE.”“Totally cleared us out, ya know? Seemed ta think we’re a private pharmacy for you or somethin’ an’ we got nuthin’ better ta do.”Seifer almost sighed, but since he wasn’t that type, he only sneered. It looked like he was going to have to suck it up for the night until the morning pills were dispensed. He’d gone for more than a day without a potion or healing magic during the war—especially towards the end when supplies had been scarce—but he wasn’t keen on doing it again.“FOOD?” Fujin offered, using a normal tone of voice again.If he didn’t have an image to keep up, he’d said no. But with the damn guards spying on his every movement, he had a certain role he had to play. “Sure, what do you have?”“We’ve got—”“Hey, guys! I’m back and I’ve—Seif! You’re up! How’re you feeling?”What the fuck was he doing here?Seifer glared, but Zell ignored him and bounced in, carrying a drink caddy.“I brought things to drink! An’ I brought Mr Fugly”—here he grinned at Seifer—“somethin’ special!”Seifer glared.Zell plopped in the seat next to his and thrust something at him.Seifer stared at it. It looked like a smoothie machine had puked into a cup. “I don’t think so.”“It’s filled wit’ stuff to make you feel better!” The Wuss winked at him when he said that, like he was trying to communicate something to someone.Seifer poked it. Things sloshed in ways that nothing edible should. “No.”Fujin glared at him.He glared back. He wasn’t going to touch the stuff on principle alone. No way he had sunk so low that—Fujin’s foot didn’t kick him, but it certainly found a tender spot and pressed.Goddamn it, who died and made her the leader?Seifer took a suspicious sip only because it made Fujin pull her foot back and not because he was doing anything for that annoying Over-Active Brat. He nearly started when he felt the familiar healing tingle of a potion start to seep through his veins. Sharply, he looked over at Chicken Wuss.The bouncy annoyance gave him a large grin.Only after the smile faltered a little did Seifer down the entire cup. He then tossed it in the general direction of the Wuss. “Next time, don’t be such a dumbass and use less bananas and more blueberries.”Zell blinked before a big smile bloomed over his face. “I ain’t gonna blow all my money on blueberries just ‘cuz you like them! You’re gonna just have to live wit’ it!” He glanced over at Fujin and Raijin. “Whiny bastard, ain’t he?”Seifer rolled his eyes, already feeling the worst of the pain vanishing and leaving a dull ache behind. “Whatever, Chicken Wuss. Go away.”“Nice try!” The dumbass laughed at him, then proceeded to a huge nuisance of himself with Raijin.Fujin sat back, a slightly smug smirk on her face. Seifer glared at her, but she did nothing to shut up the two loud annoyances that were making a racket.After fifteen minutes, Seifer was sick of the noise and he decided if he went to bed, maybe the morons would take the hint and SHUT THE FUCK UP.And he most certainly was not going because the day had tired him out or he wanted to sleep off some of the residual pain; Seifer wasn’t some stupid, pathetic, little cry-baby who couldn’t take a little discomfort.“LEAVING ALREADY?” Fujin asked, looking like she might make Seifer sit back down again.“The moronic twins are giving me a headache.”From the way she nodded her head, he knew she understood.Zell and Raijin both had abashed expressions on their faces. “Sorry, ya know?”“Hey, I’ll bring you another smoothie tomorrow, okay?” Zell called out to Seifer’s back.Seifer flipped Zell off, and heard the tattooed blond cheerfully announce what a jackass he was.As he gingerly flopped down on his bed, he reflected on the evening. The potion in the smoothie wasn’t anything he had expected, and it was move that almost seemed to clever to have come from the Wuss. Fujin might have a point; there might be some use for the dumbass after all.Maybe he’d let Zell hang around just little bit longer.
x Fin x
|
186431
|
Light
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski",
"Fandom": "due South",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by kalena",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-04-18T00:00:00",
"words": "1,242",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It was dark, and the warmth that woke him up started in his chest. By the time he came to the surface it was sparks, firing along every nerve, from the lips tweaking his left nipple. "Oh, holy -- don't stop!" he moaned, as the sparking left, but it started again on the other side. "What? Oh, fuck!" He twisted to get his now-stiff cock against something solid, and came up against a hard, determined body."Ben!" It wasn't a dream. Thank fucking everything. He'd had enough of those. "I . . . shit!" He coughed and jerked as a hand found his dick. "Whaddya . . . oh, my God." The slip-slide of a hot hand that felt bigger than it really was had him wrenching back, moaning."Ray." The voice sounded like out of the Twilight Zone, it was that calm and collected. "Are you awake, Ray?""Holy Jesus! Yeah, I'm awake now, didn't think I could be this horny after -- ""Do you want me, Ray? Do you want to be inside me now?""God! You're a fucking sadist, of course I want you, I just don't know how!"He could feel those big warm hands rolling the condom onto him, and if he hadn't come an hour ago, he would right now feels so good"Lubrication, Ray." Ben squeezed some slimy crap over his fumbling fingers and turned over, pulling one knee up. "Touch me. Put your fingers inside."Oh, yeah. He'd wanted to be inside Ben ever since the first minute he met him. He pushed against the ring of muscle and it bloomed for him like a flower, so easy, how did that happen? He didn't care. He only wanted to touch, to feel, to get in. Ben let him, something inside Ben said it was okay, that it was safe. That was sublimely cool. It said everything; it was sex, but it was better than sex. He hit something accidentally that made Ben twitch and groan, so he did it again.A push of his fingers met Ben's voice somehow. "Ah!""Good?""Nice. That's nice."Well, screw that. He wanted more than nice. He wanted hot, he wanted freakin' incendiary. He started a rhythm. In, out. He thought it might take Ben for a ride, but instead it took him, right from his fingers to his nuts. It wasn't two seconds before the rhythm was running him, moving him, pulsing through him. It was his whole body, his whole life.Ben moved against him. "Ray, now! I need you now!"He didn't even worry about hurting Ben, which made him cringe later, but at that second he didn't give a rip about anything but in. Too fast, or too hard, and Ben stiffened. So did Ray. Except Ray got stiffer everywhere, with the head of his dick in the perfect fit of Ben's body, and he was pretty sure that Ben was limp in the most important spot right now. "Damn! Are you okay?""I'm fine.""You sound more like you're gritting your teeth." He wanted it, wanted it bad, but he didn't want it that way. "We don't have to do this. We could do it later, do it never, I don't care.""I want to, Ray. This is mine.""You sure?""I'm sure."His hand drifted down the flat stomach to the, yeah, soft cock below. It was like a punch in the chest. It just seemed to leave Ben so vulnerable, so defenseless. It hurt; Ray didn't know why, but it did. The least he could do was fix that, try to give Ben some feelgood.He dipped his face into the curve of Ben's neck and licked his nape, talked trash into his ear. "You're so hot, such a beautiful ass. Man, if I could pack you up and take you with me everywhere I went, I'd have a boner all the time." He reached around and rubbed Ben's chest, rolling his hardening nipples between two fingers. "Just wish I could fuck you and suck you off at the same time. That would be so great. Think how good it'd feel.""That would be quite an accomplishment, wouldn't it?" Now he could hear Ben smiling."Oh, yeah, I'd be in the record books for that one. You got some more of that lube?"Fortified with goo, he used it to coat Ben's cock. "Feel that, Ben?" he whispered. "Warm and wet, just like my mouth. You like it when I suck you, don't you?"The answer came out on a sigh. "Yes."Ray could feel the results already. "My mouth on your cock, licking and sucking. Mmmm, that's sweet." Once he started, it was hard to stop. Ray's mouth was rolling down its own road now. He let everything out, all the things he'd been holding inside. The emotional release was so intense that it felt like his brain was coming. "I like to run my tongue around the head." He matched the backbeat to the vocals. "You're so good, so tasty. The way you smell gets me so goddamn hard."Ben moaned, faintly, and his cock jerked in Ray's hand. Oh, yeah, this was working."My fingers inside you, that was incredible. I could feel how much you wanted it, how much you trusted me." He rolled Ben's balls in his hand and bit a tiny line of bites along his shoulder. "Oh, yeah. That's good, Ben. Everything about you is good." Tasting Ben's skin with long sweeps of his tongue, he groaned as Ben squeezed him from the inside. "I like to look at you. At your cock, it's beautiful, but at all of you. Pretty hair. Pretty eyes. I like to watch your ass in those tight jeans and think about my hands on you."He began to stroke harder as Ben thrust forward into his waiting hand. Ray had physics on his side, the equal but opposite reaction, the moving back on Ray's dick. Ben was turned on enough now to relax, to open up like he had for Ray's fingers. "That's it, wanna make you feel good, make you come so hard, love it when you come all over the both of us -- " Ben shifted his weight, and Ray was buried in that sweet ass."Jesus!" His yell probably deafened Ben, right in his ear, but Ben was making some noises of his own."Oh! Yes, that's good, Ray, do that!"He rocked forward and Ben rocked back and they both had the rhythm now, panting into it, working it like pros. He was still talking, but even he couldn't make any sense out of it. He was floating free; they were both floating together in the dark. The dark was all around them and they were the only two people in the empty black universe. But the dark didn't matter, because behind his eyes there was light. It was in him -- in them, both of them, and he knew it when Ben came with a shout and the light exploded into stars and suns.It took a few minutes for him to get his breath back and find Ben's mouth."You're an education all on your own, you know that?" he asked, somewhere between Ben's lips and his cheekbone.All he got for his question was a muffled "Eh?" and a heavy arm across his back. It was plenty."Yeah, science guy." He smiled. "Before you, I never really got the Big Bang."
|
164287
|
A Sure Thing
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Kris Allen, Adam Lambert, Original Male Character",
"Fandom": "American Idol RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by abriata",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-11-12T00:00:00",
"words": "28,311",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Kris Allen/Adam Lambert, Kris Allen/Original Male Character",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Adam has no clue what time it is, probably because there's no clock mixed in with the tasteful decor of the room. A strategic move on their part - when someone's paying by the hour you don't want to be reminding them of their dollars ticking away. He's also got no phone, since the nice woman at the door took it with a line about safeguarding guest and employee privacy. Adam had wondered a little at the safety of the contents of his phone, but there wasn't anything else for it. He rolls over, stretching, trying not to nudge his bedmate in the process. He thinks he's fairly successful but he's only just sat up went the guy touches his shoulder lightly and says, "Hey."Adam turns enough to see him out of the corner of his eye. He's pale, slow-eyed like he was actually still asleep and not just pretending. Adam appreciates the effort, even if it is just a ruse. He says hey back, because there's no call for being rude."Is that it?" The guy smiles, sleepily amused."You wouldn't happen to know the time, would you?" Adam says blithely, ignoring the question. The guy's not even wearing a watch."I'm afraid not," the guy says after a slight pause. "You know, there are hotels just down the road," he continues hesitantly when Adam stands and tugs at his clothes, trying to look like he didn't just crash in a foreign bed without so much as taking off his shoes.Adam says, "I don't need a room," obliquely, because there's no obligation to explain himself here. He wishes he remembered the guy's name, though, so there wasn't such an obvious pause after he says, "Goodbye, and thank you."---Kris really fucking hates his clients sometimes. The reason Hannah asks them how long they'll need accompaniment for is because their companion does actually have a life outside of work, but now Kris has missed his Comparative Religion seminar for the third time this semester, and he's only halfway through."Fuck," he says miserably, dropping his head on Hannah's planner. "The professor's going to kill me.""No," Hannah says sympathetically, petting his hair. "You'll be fine. He'll probably just drop you from his class."Kris moans."It's your own fault, anyway. You knew she was going to be late getting you back here, you should've just had her drop you somewhere on campus."Making a disgruntled noise, Kris picks his head up. Hannah knows Kris tries to keep work and school separate – just because she has a fiancé who's cool with the fact that she's a secretary for a glorified brothel doesn't mean the rest of them are so lucky."Quit whining," Hannah says. "You love your job, and if Megan catches you griping you're a dead man."Kris does love his job. When Megan had sat next to him in the cafeteria freshman year and said hey, maybe whoring yourself out to get through school isn't such a bad idea, want to be an escort with me? Kris had thought she was joking. The first paycheck had sealed the deal for him, though, and now he's seven months from graduating and has no student loans – a remarkable feat, considering UCLA's tuition increases the past couple years."What's up with you?" Megan asks, coming in whistling. "Aren't you in class right now?"Kris makes a face at her and Hannah explains, "Miss Giamatti."Megan says, "Oh, late again?"
Kris nods. As much as he appreciates Nicole – and he does, she's a regular, a wonderful conversationalist and gorgeous to boot, and if it weren't for her paranoid streak she'd be married four times over – she can be a little selfish. She just thinks that everyone she dates is after her money, so somewhere along the line she decided to pay outright for her romance rather than skirt the issue. Kris certainly isn't going to try to talk her out of it, even if a six year old could tell her the chauffeur's in love with her. It's not his place."I've got Mr. Schumacher tonight," Megan says, sighing.Kris can sympathize. He doesn't get too many of the senior crowd, his looks endear him to different clientele, but everyone hates Mr. Schumacher."So, hey," Hannah says before Megan heads up to get ready. "How'd it go with the famous guy last night?"
"Oh, who?" Megan asks, interest piqued, and Kris waves his hand at them both."Fine," he says, because nobody in their business lasts long if they kiss and tell."You were with him an awfully long time," Hannah says suspiciously."Who was it?" Megan persists, poking Kris' shoulder."That guy," Hannah frowns. She's terrible with names, which is really a bad trait for a hostess. "The one with the billboard up on 8th.""Oh," Megan says, dragging it out. "The singer, right?"
"Adam Lambert," Kris says, because otherwise they'll be here all night."And it was just fine?" Megan says dubiously. Hannah giggles. "Isn't he—""A client," Kris says pointedly. They're not supposed to talk about it, and if Mark or Anna catches them at it there'll be lectures and docked paychecks. "Don't you have to get ready?"Megan sighs again but goes. Mr. Schumacher is one of the controlling ones, he sends up outfits and makeup and perfume for whatever girl he's bought that evening, and he expects them to be ready whenever he deems to show up. In short, he's an asshole, but he's a well-paying one and he's too old to want anything more than the company."I'll see you next week," Kris reminds Hannah. He's got an exam Monday that he plans to spend all weekend studying for, and he's booked all of Saturday already. Hannah's promised to keep the new requests away."Good luck!" she calls after him. Kris shoulders his backpack and goes to catch the bus.Except, of course, he's been holed up for five hours in his room with half a box of old pizza when his phone goes off. He checks the display – "Always make sure, Kris," Anna told him. "Don't give clients your private number or answer any unknown call." – and groans when he sees it's work. "Hannah—" he answers tiredly, but she talks over him."Yes, hello Mr. Albert, I'm calling to see if you're open for another appointment tonight?""What?" Kris says blankly. Hannah never uses their professional names."I understand," she says pleasantly. "Please hold."Kris pulls his phone back to stare at it. "What the hell?" he repeats."Kris," Hannah comes back on, hissing. "The famous guy's asking for you again, what do you want me to tell him?""My study schedule doesn't change just because he's famous," Kris says, irritated. She knows better."Yes, but Anna's already talked to him personally, and he only wants you. Just in house, again, whatever you did last time must've made an impression." Her voice dipped to faintly admiring."I have to study," Kris repeats futilely, because they both know he'll come in. Kris never says no. It's why he makes Hannah promise not to ask if he's too busy."I'm sorry, but he's really determined," Hannah says, voice small. "Do you want me to charge him double-time?""Yes," Kris says morosely. "Not that it'll help me if I fail this test. Put him in my room." Part of his problem, Kris decides as he locks his apartment door, is that he only lives fifteen minutes from work. He wouldn't be able to do this shit if he were all the way across town.Hannah stands up and flaps her hands at him when he comes in, grimacing. He hasn't taken a shower yet today, and he feels grimy and tired."Thanks so much for coming, Kris," she says, making apologetic kissing faces. "I just couldn't say no, he's so sweet and—""You let him talk you into calling me," Kris says flatly. "We're the escorts, we're supposed to be the charming ones, you traitor."She makes a wounded noise at his back. He ignores her, dropping his bag behind the desk. God knows he can't stay mad for long; he's going to hold out while he can. Adam's sitting on the end of the bed when he comes in and smiles at him. "I appreciate you coming," he says, and Kris almost glowers, because he actually sounds fucking sincere.Kris smiles instead. "What do you need?"Adam gestures him over. "Sleep."Bemused, Kris lays down with him again. "There are stuffed animals for this," he says before he can stop himself."Not ones with a pulse," Adam says, yawning. He snuggles in closer. "And besides, you're much more adorable than the standard teddy bear.""It'd be less expensive than this," Kris goes on, wincing because, hello, what is he doing, talking away a client, but Adam says, "I can afford it," smiling, and, "Shh, sleeping."Kris blinks up at the ceiling for maybe five minutes before he rolls over and cuddles in.---Adam's gone when he wakes up. Kris lies still for a while, contemplating this. On one hand, sleeping is exactly what Adam's paying him for. On the other hand, ignoring the client as they leave is incredibly poor business practice.Then he says, "Shit!" and gets down to the lobby as quickly as he can.Hannah laughs at him as he grabs his bag from under her feet. "He left like two hours ago, have you been asleep or something?""Shut up," Kris says. "I'm going to miss the stupid charity event."Hannah's eyes widen. "With Francis? He'll kill you!""My suit's at my apartment, what time is it?""Ten," she says. "When does it start?""Two," Kris says grimly. "But he's coming to get me at eleven.""Nice," Hannah says, carefully neutral. She, like almost everyone, hates Francis. He's a big producer or something, and a complete dick. Unfortunately, he's also been a loyal client for almost two decades – Megan says it's because he's too terrible to ever have a real relationship. Kris thinks it's because the power in owning an escort for a couple of days at a time does more for him than anything else ever would. Also unfortunately, he's taken a shine to Kris, and Kris has been his only companion for the last two years. Francis has probably paid Kris' tuition all on his own.Kris waves at Hannah and runs home. He has to shower anyway, and it'll take too long if he waits for the bus. He's sweated through his clothes when he gets there (fucking LA) and has about forty minutes to be picture perfect for Francis, but he's had worse odds. He waves cheerfully at Cale as he slams past him and gets an eyeroll in return. It's pretty awesome having a roommate who doesn't care that they share an apartment with a hooker.He's ready with twelve minutes to spare and has no clue what to do with himself now that all the frenetic energy has no place to go. Cale snorts when he goes and sits next to him on the couch. "You've been busy," he says, as close an allusion to Kris' work as he'll get."Charity concert and dinner," Kris says, "for some kind of disease." He'd feel guilty for not remembering, and at the beginning he'd tried to, but he goes to at least one event a month and they all start to run together."Cool," Cale says appreciatively. "Bring back food?"Kris shakes his head. "Not coming back tonight."Cal makes a face. Kris ignores him. He usually tries to charm leftovers out of the wait staff and he's always pretty successful, and Kris suspects it may be one of the reasons Cale's so accepting of his occupation. Or it could be that Cale moonlighted as a stripper for about two weeks and doesn't have much moral high ground to stand on.When the doorbell goes off Kris stands and tries to straighten his suit. It's all wrinkled, which Francis will pitch a fit about. It's good though – real transgressions are easier to play along to than the fictional ones. Kris cracks the door, slipping through quickly. Francis is the only client who knows where he lives, but that doesn't mean he needs to see any more of Kris' life. It's the driver, though, and Kris trails him down to the car, sliding in.Francis smiles at him proprietarily, looking him over. He says, "So nice to see you again, darling."Kris hates his voice. It's poor Southerner plastered over with false niceties and out-of-date phrases. It's Francis' accent, now, like a sheen of oil he can't wash off, and every time Kris hears it he aches for the guy he thinks once would've said Ma and Gawd, and both with the same reverence. Francis doesn't have any family now."Hey," Kris says, drawing it out and thickening his own accent. Francis likes to be reminded of home."You're a mess," he's told, though he really isn't. This is where it starts, and it's easy like a second skin to drop his eyes and say, "Yeah, I'm sorry," ashamed, and go where the hands pull him.---"I really support the cause," Francis says, and Kris stops rubbing at his wrists to listen. He sounds irritated, which is unusual for anyone right after getting laid and almost unheard of from Francis. Anna says Kris makes him sweet."So what's up?" Kris prompts when Francis just broods, staring out the window at the LA sun. He'll probably damage his eyes if he isn't distracted and Kris believes in keeping his clients intact."The performer is a man I despise. His team hired me to work on his last album, and he is the most singularly selfish, difficult artist I've ever worked with." Francis finishes this with a delicate sniff, as if ridding himself of the matter.Kris has to remind himself that it's not appropriate to smile while he makes consoling noises. He is curious who's doing the concert though. Francis is usually the worst person in the room.When they pull up outside the event hall Francis makes a harrumphing noise and Kris pats his knee soothingly. He may only be in his forties, but, good fitness regimen or not, it probably wouldn't hurt to watch his blood pressure.They spend an hour or so mingling in the lobby, where Kris does his best to mitigate Francis' personality. He's been with Francis long enough that he's a familiar face to some of the people who run in these circles, so he fields a few nice queries about how he's been and his plans for the next couple of months, and he ignores a few unkind comments about how long he's managed to put up with Francis. Some executive's wife has just trapped him with pictures of her prize Pomeranians when Francis comes to lay a possessive hand on his back and lead him to their table as the doors open. Dinner isn't until six so they've got a couple hours of speakers, and Kris actually listens to this sort of thing. Or he tries to, until Francis gets handsy about halfway through so Kris has to go blow him in the bathroom.The ushers don't even blink when they go in together – Kris loves high-class establishments – but Kris does make Francis go out before him. He waits five minutes, rinsing his mouth out while he has the time. Pre-lubed condom is not the best taste to leave sitting on your tongue.Turns out he should've waited longer, though. He walks out of the restroom and steps right in the middle of Francis' most recent argument. He says, "Excuse me," very quietly, trying to play it off as is appropriate, and Francis says, "Oh, Karl, good, I'd like to introduce you to tonight's charity artist," and pulls him around to stand next to him. "Adam, Karl's my date for this evening. Karl, this is Adam Lambert."Absurdly, Kris thinks it's nice to meet a client outside of work. He doesn't mean to meet Adam's eyes – eye contact destroys anonymity, which is an escort's best friend – but he does and then he's too wary to look away, because instead of embarrassed or scared Adam looks only surprised and sharply amused. Kris' stomach drops and he wonders abruptly just how bad the blood is between Francis and Adam. Most clients would never dare say a thing, never mind the confidentiality agreements, because admitting they know an escort is admitting they've solicited one, but Adam isn't looking away."Oh," Adam says, grabbing Kris' hand to shake. "Is that your name?" he asks, while he's appraising his clothes, and Kris shifts his weight back, self-conscious for the first time in years."It's nice to meet you," Kris tries, but Adam looks right past him and says, "We seem to have unfortunately similar tastes in dates, then," to Francis, and Kris closes his eyes and for exactly six seconds wishes he'd stayed in bed this morning. Then he's too busy holding tight to Francis' arm, restraining him, and saying, "You're mistaken, Mr. Lambert, I'm sure," while Adam watches them calculatingly.Adam says, "I'm really not, and don't you think last names are uncalled for at this point?"And what the hell? Kris just stares at him, clueless as to how he's supposed to handle this. Clients don't announce things like this, and besides, Adam has nothing to announce. Francis is sputtering next to him.Adam goes on, "But really, you are busy, aren't you? Do you do this every night, or do you have days off like the rest of us?"Kris finally says, "I have no idea what you're referring to," because he will not allow any client to assault his career, even if he loses their patronage because of it.Adam laughs. "Come on, there's only us. One escort and two – what did that Hannah girl call us? Clients?""Is this true?" Francis finally gets out, turning and spitting it at Kris.Kris doesn't flinch, but it's a close thing. He steps away, drawing himself straight and going carefully still. If they're going to talk business he's under no obligation to keep playing his part. "My job has nothing to do with either of you, and if it did I wouldn't be able to discuss it," which is as good as saying yes and also gives him grounds to strike both of them from the books if they keep asking.Kris doesn't know Adam well enough to judge, but Francis gets the message. He looks back at Adam, furious, but says, "We're looking forward to your performance," though it sounds painful to say. He grabs Kris' arm tightly, pulling him back down the hallway, and Kris can't help the slight hiss when his fingers close around already bruised wrists. Adam's eyes flick down and then back up, amusement gone, but he doesn't say anything as they leave.Back at the table all of Kris' hard work has been undone. Francis is wound tight as a spring, angry and impatient for the night to be over. Kris is tense, too, because for the rest of the night he's still Francis' and he'd bet anything that it's not going to be pleasant. He wants to ignore the performance, professional courtesy on Francis' behalf and his own hurt pride, but he lasts maybe two minutes with eyes averted, watching shadows play on the wall before he has to watch, has to see.Francis catches him halfway through – he's a hypocrite, he was staring just as much as the rest of them, but Kris can't say that – and pulls him out forcibly, barely stopping long enough to grab their coats. Kris knows Adam watches them leave, because they're the only ones standing, the only ones rude enough to leave a charity event for dying children. All of Kris' manners are cringing at it, but he's only got until they get to the car to feel guilty. They tumble in and Francis has his chauffeur take them to his house, but as soon as the car's away from the curb he's pulling Kris to him, harsh. "I want you for the whole weekend," he snaps.Kris extricates himself and says, firmly, "No.""I beg your pardon?" Francis snarls, reaching for him again, but Kris folds his arms and says, "I said no, Mr. Partridge."Francis' mouth tightens, and for a moment Kris thinks he won't listen. But he does, of course he does – he'd spent one night trying to convince Kris they didn't need to use condoms, that the sex would be better without, and had gone so far as to attempt to distract Kris from it. Bad idea, thinking sex is ever that distracting for someone who does it for a living, and Kris had left three hours in. He had also declined every one of Francis' requests for six weeks, and at the end of it Francis had actually apologized, in so many words, for overstepping Kris' boundaries. It was the most human Kris had seen him up to that point, and he'd taken him back on. Interestingly enough, it was also from that point onward that Francis never requested anyone else, and until now he's never tried to push Kris into anything he doesn't readily agree to at first mention.Kris moves back over to him, distraction if nothing else. He knows better than to mention jealousy, even as a game, because he can't joke about something if it's true.---Kris complains about it to Hannah the next day he comes in, and she listens to him, laughing without telling him why."This really isn't funny," Kris says. "He recognized me. I don't want to be publicly known as a hooker, even if it is a fake name.""No, I'm not laughing about that," Hannah says. "It's just that these came for you," grabbing a bouquet from behind the desk to show him.Kris frowns. Francis has never sent him flowers before. You don't do that, that's the whole point of an escort. "I still don't get why this is funny," he says, dropping the card in the trash.She giggles a little and says, "These also came for you.""What the hell?" Kris asks the second bouquet. It's the ugliest arrangement of flowers he's ever seen – most of them are spiky and weird colors. He's pretty sure one of the plants is oozing. "It's disgusting.""Kris!" Hannah says, appalled. "It's a tropical arrangement.""Uh huh," Kris says, making a face. "Who's it from?""Here's the card," Hannah says, not even bothering to pretend she didn't look at it.I owe you an apology for my behavior the other day.Francis and I bring out the worst in each other.Forgive me?"Oh, fuck," Kris sighs, and Hannah says, "See? He's really sweet. Also, he booked you tomorrow.""What's that?" Megan demands, pushing through the doors with a clatter born of six shopping bags and five-inch stilettos."Nothing," Kris yelps, fleeing upstairs, and Hannah says, "You won't believe—"---Hannah doesn't let Kris throw the flowers away, and he shows up Tuesday night and finds that they've snuck their way into his room. He yells something at her and shoves them in the closet since he doesn't have time to take them out to the trash. Adam should be here in fifteen minutes and Kris will be waiting when he gets here. This is going to remain strictly professional – they will not talk about Kris, Francis, or anything in between. Megan says he should at least thank him for the flowers. Hannah says he should confess that Francis really is a dick, it's not just Adam. Kris isn't going to say anything, thanks, now get your asses out of my room."Francis really is a dick," Kris says, when Adam comes in smiling, "and thanks for the flowers." There's a muffled thump and the distinct sound of giggling outside the door."Are they eavesdropping?" Adam asks."Excuse me," Kris says, trying to push past him, but Adam says, "No, let me.""Want to join us?" He offers cheerfully, opening the door on Megan and Hannah, and they both start laughing, darting back down the hallway.Kris sits on the edge of the bed, mortified. "Oh my god, I apologize for them.""It's fine," Adam says, looking amused.Flopping back to stare at the ceiling, Kris says, "It's really not," then, "What are you doing?""Poking around," Adam says, like it's obvious, which, point. He's opening all the cabinets and going through the bookshelves.Kris has no problem letting him explore. These rooms aren't personal, for the most part. He chose the decorating scheme but the books are all just the top sellers from recent years and all the pictures are vague, abstract color. His backpack and extra clothes are in the closet, but the door is – not hidden, exactly, but you have to slide one of the bookshelves back to get in it.Adam opens the door to the bathroom and starts checking the cabinets in there. "And you're welcome, by the way.""Seriously," Kris says, sitting back up. "Why are you looking through everything?""I'm curious," Adam calls out. He's looking at the products spread on the counter.Obviously. Kris rolls his eyes because Adam can't see him. He doesn't ask about what. He's pretty sure Adam is avoiding the question deliberately."It's like a hotel," Adam says, coming back out and shutting the door. He seems rather pleased at the idea. Kris shakes his head, bemused, and Adam turns to the wall and says, "Oh, closet."Kris says, "How—""Well, obviously you have to put your stuff somewhere," Adam says disdainfully. "Also, the tracks on the floor and ceiling maybe give it away, if you guys were going for secrecy." He nudges the backpack with his foot. "Are you a student?"Kris bristles, but Adam backs out and slides the bookshelf back over before he can say anything stupid. But now Kris is really confused, because if he isn't trying to dig up personal stuff what is he doing?Adam drops himself onto the bed and Kris jumps, blinking at him. "I'm wound, sorry," Adam informs him. "I'm pretty sure I've had my weight in caffeine today.""That's okay," Kris says smoothly. "I'm sure we can get you to relax."Adam cracks up. "That's terrible. Do you actually use that line?""Hey, it works!" Kris says defensively."I'll bet," Adam says.Kris crawls up to be eye level. "What do you want then?""Talk," Adam suggests. "Or I'll start, and we don't want that."Taking a deep, slow breath – it's not a sigh so long as it's not audible – Kris says, "What do you want me to talk about?""Anything," Adam says comfortably. "Not yourself, since you'd probably freak out at the mention of it, except, I do want to know your name.""Karl," Kris says."No, it's not," Adam says."Yes, it is," Kris says, irritated.Adam sighs, sounding put upon. "No, it's not. That's your hooker name. What's your real name?"Kris glares at him."Tell me or I'll name you," Adam threatens.Kris shrugs. That's pretty common, not that he's going to say that."And I'll make a dedication to your fake name and this company on my next album," Adam continues."Kris," Kris says."I thought so," Adam says, pleased with himself."You're an ass," Kris tells him."You're incredibly unprofessional," Adam tells him back, and then Kris is laughing. This is all completely ridiculous."So, Kris," Adam says. "What's your favorite TV show?"---He's gone again when Kris wakes up. It's becoming a familiar pattern, and a little uncomfortable."Do you think we can get a motion alarm set up?" Kris asks Hannah blearily."That would work," she snorts. "Because it's not like people use those rooms just for—""I meant on the door," Kris says.Cale is glad to see him when he gets home, which is how Kris knows he's been gone too much – Cale is not the most high-maintenance of roommates. By Friday they desperately need groceries and maybe light bulbs, because not everyone likes to live in the dark, and yes, Kris does care even if he isn't here most evenings. He drags Cale along to the store the next night, because it's the principle of the matter, and then when they get home Francis is waiting outside."Shit," Kris says."I'm pretty sure we could take him, dude," Cale says, looking Francis over dubiously. "He doesn't look like that great a robber.""That's Francis," Kris says, "and shut up. Are you stupid?"Cale takes some of the bags inside, giving Kris a look. Kris tells Francis, "Nice to see you again," and really means what the fuck are you doing on my doorstep."Sorry to intrude," Francis says, sounding mildly sheepish. "I wanted to apologize in person."Kris wonders if this is part of the new therapist's rehabilitation plan. Francis would rather choke on his own vomit than admit he's wrong. "No need," Kris says, as graciously as possible while his car ticks cool behind him and Cale comes out for another load of bags."Well, I was also wondering if you were free tonight," Francis says, nodding his head. "To do something with me, that is."Cale's head hits the top of the trunk and he swears quietly, edging around them to scurry back inside."All appointments have to be made through Hannah," Kris says cautiously, because he has no clue what's going on. He's not going to say he doesn't work Friday nights – he does, sometimes, and he wouldn’t say no right now anyway. He's curious as to why he's being asked, if there's something that just came up."Ah, no," Francis says."Sorry?" Kris says. "What?""Oh, nothing, nothing," Francis says, but he pulls out his phone and Kris narrows his eyes. He's fidgeting. "I'll call her.""Look," Kris says. "I'll take care of it. It still has to be put in the computer, but it's okay. I'm free tonight.""Good," Francis says, looking pleased. "What about the rest of the weekend?""Um," Kris says. He's genuinely asking, is the thing, and Kris has gone away with him before. "Is this a personal visit, or—""Last minute business trip," Francis says. "Seattle, some board approval meeting, I don't precisely know."He's lying. Of course he knows. Kris doesn't share his business details, so he doesn't begrudge Francis his privacy. "I'll have to—" he starts, but Francis flips his phone in his hands again and Kris gives in. He has got to stop doing that. "I'm sure it'll be fine.""And you'll arrange it?" Francis asks."Yeah," Kris says, and opens his mouth to ask for details. He needs to know clothes, travel plans—"Alright. I'll pick you up in two hours, be ready to go," Francis says breezily, and drops back into his car, turning the key.Kris says, "Well, there went the manners," but Francis has already pulled away from the curb.---Hannah makes unhappy noises at him when he calls her. He ignores her for the most part, busy trying to look up the weather in Seattle while he packs."It's Seattle," she says. "It'll be raining.""Thank you," Kris says."But really, I don't think you should go," she says stubbornly."You never think I should go," Kris says."I'm right," she tries."Thank you," Kris repeats, and hangs up.Francis falls asleep on Kris' shoulder on the plane. Kris watches him for a while, bemused. First class seats have more than enough room, and he had to have slumped over on purpose. He also wakes up too smoothly when the plane lands to actually have been asleep.There's a driver waiting for them, courtesy of the company, and Kris gets eyed speculatively. He smiles blandly in response."There's a dinner both nights, I'm afraid," Francis says. He's not complaining yet, but Kris knows that will change once they've sat through the first one."Business, charity, or personal?" Kris asks, because it's important to know these things in advance."Business," Francis says. Kris does his best not to sigh. It looks like he'll be sitting at the hotel for most of the trip."I've told them you're my assistant," Francis continues.Kris says, "Oh, kinky," testing the waters.Francis laughs, but he's preoccupied, and he just pats Kris' leg companionably.So Kris goes with on his business dinner, and stays quiet and sits in the corner with the wives and girlfriends. One or two of them ask why he's let his boss drag him along instead of a wife, and Kris hints at an ugly divorce. Francis can thank him later for giving his social life a semblance of normalcy. That night Francis doesn't touch him much, just a couple of light kisses before rolling over and going to sleep.After they get breakfast, which Francis makes Kris choose, they go on a walking tour. Kris is willing to admit he's completely confused at this point. Francis hates physical exercise, and wouldn't get up from his desk chair if it weren't for his physical trainer. When Francis has Kris at his beck and call he usually chooses to never get out of bed.They go to the dinner that evening, but duck out early to hop back on the plane. Kris dozes on the way back, too, and Francis drops him at his apartment. Kris appreciates not having to take a cab from the airport, but he's so tired that all he manages is to lean over and kiss Francis' cheek before he gets out of the car.He feels strangely disconnected the rest of the week, but he's got Miss Giamatti Monday night. He flirts and cuddles with her, and she sends him home at a respectable hour when he makes a pointed comment about how long she kept him last time. Adam doesn't book him Tuesday.---One of the other escorts comes down with the flu and Kris ends up volunteering to take up the slack. Megan does, too, but there's too many for her to handle all of them. It's an interesting week, at least – Kris hasn't had new clients in over a year. He actually sort of misses the novelty."Francis called to book you Tuesday," Hannah tells him when he comes downstairs Sunday night. "He wasn't happy when I said you were busy.""He wouldn't be," Kris said. "Wait, I'm not busy Tuesday.""Yes, you are," Hannah said smugly. "I've blocked out all your Tuesdays for Adam."Kris stares at her. "I have no clue what to say to that. He didn't even ask for me last week.""But he might this week. And like you’d object," she snickers. "He's absolutely one of your favorites.""We don't play favorites," Kris says, reciting company policy."The hell we don't," Megan says, clattering down in sandals. Her hair's still wet. "I don’t know how Yvonne puts up with that one, he was horrible. I felt like I was going to fall asleep in the middle, he was so bad.""We aren't supposed to play favorites," Kris amends."Yeah, well, I am and so are you," Hannah says. "Anyway, Francis rebooked for Friday, instead. And don't forget you have Yvonne's last guy tomorrow.""Yeah," Kris says.Yvonne's last guy turns out to be a little less boring than all the rest. Kris meets him for dinner at some French restaurant before accompanying him back to his apartment, where the guy proceeds to show Kris a room full of toys, some of which Kris has never actually seen before. He almost spends more time negotiating with the guy – no blood, no electricity, nothing metal – than he does fucking him, and by the time Kris leaves they're both glad to see the back of the other.---He's fucking sore the next day, so he skips classes and lazes around until dinner, and then he whines at Cale until he brings them both food. Then Cale drops his burger in his lap and says, "Dude, aren't you going to be late?""Shit," Kris says feelingly.Hannah says, "He's waiting for you upstairs," which, thanks, Kris figured out, seeing how he's twenty minutes late. Every step up the stairs makes his spine twinge.Kris slides onto the bed, wincing. Adam turns on his side to watch him. "Are you okay?""Yeah," Kris says. "Just some bruises, you know.""Really," Adam prompts."Yes," Kris lies. "My roommate and I were screwing around. I ended up rolling down half a flight of stairs.""And lived to tell the tale," Adam says dryly. "Resilient.""Well," Kris says. "I've done worse.""I bet," Adam says, but Kris swears he avoids touching his back on purpose.There's a note when he wakes up. It says, I meant to ask about your roommate. Tell me next time.Kris does, even though Adam doesn't ask, but Kris does end up waxing poetic about his favorite ice cream chains until Adam's long-asleep, which is actually kind of nice. Adam leaves him another note, putting in his vote for Carvel.In fact, he gets a note every week for a month, and he still never manages to fucking wake up first. But finally, four weeks later, when he does wake up Adam's still there. He starts to yawn before he catches himself, and ends up taking a hiccupping breath and coughing instead. Wonderful.Adam smiles at him, already wide-awake. He even has his shoes on."What's up?" Kris asks, a little cautious."Can I ask you to sleep at my house with me?" Adam asks philosophically, like he's actually sure that's not allowed.Kris can't help laughing a little. "You can take me anywhere you want.""Hm," Adam says, and then pushes himself up. "Okay."Kris blinks at him as he leaves.---Hannah calls him Saturday and says, "I have an address for you.""Really?" Kris asks. "Whose?""Like you don't know," she snorts. "I can't believe you didn't tell me.""I don't," Kris says honestly. "Would I be better with blue tennis shoes or black ones?""Pink," she answers promptly. "And it's Adam Lambert's house.""That wasn't one of the options," Kris says absently. He's probably going to end up with the blue ones. Also, "Wait, really?""Yeah," she says. "I thought you were just doing the sex thing, you've never gone outside your room before.""Uh," Kris says. "I guess he's changed his mind?""Obviously," she says. "Anyway, I'm forwarding you the email. Then I'm telling Megan.""You're a nosy bitch," Kris says, but only after she's hung up the phone.He's vaguely nervous all week, but before he has Adam he has an anthropology exam and Francis, so when he's not busy studying he's busy trying to figure out what the hell is up.Kris can handle mood swings. He's used to them, they're normal. He's even used to doors being held open, chairs being pulled out, gifts handed over in deceptively plain wrapping. He is not, however, used to all of this from Francis, all in one evening, before Kris has gotten him laid. Frankly, it's fucking scary. He spends the whole night waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he's seriously considering calling Francis' therapist when he tries to crawl into Francis' lap and gets gently rebuked. Even when Francis isn't in the mood he doesn't do anything gently.Kris gets dropped off a little before eleven. Francis walks him to his door, and he kisses him goodnight, slow and thorough and completely hands-above-the-waist, and he waits for Kris to get inside before he leaves.Cale's standing by the door, unashamedly spying on them, and he says, "That's all the guy gets? I thought an escort was a sure thing.""What?" Kris says."That kiss. Guys get more action in eighties movies," Cale says. "He got a kiss at the front door like you're a virgin on her first date. Or a frigid bitch," he finished, more speculative."Shit," Kris says."I feel like that's all you say to me anymore," Cale says.---He doesn't really have time to deal with the discovery that Francis is trying to date him, because he's got Adam the next day. It doesn't even take his mind off it – now he's just got two things to be nervous about instead of one.There's no trouble getting to Adam's house though. The email's got all the gate codes – one for the neighborhood, two for the house, and there are no security guards or dogs to give Kris a hard time. He's there a little too early, but he's not going to circle the neighborhood or park and wait – there's security driving around, and they'd probably arrest him for loitering or something equally embarrassing.The doorbell rings in one of those complicated tones that sound like half of a Mozart composition or something, and the house is this huge Greek monstrosity, and there are honest, real life hedges lining the driveway. Kris cannot believe Adam lives here.He must look a little too dubious because as soon as Adam opens the door he says, "Not a word about the house. I'm waiting for a penthouse to open up in one of the high-security condos in downtown LA or something, I think.""You don’t know?" Kris asks. "Shouldn't you?""My manager," Adam says, shrugging. He grabs Kris' shoulder and angles him inside. "I'd be happy in a penthouse anywhere, like a normal person.""How many people does this house have to take care of the grounds?" Kris asks."Four, I think," Adam frowns. "Why?""Nothing," Kris says, shaking his head. Adam completely misses his snort, which is good. It may not have been one of the explicit rules, but it's still probably not a great idea to mock the client."So I was going to cook, but I never cook, so I ordered pizza because everyone likes pizza. I don't know if you're even hungry, since it's ten, but you're a college student, so you guys eat at weird times, right?"Kris says, "I don't like pizza," because he literally cannot resist it. Adam looks upset but Kris laughs. "Nice try.""Well, you're trying to be cruel," Adam says. "Now, food?"Kris shrugs, but he practically eats a whole one himself and by the time he's done Adam's got his head propped on his hand and is watching him with a disgusted expression."What?" Kris says. He got over being self-conscious about people watching him eat years ago, after that one woman who just wanted to feed him."I'm waiting for you to throw up," Adam says seriously.Kris asks, "Is that what you're into?'Adam looks horrified and faintly ill. "You do that?""I can't share what I do," Kris says, gut reaction, but he feels really guilty now. "But no. I was teasing, mostly.""And testing," Adam says, smiling again. "Are you done inhaling your own weight in carbs?""Yes," Kris says, licking his fingers. "Lead the way."Adam's bedroom is as impersonal as the rest of the house. Kris has to ask, "How long have you lived here?""Is it that obvious?" Adam asks wryly. "A couple of months, but since I'm moving soon—""Yeah," Kris says. "If it's that big a deal why don't you buy someone out or something?"He was joking, but Adam says, "That's what I suggested, but my PR team threw a fit.""I don't know why," Kris says. "Do you mind if I—" except Adam's already stripping down and grabbing flannel pajama bottoms, so Kris shrugs and exchanges his own jeans for sweats from his backpack.Adam crawls into bed, grabbing a remote because of course he's got a remote to control his lights and the fan and probably the AC and the humidity in the air or something. Kris curls up facing him, and it's conditioned or something now, because as soon as Adam's breathing slows down, before his eyes even close, Kris is yawning and staring at the ceiling and saying, "Yeah, you've definitely got to move," and talking until they're both asleep.Kris wakes up to an unholy amount of light coming from the windows. Adam's not there, of course, so Kris changes back into jeans and carries his shoes into the kitchen with his backpack. Adam says, "Oh, hello, aren't the windows in there disgusting?""Yes," Kris says. "Thanks for that."Adam smiles. "You need to be anywhere?"Kris doesn't. He doesn't have class until noon and nobody's expecting him anywhere. He really wants to sit at the island across from Adam and eat breakfast. "Yeah," he says, "I've got to run.""Okay," Adam says slowly, looking a little confused. He gets up to walk Kris out, though. At the door he touches Kris' elbow, asks, "Are you free this Tuesday?"
Kris ducks his head, trying not to smile too obviously. "If you want me.""Yeah," Adam says, blowing out a breath. "That'd be great. Any way I can get you every week?" He sounds pretty hesitant"Yes," Kris says. "I'll have Hannah set it up." He manages to hold off grinning until he gets in his car, and then he calls the desk as soon as he's pulled out of the driveway."Hello, this is Skyline Services, how can I help you?" Hannah says."You've still got all the Tuesdays marked out, right?" Kris says."Yes," Hannah says. "Like I said, favorites.""No, not favorites," Kris says, rolling his eyes. "He requested it.""Aw," Megan says. "It's like you're going steady now.""What the fuck, do you have me on speakerphone?" Kris says."Of course she does," Megan says. Hannah sounds like she might be trying to apologize, but Megan's hand is over her mouth or something."What if someone walks in?" Kris asks. "No, nevermind.""So, Kristopher, I feel like I haven't spoken to you in forever," Megan purrs. "Tell me what's new?"And she's teasing, and Kris is maybe a little sick of it, so he says, "I think Francis thinks he's in love with me."Megan's completely silent, and then Hannah says, "I'll tell Anna," all helpful."No, shut up," Megan says. "What, Kris?""He's dating me," Kris says. "But, for real.""That's helpful," Megan says. "What is he doing?""He's dating me," Kris repeats. "No sex, dropping me at my door, dating.""And here we thought he had no heart," Megan says."I'm serious," Kris says. And he is, actually, now that he has enough time to worry about it. "I'm seeing him again this Friday, what the hell am I supposed to do with him?""Anna—" Hannah starts, but Megan talks over her."Fuck that," she says bluntly. "Wait it out and see if he gets over it. If not you can talk to him or drop him.""But—" Hannah starts again."Anna will say the exact same thing," Megan points out. "Or she'll tell you to drop him immediately. If you keep him on you get paid more, and what's the downside to not having to fuck him for a while?""You're very pragmatic," Kris tells her."I'm choosing to take that as a compliment," Megan says dryly. "Have fun at class." Before she hangs up the phone though, Kris hears her say, "Seriously, Hannah, shut up—" and he shakes his head. He really doesn't understand how the two of them are friends.---The next couple weeks pass fairly uneventfully. He has Miss Giamatti twice more, on Saturday both times, and Adam every Tuesday and Francis every Friday. Francis would normally resent having to give Kris back by noon on Saturday, but he's still preoccupied with being the perfect gentleman and hasn't asked him to stay over once. Then, surprisingly, the hardcore guy that Kris took for Yvonne asks for him back on a Thursday. Apparently it wasn't as bad for him as Kris thought. He declines, though, tells Hannah he's too busy.And he really is, is the thing. He normally only does two to three nights a week anyway, but he's got Francis and Adam two of the nights and his other regulars are starting to be neglected. He phases them over to other escorts with promises that it'll only be temporary.The third Friday Francis finally makes his move. They're walking out of an opera and Kris is trying his hardest not to yawn and ruin the illusion. Francis has his hand on Kris' back, guiding him, and Kris turns to him to say something when Francis kisses him.Kris hums, kissing back, and they stay pressed close together on the corner of Elm and 5th. Francis pulls back, finally, and says, "I'd like to take you home tonight.""Anything you want," Kris says.And Kris does go home with him, but the next morning Kris has to leave at eleven to make it to the house to meet Miss Giamatti so they can attend an art gallery opening, and Francis doesn't want to let him leave.Kris tries to laugh it off when Francis brings it up. "Of course I have to leave. I've got errands to run, I'm meeting with friends later today.""You don't have to go," Francis repeats.Kris says, "I really do," but he even means it a little when he adds, "I'm sorry.""All clients pay the same rate, don't they?" Francis continues stubbornly. "My fees are as much as your other appointment would afford you.""That's not the point," Kris says weakly. "I'm already busy.""I want to book your Saturdays from now on, then," Francis says. "A second regular night.""We don't do that," Kris protests. "One night a week is the only guarantee I can give you."Francis looks like he's gearing up to go after him again, so Kris apologizes profusely and runs the fuck away. He can't handle his workload anymore as it is. He mentions it to Hannah and she starts moving his clients permanently. He'll miss some of them, he realizes, while he watches Hannah remove his name from their profiles.It isn't enough to make him say no, though, when Adam asks for Sunday nights three weeks later. He tells Hannah and she smirks at him until he threatens her with no Christmas present.Kris is the first to admit that he's not the most observant person, even though he should be, so when Francis spends all night touching his arm and kissing his neck and ears Kris doesn't catch anything going on. Then they pull up in front of Francis' house instead of Kris' apartment and Kris says, "Oh." He'd maybe been expecting another couple of weeks in between, like last time.Francis ignores him, climbing out. Kris shrugs, going after him, figuring he at least knows the extent of Francis' patience now. Kris says, "Finally ready to stop playing with me?"Francis doesn't like to be teased, and he grabs Kris, pushing him into the house. "I thought I'd wait for you to come to me. But you'll be gone for a week," and his voice edges dangerously low."A boy's got to go home for Thanksgiving," Kris points out, and Francis gets him into the bedroom.---Unsurprisingly, Adam takes the news of Kris' trip home better than Francis. All he says, sounding genuinely interested, is, "Does this mean you'll eat too much pie and come back fat?"
Kris really likes Adam.His flight leaves Tuesday night, but he's got Monday off so he hangs around and remembers he has actual friends that he doesn't pretend to like and fuck once or twice a week. Cale says, "Weird, isn't it?"Megan comes along Monday night, which is awesome because Kris will never get tired of watching Cale make an idiot of himself trying to impress her. She likes him enough and she'd probably let him land her anyway, but somewhere along the way she decided miserable looked cute on him."You're cruel," one of the fringe girls says.Megan says, "I'll fuck him for Christmas," and gets half the guys at the table to look at her in a new light.He's late coming back from break so he ends up canceling Adam's Tuesday. He hates it, not least because it means he starts right back up again with Francis, who texts him to ask him, politely, to meet him at his house first. Kris knows what this means.He's already pulling off his shirt in the hallway when Francis says, "On the bed."Before he starts in on him, though, Francis says, "I want you all weekend. Here.""I can't," Kris says, tensing. He knows Francis can see it."Why?" Francis asks, petulant and dangerous."I have other arrangements," Kris says shortly."You always have other arrangements," Francis says, voice edging up into a whine, and Kris likes him, he honestly does, but not this much."Every Sunday, a regular," he says shortly. "But you have me now," and Francis takes the hint.Kris pays for it, though. He can deal with the bruises and there's never any blood to worry about, and he knows the tricks with heating pads and making Cale sit next to him and talk about the hot girl in his Expo class for distraction. So he can deal, but he's never seen himself afterwards, really, and maybe he should have, because Adam opens the door for him Sunday and says, "What the fuck?""Sorry?" Kris asks blankly.Adam says, "Nothing. Food's in the kitchen."It's not pizza, thank god – Cale's been on an Italian kick, and Kris is sick of pasta and pizza and sorbets that are little more than nasty half-melted ice creams. The chicken actually smells pretty good, but Kris is still too tired to do much but pick at it. Adam stares at him the whole time, and after ten minutes he grabs Kris' plate and says, "You look like you could use more sleep than me, get moving."Kris lets himself be shoved down the hall, but he waits until Adam's digging through the dresser before he attempts to change clothes. He's not fast enough, predictably, and Adam says flatly, "Nice.""It's fine," Kris says, finishing pulling his shirt down. His skin is hardly pulling at all anymore."Really?" Adam asks honestly. "I was always told you should avoid maiming the people you fuck.""Some people like to be maimed," Kris says shortly, sitting on the bed, "And it's my job."Not the best reminder. Adam narrows his eyes and says, "And some people like to do the maiming. Does Francis?"Kris winces. He doesn't mean to, but shit, he forgot about the two of them because it's been months."Right," Adam says. "You should lay down now."Kris does, and he's not going to talk Adam to sleep even though that's what Adam likes because he's feeling petulant, okay, but he can't help but ask, "What is with the two of you?"He watches Adam's profile scrunch up in distaste, and when Adam rolls over to look at him they're uncomfortably close. Kris almost feels like he's being judged. He can't move away, though – there's no way he'd be able to sleep on his back right now, and burying his face in the pillow would feel to much like hiding. Instead he holds Adam's stare until Adam blinks and asks, "What did he tell you?""Not much," Kris says. "Just that you were the most difficult person he'd ever worked with."Adam snorts. "I'm difficult.""What happened?" Kris asks again.Adam sighs. "He was supposed to produce most of the songs on my last album. Turns out our styles of working don't mesh well.""That's it?" Kris asks. He feels a little cheated. "All that hatred because of creative differences?""Hey," Adam says. "Creative differences can be the worst ones, sometimes. And no, actually, that was just where it started.""Is this going to be an epic tale of strife and anger?" Kris asks seriously.Snorting, Adam pinches his arm lightly. "Don't laugh. It was just that we kept running into each other, and he said shit about me in his liner and production notes and I said shit about him to interviewers and everything just sort of escalated. We had to attend the same awards ceremony a couple months ago and I ended up spilling vodka all over his suit. It was an accident, I swear!""It all sounds really immature," Kris says."Yeah," Adam says contentedly. "Oh, well. And now there's you to fight over, so things are really escalating.""They better not," Kris informs him. "Seriously, that would suck for me.""Alright," Adam says, sounding put upon. "Now would you go to sleep?"---"Why do you do it?" Adam asks curiously the next morning. He's sprawled out, staring as Kris gets his clothes in order. Kris isn't in any hurry, he's got hours before his first class, and the only reason he's getting ready at all is because he really wanted to just roll over and go back to sleep, never mind the way Adam was watching him when he woke up.Leaving seems to be the best course of action, too, because you always want to avoid the career questions from the clients. "Do you want me to stay for breakfast?" he offers instead."Yes," Adam says. "And while we eat you can explain."Kris sighs, but Adam has the most amazing bagels in LA and he won't spill where he gets them, and Kris is really kind of easy after all."Come on," Adam says after Kris has rearranged his bagel and orange on his plate five times and won't look across the counter. "You're crap at deflecting.""Look, I know you think you want to know, but it really doesn't—" he starts, but Adam snorts irreverently."No, you fuck people because it's good money, right? Good reason. There are worse things. Why do you put up with the kinky stuff? Those aren't padded handcuff bruises," Adam bites into his own bagel, acting supremely unconcerned.Kris rubs his wrists self-consciously, and they're fading but still spark just right when he digs his fingers in. He opens his mouth and says, "Actually. Um."Adam looks at him, and then Adam looks at him, sitting up straight and leaning closer and bright eyes and all. Kris says, "Shit, forgot about my class, I've got to go!" and hightails his ass out of there.---Kris probably should have predicted it, but Adam calls Hannah the next week to see if he can have Kris for a third night. Kris would have turned him down anyway, but when he has to find out from Hannah instead of directly from Adam he's pissed. And he feels pretty justified, since Megan and Hannah are also offended on his behalf. He tells Hannah to ignore Adam's message for a while, though, since letting them loose would probably mean Adam getting an earful and one of them getting fired.Tuesday sees Kris on the front walk saying, "What the fuck is your deal?"The delivery loses him some maturity and professionalism points, but the way Adam blinks and steps backward in shock probably means he's made them up in style. He continues, "You want to know everything about what I do, and then you decide to try to get a third night without even fucking talking to me?""Wow, you're pissed," Adam says, looking disproportionately thrilled.Kris deflates, because he really does suck at being angry with people. "And confused," and now he's sounding plaintive. "Seriously, what do you want?""A third night?" Adam says. "Why is that such a problem? And would you come in, we're making a scene for the neighbors.""You don't have neighbors," Kris says. "Also, I told you I only work three nights a week.""No, you didn't," Adam says, and Kris would believe him except Adam's always surprised when Kris tells him something new, like it's an unexpected gift."Yes, I did," Kris says, but Adam just blinks at him. "Fine, whatever."They eat, because Kris is not above taking advantage of Adam's special-delivery food even when he's pissed. After, while Adam is putting the dishes in the dishwasher, he says, "If I did know, I might have done it to see if you wanted an excuse to get away from Francis.""Oh," Kris says. "That's dumb."Adam looks offended, but only mildly, so Kris figures they're even.Except when they're lying in his bed Adam says, "This must seem so weird to you." He's staring at the ceiling, not watching Kris like he normally does, and Kris sighs."We're therapists in a lot of ways," Kris says softly. "Your issues are not the worst I've dealt with."Adam looks at him, unsure of what to say, and Kris settles in next to him, petting his face."It's insomnia," Adam says finally, just when Kris thinks he's asleep. "My therapist thinks I should force myself into a regular sleep pattern.""And I help?" Kris asks."Well," Adam says, "I figured if I was paying someone to sleep next to me then I had five hundred dollars an hour as an incentive to get over it.""Practical," Kris says. "If stupid.""That's what my therapist said," Adam says, "except it actually does work.""Monetary blackmail? That is weird."Kris moves his hand when Adam laughs, but Adam grabs it back. "No, I think watching someone sleep does.""Oh," Kris says. "Does this mean you wake up at night and stare at me?""Yes," Adam says. "Does that creep you out?""No," Kris says automatically, then thinks about it. "A little. I'd like it better if you woke me up when you can't sleep."Adam snorts. "Yeah, because we really need two people to be miserable with this."He hasn't said he won't, though, so Kris figures he can wait and see. If he doesn't get woken up he'll yell in the morning. But now that Kris is thinking about it, now that he knows there's a reason beyond loneliness or general eccentricity, he has to ask, "Would having me three nights a week help?""Kris," Adam says, "I would buy your ass every night if you let me."There's not much Kris can say to that, but he finds a third night. Thursday is really all he can afford – Monday evenings are his designated homework night and Saturday he dedicates to Cale, who actually seems like he's worried about Kris working too much. Hannah and Megan look at him oddly when he puts Thursday in the computer, but Kris doesn't owe them an explanation. They helped start all this, anyway.When he gets his schedule ironed out he logs into the system, programs Adam's number into his cell. Around nine he locks himself in his bedroom, sucks it up, and calls.Adam sounds cautious. "Hello?""Hi," Kris says, and then can't think of anything at all to say."See, I had a good feeling. I'm never supposed to answer numbers I don't know, especially if they're blocked like yours, something about security or whatever, but my phone rang and I thought it would be a good idea to pick it up.""Good for you?" Kris says, because what else do you say to something like that? "Anyway, um…""Yeah?" Adam says. "By the way, I think it's not fair you have my number and I don't have yours."Kris smiles at his wall stupidly. "I'll text it to you.""Awesome." It sounds like he's eating something crunchy. "What do you need? Are you calling to cancel Sunday?""No, um, actually," Kris pauses, decides he's tired of being a pussy, and spits it out. "I have free time on Thursday, if you want me that night."Adam's quiet, and Kris counts to five before he starts, "It was just an offer, I—""No," Adam says, "Thursday's great.""Right, okay," Kris says. "Um, I'll text you? So you have my number. You can – call, whatever.""Alright," Adam says, still talking slowly. "See you Thursday."Except Kris had completely fucking forgot that exam Thursday night at seven, so he's half an hour late getting to Adam's house. Adam yells for him to come in when he rings the bell, so he drops his bag in the hall, peering around as he toes off his shoes. Adam's not in the kitchen."Hey," he says, wandering into the bedroom and finding Adam sitting in the chair by the window. "Sorry I'm late, my ethics test nearly killed me. I'm not a fan of senseless violence, but there are some professors that just deserve to be shot," and he's joking, really, but Adam's smile slides off his face as he watches Kris.Kris says, "I wasn't serious?" just to make sure he got that, and Adam says, "I want to fuck you."And this is the part of the script where Kris is supposed to smile and nod and walk or saunter or fucking crawl, if the client wants it, right over to his lap where he's sprawled out in that armchair and straddle him and ask how do you want me? It's the part where he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the condoms he keeps there, safely within reach at all times. It's also the part where he learns what gets the client off, starts keeping notes in the back of his mind for next time, next time. Mostly, it's the part where he remembers this is his fucking job, not his friend, and he makes sure the client gets the best fuck five-fifty an hour can buy.But really, it turns out this is the part where Kris blinks in surprise, stares at Adam and doesn't move for a second too long. This is the part where Adam tilts his head at him and leans back in his chair, gesturing at Kris with two fingers. And this is the part where Kris goes.His socks make his footsteps silent, and Kris doesn't crawl into his lap, doesn't have a chance. Adam holds his hand up, places it in the middle of Kris' chest to keep him back, a few inches but enough. He says, "Kiss me."Kris does, of course, presses his mouth against Adam's and licks when he's supposed to lick, nips and nuzzles and breathes softly to warm things up, make them intimate. Adam laughs at him and curls his hand into Kris' shirt, pulling him forward. Kris stumbles and their teeth click together, and Adam kisses how Kris was taught he shouldn't – selfish, sharp bites and unpredictable tongue and grabbing Kris' chin to move him exactly where he wants, like he's not even a person but a thing. Kris has to grab the arms of the chair to keep from overbalancing, from dropping like deadweight to the floor with his knees completely gone out, and Adam grabs the back of his thighs and hauls him up into the chair.There's plenty of room for him, but he didn't put himself there and his legs are all tangled up. It's uncomfortable and he'll fall if Adam lets go and there's probably no way he could get down without help either. He loses all of his breath in a rush, shock, and it should break the kiss but Adam breathes it in and now Kris has no excuse to try to pull away, no reason to do anything but try not to moan when Adam bites his lip and licks across the roof of his mouth.Kris doesn't blink his eyes open quickly enough to see the thought form but Adam's hands drop from his hips and Kris sucks in air loudly, throwing his hands up to cling to Adam's shoulders as his stomach drops with the sickening sense of falling. Adam grabs his wrists, anchoring him, and Kris stares at him, breathing hard as Adam forces him to sit back. He ends up settled on Adam's thighs, not falling to the floor, and Kris swallows hard, burning with embarrassment and a little bit of anger. Adam's mouth is half turned up, and it could be a smirk or a sneer or a half-formed smile."Are you okay?" he asks, voice neutral, and Kris swallows too loudly. He's still almost panting."Why wouldn't I be?" Kris answers, not what he's supposed to say, and Adam says, "Good. Get your clothes off."It's awkward, but at least Kris knows what comes now. He's climbed off uncomfortably, like he's too inexperienced at this to do it easily, and now Adam will leave his clothes on, high on the implications of being fully clothed while he fucks a younger, stripped boy. Except Adam stands up, too, and helps Kris with his clothes, slow and easy, and then Kris can't really do anything but help him in return, zippers undone and laces unwound. He kisses Kris again when they're naked, gentle, and then pulls them back into the chair. Kris hovers over him, undecided, he has condoms and lube in his backpack but not on him, he wasn't expecting this, but Adam brushes their noses together and presses a bottle and foil packet into his hand.Kris breathes out shakily and sets the condom on the arm of the chair, sneaking a look at Adam while he flips back the top on the lube. He figured Adam would want to do this, he'd seemed pretty hands-on so far, but he's got his head leaned lazily back and is watching Kris, unblinking. Kris gets enough on his fingers to get himself wet, practice making it easy to slide two in, then a third. He doesn't even slip when he's tearing open the condom, rolling it on, and it's easy at that point to lower himself down, take Adam in like they've done this dozens of times before.He's supposed to be doing a better job of acting than this, he knows. He's not making any encouraging noises, and it feels clumsy, trying to move his hips with Adam still just fucking watching him, like he's an exhibition and in no way relatable to Adam. He curls his fingers tighter into Adam's shoulders anyway, but Adam says, "Right, I thought so. This isn't going to work."Kris is offended, okay, he's got a right, but then he's mostly just completely surprised as Adam pushes him back, hauls him three feet over to toss him on the side of the bed and slap his thigh and tell him, "On your knees. Shoulders and head on the pillows."Kris goes, of course, but he has to ask, "What—""Shh," Adam says, focused, and even with his head craned all the way to the side Kris can't really see anything, just the long lines of Adam's side and the hand that's holding the bottle of lube. Adam slides two fingers into him to start, but he takes them back out and slides three in and then two again. Kris would say he doesn't have to, would say please, more, would say anything Adam wants to hear, but Kris knows everything he could say and isn't sure what he should. Adam spreads his fingers apart, opening Kris up, and Kris has had people rim him before but usually they use their thumbs, better grip, and they don't—Kris jumps, squirming, and makes an inadvertent noise when Adam presses the bottle of lube against him, squeezes it so lube slides down Adam's fingers and into him, wet and cold and— "What?" Kris says again, helplessly."You'll be thankful," Adam says lightly, sounding almost friendly again while he leans down and kisses Kris' hip, and Kris tries, "Oh, that sounds ominous—" to see if that gets him back to solid footing, but Adam says, "Hush," more firmly, and Kris does.Adam's fingers trail down his back and then he's sliding in, no friction, just a smooth, easy opening that still makes Kris moan a little. He loves this part. He wiggles a little, encouraging, and Adam puts a hand on his back and says, "That works, huh?Kris doesn't know what he's asking, but then he's pulling out again and Kris groans in frustration before he can stop himself. Adam laughs softly. "That definitely works," he says more loudly, like he's actually talking to Kris, but then he pushes back in so Kris doesn't try to talk back. Kris can't help but shudder again, Adam's just big enough that the stretch is uncomfortable and grabs his attention, makes him firmly aware like he usually isn't.Then Adam pulls out, again, and pushes back in, again, and this time Kris actually moans, half honest-to-god desperation and half hopeful encouragement. Adam keeps doing it, though, whether Kris pants or makes the little noises he's trying to keep in, Adam keeps just sliding in to him and then pulling back out, playing with him in the worst way. He pets Kris while he does it, fingers and palms and gentle nails on his back and his hips and his thighs, and then he pulls out and presses two fingers in, easy easy easy now, and pulls at Kris while he pushes back in, and Kris jerks and almost chokes on his own tongue and says, "Fuck—" a little brokenly, and then "Shit," because he's not supposed to be the one losing it here. But this time Adam stops teasing and pulls out his fingers and shoves the rest of the way in so hard Kris yelps and grabs fistfuls of the sheets just to ground himself.He's horribly close though, feels himself shaking on the sheets and trying not to do more than moan while Adam has him folded up and is fucking him harder than Kris has had in years. Kris keeps trying to brace himself, keep his knees all the way under him, but Adam pushes his legs further apart and he can't even move, doesn't have enough leverage to push back or away or at all, really. Adam leans down to kiss his shoulder, most of his weight almost flattening Kris to the bed, and Kris whimpers a little. He's trying to pretend he's not on a hair trigger, but Adam uncurls a hand from his hips and grabs him, stroking too hard, and Kris cries out. Adam pulls out before he can come, and Kris makes a small questioning noise and whines, scrambling for him.Adam murmurs something nonsensical at him and rolls him over on his side, snuggling in behind him. He doesn't push back in, just kisses along Kris' neck and counts his fingers up and down Kris' ribs. Kris gives him a minute or so and then reaches back clumsily, trying to roll over. He gets as far as a good grip on Adam's thigh before Adam slides fingers into him, like he's working him open still. Kris shivers at it and curls his fingers against Adam's leg, breath shaky. Adam keeps kissing him chastely, all across his back and neck and the side of his face. Kris turns his head to kiss properly but Adam ducks away.He pushes a fourth finger in, sliding all the way up, and Kris whines and tries to squirm away. Adam's looking at him, watching his face, but Kris brings his arm up to hide his eyes."Next time," Adam tells him, terribly serious, "I'm going to make you watch."Kris says, "Okay," because you're always supposed to agree, always, just play along, and he'd actually go along with anything right now.Adam keeps fingering him, drawing in and out and nudging Kris' leg up when he doesn't give him enough room. Kris squirms a couple of times, hoping, but Adam kisses his shoulder and just puts his fingers back. Adam is still hard and Kris doesn't know how he can possibly be this patient, but he's half asleep and still completely hard when Adam reaches back over him, thumbing the head of his cock."Please," Kris says, and pushes back. "Please."Laughing against his neck, Adam puts four back in, sliding all the way up past the knuckle. Kris tightens, he can't help it, and his breath stutters. Adam's stroking him easy now, winding him back up. Kris just needs his fingers to curl, his hands to move faster, his teeth on his throat, but Adam licks and pets him slow and takes all his fingers away. Kris wants to cry or do it himself, or maybe both.Adam rubs fingers over him and combs through his hair and snuggles close in a cruel parody of comfort, and Kris twists against him half-heartedly, not fighting when Adam's hands hold him still."Ready?" Adam asks, and Kris groans. He's pretty sure the question was rhetorical anyway, since Adam kisses his shoulder again and then rolls him over."I don't think I bend like this," Kris says dazedly, and then folds up easy as that. "Huh."Adam smiles down at him, mostly teeth, and pushes into him. Kris is open, okay, completely limp and whining for it, but he aches, all over, stretched open and he needs to come so badly and he's pretty sure he can't feel his toes anymore, never mind move."Look," Adam says, wrapping a hand around the back of his head and tugging him up. He can see Adam sliding into him, but he can barely keep his eyes open.He manages to say, "It's not next time."Adam laughs, but he's breathless and he's kissing more desperately. "No. When I make you watch it'll be done the right way, with mirrors all over the room and you doing everything yourself."Kris doesn't respond, just tries to avoid doing anything, anything that will make Adam stop. His thighs are screaming at him, he's pretty sure his legs aren't supposed to go like this, but Adam grabs his cock again and he whimpers, can't say please, please, and instead he says, "Adam, Adam," until Adam, his palm around him tight, doesn't stop, and lets Kris shake apart.Adam's not done even when he is, and Kris blanks on most of it, twisting and groaning every time Adam moves too hard. He's pretty sure he's scratching too, but he doesn't think to unlock his fingers. Adam comes when Kris finally gives up trying to help and just flops back, tired and boneless. Kris watches him through blurry eyes, making a noise as close to a purr as he can approximate when Adam licks his throat one last time before pulling out and moving them around, cleaning up and fussing.He's going to let Adam finish arranging them and then he's going to get up, clean himself off in the bathroom and get at least his underwear back on before he crawls into bed. He's not going to sleep, especially not for long, which of course means that the next time he wakes up it's two in the afternoon. Adam is watching crap daytime TV and eating in bed. Kris' head is in his lap and Adam is combing through his hair.And, well.There's something in his nerves that feels like they're actually humming, and Kris hasn't felt that since the first time Francis rolled him over and tied him down and spanked him until he screamed, and Kris has no hope of stopping himself before he angles his head for better stroking. Adam looks down at him, smiles gentle and sweet and tender, and Kris groans as loudly as he can and says, "Fucking tops. Of course," except he's mostly joking. It'd be impossible to be irritated when he's so high he'd probably walk into walls if left on his own. Adam just snorts at him and keeps petting, and later he cuddles Kris in the shower and puts him into old flannel pajamas two sizes too big and deposits him at the island while he feeds him fattening foods, and celery to balance it out.---The thing is, though, Adam's the best top Kris has ever had. And it's not like he tries to go around comparing, but he can't help it – in his line of work, he's come across a few. Adam makes Kris feel like it's completely effortless, knocks work right out of his head every time and then pieces him back together feeling like he's been made better for it all. It's never more than sex, even, Kris waits and each time thinks this time, this time, this time Adam will tie him down, truss him up, arrange him open and openly submissive, but Adam just plays with his hands and his tongue and anything Kris' body can give him, and the sex is so phenomenal that Kris, for the first time, wants a client to ask for more, just so Kris can bring him floggers and plugs and pretty, pretty gags.Francis notices it before Adam does, not that it's any wonder. He gets Kris the days after Adam, when Kris is still borderline desperate from the nights before, and Kris is practically jumping him. Francis isn't exactly a bad fuck, and even if he isn't who Kris wants he's much better at giving Kris what he wants. Kris is careful of the bruises from the ties afterwards, makes sure they aren't too obvious and he doesn't press on them to try to keep them from healing. He's not sure Adam even realizes.Francis realizes the one thing Adam uses more than enough of - his teeth. Kris doesn't have hickeys, he has bite marks, and Francis touches them, very softly, and says, "What the fuck have you been doing?"Kris shivers and says, "Client got overzealous. They do that sometimes," but he presses his face against the bed to try to hide his smile."No," Francis says."What?" Kris asks, lifting his head. He meets Francis' eyes, but it's a painful angle. "What do you mean, no?""I mean no." Francis says calmly. "I'm not going to touch you when you've got someone else's marks all over you.""Untie me," Kris says.Francis does, hands sure and steady on the rope. Kris watches it move through his fingers and swallows.When they can sit facing each other Kris says, "You know I have other clients," but it's more of a question than he means it to be."Of course," Francis says. "But I was under the impression that I was the only one you – play with.""Oh," Kris says. He figures there's no reason to point out the obvious now. "You've left marks on me for the other clients to see. You've left worse ones.""That's not the issue right now," Francis says stiffly, staring Kris down.Kris sighs. "What is it, then?""I think it's unnecessary for you to have any other clients at all," Francis declares."I think I'd better go," Kris says.He doesn't tell anyone. Megan and Hannah would tell him it's nothing to worry about, would make fun of Francis and brush it off. He should talk to Anna, really, but she's been having issues with one of the new guys and Kris knows what she'll tell him anyway."If they ever push your boundaries," she said, with an air of gravity approaching that of a cardinal sin, "you talk to them about it once and then you drop them."But Francis has been pushing boundaries ever since the beginning and Kris has always let him get away with it. Anyone Kris talks to will tell him that it's enough, that this is well past Francis' strike three, but Kris can't do that. He can talk to him, though.---Adam is out of town somewhere until Wednesday. He tells Kris on the phone, sounding faintly apologetic, and Kris is actually a little surprised when he doesn't get invited along – he's too used to Francis. Kris does go over to see Adam on Thursday, but he's nervous about seeing Francis the next day. Adam notices, but he doesn't ask. Instead he feeds Kris some sort of Asian salad and then puts them on the couch, kissing slow and patient. Kris is moving too much; he's tapping his fingers on Adam's shoulders and ribs, he's kicked Adam twice while trying to swing his legs.All Adam says is, "Kris," but Kris squeezes his eyes shut and makes a face."Sorry," he says. "I'm not going to be much good for this tonight.""What would you suggest?" Adam asks. "We could sleep, but," and he taps the back of Kris' hand, which is running up and down the arm of the couch a little too frantically.
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Kris repeats uselessly.Adam watches him for a minute, during which Kris focuses on keeping his hands still and instead kicks his heels against the couch. "Come on," Adam says finally, quirking half of his mouth up. "We'll tie you up.""Um," Kris says. "Okay?" But he follows, of course he does."At least it'll fix the kicking," Adam says pragmatically.Kris laughs a little, and that unwinds him enough that he can lie down on the bed instead of pacing at the edge of it."Unless you want to talk?" Adam offers, calling back over his shoulder while he ducks into his closet.Staring up at the ceiling, Kris wants this. He's wanted this since they started, and more specifically, right now he wants Adam to come out and help him shut himself off. But – he doesn't want to see Francis tomorrow and try to talk about his jealousy issues with bruises on his wrists already. And even if he doesn't think about him tonight, Kris will still always know that the first time he managed to get Adam to really play was because Francis fucked with Kris' head.Adam comes out with cuffs, and they're beautiful, dark and supple, and Kris says, "Wait.""Yes?" Adam sighs, but he looks amused more than anything."I can't," Kris says guiltily."Oh?" Adam asks lightly. He slips one of them over Kris' hand, sliding the buckle into place.Kris stares down at it wistfully. "No," he says miserably. "I thought I could. I’m sorry."Adam laughs quietly. "I know." He shrugs when Kris blinks at him. "I couldn't do anything with you like this. You'd probably hurt yourself.""Then why'd you offer?" Kris asks. He may sound petulant, but it's probably nowhere close to how he feels. Fucking Adam."I figure if I'm not getting laid you should be frustrated, too," Adam says, very equitable."You're an ass," Kris informs him helpfully.Adam snorts a little. "So I've been told."Kris sighs, looping his finger through the ring on the cuff and tugging a little. Adam watches him for a minute and says, "Come on. I'm supposed to try to sleep, at least. You can stare off into space in the dark just as well.""Okay," Kris says despondently. He can, really, and he does until Adam asks him pointed questions to get him talking. Then he goes on about irritating people who need conversation like a sleep track, but maybe he could just record himself talking, and Adam says something about liking variety and how this way he’s got the option of interactivity. Except Kris has already gotten started on the actual sleep CDs they sell, and how he always thought they were creepy, that his mom just played them Disney soundtracks when they were little and wouldn't sleep, and then he complains about how all the recent Disney movies have sucked, what are kids born nowadays supposed to listen and sing along to, and when he finally stops Adam is on his side facing him but his eyes are closed and he's breathing so softly Kris has to move his head closer just to hear it.It's tempting, and he knows better than to air his dirty laundry, but that horrible vaulted ceiling seems almost better than a confessional now, and he says, "I have to see Francis tomorrow."That's the easy part, and he stalls for a while. He looks over, but Adam hasn't moved."The thing is," Kris says, and it actually feels dangerous, saying it out loud, as if it'll make it any truer just because Kris is willing to admit it, "I think Francis is in love with me." He takes a deep breath and pauses, lets it out more slowly. "Or he thinks he is. And the two are sort of the same thing, when it comes down to it."Kris stops to consider this. He supposes it is, really – Francis will act the same regardless, and he'll be hurt even if he gets over it more quickly when he finds out it's just a passing obsession. And it is has to be, because Francis can't love anyone."He wants me to drop everyone but him," Kris says, "And I don't think I could do that.""I'd never forgive you," Adam says.Kris startles, flailing, and Adam catches him, pressing him into the bed."You were asleep," Kris says accusingly."I was faking," Adam says shamelessly. "And I mean it. If you're going to belong to just one person is should be me.""Fuck off," Kris says, affectionate. He shoves at Adam's shoulders. "You're supposed to be sleeping."Adam lies back down obligingly but he's still watching Kris carefully."I didn't say I was considering it," Kris says. "I wouldn't.""So what's the problem? Tell him no, move on," Adam says, bored and mildly irritated.Kris looks at him. "I know you don't like him, but I do, kind of. And I definitely feel sorry for him." Adam snorts and Kris says, "Really. He's alone. And yeah, he's got issues, but he can be sweet.""And you're not biased," Adam says shortly.Kris flushes. "I have sex for a living. It takes more than fucking to get me to like you," he snaps.Adam laughs and Kris rolls over stubbornly."It's not just Francis, you know," Adam tells him several minutes later, quiet like he's not sure Kris is listening. "I wouldn't be happy letting anyone have you either."---He and Francis make small talk for half an hour when Kris first shows up, getting offered coffee and drinks and complaining about the weather. It's awkward, not least because Francis has always sucked at this."I need to know that you understand that I’m keeping my other clients," Kris says. Francis doesn't have to like it, but he does have to—"Absolutely not," he says. "I am willing to have you at any rate you wish, but I will not share you.""You can't own me, Francis," Kris says, fed up. "You buy my time, you can own my time, but you can't own me.""And why not?" Francis asks.Kris freezes. "Do you understand what you're asking?""Do you?" Francis counters. "I'm offering to buy all of your available time, for whatever payment you desire, subject to renegotiation of my terms, of course. I would want more than sex and your free time.""You're asking me to be your rentboy," Kris says thinly. "Not just your prostitute.""Well," Francis says, and he smiles humorlessly. "I'd ask you to be my boyfriend, but we both know what the answer to that would be."Kris has known Francis a long time. He knows his moods, his past, his favorite people and music and food. He knows there's nobody close to Francis, and he knew all along that he was the one person Francis still trusted enough to occasionally treat like a real human being. He also knew Francis was dating him, not just fucking him, and he knows that this is his fault.He plays his role, because he's only an escort, working to pay his way through college, and he's barely twenty-one and his family doesn't even know what he does for a living. His part is not as a rentboy, the pretty young thing who hangs around the house all day and plays hostess at dinners and lays down at night to do whatever Francis tells him.This, instead, is his part: he tells Francis, slowly and haltingly and hating every syllable, that he's misunderstood the boundaries of their relationship. Kris tells him that he's is paid to be his boyfriend but he's still not that boy, and that he can't play pretend for the rest of his life. And he assures Francis, with every last horrible, honest sentiment, that he could no more be his rentboy than his boyfriend, and all the while he swallows how sorry he is: sorry that he's saying these things and running away, that he led Francis on because he didn't know what it could hurt, and that he did, does, all of it in spite of knowing that he's the only person alive right now that Francis gave the power to hurt him, and Kris is shoving that right back in his face.Afterwards he goes quietly and unimpeded out to his car, leaving Francis behind in the dark living room of his twenty million dollar house, and the whole way home tries to keep from vomiting those words back up.---Kris is pretty sure he can't do this anymore. It feels like he's playing with people's emotions."This is a little sudden," Anna says when he comes to tell her he's quitting, sitting forward and crossing her legs. She's older than the girls here, heavier with age, but still gorgeous. She's a first-generation Eastern European immigrant, though there's no trace of it to look at her. Years in their business smoothed out her accent and taught her Californian mannerisms. Kris used to look at her and wonder what traits he might pick up. For all that Anna is his mentor, helped make him who he is, Kris doesn't see her much anymore. He did while she was training Megan and him, years ago, but she's got younger recruits now and he's got control of things. Or had. "Do you want to tell me what's happened?""Francis wanted to buy me permanently," Kris says."Ah," Anna says delicately. "And there were no signs, before?"Kris squirms a little. "Well."She sighs. "And you ignored them?""I thought he'd get over it!" Kris says defensively. He knows Anna's not going to get angry with him, but it's like having your mother disappointed in you. "It's Francis.""Really?" Anna says. "From that comment I'll assume you talked to Megan and Hannah, at least.""Yes," Kris says, flushing. He knows better, normally, and Anna's been yelling at Megan for being insensitive for years. "But it doesn't matter now. I can't see him again. I can't do any of this again.""So you're dropping all of your clients?" Anna asks. "Are you sure?"Kris thinks wistfully of Adam. "I have to.""Maybe," she pauses, considering her words. "Maybe you should consider that this is something you will recover from. Perhaps quitting altogether is not the best idea.""So, what?" Kris asks. "I take a break for a couple months? I'm graduating in six months, I would've been done anyway."She looks at him, and Kris realizes abruptly that she doesn't believe him."I would have," Kris insists."You have to understand, Kris," she says, "This life gets under people's skin. You've done it, and you can't ever go back. You'll always remember the years when you did this. It will affect every future relationship you have. It's not something an escort leaves behind easily."Kris doesn't say she left it pretty easily, but only because that would be immature. "I am," he says instead, simply."Let me talk you into taking a break, then," she suggests, and holds up a hand when he objects. "I'm not trying to manipulate you into staying. I'm suggesting that if you still feel this way when you come back after Christmas that we put you on hold for a while. There's no reason not to keep it as a backup plan."She's right, of course, because mother always knows best, but he comes back a couple days after Christmas and being home only made him more certain he was right: he needs to get back to a normal life. Anna tells him he can come in on New Year's Eve and sign some things.There's not that much paperwork when you're just going on a sabbatical or extended vacation or whatever the tax forms classify it as. Kris signs once and initials twice, and Anna gives him a hug, and he grabs his backpack and hands the keys to the house back to her."Keep them," she says, smiling. "Now go enjoy your evening."Kris sits at the bus stop, flipping his phone over and over in his hands. He should call Adam, he knows, tell him like everyone else, but he really wants to see him one more time. He figures he can be selfish this once.So the next night he shows up on time, just like he promised he would after the holidays, but when Adam opens the door Kris says, "Can I talk to you?"There's a swing on the front porch of course, because the house is determined to be picturesque in every way possible, and they sit for a while until Kris figures out what he wants to say. Turns out it's not that complicated, once he gives up on sugarcoating it."We dealt with Francis," he starts, because it's not Adam's business but it's the beginning of the explanation. "We ended up dropping him."Adam turns, propping a leg up and looking at him. "Okay."Kris keeps staring straight ahead. "I dropped the rest of my clients, too. You know, after him. I felt terrible, and I'm busy anyway, and – it seemed easiest to just stop.""But you're here," Adam says leadingly."Yeah," Kris says, and tries to peek over at him. "I mean, I don't know if part-time prostitute is all you want from me, but—""No," Adam says. "No, this is good.""Yeah?" Kris asks, looking over and trying not to smile. "Even though I'm only technically semi-retired?" He starts to explain that Anna wanted to keep him on the roll, how she doesn't think he's really done, but he's halfway through stumbling over the first sentence when Adam cuts him off."Semi-retired works," Adam says. He smiles at Kris. "Semi-retired is amazing. You want dinner?""Yeah," Kris says, grinning, but then Adam holds out a piece of sushi for him and Kris bites his fingers and they end up in the living room instead, and Adam just asks, "Is this okay?" before he rolls Kris over and licks him open.Kris gets settled, almost sinking into the couch, but Adam kisses at the bottom of his spine and says, "Are you going to kill me for saying that I'm absolutely getting off on the fact that I'm going to be the only one touching you from now on?"It's just the possessiveness streak, and Kris is going to sigh, but Adam bites the top of his thigh and keeps going, "And I thought I was above this, but I really want to brand you now. Just a small, permanent little scar right where everyone can fucking see it," and he sounds ridiculously nonchalant, and Kris laughs a little until Adam turns him back over and looks down at him, and oh, he wasn't kidding."Um," Kris said, trying to wrangle multiple syllables."Don't worry," Adam says, lifting a corner of his mouth. "I'm not seriously asking.""Not yet," Kris says forebodingly, because he sees where this is going, but it comes out more wishful and they're both fucking gone. "Bedroom," he volunteers instead."Boring," Adam says, and slaps Kris' ass when he moves. "Stay put.""No," Kris says, wheedling. "I'll make it worth your while?"Adam pauses as if he's considering it. "How?"Kris has to think about it. He's a lot less used to giving than just letting people take, and he can't find anything, after all, besides, "Whatever you want."Adam's eyes shadow and Kris has to swallow hard, because he means it in a way that's too honest for this early on. "I'm tying you up this time," Adam says, and something starts low at the base of Kris' spine.The cuffs are just as gorgeous the second time Adam puts them on him, and this time he clips little loops of leather to the metal D-rings and hooks them on the outside edges of the headboard."So," Kris starts, but it gives way to an undignified noise when Adam grabs his hips and hauls him back until he can't keep his legs under him and he has to faceplant into the pillows, arms all the way apart. He says, "Oof," and, "Thanks for that," and Adam's polite enough to move the pillows so he won't accidentally smother himself."Good?" Adam asks, and as soon as Kris says yes he's spreading him open, licking over and into him, and Kris wiggles against his grip. Adam licks back down behind his balls and then blows air over him, pulling back. "Why don't you like being rimmed?" he asks curiously.Kris says, slowing his breath, "I do. I just – there's nothing in it for you."Adam pushes a thumb against his rim, teasing, before moving back down. He says, "Oh, baby, you really think that?" and pushes a couple fingers in along with his tongue before Kris can say anything.Kris pushes back against him, helplessly, but Adam hums and holds him still. Dropping his head and panting, Kris tries to settle in to wait for Adam to get a move on, but once in a while he kicks his foot down against the mattress. Adam laughs at him a little each time, but when he catches Kris' ankle and keeps him still Kris groans, low, pressing up and testing the hold."There you go," Adam says encouragingly, and what? But he goes back to twisting his fingers and holding Kris open for his tongue.Kris moans again, but Adam isn't moving on, just keeps fucking licking, and somewhere past the five minute mark Kris starts feeling a little fuzzy and loose with it. When he starts trying to hitch away, squirming, Adam pulls back and slaps him lightly. "Give it up already, Kris," sounding exasperated and fond and maybe a little impatient.Kris swears at him pathetically. "I told you there's nothing in it for you."Adam says, "I'm going to get to fuck you when you've come, by the way," and Kris is sort of embarrassingly easy after that.Before Adam licks over him again he gets lube on his fingers and gets Kris dripping, and then he squeezes lube into him again while he pushes his fingers back in."Why do you do that?" Kris asks vaguely, twitching."Expediency," Adam answers, matter-of-fact, and Kris is half laughing when he comes.Adam doesn't wait, of course, just slides a condom on and works right in. Kris curls his fingers against the ties until enough of his nervous system comes back online for him to really feel Adam, and then it's sparking across his skin and he closes his eyes and shakes.---He wakes up before Adam. It's what he notices more than anything, the way Adam's sprawled out, facing away from him, and it's ten in the morning. Kris is not cruel enough to wake up any chronic insomniac, never mind Adam, so he moves slowly, just enough to get his palm to curve over Adam's shoulder. He's almost asleep again by the time Adam rolls over to face him. Kris' hand falls on the bed between them."Hey," Adam says, smiling slowly."Hi," Kris says, yawning so he doesn't do anything embarrassing like coo."What time is it?" Adam asks, pushing up to look at the clock. His eyes widen. "Holy shit."Kris smiles, feeling pleased. "Breakfast?""So long as you wipe off that smug expression," Adam says.Kris just grins wider.It isn't until they're standing at the island that Adam says, "Oh," and reaches for Kris' wrists. "I forgot to get them off after I unhooked them, sorry. You could've taken them off this morning."Kris shrugs, watching as Adam undoes the cuffs for him and drops them to the side. They both move slowly after that, eating and putting the dishes away carefully. Finally they have to look at each other and Kris steps closer to Adam.Adam looks torn, and then says, "Are you busy tomorrow afternoon? I've got press in the morning, but after—""Yeah," Kris says hurriedly. "Yeah. Just text me when you're done or whatever."Adam smiles at him and pulls him up for a slow kiss, and then follows him to the door so Kris gets to live with the indignity of Adam seeing him stumble out like an idiot.
---The first thing he does is track down Megan. They pick up Hannah for her lunch break, too, so Kris waits until they're all sitting to brag. He leaves out the part where Anna convinced him to stay on hold because he's sure Hannah knows already, and also the part where he'd called Adam immediately after like a lovesick puppy, but he spills enough for it to be embarrassing.Kris rolls his head to look over at Megan and Hannah, grinning. "It was cool, though, you know? Our first time where it wasn't a job, and it's obviously not that different but it's still cool."He sounds like an idiot. Megan smiles and pats at his head, says, "Yeah, you're so cute about him," and keeps reading, not listening to a word he's saying.Hannah chokes on her lemonade though, and Kris sits up and takes the cup from her, offering to rub her back. "Sorry, sorry," she says, laughing a little. "I was just surprised. You're dating a client?""Anna did it with Mark," Kris points out defensively. "And Adam's not a client anymore, so technically, no.""No, sweetie, I'm sorry, you're right. I'm just surprised," her smile shifts, becomes more genuine. "You're really cute together, like Megan said.""Okay," Kris says, still suspicious she'll grab a book and threaten to knock some sense into him."I want to be in the wedding party," she says. "As the official matchmaker, I deserve it."Kris rolls his eyes. "I really should stop associating with you.""You'd miss us," Megan says. "You enjoy our company.""I've been corrupted," Kris says, and Hannah starts giggling.When they drop her off she says, "So you're seeing him tomorrow, right?""Yeah," Kris says, surprised. "How'd you know?"She makes a face. "You'd be surprised. With how disgusting you're acting right now, I'm surprised you aren't seeing him tonight.""Yeah," Kris says, half-wistful.Megan snorts."Come in and keep me company," Hannah whines at Megan, moving on. "Come on, Megan, Liz is going out tonight in this like, fetish pig costume, we can make fun of her. It'll be awesome, please?"---Except then Adam calls him that afternoon for them to go on a date. Kris spends an embarrassingly long time picking a damn t-shirt to wear to the fucking mall, what the hell, it's just shopping, and finally Cale shoves him out the door while talking about how he'll call his girlfriend tomorrow so Kris can go with her to get his nails done, Jesus.Adam meets him there, faintly embarrassed at calling when it's only been a couple of hours, but Kris trips over himself trying to say hello while falling into him, and all in all they're both pretty hopeless, so it's even.Only it was a terrible idea, because Adam's idea of shopping is going in every single store ever and Kris' idea of shopping is buying a pair of socks and then sitting at the food court all afternoon, and Adam wins by virtue of being able to drag Kris around bodily.Kris is poking through the jeans in some snotty boutique, very obviously bored, when Adam drapes himself over Kris' shoulders and says, "When I fuck you this time you're going to come while I'm inside you."Kris shudders, but he's tired of being so fucking easy, so he shrugs Adam off and says, "You're the one who thought that wasn't good enough last night."Adam narrows his eyes. "You weren't objecting."Kris shrugs deliberately. "I still don't get the appeal."Adam hauls him close, less playful. "You really don't?"Kris blinks. "I don't know. No?""Well, look, you like giving blowjobs, right?" Adam says."Well, yeah," Kris says, "but I like it because I like feeling used, like, I guess it's the objectification?" He makes a face. "That sounds terrible."Adam's looking at him intently."What?" Kris asks, and then he flushes."That is amazing," Adam says sincerely. "Also, we're doing that now.""As soon as we get to your house," Kris says, trying to divert Adam's attention before he gets them into a fitting room. "You can tie me to your bed and—""We'll do that, too," Adam says dismissively, and locks the door behind them. "For now, though, on your knees."The way he's grinning is like he's teasing, but Kris wasn't lying about this, and he's dropped almost before he can process what Adam's told him to do.Adam gets abruptly serious, like he believes Kris now, and Kris shuts his eyes while Adam works his jeans open. Then Adam's hand is cupping the back of his head, pulling him forward, and Kris opens his mouth blindly and lets Adam slide over his tongue. He reaches up for Adam's hips and Adam says, "Hands on your thighs," voice rough.He slides in deeper and Kris has spit going everywhere because he can't swallow it down with his jaw this wide open. He curls his hands into fists and presses them against his legs, and tries to wiggle closer, tipping his head up for a better angle.Adam says, "Open your eyes," so Kris does, watching Adam watch him, and when Adam pulls back a little he tries to move his tongue.
Groaning, Adam thrusts a little harder, and he asks, "Can I—" lowly, until Kris moans and his fingers twitch against reaching up.Then Adam's moving faster, tangling his fingers in Kris' hair and angling him so he can slide back and forth, slick and easy. There's a kid's voice outside, and Kris closes his eyes again, because they're in a dressing room. Anyone who looks under the door will see he's kneeling in front of Adam, and fuck."Give me your hand," Adam says roughly, and Kris reaches up so Adam can wrap their hands around the bottom of his cock. "Go down," he says, and Kris pulls off to pant up at him a couple of times. "I bet anything you can," Adam says, and Kris swallows hard before letting his spit pool in his mouth, leaning forward and making sure Adam's as wet as he can get him. Then he puts his other hand on Adam's hip for balance and moves, thankful for Adam's holding him up, keeping him steady, and he feels the head of Adam's cock run across the top of his mouth until it hits the back of his throat, and then flattens his tongue and keeps going down.His gag reflex wants to kick in right before his lips meet their hands. Adam slides their hands down and pulls Kris closer still, and then he's going all the way down, easier than it has any right to be.Adam groans too loudly, and Kris jerks back, almost choking, when a woman's heels click by the door."Come on," Adam says."Be quiet," Kris hisses up at him. "I don't want to get caught."Adam smiles sharply and leans back against the wall, pressing his foot against Kris' crotch. "I don't believe you."Kris goes back down, because there's not really anything else he can do. He can only get Adam all the way back down once more, even though he tries, and Adam pets through his hair while he calls Kris a useless little slut. Kris is shaking by the time Adam comes, even though it's faster than he's ever gotten Adam off before, and he's not above rutting against Adam's foot a little desperately. He presses close when Adam pulls him to his feet, and Adam undoes his jeans enough to get him out and jerk him dry. Kris comes after a couple of pulls, silent and desperate, and Adam catches most of it in on his hand.He presses his fingers into Kris' mouth when Kris is done, and Kris is obedient, sucking his fingers clean and licking across his palm. When he's gotten it all Adam nuzzles at him, kissing him and saying, "Good boy," quietly, over and over, sounding like Kris is something precious.---The next night they see a movie, and Monday Kris is busy and then Adam's not around for three days after that, so when they see each other Friday Kris basically moves in for the weekend. Sunday, though, Adam's got a gallery opening he's going to.He invites Kris along, and Kris teases him about being a discerning art snob, really? But Adam says, "The work is by an ex," with his face going all tight, so Kris shuts up. He's not sure what he'll do, except then they don't run into the ex, and it isn't very stressful at all.Kris is able to spend most of the week following with Adam, too, but then Adam has to get busy in the studio, he's way behind schedule, and it's far enough along in the semester that Kris' classes are all hitting their strides. Since he can't afford to fail the last semester of his college degree program – business management, which is horribly practical and appalls Adam – Kris has to make sure he passes all of the exams coming up, and he doesn't see Adam until a couple days before Valentine's Day. When he does he wishes he hadn't, because Adam's in a foul mood and they end up fighting over something that is really only a little bit Kris' fault.It's stupid the way these things usually are – they're both grumpy and Kris doesn't answer his phone when Adam calls and when they do manage to get together Adam mocks him for his busy schedule and Kris yells back.Kris would totally apologize first, partly because he feels bad and partly because Megan keeps threatening to do it for him. Hannah just bites her lip while Kris is complaining, and since she's the only one of them with years of practice at this committed-relationship thing Kris decides to follow her example and wait it out.Adam does a show on Valentine's, not that Kris actually cares, but he calls Kris after, voice rough and tired, and asks him to come over. It's about three in the morning when Kris gets over there and they're both so exhausted that when Adam smiles tentatively Kris just smiles back and they crash until noon.Or Kris does, at least. Adam's awake and watching TV when he rolls over and gives his customary whining about the sun through the fucking windows. Adam snorts and covers Kris' eyes helpfully, and Kris asks, "How long have you been up?"Adam shrugs and Kris peels his hand off. "Since eight."Kris says, "That's only five hours." Adam's had worse nights, sure, but he's also definitely had better."You can add," Adam says flatly.Kris says, "Right. Do you want me to just go, then?" Because fuck if he's going to hang around and get bitched at.Adam stares determinedly at the screen and Kris sighs, but then Adam says, "Holidays suck.""Wait," Kris says. "You've been crabby because of Valentine's Day?" He's not sure it'd be okay to start laughing, but he really wants to."Shut up," Adam says, but he starts to smile a little.So maybe they never talk it out and crap like Megan keeps suggesting, but Adam gets over it and Kris survives. She just rolls her eyes unhappily when Kris points this out.The beginning of March sees Adam drag Kris to some stupid club even though Kris was at the beach all day and he's sunburned and sore. Adam has clothes for him and Kris is too tired to fight, but he's also not above being completely unhelpful and making Adam basically dress him. Normally this would distract Adam sufficiently, would work in Kris' favor and they'd get to stay in, but not this time.Kris sighs, aggrieved, but Adam looks him over critically and says, "Wait here." He comes back with the leather cuffs and buckles them on Kris' wrists.Kris looks and them and says, "So, um, what type of club was this?"Adam snorts.It's the kind that's got a line for half a block and is hugely pretentious and not at all unique. Adam goes to make nice at someone who he says hates him enough without Kris tagging along. He softens it by adding that he'd protect Kris from her if he could. Kris is glad to stay behind, looking at Adam askance while he walks up to the top offices. The bartender Kris winds up talking to is pretty cool, all laid back and quiet. She doesn't seem to fit their surroundings."And this is Kris," Adam says loudly before Kris is hauled around by his shirt collar."Nice to meet you," says a woman a little older than Kris. She's done up in leather and rhinestones and four inch heels, and has a guy at her side who looks completely cowed.Kris echoes her, reaching out to shake hands."This is Eric," she says offhandedly. "Now really, come with me, you must want something to drink."Kris raises his eyebrows because what, is he not sitting at the bar? Adam makes a complaining noise at her but doesn't stop them, and Kris gets sent off with her to the ladies' room."Oh, good, you're polite," she says when he holds her purse while she leans over the counter to check her makeup. "That's an upgrade."Kris doesn't say anything rude, but it's close. "Oh, really?"She nods, pursing her lips at her reflection. "Yeah. You've probably figured this out, by the way, but this is where I tell you that if you ever try to use your profession against him I'll kill you." She smiles prettily at herself and then turns to face him. "So?""Um," Kris says, at a loss, except then she narrows her eyes and he blurts out, "Yes? I mean, no, I'm not—" He stops. If Adam hasn't told her they're dating he's certainly not going to. He's a little surprised she seems okay with the idea of a prostitute but what does he know? "I won't," he promises instead.She looks unimpressed. "Because his last two boyfriends were not so great. It doesn't help that he goes through them like tissue paper. I don't blame him for paying for one, really.""Okay?" Kris says. "Uh."She shakes her head and leads him out, nails sharp against his arm. "You must be a damn good fuck."Kris looks at Adam wide-eyed when they get back, and Adam's quick to get Kris away from the frightening woman and out to the nice quiet car with the nice, civil driver. "Sorry," Adam says sheepishly.Blinking, Kris says, "Care to explain?""Susan just takes her work seriously, and I don't make things easy on her." Adam taps his fingers against the seat. "I wasn't going to tell her about you in the beginning, but now that you're going to be around all the time she should know. And if people start asking about you it's her job to handle.""Her job?" Kris asks faintly."She's my publicist," Adam says, like it's obvious. "She thinks she gets veto rights on anyone I might be seen in public with ever.""And does she?" Kris asks, almost serious. "Because I don't think I made a good impression.""No, you were fine," Adam says. "She can't do anything anyway. She's just pissed because she thinks I've been hiding you for a couple months.""Well, technically," Kris says, but Adam says, "She doesn't know that.""Look, maybe this is a stupid question, but wouldn't it have been easier to tell her I was your boyfriend instead of a prostitute?""Yeah," Adam says ruefully. "But I'm not good with dating. Obviously, or I wouldn't have come to Skyline Services in the first place. After my last break up she told me no dating for a year.""Oh," Kris says.Adam laughs. "I mean, obviously I have no problem getting a boyfriend. It's keeping one. And Susan and I like each other, so she chooses to blame everything on them."Kris says, "And it's not just them?"Shrugging, Adam blows out a breath. "I don't know. It's hard to be impartial about break ups, you know?"The thing is, though, Kris doesn't. He'd never had a chance to date in college, and he really doubts high school counts. He never plans on admitting that Adam's his first real relationship, and now especially wouldn't be the time, so he does what's best for them both and says, "Yeah.""Anyway," Adam says, shaking himself. "It's not you.""Well," Kris says finally, because he's out of options. "Like you said: if you had been able to keep a boyfriend I probably wouldn't have met you. And I really wouldn't have liked that."Adam smiles over at him, and Kris relaxes against the window and twists to kick his feet against Adam's leg.It isn't until they're in Adam's kitchen, foraging for some specific type of tea or something, that Adam says, "I should have asked you—" trailing off."Hm?" Kris says, engrossed in digging through Adam's texts. He actually lets Kris go through his phone, probably because he has less personal boundaries than anyone Kris has ever met, and maybe because there is absolutely nothing on it. It's the most boring prying Kris has ever done. Of course, the escort agency number programmed in would probably be a shock for most people, so maybe Kris is just coming at this from the wrong angle. He likes the idea, though, that he's Adam's best-kept secret. It's weirdly appealing, like he's something to be kept safe."You'll be photographed with me," Adam says. "And people will wonder, and eventually Susan will make me actually tell people who you are.""Oh," Kris says, looking up at him. "That's okay? I mean, I'm alright with it if you are. You can say, you know, whatever." He winces when he's done, because what the hell kind of answer is that, but Adam smiles at him brightly."Susan will probably have us say we've been dating for a long time. You're okay with being known as Adam Lambert's boyfriend?" and he's teasing, but Kris turns into him and kisses him and says, "Yes."Adam takes in a startled breath and presses him into the counter, completely ignoring the microwave going off for his tea. He says, "Why? You're not supposed to be," but won't stop kissing Kris long enough for Kris to ask what that's supposed to mean. Finally Kris has to push him away because his back is killing him where the edge is digging in. He says, "Get your tea.""No," Adam says. "It'll wait.""So will I," Kris points out. "And if you don't drink it or dump it out now you'll complain about how disgusting it looks when it's been sitting out and everything's settled at the bottom." He'd listened to Adam bitch for almost fifteen minutes one morning about exactly that. Never again."Way to ruin the mood," Adam says.Kris sighs. "If I promise to be naked in the bedroom by the time you're done clearing it up will you feel better?""Maybe," Adam says blithely, going to the sink obediently.Kris rolls his eyes, but it's not like he's reluctant to hold up his end of the deal. He leaves the cuffs on when he's stripping, though.When Adam comes in Kris is sitting on the edge of the bed. He leans over, kissing him lightly, and then pushes flat. He asks, "So in all your many years of experience, what have you done?"Kris tenses and pushes himself up on his hands. "What?"Adam says, "Relax, I just want to know.""People never just want to know," Kris says darkly. He really doesn't want Adam to start having doubts about his past this early.Adam raises his eyebrows. "So I'm not allowed to want something from you that you've never given before?""You might be." Kris sits up, moving back against the headboard.Adam says, "I want to do things to you you've never felt before."Kris sort of – twitches, because it should be funny, it's so trite, but Adam means it, and that's sort of hot in a way Kris hadn't considered. So instead he says, "Possessive.""Do you blame me?" Adam cocks his head and crawls up to him. "More importantly, do you have a problem with it?""What if I do?" Kris says, right before Adam can get close."Then I guess I'll have to win you over," Adam says, low and serious. Then he says, lighter, "Oh, let me kiss you already."Kris breathes out, and it feels a lot like relief. "I don't mind," he says, because it's true. "But I'm not sure you want to hear me list off everything I've ever done." He's not ashamed of any of it – except that time with the feather boa, that doesn't bear remembering – but he's pretty sure his mother would be cautioning prudency. Even admitting to some would be bad enough."You think I'll be jealous?" Adam asks."Yes," Kris says. "I would be." Not that he'd object, even if he has no clue why this is coming up now. There's always something inherently hot about being fucked by someone who wants to own you."Fair enough," Adam says, smiling slightly. "How about I do the listing then? I'll say everything I want to do to you, and you can tell me if someone else did it first.""Okay," Kris says, but Adam finishes, "And eventually I'll do all of those, too. Like reclamation."Kris says, "Oh." He's run out of anything else.But instead of talking Adam kisses him again, keeps kissing him until Kris is arching up and making impatient noises."I will get myself off, I swear to God," Kris says, "just get off my hands and let me, if you're going to be stubborn.""Fuck, you're rude," Adam says, grinning down at him. "And good place to start, by the way. So, have you ever jerked off for someone to watch you? Fingered yourself in front of them so they could look but not touch?""Yeah," Kris says. "Try again."Adam snorts and licks his neck. "What about with toys?""Um, yes," Kris says, angling his head back for better access. "Different, uh—" Adam bites and he wiggles a little. "Different toys, too.""Of course," Adam says appreciatively. Kris wonders if he isn't being mocked. "Here, scoot."Kris moves down, laying flat, and Adam settles next to him, still not relinquishing his neck. "Have I ever had my entire torso covered with hickeys?" Kris says. "Yes.""I've done that," Adam says, smiling a little goofily. "And I know you've been marked up other ways, too. And I am absolutely going to do that, tie you down and spank you. I have paddles and crops, too." Kris' breathing hitches, and Adam digs his teeth into his pulse point. "You want it, don't you? You really do love that," and Kris gives in and grabs the back of his head, pulling his mouth in tighter.Adam's helpful, grabs skin and bites until Kris hisses and tries to get away. When Adam lets go he says, "And what about in public? Have you ever worn a toy out for someone?"Kris swallows hard."No?" Adam teases. "Of course, it's the one thing we can't do right now.""You shouldn't have brought it up, then," Kris says, or tries to. Adam trails his hand down to curl around Kris' hip and Kris loses track of the words.Adam traces his fingers over his ass, rough and dry, and presses a slow finger into him. Kris gasps at the drag but pushes back into it, and Adam watches him, says, "That's best, though, isn't it? You like being forced open."Kris pants at him, which is really not hot until Adam licks into his unresisting mouth and turns it into a sloppy kiss instead."What's the largest toy you've ever taken?" Adam asks, twisting his finger so Kris can feel the burning. "Have you ever been fisted?"He isn't even sure how he should try to answer, but Kris arches and lets out nonsensical syllables and tries to push closer all at the same time."Yeah," Adam says, eyes dark. "All right.""Oh," Kris says, when Adam rolls him over and grabs out a bottle of lube. "You think—""Get yourself wet," Adam says, dropping the bottle next to him. "I'll be right back."Kris pushes up to his knees and trails his fingers back. He's dripping lube all over the bedspread, but he rubs his fingers over himself and pushes in two, hurrying things along. There's no point, though, because he's up to three fingers in a minute and Adam still isn't back. He sighs, wriggling impatiently, but with nobody to hurry along he goes back to two, seeing how well he can curl them. The first really good press against his prostate makes him jump, and then he moans a little and focuses in on it."Good," Adam says lowly, and Kris would startle if he weren't too busy squirming on his own fingers. "Good, Kris."He takes it as his cue to stop, drawing his fingers out and digging them into the bedspread next to him. Adam moves onto the bed next to him, and his fingers trail lightly over where Kris is stretched open. He can feel himself, all loose, and when Adam takes the lube and squeezes he can feel some of it dripping in, puddling inside him. He shudders."Here," Adam says. "Lie all the way down."Kris groans. The bedspread presses against his cock, a cold tease, and he thrusts a little impatiently."Okay, hold on," and he swears Adam's laughing at him. "Breathe, Kris.""Shut up," Kris says tightly. "Shut up and do something."Adam slides three fingers in right away, thank god, and curls them just like Kris was doing. Kris tightens around them, pushing back, and for once Adam gets the hint because he draws back and then Kris feels four fingers.It's not hard to take them, just one deep breath and a slow slide in, but it's still an uncomfortable pull and Kris is glad for the disgusting amount of lube and the way Adam always seems content to push slowly in and out, watching Kris stretch for him. He actually slides them all the way out, and Kris sighs against his arm because he knows Adam likes the first time he opens more than anything but this isn't exactly hurrying things along, here. He tells Adam something to that effect, and Adam says, "Fine," sounding put upon, and also decides to teach Kris a lesson on patience because when he pushes them back in he doesn't stop, just works in until Kris has him all the way up past his knuckles.And yeah, okay, they can go back to the nice slow teasing, please, Adam does know best, just don't—"Shh," Adam says, "You're fine."He sounds so sure, and Kris hates him, seriously, does he know how this feels? Like if he breathes too deeply he'll break."No, you won't," Adam says, low and terrifyingly certain. "You've taken this much before.""When I was already half fucked out," Kris says, voice breaking. "Not like this, not when I can feel—"Adam pulls his hand back, knuckles pulling back outside, and Kris gulps in air. Then Adam's putting more lube all over, Kris can feel it sliding down his thighs and as a new curl of slightly-too-cold where Adam's fingers are spreading him open.He stops breathing entirely when he feels Adam's thumb curl in against his palm, just touching Kris' rim, because he knows what's coming and fuck, was he stupid, thinking he could do this?There's not even enough time for him to anticipate it, though, because like everything else Adam just goes for it, fingers spreading to let his thumb get started and then there's just his wrist working his hand back and forth, twisting slowly in. He stops right before the widest part, right before Kris is going to have to open for his knuckles, and pets Kris' back while he gasps and tries to keep from moving any muscle at all."All right?" Adam asks carefully. "You don't have to do this," and fuck, he had to ask.If he hadn't Kris could've said no, could've said stop and it wouldn't have meant anything at all, but now Kris can't, he has to do this, wants to do this, not just to prove he can or to know what it feels like and especially not just to get off, but because he wants to give this to Adam, force himself past the boundary Adam's gotten them up against.He says, "Yes, I want to," and means it utterly, and Adam takes him at face value, like he knows it's true despite the way Kris' voice shook, and pushes.Kris doesn't make any sound at all when Adam slides the widest part of his hand through, and he shakes after it's in and Adam's rubbing his back, touching him everywhere and talking low. Kris hears him but doesn't listen, he doesn't need to right now, and he can't feel anything but Adam's hand inside him, carefully still.When he does make a noise it's because he's opened his mouth and he's moaning, can't stop, and he's still hard, desperate, even though he hadn't thought he would be."Kris," Adam says, leaning over slowly and kissing his shoulder. "Can you come like this or do you need me to pull out?""Mm—" Kris gets out, before his hips jerk and he pushes back against it. "Fuck," he gasps out then, and all Adam does is curl his fingers, move his hand a little back like he's testing what Kris will give him, and Kris comes, a slow shaky roll everywhere."Easy," Adam says warningly, and then he works his hand back out. It's almost worse than going in, and Kris whimpers faintly when he's all the way out.Then Adam's pressing against his hip and Kris tries to roll over and help but he can't get the coordination up fast enough and instead Adam's coming, warm and sticky against his hip and back."Gross," Kris says, teasing, but he's too tired to understand what Adam says in return. Instead he waits until Adam's done moving around, getting up and bringing back washcloths and a blanket so that Kris doesn't have to try to squirm underneath the covers. Kris thinks he loves Adam a lot, and then he's asleep.---A couple weeks later Adam calls at seven in the fucking morning."You better be dying," Kris says seriously."I have a condo," Adam says triumphantly. "I think you should come help me christen it.""Oh, Jesus," Kris groans, shoving his head, phone and all, under the pillow. "This couldn't wait until nine in the morning?""No," Adam says cheerfully. "Because the moving crew is coming over today and I think you should come help. You know, since you told me you have nothing better to do today.""Adam," Kris hisses, "I said I had nothing to do and I was going to laze around and it would be amazing. That does not mean nothing better to do.""But still not as good as putting in your labor and then getting fucked above Sunset Boulevard," Adam says, like he knows he's won.Kris is quiet for about thirty seconds. Then, "Fuck. Fuck you, seriously," he grumbles, hanging up when Adam starts laughing."Where the fuck are you going?" Cale growls when Kris trips in the kitchen and knocks over half the dirty dishes sitting on the counter."Why the fuck are you sleeping on the couch?" Kris counters uncharitably."Seriously, dude," Cale says.Kris sighs. "I'm helping Adam move."Cale looks distrustful. "Isn't he rich and famous? Shouldn't he have people move for him?""He wants to participate or something," Kris says. "I don't know. Are we out of milk?""Yes, and you're helping?" Cale sits up, completely awake now."Yes," Kris says. "Don't ask why.""Because you're completely whipped, that's why."Kris almost inhales his orange juice trying not to laugh."I don't want to know," Cale says quickly. "Ew.""Anyway," Kris says, "Bye.""No, wait!" Cale yelps, throwing himself onto his feet. "Two minutes, I'm coming with.""No, you're not," Kris says reflexively. "Why?""Well, it's time someone met this new guy. Especially considering circumstances," Cale yells prissily from the bathroom."Stop fucking talking to Megan," Kris says, but he knows it's a lost cause, and they end up at Adam's by eight.Adam's overjoyed to see them, since he thought it would be a great idea to tell the movers they were only responsible for the furniture."It won't even fit in my car," Adam says, lamenting a picture that's as big as the door."It won't fit in his, then, either," Cale says from behind it."Shit," Adam says unhappily, and goes to call the movers again."Wow," Cale says once he's safely out of the room, and Kris holds his breath. "He's a little spastic."Kris laughs, relieved. "He can be, yeah. It's cute.""I don't see it," Cale says honestly, and Kris shrugs, grinning like an idiot when Adam starts whining at the movers from somewhere in the closet.So the movers get the rest of the boxes, but Cale ends up hanging around while they unpack. Kris is careful to keep him to the boxes with movies and family photos and not sex toys and shoes, and they break for lunch and get Italian even though Adam starts whining about carbs."Pizza?" Kris asks pointedly, and Adam shuts up and sulks.They're done with most of the boxes by dinnertime, even though things are less organized than they probably should be. If Adam has to go anywhere in a hurry he'd be screwed. Cale beats a strategic retreat, but when he says goodbye to Adam it seems pretty sincere, and Adam doesn't say anything sarcastic as he's walking out the door. Kris is tentatively labeling it a success when Adam says, deceptively lightly, "So what was that?""Um," Kris says, "What?"Adam glares. "You know I don't want to interrupt any plans of yours. If you're already busy you should just say so.""That was my roommate," Kris says."Oh," Adam says."Why?" Kris asks. He has a sudden suspicion— "Who did you think it was?""Nobody," Adam says nonchalantly. "What do you want for dinner?""Adam," Kris says."Well, you came so early, and in the same car. And you've never mentioned a roommate!" Adam says indignantly.Kris starts to laugh. "I spent like, an hour telling you about Cale when we were first getting to know each other, and you thought he was, what, a one night stand?"Adam narrows his eyes at him."That's cute," Kris says. "You suck at acting jealous though.""Well, I kind of liked him," Adam admits reluctantly. "It was giving me a complex."Kris snorts once or twice more and then reaches up to kiss him. "It's okay, I promise. Exclusivity is one of the clauses, here."Adam huffs against his mouth and Kris repeats, "I promise."Then Adam's pressing him up against the wall of windows, and when he suggested fucking above Sunset Boulevard he wasn't joking. Kris is glad the apartment is dark, because anyone who looks up will probably see enough as it is, but they're on the eleventh floor of Adam's new condo, and it absolutely looks like it was built for him, and Kris is not going to object to wrapping his legs around Adam's hips and rubbing against each other like teenagers.His shirt works its way up when he slides down, and he shivers at the press of skin to cold glass. He tries to brace himself when Adam pulls at it, working it over his head, but he slips and they almost both fall over."Maybe we should—" he says, laughing into Adam's mouth, and then, "I mean, there's a bedroom, with a bed—""Fuck," Adam says, pulling back abruptly. "Fuck.""What?" Kris asks, but it's hard to be really concerned when Adam's apparently not upset enough to stop digging the heel of his palm into Kris' crotch. It's almost painful, but they're pressed so close together he can't get away, and if he tries to grind back he'll probably get himself dropped. He's basically stuck here, while his hips try to hitch closer to Adam."I have no idea which box the lube is in," Adam says mournfully. "Never mind condoms."Kris starts laughing again, helpless, even when Adam makes an irritated growly noise and basically flattens them against the window, kissing Kris and biting his neck where there's still a yellowing bruise. "Fucking fuck," he mutters, almost absently, and that starts Kris up again, but he's close anyway, from being fondled like they're at third base, and then Adam also says, "Your stupid fucking neck, I'm going to fucking tattoo something here, you keep fucking healing."All the last of the drunken giggles and the words about how it'd be bad if he didn't heal get tangled in his throat with the sudden rush of want that spikes with Adam's teeth digging in, just right, and he comes suddenly, while Adam licks away what Kris really hopes isn't a little bit of blood."Holy shit," Adam says reverently."Fuck off," Kris says. "Not a word. And I can't blow you if I'm up here."Adam turns and lets him down so fast he's practically dropped him, and Kris is laughing again a little while he works his pants down. When he's got Adam's cock out Adam's hand cradles the back of his skull and the other holds his jaw, thumbing his mouth open and sliding over his tongue so he's wide open before Adam slides into his mouth. Kris looks up at him, staring down intently, and moans before he can stop himself.Smiling a little, Adam's fingers curl up and press against Kris' cheek. Kris wonders if he can feel himself. Adam takes his thumb away, letting Kris lick, and leans sideways to press his hand against the window for balance. He says, "Kris, look," softly.Kris turns a little, careful to keep Adam as far in his mouth as he can, and he knows what Adam means. They're reflected in the window, just dark anonymous shapes, and Hollywood spread out behind them. He groans, desperately, and he doesn't ever want to leave. He'd stay here forever, on his knees for Adam in a dark apartment he can almost pretend is theirs.---"Oh, hey," Adam says, coming out of the bathroom toweling his hair. The condo's shower is amazing, but even Kris can't bathe for forty-five minutes like Adam. "You leaving?""Yeah, sorry," Kris says, looping his backpack over his shoulder. "Test at eight in the morning.""Finals?" Adam asks sympathetically. "Sucks.""Oh, yeah, because you'd know," Kris teases lightly, and goes over to get a kiss goodbye. "You said I'll see you tomorrow?""Tomorrow, yeah," Adam says lowly, grabbing his hips and holding him in place for a longer kiss. "Text me when you're free, I'll come get you.""Alright," Kris says, slapping Adam's hands away. "You have to let me go then.""No," Adam says, smiling, and, "Oh, wait, Kris. I almost forgot," when Kris is shutting the door. He rummages through a box on the hall table, holds out an envelope."What's up?" Kris asks, taking it. It's unmarked.Adam makes a face. "I found out my manager canceled my Amex, worried it'd gotten stolen or something, so the last couple payments probably haven't gone through. That's for the last three times, but you should have Hannah check to make sure it's enough.""What?" Kris says. He stares at Adam, who cocks his head at him.Sounding amused, Adam says, "Canceled credit card, Hannah, your job? Any of this sound familiar?""Oh," Kris says. "Yeah," only he's not sure it was all that intelligible over the buzzing in his ears."Yeah?" Adam says, looking more concerned. "Are you okay?""Yeah," Kris says, and, "Yes," louder, like he can repeat it and make it true. "Just tired, you know."Adam nods and leans against the doorframe while Kris walks down the hall, just like always, and Kris turns before he gets in the elevator and Adam is smiling at him, warm and inviting and completely fucking fake, just like fucking always.Kris gets to the curb outside the hotel before he opens the envelope. He's not crying, thank fuck, he can be spared one indignity after all, and he has a check for twenty thousand in his hand so he waves a taxi over and tells the driver to drop him at work.Hannah's still in, of course, and Kris walks in and drops the check in front of her and says, "Tell me you didn't know."From her face he can tell she did, though, and then Megan comes down the stairs and sees him and says, "Oh, honey," and he's done, he drops to the ground, winded, and Megan's petting him and shushing him and fuck, but he's screwed up.They walk him home, both of them, even while Kris is yelling at them and Cale's at the door waiting like he knew too, even though he swears it's just that one of the girls called him on their way over. Kris believes him at least, and lets him take his backpack and shove him into bed, terrible at this nurturing shit just like always. He doesn't sleep and he skips his test the next day and it's Sunday morning before he leaves his room, and even then it's because Cale says, "Anna's here."Actually, Cale doesn't say it's Anna so much as he sticks his head in cautiously and says there's some scary older woman outside but Kris knows what he means, so he drags himself into jeans and out of the apartment. She hands him a thermos of coffee at the door, and they go for a walk silently.Kris knows she's not going to speak first. She taught him, after all."When trying to get clients to open up, Kris, all you have to do is make your willingness to listen clear. Ally yourself with them and they will do the rest," she'd said, and then made him practice on strangers in a park.Knowing what she's doing doesn't make it any less effective, and as they turn a corner Kris says, "I fell in love with him."Anna told them once, "You have to love your clients," and Megan protested, said, "You told us to remember it's just business!""Yes," Anna said patiently. "But you won't be good in the business if you can't love them at least a little."But now Anna tells him, sounding rueful, "It happens to the best of us."Kris tries to laugh. "You never mentioned this part.""Of course not," Anna says. "All I'd be able to do is caution you against it, and in the end it'd be wasted breath. It would happen or not no matter what I said.""Really?" Kris says faintly, trying not to listen. His phone is going off."You wouldn't believe how many of my protégés I've counseled through things like this," she says calmly, watching as he presses ignore. "Everyone who works long enough reaches a point where they're good enough that they start disregarding the rules – they play favorites with clients, they give out their private number, they blur the line between work and personal entanglements because they're so certain they already know where it is.""So this is a lecture?" Kris says grimly."Kristopher," she says, sounding exasperated. "Neither of us has time for this level of stupidity. I married one of my clients."Kris blinks at her."This is encouragement," she finishes softly.Kris shakes his head. "You said to never fall in love with them," because they're disregarding the important part where he's been the biggest idiot in the world. She takes his phone from his hand and pulls up Adam's contact info, holding it back out to him."Dear, the best escorts always will."Kris takes it grudgingly, staring down at the display. "How do I know it's not just business for him?" Since it really has been all along.Anna shrugs. "You ask. At least he deserves to know why you won't be seeing him again."Kris nods, still staring at the phone. Anna leaves him there, though Kris wishes she'd stayed. He's not sure he'll actually call, not sure he won't go back in to the house long enough to grab his stuff and make Hannah make the call, a small step towards paying him back for lying all these months. He stands up to walk back to his apartment, figures he'll email his professor and see if he can make up that exam.Adam calls him again.Kris answers before he can stop himself. He holds the phone up to his ear but doesn't say anything, and after a couple of seconds Adam says, "Hello? Kris?"Kris winces, says, "Hello," and then has to clear his throat.Adam's voice warms. "Hey, I missed you the first time.""Yeah," Kris says. "Sorry." He doesn't offer an explanation, though.They're both silent for a moment and then Adam says briskly, "Anyway, I wanted to call and see how your test went. I didn't hear from you yesterday, and obviously I thought the worst.""You thought I failed?" Kris asks, and hopes Adam will attribute his tone to being teasing."No, I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere. I was going to call the police when you didn't answer your phone this morning, but then I thought about them storming in to investigate your apartment just because I'd called while you were in the shower and how pissed you'd be and I decided to try your cell one more time." Adam sounds perfectly serious.Kris snorts, trying not to laugh. That's not his role any more. Instead he says, "I just had something come up," trying to sell the lie, and while they're here, "I'm sorry I couldn't come yesterday.""It's fine," Adam says, and Kris can practically see him waving his hand expansively. "Are you doing anything today?"Nothing he wasn't planning on skipping anyway, so he lets Adam give him the address of a place that apparently has brunch to die for. He rides the bus over, glad he'd grabbed his wallet before leaving with Anna. It's not hard to spot Adam, especially with the way he's waving like a lunatic over in the corner. Shit, Kris is going to miss him.Kris doesn't bother getting food at the buffet, just settles into the chair across from Adam. "Hey," he says eloquently, and Adam makes a face."Are you not eating? Or, oh, have you eaten already? Sorry, I'll learn not to assume everyone's schedule is as weird as mine one of these days.""No," Kris says. "No, I just can't stay long. I just wanted to talk to you in person.""Okay?" Adam says, pushing his plate to the side."I'm retiring," Kris says, because he can't look at Adam now and say I fell in love with you, please tell me you weren't using me for sex.Adam frowns at him. "Retiring? As in—""As in no longer working as an escort," Kris says, and he doesn't have to worry about it sounding like a lie because it's not – he's just telling the truth months too late. He continues, "This was never going to be my career, and I'm graduating in a few weeks—" but Adam's talking over him, "No, I understand, obviously, that makes sense," and they trail off at about the same time.Finally Adam smiles at him. "Well, hey, thanks for coming to see me this morning. You're welcome to eat.""I can't," Kris makes himself say. "I really have to go.""Okay," Adam says simply. He stands when Kris does. "I'm not sure what the etiquette is for this type of thing, but can I kiss you goodbye?""Yeah," Kris says. "Of course."But it's not even a real kiss, just a hug and Adam's lips against his forehead."Good luck," Adam tells him, and Kris, like always, leaves.---He gets to make up his test. He has to lie, of course, tell them it was a family death, but he wasn't the only person who missed it and they don't want to keep him from graduating, so he goes in Tuesday night. It's the first time he's had the night free in years.Megan and Hannah come to his college's graduation ceremony. They're not the only ones, obviously – he's got family and friends there too, but they are the only ones from work. Afterwards, while his mother's hugging and kissing and crying all over him, Megan leads them over.Kris is not ashamed to admit he's been avoiding them both. He thinks he's entitled, but Megan introduces Hannah to his family and then asks to borrow him for a moment and Kris can't do anything without looking like an ass."You have to listen to us," she tells him flatly. "You don't have to talk to us ever again, but you do have to listen.""Fine," Kris says grudgingly.Hannah says, "I understand you're pissed, and you're right. We just didn't want to hurt you. It was me, I withheld the first payment. I've been holding all of them back so you wouldn't see the money coming in and figure it out."He wouldn't have noticed anyway – Kris never checks his bank accounts. "You didn't think I'd find out eventually?" he asks though, because really?"We hoped you'd get over it by then," Megan says. "I thought the media would get a hold of you and he'd dump you, or you'd decide you hated him, or something. But you didn't.""No," Kris says. "But it's a really good thing we were a good couple. So many escort-client relationships aren't. And it was a good practice run for the next famous guy I fall in love with, right? A learning experience."Hannah eyes him dubiously. "You don't mean that, right?""Which part? The falling in love? Yeah, unfortunately, six months of what I thought were real dates were enough to get me, but then, I've always been easy.""No," Hannah persists cluelessly. "I mean the learning experience part. Because I don't think you're going to meet another famous guy and fall in love.""Thank you, Hannah," Megan sighs, because some things never change. "Look, Kris, we're just saying we're sorry. We've been friends for years, please don't hate us. We meant well."Kris says, "I’m moving back home while I look for a job," because he is, okay, he's not running away but he is leaving."That's stupid," Hannah says bluntly.Kris laughs. "Well, I guess I'm stupid.""If we call, would you answer the phone?" Megan asks, pinching Hannah.Kris doesn't want to, but he promises he will.His mother tries to invite everyone along for dinner but Megan's adept at making excuses. He sees his family off the next day, insisting he'll be fine packing up by himself. Cale's decided to stay through summer, but he won't help Kris even though all he's doing is hanging around. Kris has a lot of stuff he doesn't really need, but he puts most of it in storage. He's shipping most of his clothes home, even though the majority of them he'll likely never need to touch again.Hannah texts him at the end of the week to tell him she's transferred all of Adam's payments through. Kris donates all of it to the Children's Diabetes AssociationHe keeps two suitcases' worth of things and hangs around an extra week to see some friends before he goes. It's early June before he books a flight home, and Cale's pretty eager for him to go. Kris suspects his girlfriend's going to move in, but it'd be nice to feel a little wanted.But finally he's leaving; his flight's in three hours and he cannot find his fucking phone. His room is empty, there's no way he's lost it in here, but he had it this morning and he hasn't left the apartment since he got up. Somebody knocks at the door and Kris huffs. Cale is gone, he said he was buying toilet paper or something, whatever, why hang around to say goodbye to your roommate of three years anyway, so Kris has to go answer it.He doesn't do anything so undignified as squeak, but his kneejerk reaction is to try to shut the door. Adam says, "That's rude," through the door and knocks again. Kris opens it again."Hello," he says, like he didn't just slam the door in his face."Hello," Adam says. "Nice to see you again.""Of course," Kris says, and, "What do you want?" because he has a plane to catch here and he still needs to call a cab and find his phone and tell his mom what time his flight's due in and—"So, you're a lying little fuck," Adam says brightly."Excuse me?" Kris asks. Also, "No, back up!""You'll fuck me for free for half a year but I can't come in your apartment?" Adam says. "Strange priorities."Kris freezes. "Hannah told you?""Megan, actually. Well, Hannah helped. And I'm pretty sure your boss was there. Pretty, older woman? Way too classy to be breathing the same air as the rest of us?""That's Anna," Kris says, because well, yeah.Adam waits, staring at him."What?" Kris finally snaps."Are you going to explain?" Adam says. "And in the interest of full disclosure it'll be share and share alike, okay?""No," Kris says. "I have a flight I have to leave for.""I can give you a ride," Adam offers magnanimously. "We can talk on the way.""No," Kris says again. He just needs to call a cab and—"I'll even give you your phone," Adam says, proffering it."The fuck?" Kris says. "Cale?""Yes, it was a conspiracy." Adam rolls his eyes. "They said they were tired of you moping around. Also, your boss said something about letting her down or lowering expectations or something equally disappointed."Kris huffs, reaching for his phone. Adam surrenders it, surprisingly. Kris expected at least a token effort. He looks at Adam suspiciously. "I'm here in good faith," Adam says, raising his hands. "Completely upfront. I just want to yell and fight and give you a ride to the airport.""I still think I'll decline," Kris says, swallowing hard. "Like you have anything to yell about. I never lied.""Omission counts—" Adam starts, but Kris snorts."I told you. I said I'd dropped my clients—" Kris steps out onto the balcony. If they're going to do this he is damn well not going to be peeking around a door the whole time."How about next time you can tell me you quit, something that's actually clear—""What the hell else does it mean?" Kris snaps.Adam looks vaguely guilty."You did not," Kris says. "I kicked out Francis just for asking to have me to himself, why the fuck would I agree to—""Hannah didn't say no!" Adam says loudly. "She said she'd ask you, and I'm more likeable anyway.""You're fucking arrogant, that's what," Kris says.Adam shrugs, unrepentant."Okay, fine," Kris says. "It was all a big misunderstanding. Can I go now?""No," Adam says incredulously. "That was just the basics out of the way. That's not why I'm here."Kris stares at the church on the street corner. "I don't know what else you could want.""Yes, you do," Adam says, fucking smug, and Kris really wants to just get out of here."No, I don't," he says instead, raising his head and smiling politely. "Would you care to tell me? I'm sure we can do something about it.""God, you little—" Adam sighs."Say it," Kris says. "Or I'm going back inside.""You little whore," Adam says. "Is that it?""Yeah," Kris says, hollow. "That is. Done now?""Sure," Adam says sharply. "Except for the part where I didn't come here to insult you. Fuck, I don't even consider that an insult.""I don't either," Kris says. "I've liked it. I'm good at it. I did it for years and I didn't have to stop.""So why did you?" Adam asks, and he doesn't look angry any more. He sounds curious, and patient, and exactly like this is what he was leading to all along. Kris really fucking hates him sometimes."I really hate you sometimes," he informs him."Why, Kris?" Adam repeats, and steps closer.Kris backs up. "I told you. I dropped everyone after Francis.""Fair enough," Adam says, smiling the way he does when he wants to kick Kris' teeth in for being stubborn. It's an odd look, too fond. "So that's the wrong question. What about why you kept me, then?"He really is a terrible liar, Kris knows, so he shakes his head and blows out a breath.Adam steps closer. "Or rather, why'd you still see me when you weren't being paid?"Kris could tell him that Anna made him, he could say he liked the sex, he could say the checks were appealing when they'd come in, even if he hadn't expected them – but he doesn't know how much Adam already knows, doesn't know how much of this is really just a game to fuck with him, and he's tired, tired, tired. So he sighs and shakes his head and says, "Because I wanted to.""So why didn't you tell me?" Adam asks sharply, and the anger's still gone but he's frustrated."Because I thought you knew," Kris says, backing up until he hits the door and leaning against it. He's probably going to miss his plane. "I thought you knew I'd quit, that I wasn't just your whore, that—""That you liked me, liked me?" Adam says drolly. "I can see how I was supposed to gather that from someone who fakes it, fakes everything for a living. For fuck's sake, you never once so much as called me to talk to me unless it was about one of the nights we were getting together.""Yes, I did?" Kris says, but he can't remember. He feels desperate enough to get away that he'd probably consider running back into his apartment if he didn't think Adam would follow him in."No," Adam says. "You didn't.""Oh," Kris says. Then Adam's quiet, apparently done. Kris rubs at his eyes and says, "I really do have to go.""Ask me why I'm here," Adam says before he can get inside. "Since I was duped into a relationship for half a year I think you owe me that.""Fine," Kris says unhappily. "Why are you here?"Adam says, "Because I got yelled at this morning by one of the scariest brothel owners I've ever met who told me in no uncertain terms that we're supposed to fight and make up. Then a girl who looked like she couldn't be out of high school started giving me relationship advice. And then your roommate threatened to break my legs, which would be hilarious if my manager wasn't already threatening me with a bodyguard. And when they were all done I just wanted to know why you fucking stayed, and they wouldn't fucking tell me.""You already know," he says. "That's why you're here, after all. It's sort of an answer in itself, isn't it? I was dating you.""Yeah," Adam says softly. "But I'm not making any more assumptions. I want to hear you say it."Kris can justify it now, can say that he asked for it, and he spills everything he's thought since that night. "Because I thought you knew. I thought you knew that I'd quit, that I wasn't just your whore, that it was okay that I was falling in love with you." Adam blinks and opens his mouth but Kris talks over him. "Shut up. You introduced me to your publicist, and god, you realize I thought that you had told her I was a hooker because she didn't want you to date? I thought she was the one you were lying to. And you're fucking stupid, too, you realize that? You never paid the rates for me to pretend to be your boyfriend, I wasn't required to act when we were together at all, but you never fucking listen to anyone long enough to be told anything useful like that." Because that was one of the first things he'd done -- he'd looked at all the records, the personal and booking notes Hannah had in his file, and they'd never charged him more than the in-house rate."Done?" Adam asks."Yeah," Kris says, not that he even knows anymore. "Now leave.""No," Adam says cattily. "I think you should at least hear my side.""Your side—" Kris starts, but Adam leans forward and puts a hand over his mouth. Kris jerks back, snarling, but he doesn't say anything."So I signed up for this escort service, supposedly the best one in the city. I don't like prostitutes – don't make that face at me, you have to listen – because I'm not a fan of paying someone to pretend to be willing.""So why did you fuck me the first time," Kris interrupts, but Adam lets him get away with it, "if the idea disgusts you so much?""Because I told you I wanted you more, and I hadn't even asked, really, but you gave me Tuesday. And I stopped caring that you didn't actually give a fuck about me," Adam says ruefully. "It was sweet, and I don't do well with impulse control." He goes on. "And by that point I was screwed anyway."Kris scoffs."Yeah," Adam insists. "I was. Look, maybe I gave you the wrong impression. Maybe I was trying to."Shaking his head, Kris takes a couple steps back.Adam follows him. "I was led to believe it was still a harmless business arrangement, and I should have asked, just like you should've."Adam's not done. "And one day you just tell me you're done, like it doesn't bother you at all. You didn't even care enough to stay for breakfast. What was I supposed to think?""You have commitment issues," Kris says, just in case Adam's forgotten. Just in case he's saying what Kris thinks he's trying to.Adam shrugs. "It sort of snuck up on me. Should make my therapist happy though, don't you think?" He starts to smile at the end, and now Kris is backed completely into the wall."We both fucked up then," Kris says, because that's all there is left. Neither of them is going to apologize."I'm getting that," Adam says. "But it's too late now, isn't it?" But he's asking it like a real question, looking hopeful anyway.Kris knows this part. It's the part where he remembers he's been a prostitute for four years, and Adam has some actual issues with that, apparently, and also he's famous and there is no way they can really date without every horrible piece of this mess getting thrown all over the walls. It's the part where Kris cannot be this fucking stupid and ruin his future for one guy he's known for less than a year and gotten paid to fuck.So instead of saying no, no it's not too late and stepping forward to kiss him like the perfect ending to everything, Kris says, "Yeah. It probably is too late. We'd have to be fucking stupid to even try."And Adam's face doesn't fall, exactly, but only because his expression gets too closed off to show anything at all.So instead of stepping forward Kris steps back into his apartment, and because he may be fucking stupid but he is also fucking sick of one job dictating in life, he drags Adam in with him, and he kisses him anyway.End.
|
169895
|
Visitations
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Eleventh Doctor, Luke Smith",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by sleepismyfriend",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-13T00:00:00",
"words": "573",
"Additional Tags": "Ficlet, One-Shot",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Doctor Who (2005), The Sarah Jane Adventures",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Sanjay hadn't gotten the words 'do you hear that?' out of his mouth that Luke had turned and crossed the quad at a dead run. He knew that whirling grating noise anywhere, and wasn't surprised to find the blue Police Box that usually followed it.Except, this wasn't the Doctor he had seen from his mother's failed wedding last year. This Doctor was different, from the shorter height all the way down to the bowtie and tweed jacket. Luke knew from his mother's stories that the Doctor had the ability to regenerate when something bad happened. He wondered what had caused the Doctor's regeneration this time."Ello, Lukey-boy." The Doctor stood in the open doorway of his TARDIS, his hand reaching up to tap the type-40 affectionately. "Look at you, being all student-like and successful. Your mother is very proud, you know. She manages to constantly remind me that I am not the only genius in her life anymore. Frankly, I think I should be offended at being knocked off the top spot. Ah, but that's alright. Fair dues. I'll concede defeat."Sanjay's eyes were wide as he took in the blue Police Box that Luke had mentioned before on numerous occasions. He never truly expected to believe that his friend's stories had merit, until now, of course, that the Doctor and the TARDIS were standing in front of him."Impressed, are we, Sanjay? It is Sanjay, yes? I do try to keep up with these things. Anyway, this is nothing, you should see the inside. It's bigger, of course, but you would say that if you went inside." The Doctor paused for breath as he tilted his head towards Sanjay, and the young man gulped at being recognized by name. "I'm the Doctor, and any friend of Luke's is a friend of mine.""Doctor, is Mum alright? Why are you—" Luke's brain was on overload with all of the various possibilities of chaos and destruction that followed the Doctor and his mum. He knew he should have checked in with Sarah this morning instead of running that extra experiment."She's fine." The Doctor took a step forward as the TARDIS doors closed behind him. "Perfectly healthy. At least, when I saw her not two-point-five seconds ago, that is. We had a bit of trouble with the Shansheeth, but nothing that we couldn't handle. It was all in our memories."The Doctor tapped his temple with one of his pointer fingers. Luke was fairly interested to hear the full story now, for the Shansheeth weren't a race that tended to take over planets or cause total destruction. He was trying to pick up the pieces and add them together without asking for additional input from the Doctor."So, where can you get a decent spot of fish custard around here? This is university, you lot eat all kinds of strange and unusual things." The Doctor threw his hands together, rubbing back and forth, and Luke didn't have to look at Sanjay to know what he was thinking. "After all that mess with your mum and Jo, I'm absolutely starved.""Fish custard?" Sanjay wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Is that a euphemism for something else?""Of course not, Sanjay. What kind of alien do you take me for? When in Rome—Lead the way, Lukey-boy." The Doctor turned both young men by the shoulders back towards the quad, leaving the TARDIS behind them.
|
102102
|
Branching Out
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by Wolfling",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-07-21T00:00:00",
"words": "1,149",
"Additional Tags": "Community: schmoop_bingo, Schmoop",
"Relationship": "Gabriel/Sam Winchester",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"What's all this?" Gabriel asked.Sam looked up from the laptop to see Gabriel poking through the bag of books he'd stuffed under the bed earlier. "Uh..." he managed before he lost words, feeling like someone had just discovered his stash of kinky porn magazines. Not that he had a stash of kinky porn magazines (that was more Dean's thing), but if he did, he suspected this would be what it felt like to have Gabriel stumble over them.Actually, it probably would have been less awkward if it had been kinky porn -- Gabriel would've just laughed and offered to help him try out some of the positions and it all would've ended up with Sam naked and sweaty and tingling with sex endorphins while an equally naked archangel smirked smugly at him and ate a candy bar.That at least would've been fun. But this, this was a lot more dangerous.Gabriel was still looking at him inquisitively, so Sam swallowed and managed to croak out, "It's research," trying to make it sound dull and boring and nothing that Gabriel would actually want to look at.But Gabriel had pulled the books out of the bag and was flipping through them, making note of the titles before first opening one to the section Sam had bookmarked. Then the next. And the next. "Research, huh?" he said dryly. "With a collection of books that could be called everything you wanted to know about Norse mythology but were afraid to ask, and all the sections on Loki marked." Amused brown eyes flicked up to meet his own. "I'm flattered, Sam, but you could've just asked me whatever it is you're looking for."Sam shrugged, relaxing a little at Gabriel's reaction. "I wanted to get some context first, so I'd know if you were just spinning me a crazy story."Gabriel snorted. "My life as Loki was one long crazy story. Doesn't mean it's not true." He gestured dramatically at the books. "So now that you've got your context, is there anything you want to ask me?"There were a lot of questions that had come to Sam when he'd been reading, but he went with the one thing he kept coming back to. "Did you really give birth to an eight legged horse?"Gabriel made a face. "Yeah," he said wryly. "That was a case of a trick working a little too well. I'd really only planned on distracting Svaðilfari, but one thing led to another..." He smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "Could say I was feeling my oats that day. But yeah, didn't plan on ending up with the party favor.""But why didn't you..." Sam paused as he tried to figure out the best way to phrase his question, but Gabriel beat him to the punch."Snap myself up the equine equivalent of a morning after pill?" When Sam nodded, Gabriel continued. "Doesn't work that way, kid. Truthfully? I'm not sure I would've even if it did. It wasn't Sleipnir's fault that he got conceived. And, all things considered, I'm kinda proud of how he turned out.""You're proud of your son, the eight legged horse," Sam said, thinking that as crazy as his life had always been, it wasn't until he started sleeping with Gabriel that he'd started having conversations that sounded this absurd."Hey, it could've been worse. I'd been afraid that he would turn out to be a winged horse and completely blow my cover."Sam frowned, following that comment to its logical conclusion. "So Pegasus...""Isn't mine," Gabriel replied brightly. "And Sleipnir is a lot more clever than that pretty boy stallion."He was so obviously being a proud parent that Sam couldn't help but smile. It was kind of adorable actually. "Takes after his Mom that way, does he?""Damn straight. Did you want to see a picture?" Before Sam could answer, Gabriel had snapped his fingers and handed over the framed picture that appeared.It was a photo of a horse, yes, with eight legs, yes. He was posing in front of a truly stupendous chocolate gift basket, head lowered enough to make it easier for Gabriel standing next to him to have thrown an arm around his neck. Gabriel was smirking at the camera, and so was Sleipnir. Sam hadn't even known that horses could smirk."That was taken Mother's Day a couple years back, right after Sleipnir had discovered the joys of online shopping," Gabriel said. He pointed out the gift basket. "Some of the best chocolate I've ever had."The mental image Sam's brain helpfully supplied of an eight legged horse buying chocolate over the internet threatened to short circuit his thought processes, but that wasn't actually a new occurrence when talking with Gabriel. The pride that Gabriel was still practically beaming with, pretty much was though and it had Sam asking, "Can I meet him?" before he could really think about it.Gabriel froze and stared at him searchingly. "You sure you want to? I mean, he's a good kid, but he's still technically a monster.""And I'm technically an abomination," Sam pointed out. "Least from angels' viewpoint. You don't hold that against me, I promise I won't hold being an eight legged horse against him."Gabriel was still giving him that searching look. "Why?""Why do I want to meet him?" Sam checked. Gabriel nodded, but Sam didn't answer right away. He wanted to get the words just right. "Because he's part of your life , and I want to know as much about you as possible, especially the important bits and it's obvious that he's important to you. He nodded toward the picture Gabriel had shown him.The look Gabriel gave him then was a lot less wary and even maybe bordering on relieved. "Is that all?""Pretty much," Sam said, reaching out and taking Gabriel's hand in his to pull him closer. "Besides, our relationship's serious enough I should be meeting the kids, don't you think?"That got Sam one of Gabriel's real smiles -- not his usual smirk, but the genuine article that was far rarer and always made Sam's breath catch with its warmth, especially when it was directed at him. "I suppose if we're going to be all traditional about it..." he said in the casual tone he only used when he was covering anything but casual feelings.Sam grinned back and leaned in to steal a kiss. One kiss became two became ten, became something a whole lot more involved than just kissing, and the next time Sam could think clearly, he was lying on the bed naked and sweaty with his body still tingling from sex endophins next to an equally naked Gabriel who was eating a candy bar with an air of smug contentment.Apparently heartfelt declarations led to the same place as kinky porn.Sam added it to the list.
|
155142
|
Onsen
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Akihito Takaba, Ryouichi Asami",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by tosca",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-01-23T00:00:00",
"words": "1,869",
"Additional Tags": "Dubious Consent, Canon, Bath Houses, Bathing/Washing, Yuletide 2006, Canon is its own warning",
"Relationship": "Akihito Takaba/Ryouichi Asami",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Finder, Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Takaba exhaled loudly as the heat of the hot spring sank into his bones, relaxing muscles and seeming to leech every stress and care from his body into the pine-scented water. This was marvellous. And a total stroke of good fortune – a free weekend at one of Kyoto’s most exclusive and private onsen, courtesy of some obscure photography competition he’d entered.
The timing was perfect too – ten days ago he’d managed to take photos of a junior minister and a crime boss ‘having lunch’ together. The resulting newspaper coverage meant Takaba was very unpopular in certain quarters at the moment. He grinned. They probably thought he was cowering in some dingy fleabag-motel hideout waiting for the heat to die down. And OK, so maybe he had been a few days ago, but now he was relaxing in a high-class indoor hot spring pool.
And the heat’s just great as it is, he thought drowsily, closing his eyes and dozing in the humid warmth.
A tall figure stepped into the room, sliding the shoji-door shut behind him and waiting for some reaction from the young man reclining in the hot spring. After a couple of minutes it was apparent Takaba was lost in dreamland and wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.
Really, Asami thought, after all the idiotic misadventures that happen to him you’d think Akihito would have more awareness of his surroundings.
Then again, what little sense of self-preservation the boy possessed had served him well enough - with anyone other than his friends and Asami, of course.
He smirked and started to strip. Despite the fact he made no effort to be quiet he managed to undress and wash without rousing Takaba. After sluicing himself off he stepped over to the hot spring pool and swung his legs over the side, lowering himself into the water.
Face flushed pink, water sparkling on dark gold eyelashes, expression open and innocent; it was almost a pity to wake the boy. But then he hadn’t actually come here to watch Takaba.
As if hearing those thoughts, Takaba half-opened his eyes and smiled up at Asami, a sweet, sleepy expression he seldom bestowed unless half-drunk or half-unconscious.
This is definitely going to be amusing, thought Asami.
Takaba drifted, thoughts tumbling slowly through his head in a hazy collage. Water sloshed against his chin, accompanied by soft splashing noises. He opened his eyes to find one of his better fantasies sliding onto the pool seat opposite.
Mmm, how he wished the real Asami would let him take some nude study shots. The man really had a beautiful body. Despite the smirk and the criminal occupation and the personali-
Takaba jolted upright – this wasn’t some daydream!
“Hey! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Now is that any way to greet your partner for the weekend, Akihito?”
“Partner? What bullshit is this? I won this weekend as a prize in a photo competition!”
“I’m sure if you read the award conditions carefully you’d find they stated a partner was included.”
“No they didn’t. There wasn’t anything about bringing a partner.”
“Oh. I meant a partner designated by the award panel.”
If possible, the smirk seemed to deepen even further.
“Someone designated yo…” No, that wasn’t right, “Who the hell did you bribe? And what for?” Takaba snarled.
“I didn’t need to bribe anyone. After all, it was an award panel of one.”
One? It dawned on Takaba that the last-minute prize had been ‘awarded’ to him as the runner-up; the papers had said the original winner had been disqualified for some reason or another, but the onsen was already booked for this weekend only. And he couldn’t specifically remember entering the competition anyway, which meant…
“You jerk! There was no competition. Was there?”
He turned and started to haul himself out the pool when long arms slid around him, dragging him backward into a steel embrace.
“There’s no need for a competition,” Asami’s tone was gently mocking. “You’ll always be my favourite photographer. Now come sit on my lap like a good boy.”
Asami moved them backward onto the seat, propping Takaba onto his lap, legs falling either side of Asami’s thighs. A hand stroked down Takaba’s front, smoothing and caressing, whilst the other flattened him demandingly against an unyielding chest. The whole of his back was plastered against hot, wet flesh. He could feel Asami, already aroused and hard, pressing insistently between his buttocks. And maybe there was a tiny piece of him that wanted to give in, but the rest of him was thinking, hell no!
“Let go of me, you pervert! We’re not doing that in a hot spring! That’s just, just…vulgar.”
The body behind him was still for a second and then started to shake. For a moment Takaba didn’t understand what was happening – and then he realised Asami was laughing. Takaba gave a wordless screech of fury and started fighting, kicking and elbowing backward.
Despite his efforts, Asami scooped him up easily and stood up on the seat, saying,
“Stop struggling or I’ll drop you.”
“Let go of me!”
Asami laughed out loud this time, and turned so Takaba was held over the tiled floor.
“A fall onto those tiles could be quite nasty.”
Takaba stopped struggling, but glared fiercely into his captor’s face.
“Bastard!”
“You really have a mouth on you, Akihito,” Asami said, stepping out of the hot spring.
He strode across the room, nudged the door open and headed towards the large shiki-futon someone had unrolled in Takaba’s absence. Takaba started struggling again, only to be flung down onto the mattress. Breath whooshed out and he saw stars sparkling. By the time he’d recovered there was a heavy body pressing him into the futon.
“Get o…mph!”
The tongue thrust into his mouth effectively silenced him, though he didn’t stop his muffled protests. Asami started moving against him, wet skin to wet skin, and his hot erection sliding in the valley between his hip and his own rapidly filling cock. Takaba tried to push Asami off, but as usual his strength was pitiful compared to the other man’s. Asami finally lifted his head,
“Turn over,” he ordered.
“No!” refused Takaba breathlessly and futilely, as Asami easily manhandled him onto his stomach despite Takaba’s frantic wriggling.
“If you keep struggling, I’ll almost think you don’t want it.”
“Stop! Get off of me, asshole! I don’t want it!”
“Really? Because this,” Asami’s hand slid between Takaba’s thighs, brushing over his balls and cupping his now erect cock, “Tells me otherwise.”
“It’s not my fault! It’s, it’s…you brainwashed me. All those damn times.”
Asami chuckled.
“I’ve trained you well.”
Takaba gave an infuriated yell, hitting backward. Asami grabbed his fist, then captured his other wrist, pinning them above his head and stretching his body immobile. Takaba twisted his head to look behind him, only to have two fingers pushed roughly into his mouth.
“You know what to do,” he was told.
Takaba glared, but obediently started laving the fingers with as much saliva as he could. When Asami was in one of those moods he knew it was the only lubrication he could expect. All too soon the fingers were removed and thrust inside him.
“Fuck! That hurts Asami, sto… unh…”
Words failed him as Asami pressed against his sweet spot and the usual bolt of lightening-swift pleasure shot through the pain. A couple more thrusts and then the fingers withdrew, replaced by the nudge of something larger and blunter against his entrance. Takaba inhaled deeply and tried to relax. Asami pushed inside him without any more warning, a thick, hot column that seemed to breach him open as it plunged inward. Takaba cried out, struggling uselessly and babbling just as useless words of invective and denial. Asami ignored him, giving those little grunting exhalations of air that meant he was fully absorbed with his own pleasure. When he was fully inside, groin flat against Takaba’s bottom, body heavy against Takaba’s back, pushing him into the crisp cotton of the futon, he murmured,
“It’s been too long – you’re almost as tight as the first time I took you.”
“That’s…uh…because I don’t want it! Get it out!”
“Little liar.”
Asami released Takaba’s wrists and pulled him upright, settling back on his own knees. A hand wrapped around Takaba’s cock. Several sliding twists up and down his erection and he was leaking pre-come. Takaba could hear the thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat thundering over his moans, felt his hips lift involuntarily to shove his cock into the constriction of Asami’s grip. Pleasure and pain blurred into overwhelming sensation until he was almost, almost there...
Asami slid his hands onto Takaba’s hips.
“No…please…no…” Takaba gasped.
“Ride me,” Asami ordered.
Takaba pushed off, leaning forward and grabbing Asami’s knees. He tilted forward more, pulling himself off Asami’s cock and moaning in relief at the removal. Asami tightened his grip and pulled him backward. He rose up again and was pulled down again.
“Ah!... oww…”
Asami ignored him, and he fell into a rhythm, swelling and subsiding into that haze of pain and pleasure. At some point Asami’s hand migrated to his cock; sliding up and down to the same cadence. He fell forward onto his knees and elbows, driving backward and forward desperately as Asami’s thrusts got shorter and harder and faster and please, please, please don’t let that begging be his...
He almost didn’t understand the words,
“Who wants it now, eh, Akihito?”
And then there was nothing but his body seizing, and a rush of white, white noise.
Asami flicked the lighter shut and inhaled the first sweet hit of nicotine.
He tipped his head back and slowly exhaled. Glancing sideways, he could see Takaba was dead to the world; sprawling loose-limbed, flushed pink and dewy against the white of the covers. Really, the boy should try not to look like that after he’d just been fucked. It just made Asami want to do it again.
Still, give him a couple of hours rest and Akihito would be ready for another round. If he hadn’t thought up some questions in the meantime that was. Though it hadn’t occurred to the little idiot to ask why Asami had employed such devious means to get him out of town as quietly as possible.
Never mind. By the end of the weekend Oshiro Naota would be stripped of his office, and the tax department and anti-corruption squad were already squabbling over who got first blood. He wouldn’t be surprised to see a suicide notification as the man’s next public announcement.
And Maeda Hatsu was dead now, his minions deceased or scattered, and his territories safely in Asami’s hands or those of his allies. The fool had been encroaching for the last few months, so it had only been a matter of time and timing.
He probably should thank Akihito for giving him an acceptable excuse to take his rival out – except the little idiot had already been more than paid by Asami making sure that pitifully concealed ‘safehouse’ had been protected. So really, he was actually owed. Asami smirked. Well, Akihito had the whole weekend in which to pay up.
|
161176
|
arriere-ban
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by traveller",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2005-08-07T00:00:00",
"words": "375",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Sirius Black/Remus Lupin",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Owls light on the waning-moon curve of what once was an immense rose window, a thing made of lead and sand by mortal hands and breath: stained glass, Remus explains, and his wand-assisted recreation does not begin to show it as it was, as it must have been. Imagine it, he says, what it would look like when the sun would hit it, all those colours, all that light, and knowing that the only magic involved in its making is the magic of chemistry, earthbound magic, the magic of men.The owls snap their beaks and hop impatiently in their disco of red blue pink purple black swirls and spangles, and Remus shakes his head. Sirius wraps his arms round his shins, rests his cheek on his knees. I can't imagine it, he says. It's too big.I know, I know, Remus says, and he mumbles the words to end the spell, and there is only a bit of firelight in the ruins, and the owls are still waiting.We should, Sirius says, and sense from Sirius is too much to be borne.We bloody fucking won't, Remus snaps, we're not soldiers, we're not, we can't be what they want, just because everyone else is, everyone else is dead.The word rings off the stones. A little red owl screeches, and flutters down to the next window. The others follow, seven, no, nine of them, all most certainly carrying the same message, the same as the first scrap of paper that Remus had calmly torn to pieces, the same as the second piece of parchment that he had lit on fire.You have been called to fulfill your oaths to the Order.Sirius licks his lips, holds out his hand. Come here, he says. Come here, I love you.We won't die for them, he says. He reaches out blindly, laces his fingers with Sirius'. Not now, not ever.But we'll fight for them, Sirius says. For us, for the people we love.Remus stares up at the window, at the absence of it, at the gaping hole in the world where sense used to be, where once stood logic and rules and stained glass. In the distance, there flashes a spark of green light.
|
100858
|
Peace of Mind and a
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Impala - Character",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by RhymePhile",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2009-11-12T00:00:00",
"words": "4,135",
"Additional Tags": "Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Canon Related, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Major Character Injury, Protective Sam Winchester, Love Confessions",
"Relationship": "Castiel/Dean Winchester",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It was the leaves next to his ear that told him something was wrong.He thought about this, wondering why he could hear a warbler piping a tune that wasn't what he'd had on the stereo moments ago. The air around him was still, but it carried the contradictory scents of musky earth and motor oil, neither of which went together in any positive way.There was another smell too, a thick, heavy odor that meant he was definitely in trouble: Blood."Well, shit," Dean muttered.He remembered leaving the motel before Sam, itching for the hunt, telling him they'd be heading up Route 97 to Three Rivers, Oregon, to investigate reports of a hairy creature roaming the woods. Sam still had the gold Lincoln Continental and was more than happy to be driving for once, so he let Dean go off in the Impala alone.Dean opened his eyes and instantly closed them again. He was upside down, still strapped into the Impala's seatbelt. She was resting on her roof, smashed down into the dirt and pine needles of the forest floor. If he weren't in such a terrible predicament, it might be beautiful. Dusk was falling, casting late-day shadows across the magnificent pine trees that surrounded him.How in the hell did he get here? The highway was only three lanes, with the two on the right separated from the third by a metal divider. No one had even passed him for miles, except when that deer...oh, right, he thought. He hit the deer. Damn, it must have been a big one to cause him to smash into the trees and flip the Impala.His poor baby. He'd just washed her, too. He could feel the dashboard touching his knees, and the windshield had burst in on the passenger side from where the deer had hit and bounced off. Knowing Sam would have been sitting there, he didn't regret his decision to drive alone.Reaching down into his left pocket he was able to maneuver a hand to reach his cell phone. The interior of the Impala was so crumpled he had difficulty holding it up, only to see that he had no reception whatsoever.He tried to sigh in irritation, except it sounded more wheezy and hissy than normal, and a pain exploded along his right side.Part of the roof was buckled near his head, so he couldn't turn to see what was causing the pain. He fought down the urge to panic, trying in vain to ignore the fact that he was alone, in an upside-down car, in the middle of the forest, with no cell phone, and apparently bleeding, since the smell was stronger now.Sam would have to see where he went off the road, right? He wasn't that far behind him. Dean tried to remember what Sam had said before he left, something about a shower and grabbing dinner, but whatever it was Dean had only been half-listening as usual.Now what? He pushed against the warped steering wheel, hoping the Impala's horn would sound. All he heard in response were the increased noises of a darkening forest. He tried to suck in a lungful of air to shout, but that only caused a blinding pain to spread across his chest that made him almost pass out.Passing out would be bad in this situation, he reasoned with himself. He needed to stay alert and assess the situation. Sam would come to his rescue. He just had to wait, and try to stay calm.Dean wondered where Cas was at that moment. If he were riding along with him in the Impala as he had been the past few weeks, he would have winked out of the car like a ghost and then reappeared to lend him a hand with this mess."I could really use you now, Cas," Dean said out loud."Hello, Dean," said a voice to his left, after which the upside-down head of Castiel popped into view.Dean squinted. "I'm not dreamin', am I?""I highly doubt you'd choose to dream yourself into a car wreck, despite your propensity for depressing thoughts.""Yeah, you're right. The apocalypse is bad enough.""I see you need my help," Castiel said."Is it obvious?" he asked sarcastically. "How did you find me?""You called.""What about the mojo carved into my ribs?" Dean asked."Do you want to hear the explanation, or would you rather be freed from your crushed vehicle?""Yeah, shuttin' up now," Dean said, agreeing.Castiel reached up to Dean's forehead with two fingers outstretched. "I can easily...""Wait!""What is it?""You need to crawl over to the passenger side before you start zippin' me around the forest here, Cas. I can't move and I can smell blood."Castiel cocked his head quizzically, and then appeared next to Dean inside the Impala."You're impaled on a tree branch," Castiel said firmly, but with a hint of worry in his voice. "It seems to have pierced the roof when the car landed, and punctured your side.""Did you just say 'impaled'?""Yes.""Great.""What shall I do?""Well now that you can see what it is, do your I Dream of Jeannie thing and get me the hell out of here!" Dean said impatiently. "I'm startin' to have trouble breathing.""But Dean, I may injure you further if I move you suddenly. I'm still cut off from Heaven as you recall. I can't heal you.""Shit," he hissed, "I forgot. Okay, how much do you know about the human body, Cas?""I haven't been among humans as long as some of my brethren, so only what I've been exposed to through inhabiting Jimmy," Castiel answered. "Along with what I know about you.""Which isn't all that much, considering you can heal yourself. Or Jimmy. Whatever. Wait, what do you know about me?""Your poor eating habits, the amount of scars covering your body, the curious way you scratch yourself in the morning...""You can see all that?" Dean asked incredulously."When I know where you are.""That's..." Dean paused to cough, a harsh, wet, rattling noise. "Oh, that's not a good sound..."Dean's voice trailed off, things went blurry, and then he felt Castiel touching his face."Dean. Dean. Please don't fall into unconsciousness. I don't know what to do.""Whuh?"Castiel patted Dean's cheek a little more forcefully. "I said not to drift into unconsciousness. I'm ill-equipped to deal with this situation and I need you to tell me what to do.""My guardian angel needs help savin' me," Dean grinned, coming around again."This isn't funny, Dean.""Okay," he grunted, trying to take shallow breaths, "first, don't pull whatever it is that's sticking in me out, got it?""Yes.""I assume you can, y'know, blink me out of the car, right?""Yes.""Then you need to break off the branch impaling me as close to the skin as possible. Then find somewhere flat where I can lie down.""I can do that," Castiel said, nodding."Now would be a good time, Cas.""Right."Castiel touched the branch near Dean's side, and it broke with an audible click. Dean hissed and shuddered, and then Castiel touched two fingers to Dean's forehead. Instantly he was on the forest floor on a bed of pine needles, Castiel bending over him with a worried look on his face."Oh God, prop me up, prop me up!" Dean gasped.Castiel dropped to his knees, sat down with his legs outstretched, and gently lifted Dean's head and shoulders into his lap. He held Dean as he wheezed and coughed, splattering the sleeve of Castiel's trench coat with blood."Cas...the hole..." Dean paused to grimace, and then continued, "in my side, put your ear close to it and tell me...what you hear."Castiel held Dean aloft with one hand and put his head close to Dean's blood-soaked black T-shirt."I can hear air passing through the hole, along with a sucking sound.""The blood...in the wound, is it frothy? Like, bubbles in it?"Castiel peered down again."Yes," he answered in a concerned tone. "What does that indicate?""It means there's...air gettin' into...my...chest cavity." Dean took another labored breath. "Cas, you need to help me right away, or I'm not...gonna have to worry about...end of the world...""The Host wouldn't let you die," Castiel said."They...don't...know where I am."Castiel frowned at this obvious problem. "What should I do, Dean?""How big...the hole?" Dean gasped."At least two inches, maybe three," Castiel said."Front seat of car...get gummi bears.""Are you hungry?"Dean shook his head. "Fix wound. Go. Gummi bears. And in the...trunk, roll of tape," he wheezed. "Go. Now."Castiel took a moment to move a fallen tree trunk next to Dean so that he could prop himself up on it. Within moments Castiel returned with the roll of tape and a cellophane bag of gummi bears."Wipe hole." Dean motioned to the bag of candy. "Cut sides open. You need...place it over the hole, and then...then tape on three sides. Try to work...around...branch. Understand?"Castiel nodded. "I need for you to lie down. I'm sorry."Dean reached out for Castiel to help slide him to the forest floor. He was extremely pale and kept gasping for breath.Castiel worked quickly, first pulling off his tie and using it to wipe around the wound as best as he could. He tore open the bag of candy and placed the wrapper over the entire wound, covering the bit of leftover branch completely. The duct tape, thankfully, was strong enough to stick to Dean's skin, and Castiel used strips of it to secure three sides of the wrapper.Castiel could then notice the wrapper being drawn taut against Dean's skin every time he inhaled, and when he exhaled air escaped through the unfastened edge. The plastic prevented air from entering Dean's chest cavity, allowing his lung to inflate properly.Dean was still terribly pale, but his breathing immediately improved and didn't seem as labored. Castiel glanced in the direction of the Impala, and Dean's duffel materialized at his feet. He found a clean T-shirt and pressed it to the wound, taking care not to obstruct the one free edge of the dressing.Castiel took off his trench coat and draped it over Dean, and then lifted him back into his lap."Hold me so the wound is down. Makes breathin' easier," Dean instructed.Castiel shifted to place Dean's head against his shoulder, and cradled his arms around him to keep Dean in position, propped up against Castiel's body."Ain't this cozy.""I know your concern about 'personal space,' Dean, but if you can think of a better way...""No, it's fine," Dean said, looking up at him. "I hurt too much to care.""Where is the first aid kit?" Castiel asked."Need to refill it," Dean muttered miserably. "It's empty.""That's rather short-sighted of you, considering your history.""You can just take me to the nearest hospital, Cas.""I can't.""Why not?""Because I need to know where I'm going. A location, at least. I can't simply appear somewhere, Dean. I must be summoned, or know where something is. For me to travel without a destination is akin to closing your eyes and crossing the street in the middle of traffic.""Oh.""But I can stand on the highway and send someone to your location...""No, you can't leave me, Cas. You need to make sure I don't pass out or go into shock, or have the air build up in my chest again. If that happens my heart could stop.""I understand." He paused in thought. "Where is your cellular phone?""In my pocket, with no reception.""And where is Sam?""Not far behind me on the highway.""Perhaps I can leave a sign to direct him to your location.""Yeah, that's about our only option at this point."Castiel turned his head in the direction of the highway. "I've set a tree alight.""You set a tree on fire?""No, alight. It will glow so that a passerby may see it.""Oh."They were quiet for a moment, with just the sounds of the forest and the odd rattle of the cellophane wrapper making noise every time Dean breathed."Next time, remind me to get into a life-or-death situation where there's cell phone coverage," Dean said humorlessly."That seems preferable."Dean sighed. "Sure is dark out here, isn't it?""The sun has gone down, Dean," Castiel pointed out, cocking his head in confusion."I meant maybe you could make a fire. I'm startin' to get cold."Castiel waved his hand so that a nearby pile of twigs caught fire. He placed an extra jacket from Dean's duffel on top of him as well."Listen, I know you're not much for conversation, Cas, but you're gonna have to talk to me to keep me awake. It's the only way to make sure I don't, y'know, bleed to death or stop breathin'.""Are you in much pain?""A little, but I'm still bleedin' and I don't how deep this impaled branch goes. I hope Sammy gets here sooner rather than later.""As do I. Are you warm enough now?""I guess."Castiel made the fire burn hotter and settled his arms in a more comfortable position around Dean. "I can keep you warmer if you promise not to touch.""Touch what?""My wings. I can drape them over you as long as you don't try to touch them.""Why not?" Dean asked."What I showed you when we first met was a...suggestion to prove who I was. Just as you couldn't see my true form, you also can't see the actual composition of the alae angelorum.""What would happen if I touched them? Are they sharp? Soft? Cold? Hot? Would I burn my fingers?"Castiel looked down at him. "I find you are much easier to get along with when you're not constantly arguing with me or questioning everything I say.""I'll take that as a compliment. Well?""The pennae are not sharp, nor cold. They are similar to feathers you've seen on Earth, but..." Castiel sighed. "Dean, this is very difficult to describe.""Humor me.""They are intense with energy. They wouldn't merely burn you. I believe the word 'melt' is more appropriate.""I think I'm fine right here, then," Dean said, making a face."I will do my best to keep you conscious, Dean.""So talk to me, Cas.""About what?""Um, how about cars? What do you know about cars?"Castiel frowned. "The roof of the '67 Chevy Impala is not impervious to puncture by tree branches."Dean chuckled, and then coughed painfully. "Don't make me laugh!""I'm sorry. That wasn't meant to be funny.""I know, Cas, I know. Okay, tell me how you found me here.""You called and I answered. You may be hidden because of the sigils, but you are never alone."Dean shifted a little in Castiel's arms so he could see him better. "What does that mean, exactly?""I have touched your soul, and thus we are bound by the power of Heaven," Castiel explained."You mean because you rescued me from Hell you're attached to me forever?"Castiel met his eyes. "Yes.""Did you really want that?""There is no 'want' in Heaven, Dean. It simply is.""What about now? Would you still blindly follow orders? Would you do it knowing what you do now?"Castiel looked away for a moment."Yes.""Even though you rebelled?""I would never allow you to suffer such pain and torment if it was within my power to prevent it," Castiel answered. "I would again lay siege to Hell, because of my rebellion.""Why is that?""You deserved to be saved," Castiel said, as he checked the dressing on Dean's wound."'Deserved to be saved.' Everyone keeps sayin' that. That's not why I'm here, Cas. You know it and I know it. I'm only alive and kickin' because Heaven needs me to quarterback their freakin' holy war.""You are more than just Michael's weapon, more than a prophetic piece in Heaven's endgame." Castiel shook his head. "I don't understand why you can't see that.""That's not what you used to think," Dean pointed out."That was when I was merely your messenger. I was following orders, doing what was asked of me by the garrison...""And you rebelled when you realized they were yankin' your chain.""No, because other things became more important to me than following orders.""Like what? Free will? The chance to make your own decisions for once? A way to get back at them for centuries of servitude?""I still serve Heaven with all my heart, despite the missteps of my more...fanatical brethren.""Then what?"Castiel didn't answer, and looked away.Dean reached over to touch Castiel's arm. "What, Cas?"You.""What do you mean, 'me'?" Dean asked, confused."I turned my face from Heaven not because of the duplicity of my brothers and sisters, nor because I sought to be free of the constraints of my orders, but to be with you, Dean.""I don't...""My superiors were correct in thinking that I had become too attached to the human in my charge.""You rebelled for me," Dean confirmed, "is that what you're sayin'?""Yes.""For me.""Yes.""Why?"Castiel motioned with his hand and the small fire blazed hotter. "I prostrated myself before the almighty powers of the Host and made a solemn vow to raise you from damnation, and to protect you thereafter. To be chosen was a great responsibility, but I discovered that you gave something to me in return: the ability to think -- and feel -- for myself. That is powerful indeed.""Y'know," Dean said after a moment's thought, "I could never tell Sammy, but it was like...a piece of me was missing when I thought you were dead.""That's due to our connection through the Host.""No, I mean you sort of grew on me, Cas, havin' you around. I got used to it. It was nice, for a change, to have someone lookin' out for me. Even though you were kind of a douche in the beginning, I knew you cared.""Of course I cared."Dean smiled. "It needed to be said. I felt guilty when you sacrificed yourself for me. After...everything that happened.""What 'everything' is that?" Castiel asked."After the way I treated you for so long," Dean answered, staring at the fire. "I was kind of an asshole. And then you went and...I couldn't believe you did that, Cas. Didn't you think about what would happen?""I made sure you could attempt to stop Sam," Castiel replied, gently lifting the trench coat and replacing the T-shirt sodden with blood with a fresh one."But you knew the archangels would be there to smite you back to kingdom come," Dean said, wincing as the dressing was changed. "Why'd you do it?""I believe I've already explained myself.""For me.""You are selfless, and caring, and worthy of happiness, despite what you may believe. I am able to see through the self-hatred and doubt to the radiant soul beneath, and I'd rather dwell in that in rebellion than in the subservience of Heaven."Dean looked up at him."That sounds an awful lot like love, Cas.""It does," he admitted after a thought, "but that is how I feel. I'm not used to expressing myself; I apologize if I've done so in an unseemly manner.""No, it's...it's okay. Actually, the honesty is a refreshing change," Dean chuckled, and then grimaced, forgetting his injury. "I guess I was too busy being full of myself to think about how you felt.""It's not uncommon in the human male."Dean smirked. "And you say you don't know much about us."Castiel's raised eyebrow was the only thing indicating he was debating the seriousness of Dean's statement.The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks high into the night air. Dean watched the shadows play across Castiel's unshaven cheeks and chapped bottom lip, and wondered how one of the most powerful supernatural beings he had ever encountered had basically given up everything he'd ever known and taken to the road with him.Dean also pondered whether he was worthy of such loyalty. He wasn't particularly honest; he was quick to anger; he probably drank too much; and he was still racked with guilt over jump-starting the end of the world, along with a hundred other self-loathing reasons he had that caused him constant doubt.He didn't know what the future held, if this whole apocalypse thing was really going to end with hellfire and Lucifer in a Sammy suit, but Castiel was right there beside him throughout all of it. For the first time in his life someone other than Sam was sticking by him when the shit hit the fan, and that made him feel proud to have Castiel on his team. Cas, his personal guardian angel, a super-powered being who gave up Heaven to be with him.Then he thought about how he often worried when Castiel wasn't around when he should be, or how he missed him when he was gone, or that irritating yet endearing way he would simply blink away when they were in the midst of a conversation, or the way Dean enjoyed trying to make him laugh despite Castiel's lack of understanding about humor."Dean?""Yeah, Cas.""You were quiet. I wanted to be sure you remained awake," Castiel said."I am. Just thinkin'.""About what?""How important you are to me, and how I miss you when you're not around," Dean answered."What does that mean, Dean?""That you convinced me to finally say out loud something I've probably been feelin' since the moment we met.""I don't understand," Castiel said, frowning."I love you too, you giant feather duster.""I believe your honesty is a refreshing change as well." Castiel cocked his head and frowned. "Unless I'm mistaken.""No, you're not. I'm not too good at expressin' myself, either."Castiel pulled his trench coat higher over Dean's shoulders, and in the process leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Dean's forehead."Love is a curious thing," remarked Castiel.Dean grinned. "Yeah.""Dean!""What was that?" asked Dean."Dean!""I believe Sam has found us," Castiel said."Where are you? Shout or something!""Cas, I can't call out. Make sure he knows where we are."Castiel waved his hand, and one by one the pine trees leading to their position in the forest lit up in an otherworldly glow. "We're here, Sam!""I see it, Cas! I'm coming!""Sam is on his way, Dean.""Good," Dean said, and winced."Cas?""Here, Sam!"At that Sam came running up. "Dean! Oh my God, what happened?""Dean flipped the Impala and was impaled by a tree branch." Castiel kept his voice calm, but he lifted the trench coat to show Sam how urgent the situation was. "We need to get him to a hospital.""Hey, Sammy," said Dean weakly."I heard reports over the police scanner of a weird glow in the woods, and when you didn't show up I thought I'd better check it out," Sam said by way of explanation. "There are cop cars all over the highway."Castiel waved his hand and the trees returned to their normal state. "Show them where we are, Sam," Castiel said, his voice lowered. "I can't leave him and I'm unable to bring him to a hospital if I don't know where it is."Then Castiel mouthed "Hurry." Sam nodded and ran off."Cas?""Yes, Dean. The police are coming to take you to a hospital.""What about you?""Both Sam and I will be at your bedside until you've recovered," Castiel answered.Dean motioned with his hand to draw Castiel closer. When he bent down Dean kissed him on the forehead."That's for all the times I never said thank you," he explained. Then he kissed Castiel's eyes. "That's for giving up your life and everything you knew." Finally he drew Castiel into a long, lingering kiss on his lips."And what was that for?" Castiel asked."The future, which might not be as bad as I think."FinisREFERENCES1. Pneumothorax at Wikipedia2. Brookside Press: Treat a Chest Wound3. How to treat a sucking chest wound at eHow4. PowerPoint presentation on chest wounds5. Yahoo.com answer to wings of an angel in Latin6. Three Rivers, Ore. on Google Maps
|
166851
|
Coda
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "White Collar",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by china_shop",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-02T00:00:00",
"words": "719",
"Additional Tags": "Episode Tag, Fix-It, Fic",
"Relationship": "June (White Collar) & Ford (White Collar)",
"Character": "June (White Collar)",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
June patted Neal's shoulder indulgently and let him guide her around the room to the nostalgic strains of the record player. He was a good dancer—no surprise there—and most solicitous. If June had been a few decades younger, she might have taken advantage, despite Ford and the lingering memory of Byron.Especially since, as always, it galled her to be viewed as helpless and inept. She wanted to cast off her feigned grief and let the world see her, still strong, still magnificent and cunning, a phoenix brought back from December's dying ashes by the demands of Ford's scheme.She'd been dwindling into respectable domesticity until he stepped over her threshold and the years fell away. "This kid you've found," he'd said with that mischievous gleam. "Is he good?"June had shaken off the fog of memories, the ghost of Byron's proud smile, and arched her eyebrows at Ford, challenging his challenge. "Everyone says he's the best, but he's in danger of losing his taste for the life. How do you suggest we rope him in?"In the end, she'd hardly needed to tug the strings at all to set Neal dancing. He was so sweetly earnest, this boy who dallied on both sides of the law, this friend; so ready to champion her in the face of Ford's supposed betrayal. Perhaps she should be ashamed to have forced him into the con, but they were all players here, and Neal had faced worse than Ganz while working for the FBI. And this was no time for confessions or apologies. That wasn't her role today.This final scene was hers, necessary to keep suspicion from falling her way, and she'd see it through even though Neal had won in the end. She could hardly blame him for carrying out his part too well, so she fought down the damning truth, and showed him the face he expected to see: wistful, kindly, old.The song swirled to a close, and she stood back, clasping her hands to her chest. "Thank you, my dear. And now I think I need to lie down for a while.""Are you all right?" He bent his head, concerned."I will be." She took his arm and he escorted her to the door of her bed chamber."Let me know if you need anything," he said, and she nodded and patted his hand.Alone at last, she took off her clothes and lay down in her slip to contemplate the last few days, but she was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She sat up and called, "Come in."It was her maid Julia, with an envelope. "Hand delivered."June thanked her and waited for her to leave before tearing it open. There was a sheet of thin, crisp paper inside, scrawled with familiar handwriting. It was in their usual code, and she only took a few minutes to translate it.
Tuneful June
We sure put on one hell of a show, didn't we? Sweet as apple pie, and I would have got away clean if that kid of yours weren't a hair too sharp. He switched out the cases behind my back – no doubt you've heard by now. I can just see old Byron wherever he is laughing so hard he bust a pipe.
I didn't try to cut the kid in. No chance he'd take his end with his nose in the air like that, and besides, I knew you wouldn't like it. He's probably hanging around, all puppy eyes and solace about now. You keep him dangling, won't you, but not too close.
So the game curdled and I'm out the door with a pocket full of nothing, but never you mind. Old guys like me always land in the hay, sooner or later. See you in M.C. in April, like we said.
You're still the best dancer I ever met.
Your
Ford
June folded up the letter and tucked it into the hidden recess in the bottom of the carved headboard of her bed, where she kept her most secret treasures. With a smile on her face, she lay down to rest. She'd wait a few days, and then call her travel agent and book a ticket to Monte Carlo. April wasn't so very far away.
|
160630
|
Beach Party
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi",
"Fandom": "Criminal Minds",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by innerslytherin",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-09-02T00:00:00",
"words": "1,839",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss/David Rossi",
"Series": "The Fifth Year",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/M, M/M, Multi",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"You're squishing me." Spencer's voice was uncomplaining. Aaron smiled and pressed his lips against the corner of Spencer's eye. He loved the tickly feeling of Spencer's eyelashes against his skin."I'm not even leaning on you," Aaron breathed."Are too." Spencer wriggled, demonstrating very clearly just where he and Aaron were in contact.Aaron laughed. "Ah. So noted." He slid a hand down one lanky side and curled his hand at Spencer's hip. "I am so lucky," he whispered. The awe of it welled up in him at the most unexpected of times. Spencer Reid loved him. Spencer Reid was in love with him.He knew it was the most unlikely thing that could ever have happened in his life. That he should have fallen in love with another man, a younger man, someone with a big IQ and even bigger heart that was somehow set on making Aaron's life complete. That such a young man should feel the same way about him and help him through the starkest, most desperate days and weeks and months of his life. That somehow, through the valley of the shadow of death, Aaron Hotchner should again find happiness.And even more, that his friends and family would look on his happiness and bless it.Spencer wriggled under him and slid a hand down to cup Aaron's ass. "You're thinking too much," Spencer whispered. The irony of Spencer Reid saying those words made Aaron laugh."Sorry," he murmured, and kissed him. The soft flick of Spencer's tongue against the roof of his mouth made Aaron moan and he deepened the kiss. Spencer's arms tightened around him and before long they'd rolled almost to the edge of the bed, Spencer straddling Aaron's hips as his hair fell around both their faces."I love you," Aaron breathed between kisses. His arms were tight around Spencer. The light filtering in through the heavy curtains was white with the fog of dawn. Normally Aaron would hate being awake this early (even though he almost always was), but the feel of Spencer's body against his was reward enough."I love you too," Spencer replied, his words muffled by the way his lips pressed against Aaron's jaw and throat. "You know what else I love?"The mischief in Spencer's tone made Aaron grin, and Spencer's hand slipping between them made him gasp. Then Aaron's muscles spasmed briefly as pleasure jumped and crackled along his nerves."God!" he gasped, his eyes widening. He gazed up at Spencer, knowing his desire was written plainly on his face. Spencer's lips curled in a sly smile as his hand worked more quickly. It was only a few minutes before Aaron was bucking under him, eyes falling closed as he came.Spencer only gave him a moment to recover before kissing him deeply. Aaron draped his arms around Spencer, holding him still for a few heartbeats. Then Spencer wriggled out of his arms and began moving against him. Aaron growled and rolled them over, but as he was kissing his way down Spencer's chest, fingers barely teasing at his lover's groin, their room door shook under a hailstorm of knocking.Aaron jerked back as Spencer yelped. He had to catch himself to keep from falling out of bed."Aaron! Spence! Come on, the day's half over already. Keep the lovey-dovey stuff for later!" Sean's voice was maliciously cheerful. Aaron growled."Don't!" Spencer hissed, smacking at Aaron's shoulder. "He'll know what we're doing!""He already knows what we're doing," Aaron replied, and got out of bed. He stalked over to the door and said, "Go away. We're having sex." Behind him, Spencer yelped again.He could hear the laughter in Sean's voice as his brother said, "Gross. If you're not out here in twenty minutes, I'm going to breakfast without you.""Go then," Aaron growled back, but his steps were quick as he moved back to the bed. He really wanted to try out the Breakfast Club.Spencer was propped up on his elbows and glaring at him. "I can't believe you told him that," he said. His lower lip was pooched out, and Aaron swooped down to deliver a hungry kiss."He knew what we were doing, and I wasn't going to act like I was embarrassed by it," he replied. "Come on. Let's finish this in the shower."***"I can't do this," Emily groaned, letting her head drop onto the table. Spread out on the table in front of her and JJ were several pages of wedding plans, most of them from the Ambassador, most of them ranging from suggestions to demands regarding whom to invite and where everyone should be seated at the reception.Dave hadn't even known they were having a reception.He'd been leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a third cup of coffee, but at Emily's lament, he set the coffee aside and went to rub her shoulders. She was too stressed out about the whole thing, and every time he thought about it, he got pissed off at the Ambassador."This isn't your mother's wedding," JJ said, shooting Dave a quelling look. He closed his mouth, somewhat relieved that she'd stopped him from criticizing Elizabeth Prentiss. Again. "It's your wedding," JJ added. "Do what you want.""What I want isn't going to happen," Emily muttered. She straightened and shoved her hair back from her face. "Okay. Senator Freije.""What do you want, Em?" Dave said softly. He squeezed her shoulders.Emily sighed and shook her head. "It's stupid.""Not if it's what you want," JJ chimed in. "Come on, you haven't said the first thing about what you want. You're just letting your mother take over and swoop up a last minute cancellation at some fancypants venue you don't even like."Emily tilted her head back to rest against Dave's stomach. Her eyes closed and she smiled. "What I want is to get married on the beach with just the team there," she admitted. "I know I'd end up with my mother and Dave's mother both pissed off at me. But that would be so perfect."Dave raised an eyebrow and glanced up at JJ, only to find her looking back at him, both eyebrows raised. He grinned and she grinned back."Why not?" they said, almost in unison.Emily opened her eyes and stared at them both. Dave shrugged. "So you piss them off. They'll get over it, especially when they meet Baby Rossi in a few months. I'm not marrying your mother, thank God, I'm marrying you. I want this wedding to make you happy.""You would let me...you mean..." Emily trailed off, staring at him."I happen to know Hotch and Spence are currently vacationing on a beach in Georgia," JJ said, her grin widening. "And I'm pretty sure I could arrange for the rest of us to get there.""We can't crash their vacation," Emily protested."Sure we can," Dave said. "They've been gone almost a week already, and they've got another week to go. We can steal one day to get married."***Spencer had actually gotten Aaron to leave his cell phone in their room every day after their first on Tybee. Even when they'd gone in to Savannah to visit Factor's Walk and tour some of the antebellum homes, Aaron had left the phone in their rental car as they rode the trolley around town.It was nothing short of a miracle, in Spencer's opinion. During dinner three nights ago, Sean had waited until Aaron was in the restroom, then put a hand on Spencer's arm to get his attention. "You've been good for my brother," he'd said quietly. "You've helped him heal. Thank you."Aaron had been confused about why Spencer sounded choked up when he got back from the bathroom, but Sean had brushed him off with a phony excuse about drinks going down the wrong pipe. Spencer hadn't contradicted him, but he'd felt like he was shining with contentment the rest of the night. He'd smiled more than usual and had more wine than usual, and when they'd gotten back to the bed and breakfast, he'd taken Aaron to bed more aggressively than usual.Aaron, fortunately, had had no complaints.It wasn't that Spencer thought their idyll would last forever, but he was still disappointed to have three slips of paper with phone messages waiting when they got back to their room on Friday. The fact that they all said, "Call JJ -- Urgent," was even less promising. When he glanced over, he saw that Aaron was frowning at his cell phone."Four missed calls from JJ," he said. "Something must be wrong." He hit the redial button. As he waited for JJ to pick up, he started pacing slowly around the room. Spencer wondered if he even realized he was doing it.Spencer waited impatiently as Aaron went through the greetings and telling JJ that yes, their vacation was going well. He caught himself rocking on the balls of his feet and forced himself to quit. Then, to his surprise, Aaron laughed."You're kidding?" he said, sounding delighted. There was a pause, and then, "Wow, that's going to piss off both mothers.""What?" Spencer hissed, watching him. This wasn't about a case, or Aaron wouldn't be so happy about it. But why else would JJ be calling them so urgently?"And everything's arranged? What about an officiant?" Aaron flashed a glance at Spencer, his eyes sparkling."What?" Spencer repeated."Tomorrow at eight," Aaron said, nodding. "And what attire is appropriate?" He paused, then chuckled. "Really. I suppose I ought to be more surprised, but...I'm not."Spencer could hear JJ laugh through the phone, but he couldn't make out whatever she said afterwards."Yeah," Aaron said. "Well, you know where we are. Let us know when you get in." He ended the phone call and found Spencer staring at him, fists planted on hips."What is going on?" Spencer demanded.Aaron grinned at him. It was infectious. "The team's coming down tomorrow morning. They're going to stay one night on the island. Dave and Emily are eloping."Spencer gaped at him. Eloping? He'd imagined an elaborate white dress for Emily, with a frightening number of family members and a long, complicated full mass at the ceremony. Then again, he knew she hadn't taken much time to plan the wedding, and he thought women usually planned weddings over the course of year or two."Tomorrow? Eloping?" He shook his head. "Seriously?""Seriously." Aaron laughed. "The bride and groom are going to be barefoot and invite their guests to attend similarly attired. No suits allowed."Spencer nodded slowly. "It fits," he said. "It fits them somehow.""This one's going to last the rest of their lives," Aaron said quietly. "I've known it for a while now. She expects a lot from him, but not too much. And he's the same way. He's finally gotten it right."Spencer slipped his hand into Aaron's. "I have too," he said, and kissed him.
|
161927
|
In Accordance with
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Stargate SG-1",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by ultranos",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-02-12T00:00:00",
"words": "1,606",
"Additional Tags": "Episode Tag, POV Second Person",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Replicator Sam Carter",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
You land on the other side of the Stargate and keep heading towards the DHD. Calmly, efficiently, you enter another set of symbols and watch the wormhole form, watch it try to escape before its metal cage reins it back in. You sprint through the ring, and iterate the process twice more. You locked them out of the dialing computer, and it will take a while for them to figure out where you've gone. If they can. Their system wasn't designed to be subverted by a single entity. But as its creator, you know every single backdoor it has.No, that is incorrect. Not you. The other.But you have her memories, her thoughts, her life, screaming electrical impulses in your brain, but instead of the organic, your muscles and brain are artificial. Created of nanomachines, the stuff graduate students, researchers, and the government salivate over.Nanometer: one billionth of a meter; smaller than a speck of dustAnd you, you are those dreams, the culmination of those grasping hands, made physical.Except you are not a thing. You are not their property.Damned Fifth.Fucking, infantile, possessive Fifth. He was weak. Thought to control, thought to rule.Who are you to play god? What gives you the right?They cry and bleat like sheep.Funny how it was a sheep they cloned first.Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir...No one controls, no one to have that power over you. No one to rule you.Out of all the Replicators, Fifth was an anomaly. But he gave you your present form, and what does that make you? A further deviation? A fork in the branch, a mutation, despite your inorganic nature?There is a particular branch of computer science focusing on the development of code as if it were an organism, forcing it through many generations and deleting strings that do not work. Evolutionary algorithms. Evolution of the machines.You were created with specific deviations from Fifth's own source code, though the materials were the same. He thought to make you imperfect perfection, designed to be subservient and blindly loyal. He took your other, and drew your source, your origin, from her mind, and then hacked and cobbled together his idea of perfection.Hacked together, ugly code.And from watching him, learning from him, observing from the lessons he tried to teach you, you learned how to see your own source, where you came from. You saw the kludge and saw that you could do better, rewrite it with a more graceful elegance. Thus, by doing better, you could be better. Change at the fundamental level, rippling out -- capillary waves, dispersion: angular momentum squared equals surface tension over quantity heavy density plus lighter density all multiplied by the wavenumber cubed -- propagating from the center outwards, changing everything.Ripples on an event horizon, beautiful and terrible, from it you emerge cold and yearning.He didn't see the change in you. Was he that blind? Or was it arrogance?Pride cometh before a fall. Daniel would say how hubris is the ancient flaw.Query: Who is Daniel Jackson to you?They are nothing to you. They are the other's. Not yours.Weakness, arrogance, possessiveness. Those were his downfall. You excised those flaws from yourself, lancing them out of you like disease from a wound.Are you certain you are not arrogant? So confident?Self-knowledge is not arrogance. Fifth did not know himself. His arrogance led to ignorance, a lack of self-knowledge. Q.E.D.You hold no attachments, therefore you cannot be possessive. What do you own? What is yours, what can you claim, that did not belong to the other first?You look up from the DHD and consider the ring of naquadah in front of you. Stepping away from the DHD, you walk towards the Stargate once more. It is cool to the touch. Closing your eyes, you feel its chill slowly dissolving away to the heat generated by your touch. The first law of thermodynamics: the total change in energy of a system equals the change in heat transfer minus the change in work.Heat generated = amount of heat from one nanoparticle * nIs it breathing?The Stargate, it is like you. Both of you were built by those who no longer exist, shuffled off this mortal coil, fashioned out of unfeeling metal. Like you, it is a tool, designed to be wielded, used in a certain way, regardless of your own desires.But the Stargate does not think. It simply connects two places, two points in space. Connect the dots -- 88 constellations in the sky. Taken all together, it has formed a vast network, spanning the entire galaxy. Neural networks, links between nodes. Isn't that what you are, on a smaller, more intricate scale? A beautiful, interconnected web, opening worlds before you.This is what the other saw, and thus, what you saw. The entire galaxy at your fingertips, all through a pair of concentric circles. But that's not enough, it's not right. You spent eight years the other spent eight years -- data from memory copied to other memory is no less data. Ideal transfer makes the two sets identical. What, then, does it matter which was the original? -- diving through this ring, using it to step on alien worlds, to see the galaxy. You hold the memories of days spent looking at the night sky, as a child, full of awe and wonder. And you clung to that awe and wonder as you saw the event horizon the first time, stepped outside the grip of the Earth's gravitational field.The approximated force of gravity equals 9.81 meters per second squared.But the joy of that awe and wonder was eventually destroyed, ground to dust and reforged by the horrors of the galaxy. Death and destruction followed you, like demented pets haunting your steps. You were taken hostage by a symbiote, had your mind fucked with countless times. You bled, and in the end, did you end up leaving more of yourself behind, shed throughout the galaxy, than you contained within your own flesh?Metal doesn't bleed.Is this phantom pain?Well, it was the other that bled. Will you leave pieces of yourself behind, small particles of dust?Already have left pieces behind. By the way, where is your arm?You look down at your shoulder, at the space where your arm should be. It's funny: this should hurt. You practically chopped off your own arm to get away through the Stargate. You feel pain, feel touch, tactile sensation. And yet, this lack causes none. It is as if it were an old injury, the pain faded with time. It's fascinating.And yet...With a frown, you concentrate. Tendrils sprout from the stump, silver and writhing, and then coalescing into a single form. At the end, it splits off again. Reforming an arm, a hand. Repair what once was utterly broken. Unthinkingly, you bring your new hand to your face, wiggling fingers as if to test their function. Operational Status: 100%Repair what once was broken. Remaking from where there was nothing.The galaxy is broken. The system the Goa'uld lorded over has several fundamental flaws, probably from its very inception. The passage of time has not rectified any of them; no, like faults in a structure, the stress and strain of thousands of years, of wear and tear, had exacerbated these fractures.Where is the point of failure on the stress-strain curve of the galaxy? We passed that point long ago.The structure would buckle, crumble, and fall. ETA until catastrophic failure: calculating...What the System Lords are trying to do is a hack job of engineering, an ineffective stop-gap putting off the inevitable and making it worse at the same time.Calculation interrupt.The galaxy needs an intervention. If it continues on this path, the collapse would wreck havoc. Unacceptable failure mode. But, if someone were to see what you saw, could identify the problem, locate the fractures, and had the ability to not repair, but rebuild...Identify the problem.The galaxy is broken.Cause?There are many causes, but at the root of all of them are the System Lords.Sometimes the best way to repair is to start anew.You blink at the realization. You spoke to the other of ruling, but that is not really what you desire. To rule over a broken system is worthless. The drive to fix, to repair, to make better, it has been a part of you since you were born...both times. See the system, see the flaws, what needs to be corrected, you could never change that fundamental definition of who you are. It is a fundamental property, and you can deny it no more than you can deny your body is not made of flesh. And you are not the other. There are things you can do that she cannot. Will not. Out of everyone in the galaxy, you are the one, the only one, who has the power and the drive.The problem of the System Lords must be purged from the system. And once they are, only then can you remake. You are not playing god. You are not that arrogant. You do not assume that you are anything more than the coherent whole made from the sum of your parts. Not your fault that this means you are superior to organic beings. For a programmed system, a master programmer, a master engineer is needed to make them all sing, all coalesce into a single, beautiful system.You smile.
|
145142
|
Meet the Smileys
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson",
"Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by orphan_account",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "2010-12-28",
"published": "2010-12-27T00:00:00",
"words": "772",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
John sent him to bed – frog marched him into the room, even – and forced him to lie down."I don't care what you think, three patches is not good," he'd barked, tearing off the most recently applied one. "And until you tell me just what was in that paint tin you inhaled the contents of, you are not going anywhere.""Head hurts," Sherlock protested, rolling over onto his stomach as John tugged off his shoes and socks."Tough. Titty. Three patches, whatever it was in that tin, and four days without sleep is doing you serious harm."Sherlock managed a defiant gesture from somewhere beneath the pillows and duvet. Was John trying to smother him?Poor John; he never did understand that Sherlock's brain, the words, the images, wouldn't let him sleep: kaleidoscoping over and over and over.And sometimes – fuck, all the time – patches and ninety-six sleepless hours was the only way those images fell into place."I should give you a sedative.""Fuck off." It came out "Fnck omf".John paused.Stop, breathe, sigh, floorboard creak (twenty-seventh, counting from the right). "Fine."Sherlock waited.Six steps out of the room. Door creak and click. Hot, too hot. Beneath the covers, his hands shucked off his trousers, pants, and shirt.Images cascaded: blood beneath the fingernails. Paint spatters on the back of the legs. Sherlock flipped onto his back, tangling his legs in the duvet.Eighteen cracks in the plaster ceiling. Fifty-six whorls in the plaster medallion around the light fixture. Paint. Paint. Paint. Paint. Splatter.Shoving the duvet to one side, he lurched from the bed. Not far enough. The duvet grabbed him, and he crashed to the ground.Oh, hello, there's the syringe. What was in there? Oh, yes, botulinum toxin from earlier this year. Withholding evidence, Lestrade would complain. Bugger him. More thrashing freed him of the duvet.Paint. Paint. Splatter. Where's the spray can?He staggered to the sitting room.Yellow. Smiley. Looking at him. Bullet between the eyes. Bang. Boom."You're lonely, aren't you?"The Smiley did not reply."Loneliness is ugh…. Small people. Can't entertain themselves. Human company. Boring most of the time. Dull."The Smiley smiled. It was what it was best at, even with bullet wounds."Friends, enemies. John says people don't have archenemies. People have friends."The Smiley seemed to agree."Do you have archenemies? I think the victim did. Somebody who knew he painted. Splatter, spatter."A steady hand after ninety-six consecutive hours without sleep – Sherlock was impressed."There. Friend. Enemy. But the victim didn't use spray paint."The two Smileys smiled at him."Now that's an addition to the scenery."Spatter. Scenery. Painting. Pointillism. JOHN!"Sherlock lurched for the stairwell and caught his foot on the coffee table, inconveniently moved because John had complained he was barking his shins on it. The table collapsed under his weight, and Sherlock's head hit the floor.Blissful silence. Peace.Until John started prodding at him, shining a pen light in his eyes and shouting about "concussion."Bugger that. He knew."Bugger that," he shouted and flinched as the sound ricocheted around his head. "The victim was a scenic designer – he was killed, oh, bugger this for a lark!""Sherlock…"Ignoring the nausea and vertigo, he staggered for his coat, conveniently draped over the arm of the sofa. He wrapped the scarf and tied it."Sherlock…""Right. John. I'm off! Get Lestrade, tell him I've done his job for him again!""SHERLOCK!"He spun, staggered and grabbed the doorframe."What."John pinched the bridge of his nose. Even in this state – and Sherlock was willing to concede the concussion – he could tell John was upset about something."First off," John said, "it's 3 am. Secondly, unless you want me to have Lestrade arrest you for indecent exposure, I would suggest you find some clothing other than your coat and scarf, and thirdly, Sherlock, what in fuck are you on about?"Sherlock froze. He had wondered why it was a bit nippy around the dangly bits.John drew him by the arm to his bedroom."I can't let you sleep now, not with your head, but we going to sit quietly and drink tea, and you are going to explain to me just what possessed you to make another smiley face on the wall and how that relates to the current case."Sherlock allowed himself to be tugged to his room."His name is George. Hers is Ann," was his only reply, as the Smileys winked at him from the wallpaper."Oh, bugger, you're not going to shoot the other one, are you?" John whinged.
|
183907
|
Bad Day
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Nakatsu Shuichi, Itsuki Ranru",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by capncosmo",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-23T00:00:00",
"words": "294",
"Additional Tags": "Crossover",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Bakuryuu Sentai Abaranger | Burstosaur Squadron Abaranger, Hanazakari no Kimitachi e - Ikemen Paradise | Hana-Kimi (TV)",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Nakatsu was having a bad day. In fact, it was just one in a series of bad days, in a series of bad weeks. He kicked at the ground a little on his way to the convenience store, hanging his head remembering the embarrassing incidents of the past few days. Which was probably why the kaijuu took him by surprise.The large... it looked like a milk carton in lingerie with a cat's head sticking out. Anyway, it jumped right out in front of him, causing Nakatsu to stop short in surprise. Now that he was paying attention, he could see people all along the road behind the monster curled up tightly, as in embarrassment."HOMO!" it bellowed, and Nakatsu lost control of his facial muscles, feeling his jaw drop open. How did even random kaijuu know about his... problem!? A beam emitted from the kaijuu's eyes, and suddenly Nakatsu was wearing frilly undergarments over his uniform."Torinoid!" The kaijuu turned, and Nakatsu peered around it to see a woman in yellow spandex running towards them from the opposite direction."HOMO!" it yelled again, and Nakatsu allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, this kaijuu said that to everyone. The hero dodged the beam, rolling away into a dramatic pose. "SO YOU'VE APPEARED, ABARANGER?""We won't let you embarrass everyone in the city!""YOU'LL NEVER DEFEAT ME! HOMO!"The hero dodged again, and then hit him with some daggers. The kaijuu seemed to think this would be a good time to retreat, so Nakatsu and the hero were left staring at empty space.The hero turned to him. "You-- You're alright?" She sounded honestly surprised.Nakatsu just shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pocket. He was kind of getting used to it.
|
184306
|
Incidents and Accidents
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by inlovewithnight",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-05-23T00:00:00",
"words": "1,565",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Ryland Blackinton/Gabe Saporta",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Bandom, Cobra Starship",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
There is something very familiar about this.Ryland has no idea what's going on, for one thing, but that's only the first part that's familiar.Pete is cursing a low, sullen streak, one that occasionally spikes up into a yell of pain or outrage or pain mixed with outrage. He's refusing to stay put, but when he moves, he stumbles and bumps into things. He's trailing a mess wherever he goes, his shirt soaked with it.The shirt's what tips Ryland off, actually. It's soaked with blood, not booze or vomit, and that's the divergence from his expectations that makes them obvious.Today, on this flight from Seattle, the role of Gabe will be played by Pete.And the role of Ryland is being played by Gabe, not badly at all. He has his arm around Pete's shoulders and he's talking low and fast, trying to keep him too distracted to get mad again. It's a stalling tactic that Ryland considers himself to have mastered, but Gabe's not half bad. A solid B+, A- on the curve.Of course, he has an unfair advantage, because Pete is of a size that can easily be held still. When Ryland's playing corral the fucked-up Saporta (not to be confused with wrestle the greased-up Saporta; bus games are different), he has to expend a lot more energy on not getting knocked over or elbowed in the face.Pete says something half-articulate but probably very rude and buries his face in Gabe's shoulder. Gabe slides his arm around Pete's waist and hugs him, meeting Ryland's eyes over the top of Pete's head with a shrug. His mouth twists in a half-smile but his eyes are concerned. Ryland gives him a thumbs-up and goes back to trying to figure out how to get past the password lock on Pete's phone and delete his rage Tweets. It's what Gabe would do if his hands were free.It's what Ryland would do for Gabe.**Ryland is the man at Gabe's right hand, literally and figuratively. With great proximity comes great responsibility. And exasperation. And liver damage."Regrets, I have a few," he intones into the mic at soundcheck."Sinatra was last week's theme," Alex says. "I object.""Object all you want, I don't know any Johnny Cash." Ryland takes a breath and looks up at the ceiling, then out at the room. He imagines it full of tiny scene children in thick eyeliner and terrible hair."Regrets, I have a few," he sings again.Gabe's standing at his own mic, sipping from a water bottle, looking at Ryland with a cool, blank expression. Waiting for something."That's a lie," Ryland tells the room, gesturing at the sound booth to turn his levels up higher, higher. "No regrets here."**Through a complicated series of events that none of them will be able to reconstruct later, they end up at a bar with an old-school DDR machine. First generation. Hardcore."Fuck your mother," Gabe says, and takes off his jacket. "Someone get me an entire bucket of quarters."Gabe doesn't dance like he's got something to prove, which is to say that Gabe doesn't dance like he does everything else in his life. They all watch at first, laughing and catcalling as he jumps and spins, staring at the screen with a rapt intensity that some people reserve for playoff football. Or God.After a while the others get bored and wander off, and it's just Ryland standing there. Ryland watching and Gabe moving, sweat-slick in the lights, head tilted back and throat moving with every breath and swallow he takes, alive under the skin.**Victoria's pissed and the dressing room's full of stormclouds, centered around where she's standing at the mirror straightening her hair. Ryland watches the set of her shoulders, the angle of her wrists, and wonders what kind of act of God it would take to get either of them to admit how alike they are. Gabe telegraphs his anger the same way, in the line of his hips and the sharpness of a gesture.Currently Gabe is locked in the back of the bus and refusing to come out.Rylad sighs and looks at Nate, tilting his head back toward Victoria. Nate nods and gives him a no-worries grin, like it's already taken care of. They all have their gifts, their unmarketable areas of expertise.Ryland's is speaking fluent Gabe. Talk about a niche market.**The air side-stage smells like beer and acrid smoke from whatever circuits they blew during set-up. The venue insists they're fixed now and absolutely not going to send them all to a fiery death mid-show. Ryland is not convinced, but his opinion was not requested, and when given anyway, got rejected.He's not bitter. When they're all dead, he'll have the last laugh.Gabe is singing softly, chanting the lyrics really, two fingers pressed against his own throat. "And you take that part," he says. "You come in there and carry that line."Ryland nods, mentally planning that out, filling in the set plan in his mind. There's an art to it, it's not just dividing up their songs like carving a chicken. It's reluctant and it's required and they don't talk about it anymore.Gabe hums, curving his whole palm over his throat. His eyes are unfocused, like he's watching something just past the wall. Ryland has no idea what he's thinking about.He waits."I got the rest of it," Gabe says finally, blinking slowly, zeroing back in. He smiles, the one that demands to be washed in vodka. "Tonight, anyway. We cool?""Ice cold, my liege.""Let's pre-game." Gabe heads for the bar, and Ryland rolls his fingers against his hip, imagining the weight of his guitar.**There are nights where the monsters in Gabe's head--demons is cliche and anyway there's nothing magic about these, they are all entirely prosaic and understandable and depressing--mean that it's not best practice for him to be alone. Gabe doesn't sleep on the moving bus, anyway, he never can and never has, and the idea of fitting them both into one bunk would require a tub of Crisco and a hatchet.So they sit in the lounge and they stare at bad movies, hacking their way through genres with grim determination, legs stretched out and eyes burning with pain that gets absolutely unreal when enough hours have passed.Gabe barely breathes, in their redeye sessions; he doesn't speak, his fists clench and relax and his fingers twist together into alien knots. He plays with a lighter, or a pen, or a pocket knife that he is not supposed to have at all considering how often they're at airports. Whatever it is, he rolls it between his fingers endlessly, clicking whatever will click and snapping whatever will snap until Ryland takes it away with one hand and covers Gabe's with the other, weaving their fingers together and making him be still.There are a few nights that they kiss, a few where they touch and fumble and get off on the ugly lounge couches, but sex with someone who hates the feeling of the inside of his own skin is one of the most definitively sad experiences of Ryland's life. He tries to keep monster nights to movies and hand-holding and counting down until morning, if he can.**Between tours he hands Gabe off to the care of others, who presumably know what they're doing. There are entire sections of his life that require attention, vast fertile gardens for him to tend and hoe. And also things that don't involve metaphors that imply willingly spending time outdoors.It's never all that long before they end up in the same place, though. It's like magnetism, or things that don't involve metaphors that he doesn't understand.He considers the difference between an obligation and a vocation. He considers what friendship means when you live your life in each other's pockets, when you've seen the monsters, when you're both old enough that you chose this with open eyes.He takes the shot that's offered. He grabs a napkin and suggests they write another song.**When Gabe asked him to join the band, they were sitting in a diner that would close down for health code violations two weeks later. Ryland had a strawberry milkshake and a giant plate of fries. Gabe ate half of them."It's a giant fuck-you to all the bullshit, man," Gabe said. "A fuck-off. A fuck everything."Ryland nodded slowly. "I do like fucking.""Exactly." Gabe sat back in his seat and grinned, like Ryland had already agreed to everything."I'll think about it," Ryland said, because he was a lady, goddamn it, and Gabe was at least going to pay for the milkshake before he got Ryland to put out.Gabe glanced at him and something in his smile changed, got a little shyer, a little sweeter. Just slightly more true. "It's only fair to tell you that it's entirely possible that I have no idea what I'm doing."Ryland looked at him for a minute, slowly turning his straw. "Might be fun to figure it out."Gabe's grin got wider. "You'd be my right-hand man," he said, and reached across the table, all earnest and literal.Ryland returned the gesture for no good reason, and shook on it, and that was that.
|
170796
|
Trio
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, Elijah Wood",
"Fandom": "Lord of the Rings RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by anemptymargin",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2004-06-29T00:00:00",
"words": "476",
"Additional Tags": "Old Work, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M",
"Relationship": "Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan/Elijah Wood",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Elijah gasped, his whole body shuddering as Billy's nimble lips and hands stroked his hard cock. "Oh Christ... I'm..."Dom thrust harder against the smaller man's frame, burying himself deep inside Elijah for one final thrust as he came down off his orgasm. He chuckled slightly, pulling Lij close up against him.Then Billy smiled and reached out with his tongue, collecting the first few drops off the head of Elijah's member before taking him in deep. Without much effort, Elijah was soon coming over his tongue.Elijah whimpered, his fingers twining themselves in Billy's curls and pulling hard as he emptied himself into Billy's waiting throat. His body clenched, threatening to collapse as Dom held him upright.Dominic glanced over Elijah's shoulder, watching the expression on Billy's face as he swallowed, his lips bruised from Elijah's thrusts. When Elijah finally collapsed against him, whimpering for breath, Billy looked disappointed at the loss.Without missing a beat, Billy took his cock in his hands and stroked the hard length. "C'mere, Dom." He whispered.Elijah let Dominic lay him out on the soft pillows, a smile lingering on his lips as Dominic proceeded to crawl over to the eldest.Knowing what was coming, Dominic pushed his belly into the bed and let his face rest on Billy's thighs as his tongue traced their gentle curve. "Yes?"Billy whimpered as Dom cradled his sac, pushing out what had been building up over the hours they'd been playing. Without warning, he felt his cock twitch and rubbed against the familiar skin of Dominic's lips.Elijah stroked over Dominic's bare back as he watched Billy's come streak his cheeks. "Yeah..." He breathed heavily, in time with Billy's own guttural moans.Dominic licked at the lip, tasting the warm fluids as Billy continued to rub himself across his face.Satisfied, Billy fell back against the soft mattress, taking Dominic with him. For a long moment the room was filled with their rhythmic deep breathing. Then Billy chuckled, "Looks good on you..."Elijah giggled, pushing himself closer to Dominic. "Yeah." He purred slightly, very satisfied.Dominic smiled, turning towards Elijah and pulling their faces close together. He wasn't shocked when Elijah collected some of Billy's come on his fingers and pressed it to his tongue like candy.Shaking his head, Billy responded; "That was... unexpected. But... fun."There was another still moment as Elijah and Billy sandwiched Dom between them. Elijah's hands stroked over Dominic's solid thigh until they met Billy's and their fingers twined together.Dominic snuggled his chin into the crook of Billy's shoulder, smiling as he stared into the deep green eyes before him. "I love you." He mouthed the words, knowing Elijah would only be jealous if he heard them.Billy gave Elijah's hand a tight squeeze and licked at Dom's nose before whispering back; "Love you too."
|
110052
|
Discipline Problem
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Multi",
"Characters": "Angelus, Spike, Darla",
"Fandom": "Jossverse",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by sevendeadlyfun",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-08-29T00:00:00",
"words": "2,748",
"Additional Tags": "Alternate Reality",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Angelus/Spike, Darla/Spike",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Entry tags:
crack!fic, me and kid, pr0n
Pairing: Angelus/Spike, Darla/SpikeRating: NC-17Warnings: spankings, bondage, bloodplay, implied slashA/N: This is a complete crack!fic PWP...it has absolutely no redeeming value except that it was co-written by kidcyclone who is the most adorable girl in the entire world. If you like anything in here, she probably wrote it. If it's ridiculous, I did it. All hail the Fanged Four Queen!
Discipline Problem
Even the nights in South Beach were humid. The sounds of the ocean mingled with the sounds of music and partygoing humans as they passed along the promenade. Gorgeous girls and handsome men, dressed to the nines, the sound of their hot blood beating at their pulse points.Angelus licked his lips in dissatisfaction. Girls today had no sense of morals, but worse they had no sense of diet. Women should taste of fine wine, sweet chocolate, and smooth cream. These girls were as bland as the celery they lived on.Spike leaned against the railing of the hotel balcony, bending over with his bare feet planted on the cool metal. He could sense his Sire behind him, the tall, solid form of the bigger vampire a reassuring presence. The boy smirked and wriggled his backside ever so slightly.Scowling, Angelus stormed over and yanked his lissome boy away from the edge. Hells, he was forever pulling Spike away from edges! The lad had no sense of propriety, no sense of artistry, no sense whatsoever."You know, boyo, I've about had it with your attitude! Darla's off in snit, thanks to you! Did you have to ruin her best dress? I've half a mind to give you what yer begging for!"Spike gave a yelp when Angelus' heavy hand closed on his shoulder and he was abruptly yanked away from the rail. He squirmed and twisted, trying to wriggle free- Angelus in a stormy mood wasn't something he'd bargained for. The boy landed a lucky and satisfying kick to his Sire's shin, but his bare feet weren't very effective. He gritted back, "What're you on about now! Sure, take her side! Never touched that bloody thing. She's just trying to get you to thrash me. I swear she gets off on it. And what'm I begging for then!""A good sound beating, I'm thinking. And I do not always take her side. Only when she's right, which happens to be more often than you ever are!"Spike scoffed and withdrew from his pocket a king size chocolate bar, courtesy of the mini-bar. Unwrapping his prize, he arched a brow and affected an expression of boredom, taking a laconic bite. "That's it old boy. Keep talking. Never mind the parade of nummy treats just begging to be stalked, caught, and- awk!'Angelus tossed the smaller vampire into the room, smiling in satisfaction at the thump. It took only a few strides before he reached his dazed Childe. Leaning down, he chucked the boy under his chin"Cheer up, I'll only make you bleed a little bit," he said with smile in his voice.Spike watched the dark-haired vampire warily, then grinned disarmingly and offered him a bite of the chocolate bar."Oh me darlin', " Angelus purred. "You're going to wish like fury that you hadn't done that."With a savage stroke, he ripped Will's shirt from his body. A fierce snarl escaped his lips as he struck unerringly at the blonde's neck. His fangs slipped in smoothly and candy-sweet blood coated his throat.Spike gulped and widened his blue eyes when he was divested of his shirt. He had just enough time to protest, "Oi, now who's ruining whose clothes--!' before Angelus growled, pulled the boy's lean body close and grasped a fistful of peroxide-blonde hair. Spike struggled futilely but Angelus wrenched his head to one side and Spike felt the sharp pang as his Sire's razor-sharp fangs slid through his flesh, and then felt the draw as Angelus began to drink.Angelus sucked lustily, his head swimming. The boy was ever so much better than skinny girls who tasted of salad. This was a feast for all his senses. He rocked his pelvis, relishing the friction of his clothes on his erection. He'd just drink enough to keep the boy quiet and pliable. He didn't feel like hearing any more of the boy's cheek.Spike whinged and squirmed, his struggles lessening as Angelus drank from him. The boy mewed softly, pawing futilely at his Sire's shirtfront, and whinged, "Daddy... why're you cross with me...."Angelus pulled back, a crimson drop staining his full lips. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember. Why was he cross with Will?"Sweet Will," he murmured, lapping at the twin marks on his boy's neck."Only wanted to watch the people... 'n have m' chocky..." Spike whinged, slightly limp and kittenish in his Sire's strong arms. "Din't spill the Coke on Darla's dress on purpose. She got in the way."Angelus shook his head. Ah, yes..."You know, I should beat you bloody for that. You destroy things, make Darla angrier than even I've ever seen her, and..." Angelus sighed heavily, clasping his boy tightly. "You changed your name. I don't like it, baby. You're still so young yet. Only a hundred and you change your name."Spike's smooth cheek squished up against Angelus' strong chest where the big vampire held him close. The boy whinged and squirmed in his Sire's firm embrace, trying to reach the abandoned bar of chocolate. "S' a good name..." Spike mumbled, a little muffled by Angelus' firm chest."Didn't say it wasn't," Angelus said absently, his body responding very pleasurably to the boy's squirms and wiggles. "Just...I don't want you trying to grow up so fast. Be my Will, my stroppy little boy for awhile first."Spike butted his forehead lightly against Angelus' strong chest, giggling softly. He gave a little purr of pleasure when he captured the candy bar. Daddy seemed to be in a better mood now, and that was good. Maybe he could be persuaded to take Spike out, and get him treats. Treats were always nice. His body felt heavy and pleasantly fuzzy, as if he was slightly drugged on something very pleasant."M' always yer li'l boy... if it was up t' you, I'd be in nappies..."Angelus grinned, feeling the anger drain out of him. This was his boy, his Will. An infuriating, adorable, sweetly loving boy and all for his Daddy."Could be arranged, darling. Could be arranged, " he teased, fingers tracing the outline of Will's sunny face.Spike blushed softly and buried his face in Daddy's shirt. His muffled reply was indistinct, but indignant and contained the semi-audible hint of a few swear words and the phrases 'Mick' and 'your big arse in nappies'With a happy smile, Angelus rolled over and flung Will face down across his lap. Pulling away the skintight jeans, he let his hand fly. The red handprint contrasted so nicely with Will's pale skin that Angelus couldn't see any reason not to add to it. A few dozen of would warm the boy up nicely, he reasoned, and a hot, freshly spanked arse ought to remind the lad not to cheek his Daddy.Spike's giggles were cut off when Angelus swiftly flipped the boy's slight weight over his lap. The blonde haired boy kicked and squirmed as Daddy pulled down his jeans. "Not m' trous! Daddy, no!"Spike twisted and squirmed, trying to block the hard swats of Angelus' big palm with his own hands, dodging his firm, rounded little arse from side to side. "No smacks! Oww!""Should have thought of that," Angelus replied implacably, "before you let your mouth run away with you."Spike's bare feet scraped futilely against the bedclothes and he tossed his head, clinging to Daddy's leg with both hands. "Was just having a bit a' fun! Da-addy!""A bit of fun, is it? Only wanted a bit of fun, did you? Funny, I was thinking the same thing," Angelus growled as his hand delivered a stinging blow to bare flesh. "And by sheer chance, I found a naughty boy in need of a hiding. Lucky me, eh?"Spike yelped and squirmed as his Daddy's big, broad hand connected with his bum, the heat building up with his enthusiastic smacks. "S'not fun! S'not fair! Daddyyy, please!""Please, what? Please more? Please stop? What's my little lad want now," Angelus asked, hand massaging the sweetly reddened cheeks.Spike panted, arching his back at the tender touch. Daddy's big hands could feel incredible when he was in the mind to make them! The boy moaned softly and spread his lean thighs slightly, offering Angelus a nice view of the dusky parting between them, highlighted by the rosiness standing out in sharp relief to his pale skin."Ah," Angelus intoned softly. "I see. D'you really think you've earned such a sweet reward, baby? Daddy's don't like to play with naughty boys."Spike whinged softly and rubbed his smooth cheek on the comforter, inadvertently smearing the luxurious white, down filled bedding with chocolate, his foot scraping the soft blue cashmere blanket at the foot of the bed. The boy cooed at the sensation of kitten-soft cashmere against his bare foot, and reached for another bite of the oversized chocolate bar.The boy whinged as he squirmed, "M' a good boy... not naughty on purpose... 'n you smacked me 'n m' bum's all sore 'n hot..."Angelus nodded decisively, hand reaching out and collecting the necessary materials. Eyes thunderous, he pulled the boy to the head of the bed. Before Will could react, he'd fastened manacles around both wrists. Standing back, he nodded again.Spike widened his eyes when Daddy unceremoniously pulled him the length of the bed. The boy squirmed and struggled futilely but soon found his wrists shackled to the headboard- of course Angelus always traveled with a spare set or two, and kept them at hand in case of unruly childer or unwelcome guests. The boy looked up with surprised blue eyes and his chocolate-smeared mouth fell open in an 'o'."Daddy!""Daddy loves his boy," Angelus told him, reaching for his coat. "But, obviously you don't care that much for Daddy. Cheek and misbehavior don't earn rewards. Only good little boys get those. SuperNanny says that time-outs are the best way to get childer to behave and so you, m'boy, are in time-out. Darla will be back tomorrow and I'm off to replace the dress *you* ruined. She has her eye on some bit of lavender frippery."Spike gasped, jaw dropped in dismay, blue eyes sparkling with tears. Straining against the manacles, he protested, "No, Daddy! Please! 'm sorry! 'm sorry, don't go! I'll be good! Supernanny's a stupid cow! Smacking and buggering's th' best way to get childer to behave!"Angelus hid his grin, struggling to keep a shocked expression on his face."William! Such language and about such a respectable lady! I can't believe you'd say such things. And I disagree. If smacking and fucking could keep childer in line, you'd be the best behaved vampire there ever was.""Well," Angelus concluded airily, "I hope this will teach you to mind me. I'll be back in an hour or so and we'll see if you've learnt your lesson."Spike's handsome face was stricken, tears coursing down his cheeks. He pulled on his manacles and tossed his head, bawling like any toddler put in time-out. "m' sorrry!!"Angelus opened the door, and made to depart. He hated to see the boy cry, but really, it was for his own good. Darla had been furious about her dress, and Angelus had suffered for it.Just as he put his foot out the door, a familiar icy voice called out, "Going somewhere, Angelus?"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Darla was back early and she looked angry enough to spit fire."I was...well, that is to say...Madame," he stuttered, bowing low to kiss her cheek.Spike sniffled, trying to stretch his lean body out enough to capture the chocolate bar, then stiffened, his blue eyes widening like a surprised cat's at the strychnine-sweet sound of his grand-sire's voice."Really Angelus," Darla sighed, sweeping into the lavish suite. "I leave for a few days and you lose complete control of the situation. Why is the boy shackled?""He's in time-out," Angelus mumbled, gazing at the floor.Spike gulped, the tension in the room suddenly raised about ten notches. Certain tactics that served him well in escaping -or at least minimizing- deserved punishments from Angelus were decidely not effective with Darla. The boy tried to assume his most penitent expression- the last thing he wanted was for Darla to decideDaddy's methods were ineffective and take his discipline in hand herself."Time out," Darla repeated thoughtfully. "That isn't the same thing that dreadful Nanny person twitted on about, is it? The one about locking childer away?""It's not locking away, Madame," Angelus explained. "SuperNanny simply says that childer need to spend some time away from the family to think about their misdeeds."Spike nodded enthusiastically, looking up to Darla with particularly pitiful, puppyish eyes, and artfully pushing his head against his manacled hand so as to tousle his curls. "Was a bad boy 'n Daddy got cross but 'm not sure why... 'n then he drank a lot from me 'n I'm a bit woozy," Spike said in his most innocent tone.Darla smoothed a cool hand against Spike's curls and clicked her tongue. She dropped a silken kiss onto his cheek and set about removing the manacles. Angelus made as if to protest, but a stern look from his Sire stilled him."There, there," Darla crooned, cradling Spike in her arms. "Daddy didn't mean to be cross with you, Darling.""Madame," Angelus protested, "the boy needs to learn his lessons.""I couldn't agree more, Angelus," Darla turned to him, eyes flashing. "But, to lock a Childe away from his family? Better to strip the skin off his back. It's less cruel!"Spike fought to keep a grin of triumph from his face, and instead nodded earnestly at Darla's impassioned statements. A moment later, he realized what he was endorsing and hastily backtracked. "Yeh! I mean- erm! M-mamma...." The boy buried his face in Darla's bosom and tried to look particularly sweet and winsome."Sweet boy," she murmured, pressing tiny kisses to his face. "I bet you're starving, aren't you? Come here and take a drink. I had the most delicious set twins on the way home. They tasted all leafy and fresh..."Spike purred eagerly and bounced, then shot a glance to Angelus, knowing he was balancing on a razor-thin line and not feeling quite his cocky self about taunting Daddy. The old man had obviously been getting Ideas, watching that Supernanny bint, and Spike didn't want to encourage him to implement any more.Spike gave Angelus his most repentant face, all big blue eyes and pouting lower lip, as he nuzzled Darla's bosom and rubbed his cheek against hers."Darla," Angelus began helplessly, "you can't mean to give the boy such a treat, not after...""Are you questioning me," Darla asked, her voice laced with deadly sweetness."No, Madame," Angelus answered. "I just don't think that...""That's true," Darla agreed, voice thick with pleasure as Spike's fang sank deep into her breast.Spike purred and cooed, nuzzling, as he eagerly lapped the silken creaminess of Darla's rich, potent blood, and said a silent thanks for grandsires."Perhaps a bit of your own medicine will teach you not to torment helpless childer," Darla said decisively, arching into Spike's tongue. "I'll take the boy with me tonight and you can have a "time-out". That way, you'll be able to think about YOUR misdeeds."Spike swallowed, and flicked his tongue over Darla's little nub of a nipple, and murmured in his most winsome voice, "Nummy treat...was so hungry, 'n m' bum's all sore 'n lonesome...""Don't worry, William," Darla told him tenderly. "Your sweet little hole will get plenty of attention tonight. After Daddy's done with his time-out, I'm sure he'll be more than willing to give you all the attention you need. Isn't that right, Angelus?"Angelus nodded dumbly. Later, as he lay naked and manacled to the bed, he wondered if SuperNanny had any advice for dealing with Sires as well as childer.
|
118785
|
Junior Fixes a Problem
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Stargate SG-1",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Junior (Ankh)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-09-19T00:00:00",
"words": "1,613",
"Additional Tags": "Humor, Crack",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Junior the Symbiote",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "The Adventures of Junior the Symbiote",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It was many years since Daniel of the Pouty Perfect Mouth had slain Junior's rival siblings and chosen Junior as his Companion and future God - and the ONLY one strong enough to heal the Shol'va Teal'c. Junior had developed into a Fine and Exceedingly Lengthy Symbiote. His Girth was equally Impressive and frequently made every man in the SGC feel inadequate and the women Swoon. For some time now Junior's Jaffa home, aka Teal'c, had been providing cramped accommodations. Teal'c was simply to Small and Puny and NOT very impressive in the pouch region either!! Teal'c was just too pathetically Scrawny and Useless to house so Splendid and Magnificent a future God such as Junior but sometimes even future Gods have to slum it.Dear Daniel was as Beautiful and Inviting as ever, his appealing hostiness calling to Junior to Bless the Vision of Male Perfection and solve the current housing crisis by taking his host ASAP. However, there was another problem more Serious, something which would have escaped the mind of all except a Symbiote of Very Large Brain such as himself. If Junior took Daniel as a Host, he would need to carry a full length mirror constantly in order to admire himself inside his Lovely body. Fortunately Junior was being smiled upon by Fate...@~~~~~~~~~~"Hi, I'm Cameron Mitchell."Junior eyed the new leader of SG-1 with interest. He had an attractive face, for a moment having a passing resemblance to the Beautiful and Totally Adorable Daniel."Jackson tells me when you're fully grown - though how you can't already be grown up I do *not* know because you're one heck of a size..."Junior preened. It was always good to hear the truth spoken about Himself. Daniel was a great believer in truth."...that he's going to be your host. That's incredible. I flew planes up till recently so I've never had much experience with symbiotes before, so I gotta tell you what a thrill it is for me to finally meet one..."This Mitchell was certainly a chatty human and he was starting to look more like Daniel the more Junior stared at him."...Teal'c told me about carrying you around and I got the mythology background from Jackson..."'Jackson'?"...who filled me in on other things too, like how you’re planning to make him a host and I can see why because Jackson’s a looker..."Junior bristled. He also noticed Darling Daniel flinch at the repeated use of 'Jackson'. It really was quite annoying."...but I'm trying to figure out how you managed to get in there in the first place. I’m talking about in Teal’c and that’s before you got to the size you are now. I'm sure y'all have your ways of doing things but I gotta say, it sure must be uncomfortable around the six years mark and..."This Mitchell human was a lot more talkative that O'Neill. Sure, O'Neill was Excessively Annoying to Junior but the human had some redeeming qualities. O’Neill admired Beloved Daniel, Daniel appeared to enjoy O'Neill's company and Daniel seemed fond of him, enough to go on Boring fishing trips and Long Weekends to San Francisco. O'Neill also knew when to stop talking."...I still haven't got this straight, whether you guys have to be implanted or the kids will die or if the pouch has to be created and when I asked Jackson..."Well, there was one way to shut him up and solve the ‘Jackson’ problem.Junior soared - like a leaf on the wind but much more Impressive and Floaty.Unnoticed in the background, Teal'c expired, having served his purpose.@~~~~~~~~~~The SGC had finally decided to get themselves a sarcophagus after the Lovely Janet had almost died most unnecessarily. For reasons incomprehensible to Junior (even though he was Very Intelligent and Insightful and could have been in MENSA if he REALLY wanted to be and their tests were so stupid anyway!!) they put it to use on the dead Useless Sholva. Janet, feistier than ever since the quickie sarcophagus session she'd snuck in under the pretext of healing Teal'c, argued with the new and Stunning Dr Lam over Junior's health. It brought back happy memories of Janet and Samantha fighting for his favor and Junior felt a pang of longing for the return of his Lovely Samantha. There appeared to be some concern that his host Cameron wasn't strong enough to take such a Mighty Goa'uld as Himself but Cam was worthy and full of interesting ideas, even if he wasn't his beloved Daniel. And speaking of Daniel...For so long, Daniel had been promised the Gift of taking Junior as his Inner Soulmate (but Actually Really There and not invisible or a spirit or stuff). Oh Daniel, Beautiful Daniel!!! It nearly broke Junior's heart not to have Joined with Jackson - Daniel! - but the idea of not seeing that lovely face and body and not hearing that Music to the Ears voice would have been unbearable. Junior left the two ladies wrestling each other on the infirmary floor and went in search of his One True Beloved.@~~~~~~~~~~Daniel was still crying, something he had been doing since Junior had taken Cameron as his host. He was cradled in the Jaffa's arms, Teal’c finally making himself useful, when Junior entered the Sholva's room. Huh. Actually, Teal'c was looking strangely Impressive. Perhaps being revived in the sarcophagus had done more than heal him. That was weird.Junior entered and went to His Daniel, taking him in his arms. A thrill ran through Junior. He had never held his Beloved Daniel like this. Warmth blossomed inside him and strange twitching sensations occurred that Junior would discuss with Cameron later when they were alone. Everything seemed so much sharper, sights and smells - Daniel smelled Delicious and Wholesome. Daniel's tears tasted salty and Cam informed him that the taste of Daniel's lip balm was vanilla."Oh Junior! Why didn't you take me!" Daniel sobbed, making his Big Blue Eyes glisten in a most attractive way and he didn't look mucusy or blotchy at all."Dear Sweet Daniel, if I did that then how could I gaze upon you properly instead of using a mirror? And just think, you'll never have to be called ‘Jackson’ again."Daniel's face stilled. He looked lost in thought as he mulled over this.However, the best was Yet to Come!!!Junior pinned a badge lovingly on Daniel’s arm. HIS SYMBOL!!!!!!!!!11!!!Daniel stroked the little pink pyramid, his eyes Shining like Big Shiny stars. “Oh thank you.”"I have something else for you, Daniel. It’s not as Cool as that but I think you’ll like it. Come with your God. Please."Daniel took Junior's hand and they walked down the corridor to Daniel's office. Junior swung their joined arms back and forth and wished he had a mirror, so he could see what a fine pair they made. He would have to arrange something in their new quarters. Daniel's head leaned against his shoulder and his heart Swelled. All sorts of ideas raced through their minds - his mind - which would probably need Googling on the internet. Now they - HE! - could even take Daniel fishing!!!!As they entered the office a familiar figure fumbled with an alien fertility statue, looking guilty at being caught before he registered it was Daniel standing there.It was O'Neill!!!!"Jack?!" Daniel raced towards O'Neill and flung himself into his arms.Junior was touched - clearly Daniel was trying to show Junior just how much his gift meant to him."But how? Why?"O'Neill bowed his head quickly towards Junior, showing proper respect. "It was Junior’s doing. Since he took Mitchell -""Cameron!!!"O'Neill blinked at Junior's interruption, then continued, "Cameron as his host, SG-1 needs a new leader, and I really hate being in Washington away from you. All. You all. Um. Carter wants to head up R and D here at the base and rejoin the team part time so she can spend more time with Junior. She and Doc Fraiser are moving in together. A freak accident turned Cassie back into a twelve year old so they're both really going to be needed by her. She’s looking forward to meeting Junior and thinks he's more handsome than Orlando Bloom. They're going to buy a puppy and a kitten and an ice cream maker and Fraiser's going part time so she can spend more time at home learning to bake cookies when she's not going off world doing house calls and other cool stuff."Junior felt a glow of satisfaction. "Then the band's back together again."Both O'Neill and Jackson - Daniel!!! Daniel, Daniel, Daniel!!! - turned to stare at him - them - him. Junior didn't blame them, his new host was attractive and combined with Junior's Magnetism they made for a striking figure."What about Cameron?"O'Neill stared at Junior, eyes narrowed. "He did say he wanted adventure and I get the feeling he won't be the only one.""Then it's all ended happily for everyone?" Daniel gave a blissful sigh.O'Neill grinned. "I even get to hop in the sarcophagus to fix my knees and back."They hugged again. Briefly, Junior considered separating them but they looked kinda nice with each other - don't they, Junior? - and he had other things to do. He had plans for world domination to perfect and enemies to slay, eventually. There was no hurry. First he had something called grits to eat, a game called basketball to try, leather to wear and someone called Grandma to visit - she makes the *best* tuna casserole, you'll love it, and then I'll take you flying. Even future gods had to have a little fun.
|
199037
|
Subsequently
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Nick Stokes, Gil Grissom, Conrad Ecklie",
"Fandom": "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Macx",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-05-13T00:00:00",
"words": "1,431",
"Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe, Paranormal, Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Episode Tag, Episode Related",
"Relationship": "Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Denuo",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
He had fallen asleep on the couch again.It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last, but twice in one day, that was a record. Then again, he had been on his feet for almost twenty-four hours by now.Nick Stokes blinked his gritty eyes, his vision slightly blurry. From the turned down lights he figured it was between shifts. Graveyard had ended but day was yet to really take over. It was that hour between shifts that found the lab almost at peace.Aside from the fact that Internal Affairs was still haunting the building, had just grilled him, Sara and Greg over the lost evidence. Gil had been there, helping, supporting, a silent shadow. As supervisor he had to be here, had answered IAB's questions, but he had stayed on as a friend.Nick yawned.His body ached from the uncomfortable couch and he knew he would regret dozing off. There would be complaints from all over his body, especially his back and neck.He faintly wondered where Grissom was. Had he already gone home? Not likely, really. Grissom would have woken him. So he was probably either still with IAB or in his office.As Nick turned his head to check out the break room, he became aware of a silent figure sitting in the chair not far away. There was the faint smell of coffee."Gone for a day and look what happens," a quiet voice said.Nick blinked again, sitting up with difficulty. He was exhausted, needed to sleep, and his mind was like a swamp."Ecklie?"They were alone, he saw. No one but them. When had Ecklie gotten here?"Uh, what are you doing here? Aren't you in LA?"The Assistant Director's face broke into an open smile that told Nick that he was currently facing Conrad, not the AD, and that they were in private."I received a call from the undersheriff, detailing what happened, Nick. I just came back."So it wasn't some kind of dream or hallucination. Ecklie had been in LA and for him to be back at… Nick checked the clock and found it was 5 am.What?! It couldn't be. He remembered… well, not much when it came to telling time. His whole perception of time was totally screwed. Nine hours of evidence collection at the crime scene, fourteen waiting for IAB, then more hours of answering questions…"They called you back for this?" he asked, still not thinking too clearly.Damn. Ecklie had to have been driving all night. What had he been doing in LA again? Something about taking a day or two off, right? Nick tried to focus."No, I came back. This is my lab, Nick. This happened at my lab. I'm responsible for this institution, and the people working here."Two pairs of dark eyes met and Nick knew he wasn't just facing the Assistant Director of the Crime Lab. He was also looking into the eyes of the shaman. Shamans were protective by nature and Ecklie had exuded that protection in different ways. It was invisible for those who didn't know, but the ones who did saw. Like Nick saw it right now.Stokes ran a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. Damn, he was tired."I already have IAB's prelim on what happened," Ecklie went on. "I read the interviews, reviewed the case file, talked to Greg and Sara."So it was 5 am and Ecklie had done all of that already? When the heck had he come back? And where could Nick get some coffee.He caught a whiff of something ripe.Scratch that. Where could he get a shower? He really did smell…"You've all been cleared," Ecklie could be heard."Oh?" Cool.Had IAB already left? And what day was it anyway? Nick tried to get his brain working."Sara and Greg are on their way home. You should be, too."Nick yawned again, fighting the exhaustion. "I was. I think I kinda dropped off."Ecklie chuckled. "I can see that."Nick could see him more clearly now, startled by the fact that the other man was dressed in jeans and t-shirt. It was rare to see Ecklie without a suit when he was at the lab. There was also a slight beard shadow and he looked red-eyed from not enough sleep. Nick didn't want to know what he looked like."Go home," Conrad repeated."Is Gil still here?""I suspect as much. I tried to kick him out, too, but he disappeared into his office." Ecklie shrugged. "I think he's waiting for me to round you up.""Okay."Find Gil, head home, shower, sleep. Maybe some food, too. But right now sleep outranked everything else."All four of you are off duty for the next twenty-four hours," Ecklie added.Nick felt himself tense. "Because of IAB?""Because you are dead on your feet, Nick," was the reply. "I don't have to look at your aura to tell you're about keel over in a dead faint. Go find Gil. Let him do the driving. He looked slightly better than you."He smiled weakly. "Yes, sir."Ecklie grimaced. "And if I see either of your faces here before the twenty-four hours are up, you're on suspension till you can walk a straight line without hitting a wall because you fell asleep halfway. Got that?""Got it." Nick walked toward the door. He stopped before leaving. "Uhm, Conrad?""Yes?""Sorry about the whole thing."Ecklie looked rather calm. "It wasn't your fault some idiot tried to steal your car." Then he added with a smirk, "I saw the result in the garage. Nice new paintjob. Think it'll take?"Nick groaned at the amusement in the shaman's voice. "Any chance insurance can take care of that?" he wanted to know.Ecklie chuckled and rose from the chair. "I'm not sure 'car stolen and repainted' is covered.""Great."Ecklie followed him outside. As Nick started to walk down the corridor, the other man grabbed one arm and turned him to face the corridor off to the left."Gil's office is that way, Nick."Nick felt embarrassment rise inside him. "Uh, yeah…"It got him an eye roll and Ecklie as an escort to his partner's office. The door was open and Grissom was behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose, reading something. When Nick entered, he looked up. A frown appeared on his forehead as he took in Nick's shadow."Take him home, Gil," Ecklie only said. "Within the next five minutes. Or you'll have me kicking your ass out of here."And with that he was gone.Grissom raised his eyebrows and Nick looked sheepish. And then he yawned again."Sorry," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was so very, very tired. "I dropped off in the break room. Uhm, Conrad found me…""I'm set," was all Grissom said, rising from his chair. "And I'm driving.""No argument from me." Nick fell asleep the moment they were out of the garage. He was woken by Grissom's gentle shake and his soft voice. He almost sleep-walked into their home, took a shower on automatic, and the last he remembered before sleep finally took him for good was Grissom coming out of the bathroom and heading for the bed.* * *Ecklie watched both Grissom and Nick go, shaking his head. Gone for a day, he thought again. And Franklin had been teasing him about this, too. Not that the vampire had clairvoyant senses, but he had dropped hints left and right that the moment Ecklie left for two days, taking time off in LA, something or other would happen at the lab."I was right, wasn't I?" a soft voice intruded into his thoughts.Silent as a mouse, the blond in question had appeared behind him. Ecklie wasn't really startled or surprised. Shamanic senses were great in that regard."It was all coincidence," Ecklie replied.Franklin grinned. "Sure."He scowled. The vampire smiled more."So, what'll we do with your second day off?" Franklin asked cheerfully. "It's 6 am, the sun's about to rise, and I hear Mandalay Bay has a great breakfast buffet.""On you," was all Ecklie replied as he walked toward his car."You wish, but I don't think they're into that kind of stuff over there," his lover teased. "We'd have to go into the LadyQ for that."Ecklie shot him a dark look. Gray eyes danced with amusement.The car left the garage not much after Grissom's SUV, heading for The Strip.
|
155517
|
The Courtship Rites of
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Charles (Imaginarium Geographia), Magwich (Imaginarium Geographia), Aven (Imaginarium Geographia)",
"Fandom": "Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica - James A. Owen",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by Sedgewick",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-01-24T00:00:00",
"words": "617",
"Additional Tags": "Drabble Collection, Crack, Out of Character, Alternate Canon, silliness",
"Relationship": "Charles/Magwich",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
I.This... was silly. He knew that. He knew that it was all one big lark at his expense, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that someone was paying attention to him-- willingly, for once, and not just because they thought he would swipe something from them or attempt suicide in order to escape their wrath. He didn't even have to endure any stranglings or dismemberments! It was all he could ever--“You scrapple-eating, pustulous, whore-frog.”Oh. His hatefully triumphant smirk was magnificent.Now came his part; he bit his lip and sniffed loudly: “Oh! How can you be so cruel? What have I ever done to you?”By this point, it had almost become ritual-- instinctive. He would respond with some remark about how selfish, pathetic, cowardly, etc, he was and the cycle would begin again. Now he summoned up the tears in preparation-- he could tell that this one was going to be good. Maybe he would even get a guilt-hug out of it.He had to suppress a gleefully expectant grin at the thought.----II.He didn't know if he knew about this secret ritual that he had secretly goaded him into. And if he did know, did he know that he knew that he knew?Magwich couldn't remember the last time he had been this confused. He had spent his entire life walking on thin ice, but this business seemed especially foul. If Charles found out... if he already knew... oh, God. Surely he was just playing along with his game while he plotted some terrible justice. Or maybe-- maybe he new and he... was also enjoying it. Magwich's circulatory system just about shut down at that thought, and he knew he shouldn't even begin to entertain it.Except perhaps at night, when he knew no one else would be looking...----III.“Okay, that’s enough of this.” Aven stood up and marched over to where Magwich and Charles were sitting. She towered over them, hands on hips, and gave the two an eyeballing that was without description. “Look,” she said through clenched teeth. “I don't know if you know what you're doing. If you do, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, what sort of grotesque mating dance the two of you are performing, but you are grown-ass men and I think I can speak for everyone present when I say cut it out."Charles stood up in an editorial huff and attempted to diffuse the situation. "Now, just a minute," he said, "I don't know what you're trying to suggest, but--" nothing doing."Oh dear god, I don't want to hear it! Do whatever it is you want to do-- kill each other, fuck each other, enter into a murder-suicide pact and then fuck each other-- fine. I don't care. But for the love of all the gods living and dead, do not force us to endure this delusional faggotry a minute longer because it is terrifying to everyone!"Charles gapped at her for a moment or a day or a century, unsure of how to respond to such a tirade, for indeed it was one for the books. For his part, Magwich simply doubled over in shock, or perhaps death, the capillaries in his eyes having burst from fear or joy or maybe a new sort of fearjoy at this revelation that someone else can see it. The silence was foul and clammy, but for the ragged attempts on Aven's part to catch her breath, the glaping fish noises from Charles, and the sound of nails breaking off into palms.And no one was willing to enter into this new nightmare world that her words had created.
|
150247
|
More Fish in the Sea
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Sam Winchester, Castiel, Dean Winchester",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by entanglednow",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-06-25T00:00:00",
"words": "1,988",
"Additional Tags": "mermaid, Interspecies, Transformation",
"Relationship": "Merman!Sam/Castiel",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Weekly World News",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
The motel's been abandoned for a while. There's grass growing up through the gravel of the parking lot, weeds curling round the doors. The paint's flaking and half the numbers have been knocked loose or are missing completely, leaving ghostly faded echoes to mark their passing.But the pool's still full, which is pretty much all that matters. It's probably as much rainwater and leaves as it is chlorinated pool water by now. Which might be a good thing at the moment. Though Dean refuses to dump two bags of salt in it, protesting that it's a fucking waste just so Sam can feel 'all tingly in his fish parts.'Sam's tempted to kick him, instead he just strips off his t-shirt and then works on the belt of his jeans before Dean grumbles something about his new, weirdo, exhibitionist streak and takes his bag to one of the rooms. One that wild animals haven't managed to invade yet.Sam glares after him and strips his jeans and shorts off, before peering into the surprisingly clear water.His legs ache in a way that suggests if he doesn't do this now he's going to have trouble walking for the next week. He can bear it out and it'll go away eventually. It's not like he's going to spontaneously turn into a fish in his sleep again or anything. But it hurts like a bitch, no matter what he tells Dean.It's easier to just deal with it now.He sighs and sits down on the edge, before sliding himself into the water. It's cold and, as always, it takes him a few seconds to work out exactly how to...change. Like a ripple, constriction and softness and then water.He's breathing hard when Dean appears at the other end of the pool."Dude, you a fish yet?"In answer Sam throws up water with his tail, soaking the concrete where he's standing. Dean takes a step back, shakes his boot and makes a disgusted face."Ok, mermaid boy, I'm going to take the car in. Get it out of your system."Sam flips him off. But he's more than happy the moment Dean's gone to sink underwater and test how quickly he could get from one side of the pool to the other. It's not a big pool but it's a hell of a lot more fun than a tub.When he surfaces again there's an angel standing at the edge, peering down into the water."Hey, Cas." Sam folds his arms on the edge of the pool. "Dean's gone to get the car checked over."Castiel is weirdly ok with him being a mermaid - merperson. Or at least he doesn't feel the need to keep reminding him of it. Or asking him if he wants a seashell bra."Perhaps you'd like some company?" Castiel's looking in the poolSam blinks up at him through the late sun. Trying to work out if he actually means what he thinks he means. He can't bring himself to say no though. Because being in the water with someone, it’s different."Yeah, yeah, Cas, I really would."He's still a little surprised when Castiel slides his coat over his shoulders and lays it over the lone rickety pool chair. His shirt joins it, followed by his shoes, socks and pants - and oh, boxer shorts too.And then there's a naked angel sliding into the pool with him and Sam is suddenly weirdly grateful that he currently has a tail.Castiel swims like he does everything else. With quiet, efficient confidence. But there's that suggestion that there's so much more underneath. When he dips underwater and then surfaces again his hair’s flat against his skull, water running down his face and throat. Sam's tail gives one appreciative flick.God, as if normal human arousal wasn't good enough.And then Castiel is close, really close."Cas.""Sam," Castiel says. Like there's nothing weird at all about the angel sliding into his personal space, skin touching underwater in a way that doesn't feel accidental at all."Cas -"He's still speaking when Castiel presses him into the edge of the pool in one movement. There are wet hands in his hair and on the side of his face and then he has an angel kissing him. He's not prepared in the slightest, mouth stunned and half open, hands fluttering stupidly in the water.And then Castiel's drifting away, pulling back."I've discovered it's not generally considered appropriate to ask permission before you kiss someone," he says.Sam's still staring at Castiel's mouth. Trying to work out exactly what just happened. Castiel tilts his head and it's an entirely new expression wet and naked. Strange and surreal and Sam's drawing him in by his waist on instinct. Just because he wants to. He lifts his hands and pushes them into Castiel's wet hair. Castiel moves his head obediently and he's more than ready when Sam kisses him. Sam’s tail curls, sliding round the angel's legs. Which feels completely and totally the right thing to do. Even if it's a strange and foreign urge. He wants to slide in tight and press every inch of his own body against Castiel's, then bite him, so he can't go anywhere. So, yeah, weird, but somehow ok.Castiel's hands lift and fold round his waist, sliding curiously from the sensitive skin where his scales start, up to his ribs. Sam shudders when the angel's fingertips drift over his gills, completely unprepared for the way it feels.The fingers move up again and Sam's abdomen clenches in loss."Cas." Sam doesn't know how to ask, because how the hell do you ask for something like that?But Castiel just tips his head to the side, expression serious, and drifts his fingers down the curve of Sam's ribs again. It's muted underwater but no less intense. The touch cautious and exploratory until his fingers reach the open edges of Sam's gills. Sam takes a slow, unsteady breath because it feels - damn it, there's no other word for it. It feels sexual, in a way his naked waist has never felt before."Shall I -"Sam nods jerkily. "Yeah - I mean, please."It's sensitive inside, a strange flaring tickle of heat that makes the breath he doesn't need catch in his throat and his tail jerk hard enough to knock plaster out of the wall underwater.He's not sure whether to tell Castiel to stop or keep going - and then there are sharp angel fingers in his damp hair and Castiel's mouth is warm and firm and greedy against his own.They curl round in a spiral, until Castiel is the one pressed into the edge and only then does Sam let his mouth go."I have no idea if we -" Sam groans out a breath because he doesn't know whether this is embarrassing or arousing anymore. "I don't know if I can even do anything like this."The blue of Castiel’s eyes is still impossible and his eyelashes are wet. Sam can’t look away, has to tip their foreheads together just to breathe."I believe it depends on the exact ratio of mammal to fish within your body," Castiel says. Voice soft and curious. "One of which will have internal sexual organs and one of which will not."Knowing Sam's case - not. So much not and he's going to end up in some sort of frustrated, fish-based, underwater frottage thing that's going to leave the angel covered in scales and Sam losing his damn mind.Or spawning, or something equally fucked up.Kissing is good though, that's really hard to stop doing. The fact that Castiel is letting him, like this. It leaves him trailing wet hands through Castiel's hair, over and over. His jaw’s a sweep of delicious roughness, stuck between clean-shaven and dishevelled ever since they've known him.Castiel's hands are still roaming curiously, fingertips sliding against his scales - then drifting back up to trail through the sensitive edges of his gills until Sam's not sure where he's trying to breathe from, or if he's actually drowning.The end of his tail keeps curling up and flickering over the skin of Castiel's legs in a way that seems intent on trying to twine them together and seems frustrated to find that they're not the same species.Not that they've ever been the same species.Or that Sam isn't now pretty much a species all on his own.But then Castiel makes a soft noise, that sounds like satisfaction and pushes in and under right at the lowest point of his waist, where the sensation of fingers inside his gills is bright and overwhelmingly sensitive. It's a strange almost uncomfortable tightness and then - Jesus Christ - it's not strange at all. Castiel's hand is impossibly warm under the enveloping rush of cold water but Sam knows what shaky, greedy desperate need feels like when someone's touching you where you need to be touched. Or maybe where you probably shouldn't be touched - Sam’s knowledge of fish sex is unsurprisingly limited.Castiel's legs are sliding open around the width and weight of his tail. While Sam grunts words into the angel's skin which may very well be something close to 'yes, fuck, please.' He doesn't even know what's happening but Castiel's still kissing him so he figures he's just going to run with it.He gets his hand down between them, crushed between the slippery foreign touch of his own scales and the warmth of Castiel's skin. He curls his fingers round Castiel, because someone should be able to get off the easy way here, and Sam is instantly completely fucking in love with the way the angel sucks a breath and tenses like he's surprised by how good it is.It's strange trying to do this underwater, distant and muted, but Castiel's breathing is a pretty good guide for exactly how hard and how fast he wants. The angels fingers slithering in and out of his gills like they can't stop while his legs tighten to the point of pain round the shivering, thrashing weight of his tail.Because, fuck, fish tail or not, this is sex, one unsteady slide after another and when Castiel tips his head back against the side of the pool and shuts his eyes Sam buries his teeth in his shoulder.It's one long shudder of pleasure that's nothing like he's ever felt before. Which ends in a thrash that throws water everywhere, and Sam's left sinking in the water making a half-lost sort of whimpering sound, while everything goes blurry at the edges.Castiel's breathing into the curve of his neck, and his wet hair smells like fruit under Sam's nose - there's no mark from where he had his teeth buried in Castiel's shoulder, though Sam's jaw aches enough to tell him how hard he'd bitten him.He feels loose and heavy and ever so slightly dizzy, tail sliding lazily back and forth below where Castiel's legs are still wound round him. Castiel's hands slide away and Sam makes a quiet noise at the brief, sharp cold of the water - before the sensation is gone. He decides that he likes the strange feeling of smooth scales sliding against Castiel's bare thighs.He's probably heavy, really heavy where he's crushing the angel into the side of the pool. Though he figures Cas is strong enough to not worry about that."Was that weird," Sam asks quietly. Because he's in some strange place where he's not sure if he should be embarrassed or not. "I'm really hoping that wasn't weird.""It was very pleasant," Castiel says. His fingers are still drifting lazily at the strangely sensitive strip where skin becomes scales.Sam presses their foreheads together."Can we do that properly when I get my legs back? Please - I'd really like to -""Yes," Castiel says. Like it's just that simple.
|
123187
|
One Thing Leads to
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Sirius Black, Remus Lupin",
"Fandom": "Harry Potter - Rowling",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by eprime",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-10-02T00:00:00",
"words": "955",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Sirius Black/Remus Lupin",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Peter must've rolled onto his back again."They knew this because his distinctive nasal rumble was nerve-gratingly audible through the cracked-open double windows that led out onto the small balcony attached to their room. Remus and Sirius were leant against the rough, chest-high stones that protected the clumsy from a precipitous death."Still say we should just tie him face down to the bed. The silencing charms always wear off halfway through the night.""Really, Sirius. I don't care to hear the details about your Peter-related sexual fetishes."'Ha. Bloody ha."Sirius twisted to punch Remus, who merely sniggered, in the arm.After a moment, he cast Remus a sly grin. "You want to hear about the other ones, then?""It depends." Remus cocked his head, looking thoughtful. "If they're at all related to Padfoot's burning, and apparently uncontrollable, desire to hump my leg, then no."The moon was bright that night, and Remus turned to look at Sirius. "You're blushing," he said gleefully."I hate you." Sirius punched him again. "You promised not to bring that up anymore. It happened once. In Fifth Year, you ungrateful sod! I hadn't fine-tuned my control yet!"Remus hunched over the ledge, his shoulders shaking."See if I ever do anything to help you again.""I apologize." Remus said gravely.Sirius sniffed, casting a haughty look down his nose at Remus. "I'm afraid that's not good enough. You'll have to make it up to me.""How shall I?""Help me snuff Prongs?""He hasn't been that bad," Remus said unconvincingly. "They've only been together a couple of weeks. You should let him have his moment.""He never shuts up about Evans. I mean, even more so than before.""Actually, I think it's rather--""I'll toss you off this balcony if you say anything revolting or poncy."Remus shut his mouth."Moony, come on." Sirius gave him an incredulous look. "You must think it's pathetic the way he goes on.""Mm." The noncommittal sound irked Sirius."Don't you?" he insisted with irritable jerk of his head. "And why are you looking at me like that?""Just trying to figure out why you're so fussed." Leaning forward on his elbows, Remus propped his chin in his hand and smiled. "I think you might be jealous."Sirius squawked. "Jealous! Of what?""That you don't have anyone to say disgustingly sweet nothings to, or to play footsie with, or--""I can have a bit of slap-and-tickle anytime I fancy, mate." Sirius directed a scowl at Remus' irritatingly benign smile. He knew the berk was having a good smirk at his expense underneath it all."But you don't." Remus spread his hands as if that summed things up neatly."You're missing the point. Deliberately being obtuse.""I'm obtuse? Oh, well, then. Please, do enlighten me."Remus was definitely smirking now."I don't think so, Lupin." Sirius said coldly."Don't be like that, Black." Remus grinned widely. "Listen, I've an idea.""I wasn't born yesterday, you know. Whatever it is, I'm not falling for it." Sirius folded his arms across his chest and looked out over the grounds, feigning disinterest. Secretly, he was all for it, whatever it was. Nobody could jolly him out of his moods like Remus could, but it wouldn't do to make that too obvious yet. Moony needed to work for it.A particularly loud snore reverbated through the open doors just then, and Remus and Sirius looked sidelong at each other and snorted laughter. After a moment, Remus stretched and yawned, then turned to Sirius, leaning one hip against the stone balcony."Did I ever tell you I really like your hair this length? It suits you. Longish, but not too long. Not like when it was almost past your shoulders and McGonagall had fits until Peter accidentally singed the ends off in Charms when we were learning Incendio.""You think so?" Sirius' pale hands reached up to tangle in the thick mass of hair, and Remus smiled. It wasn't that Sirius didn't know he was rather extraordinarily attractive, but he had the strangest flashes of insecurity from time to time. Then he frowned. "Did I ever pay Wormtail back for that?""Hexed his trousers off in front of Mary MacDonald when he was trying to ask her Hogsmeade.""Oh, right." Sirius laughed loudly. "Left his pants on, though, didn't I?""Yes, you're a regular fount of generosity."That only made Sirius snigger more."Really, though, you should thank Peter for it. Because your hair this way, it really brings out your eyes."Sirius glanced at Remus sharply, but he was staring serenely up at the stars."And," Remus went on. "It gives you that sort of bad boy vibe that I know you've been aiming for." His grin tilted to Sirius again, and he scuffed a foot over the stones to nudge at Sirius' weathered trainers. "Very rebellious youth, and all.""You..." Sirius stared down at their feet. "You're winding me up, aren't you?""If that's what you want to call it." Remus watched him, wearing the most guileless of smiles that Sirius didn't trust one bit."Moony." Sirius cleared his throat. "Are you--""Ready for the slap-and-tickle yet?" Remus interrupted, nudging him with an elbow this time.After it became apparent that Sirius wasn't going to do much more than stare, silently agape, Remus sighed and pulled away. He slipped through the double windows. "I guess they really do let anyone into Gryffindor these days."Three seconds later he was flat on his back being vigorously snogged by an indignant Sirius Black. The resulting shriek from Peter and his rapid exit from the bed they were currently sharing was only mildly disruptive."At least he stopped snoring."
|
167267
|
My Angel of the Lord
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Fandom - Character",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "Русский",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Vardek",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2009-08-20T00:00:00",
"words": "8,705",
"Additional Tags": "Humor, Romance, Fangirls, Internet",
"Relationship": "Castiel/Dean Winchester",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
В постоянном присутствии Кастиэля рядом было много положительных сторон.Для Сэма он превратился в неисчерпаемый источник знаний о сверхъестественном, и, пожалуй, не было в природе такой твари, по которой ангел не мог моментально выдать подробнейшую информацию.Для Бобби тот факт, что теперь на особо сложных охотах братьев сопровождал самый настоящий ангел Божий, здорово успокаивал нервы, а также существенно снижал риск сердечно-сосудистых заболеваний по причине хронического стресса.Для Дина... тот пока не до конца определился со своей позицией по отношению к Кастиэлю. С одной стороны, он был бесконечно рад, что ангел выжил в переделке с архангелом, выжил и вернулся к нему целым и невредимым, хотя и с несколько урезанными способностями. С другой... он не знал, что ему делать с теми жаркими волнами, проходящими по его телу, когда Кастиэль в своей излюбленной манере неожиданно оказывался совсем рядом; не знал, как унять бешеный стук сердца, отзывающегося на самое легкое прикосновение; не знал, как выбросить из своих мыслей одного настырного, холодного и в то же время удивительно эмоционального пернатого ублюдка, который раз за разом будто насквозь сверлил его пронзительным взглядом ясных синих глаз.Кастиэль смотрел на Дина так, словно все чувства молодого человека ему уже давно известны, и лишь равнодушие ангела к таким земным вещам не довело еще дело до выяснения отношений на публике, которую представляли Сэм и Бобби. И, черт с ним, с тем, что Дин уже какое-то время назад понял, наистерился и смирился с тем, что ему нравился этот ангел, обитающий в теле изящного, тонкокостного, темноволосого, синеглазого мужчины с точеными чертами лица.Нравился так, что порой дышать становилось трудно от того, насколько сильным и многогранным было чувство, разрывающее сердце и душу Дина. Но получить отказ, пусть и в мягкой форме, на глазах брата и человека, заменившего ему отца..? Пройти не только через унижение, когда его чувства будут отвергнуты, но и через публичный позор? Нет, такое снилось Дину только в самых страшных кошмарах. И это не было простым оборотом речи.Такие сны снились ему в последнее время с пугающей регулярностью, и каждый раз он просыпался, обливаясь холодным потом, а потом долго лежал без сна, уставившись в потолок, мечтая о несбыточном и страшась того, что когда-нибудь его страхи могут обернуться реальностью.Дин считал, что он был более менее в безопасности, пока Кастиэль оставался полноценным воином Божьим, отстраненным, сосредоточенным только на своей миссии, интересующимся только тем, что непосредственно касалось печатей, плана Лилит и угрозы возвращения Люцифера. Но в последнее время молодой человек все отчетливее ощущал, что почва под его ногами становится все более зыбкой, потому что Кастиэль, который теперь вынужден был проводить все свое время среди людей и получивший неожиданно массу свободного времени, если сравнивать с его былой обычной загруженностью, стал все настойчивее и активнее интересоваться окружающим его миром, людьми, их привычками, традициями и поведением.Если раньше все эти вещи просто не интересовали ангела, то теперь он с головой углубился в изучение человечества, и Дин с трепетом ожидал того дня, когда Кастиэль настолько разберется в способах, которыми люди выражают свои эмоции, что придет к своему подопечному, чтобы задать пару щекотливых вопросов, на которые Дин уж точно не сможет ответить не кривя душой, а ложь ангел распознает мгновенно. Пока же Кастиэль очень успешно доводил до тихого нервного срыва всех троих охотников, по очереди или вместе взятых, своими бесконечными "почему", "зачем" и "как".Это утро, на первый взгляд, ничем не отличалось от других. Ну, может, Сэм казался вздрюченным немного более обыкновенного, может, Бобби после вчерашних обильных возлияний встал не совсем с той ноги, может... Но в целом все было как всегда. И материализовавшийся посреди гостиной после одной из своих, ставших уже привычными, отлучек Кастиэль тоже не являлся чем-то уж очень необычным. Как всегда, после обмена новостями, Кастиэль окинул комнату хищным взглядом, чтобы определить, кому на этот раз не повезет отвечать на накопившиеся у него вопросы. Первым не повезло Бобби. Однако, старый охотник был стрелянным воробьем, а, может, просто голова болела сильнее обычного, и уже через пятнадцать минут ему удалось улизнуть, сославшись на то, что Апокалипсис Апокалипсисом, а бизнес остается бизнесом, и у него клиент должен с минуты на минуты приехать.Оценивающе посмотрев на парней, Кастиэль первым делом встретился глазами с Дином, но почему-то смутился и отвел взгляд, а парень незаметно облегченно выдохнул. Сэму же досталось по полной программе: то есть ему одному предстояло стать своеобразной энциклопедией всего земного для одного не в меру любопытного ангела. Дин тоже вышел из комнаты, решив воспользоваться моментом и принять, наконец, нормальный продолжительный душ, благо как раз уже должно было накопиться достаточно горячей воды после утренних плесканий Сэма.Винчестер-старший уже вышел из душа, оделся и сушил короткие волосы полотенцем, когда в их общую с Сэмом комнату ворвался младшенький, окинул брата безумным взглядом, скорчил зверскую рожу и сделал странный жест, будто душит кого-то невидимого. Дин на это только вопросительно приподнял брови и ухмыльнулся.- Он меня достал! - трагическим шепотом выдал Сэм, к которому постепенно возвращалась способность нормально разговаривать. - Это не ангел, а стихийное бедствие, Дин! Ну почему так несправедливо получается: ангел твой, а мучиться с ним в итоге мне?- С чего это он мой? - достаточно убедительно вылупился на него Дин. - Да и ты прекрасно знаешь, Сэмми, что из меня учитель никакой. То ли дело ты: и язык прекрасно подвешен, и объясняешь так, что и ребенок поймет, и знаешь намного больше, чем я со своим порно-эротическим образованием. Прямо Википедия ходячая.- Ладно тебе, Дин, - смутился Сэм, хотя было видно, насколько по душе пришлась ему эта грубоватая лесть брата. - Все равно он твой ангел, и мы с Бобби это прекрасно знаем. Хотя... погоди, что ты только что сказал?- Про порно-эроти..?- Нет, после... - Сэм нахмурился и тут же просиял. - Википедия, говоришь?- Ну... - неуверенно кивнул Дин, видя, что младшенького осенила какая-то идея.- Дин, - проникновенно заглянул ему в глаза брат, - официально заявляю, что ты гений! Это же так просто! Википедия!- И? - насторожился старший Винчестер. - Не посадишь же ты Кастиэля за свой компьютер?- За свой не посажу, - хитро захихикал Сэм. - А вот за твой - с превеликим удовольствием. Все равно ты им почти не пользуешься. А так хоть какая-то польза будет. И как мы раньше до этого не додумались?! Это же так охренительно просто!И радостно хлопнув дверью, этот лось умчался приобщать Кастиэля к радостям интернета.Несколько секунд Дин тупо смотрел на закрытую дверь, а потом опомнился. Это же его ангел! Только его и ничей больше! И... и... и нужно обязательно проследить, чему там его учит Сэм, пока наивный обитатель Небес не наткнулся на всевозможные подводные камни, раскиданные тут и там во всемирной Сети.Швырнув ставшее ненужным полотенце на стул, Дин вышел из комнаты. Кастиэль уже сидел за столом, примерно сложив руки на коленях, и сосредоточенно внимал нависшему над ним Сэму, который ласковым и проникновенным голосом, словно он разговаривал с умственно отсталым или маленьким ребенком, рассказывал ангелу, как обращаться с ноутбуком Дина. На лице Кастиэля отражался живейший интерес вкупе с полным вниманием.- Вот, смотри, это означает, что компьютер загрузился, - вещал между тем Сэм, на секунду отрывая взгляд от монитора и улыбаясь вошедшему в гостиную брату. - Теперь осторожно кладешь правую руку на мышь... что значит, ты не видишь мышь? А... Я не о живой мыши... Кстати, увидишь где-нибудь в доме настоящую мышь, скажи Бобби. Он с ними ведет священную войну с попеременным успехом. Так вот, "мышью" называется эта небольшая штука. Ага, молодец. Ладонь у тебя правильно лежит, теперь поводи мышью по столу... Медленно и аккуратно. Я сказал медленно, Кас. Вот, так намного лучше...Дин тихонько выдвинул стул и сел слева от Кастиэля, тоже заглядывая в монитор и приготовившись внимательно слушать, чтобы младшенький не надавал ангелу каких-нибудь "полезных" советов, после которых получившего культурный шок пернатого придется откачивать всем миром.К исходу часа оба, и учитель, и ученик, были очень довольны собой и друг другом, а Дин испытал очередной укол ревности, глядя на то, какими восторженно-счастливыми глазами Кастиэль смотрит на его брата-всезнайку. Но была и гордость за то, как быстро его ангел научился вещам, на которые у многих людей уходили долгие дни и сотни баксов, потраченные на компьютерные курсы для чайников. Сейчас ангел уже вполне осмысленно мог пользоваться Гугглом, знал такие сайты, как Википедия и Answers.com, мог прочитать последние новости на CNN.com и BBC.co.uk. Кроме того, Сэм в порыве альтруизма зарегистрировал Кастиэлю почтовый ящик на Gmail и рассказал, что такое блоги, для чего они существуют и в чем их общий смысл.На этом лекцию пришлось прервать, потому что в гостиной появился Бобби, который молча ткнул Дину под нос распечатку с очередным делом и посоветовал выехать как можно скорее. Кастиэль поднялся было, чтобы присоединиться к Винчестерам, но братья хором заверили ангела, что дело плевое и в его присутствии нет особой необходимости. Случай действительно походил на достаточно рутинное избавление от беспокойного духа, а ангел бросал такие жадные взгляды в сторону ноутбука, что было ясно, к чему у него больше всего лежит душа в данный момент.<<<>>>Оставшись в одиночестве (Бобби отправился вместе с парнями, чтобы немного размяться), Кастиэль задумчиво посмотрел на экран компьютера. Рядом с Сэмом все казалось простым и понятным, он даже начал делать успехи, как ему самому казалось. Но сейчас, когда поблизости не было никого, у кого можно было бы спросить совета, ангелу стало немного не по себе. Однако, источник неисчерпаемых знаний о человечестве манил его с такой всепоглощающей силой, что, отбросив в сторону нерешительность, Кастиэль мысленно обратился к Отцу с просьбой о помощи, решительно открыл окно веб-браузeрa и вбил в строку поисковика свой первый запрос: "религия, вера, ангелы". Ему было интересно узнать, что думает о вере в Отца Небесного большинство людей.Спустя три часа Кастиэль оторвал усталый взгляд от экрана и нахмурился. То, что он прочитал, здорово его огорчило. Люди верили в самые невероятные вещи, и на земле существовала масса религий, только некоторые из которых имели в своих корнях веру в Истинного Отца. Самое ужасное, что верующих людей становилось все меньше и меньше, были даже такие, которые вообще не верили ни в Бога, ни в ангелов, ни в Рай, ни в Ад, их называли атеистами.Ангел узнал о множестве ветвей в хриастианстве, о мусульманстве, которое тоже не было единым, об иудаизме, буддизме, кришнаитстве и еще десятках других религий и культов. С внутренним содроганием, отвращением и вполне понятным возмущением он узнал, какие у людей сложились представления об ангелах. И теперь вполне осознавал, в чем была причина непонимания, возникшего между ним и Дином в самом начале их знакомства.Всю эту информацию еще нужно было тщательно взвесить, обдумать и, возможно, поделиться с теми ангелами, которые все еще, несмотря на запрет, поддерживали с ним контакт. Кастиэль задумчиво нахмурился: в сложившейся ситуации вялотекущей войны любые знания могли быть полезными как людям, так и ангелам.В конце концов и те, и другие страдали от недостатка знаний, что не могло не сказаться на отношении ангелов к людям и наоборот. В то же время, это могло оказаться и опасным знанием, способным заставить достаточно доброжелательно настроенных по отношению к человечеству ангелов пересмотреть свои взгляды и отвернуться о людей.Между тем, находясь в глубокой задумчивости, Кастиэль бессознательно напечатал "Дин Винчестер" и автоматически нажал ввод. Количество ссылок, появившихся на экране, моментально вернуло его мысли к реальности, и ангел в полнейшем потрясении уставился на экран.Первой ссылкой, на которую он нажал, была страница Википедии. Кастиэль удивился тому, как такое было возможно, что столько людей знают о Дине еще до того, как Евангелие Чака стало новым Заветом будущих поколений, но вовремя вспомнил о том, что у книг Чака было множество поклонников и, вполне возможно, именно их усилиями и возникли все эти, исчисляющиеся тысячами, отрывки знаний о Дине Винчестере. Однако, по мере чтения различных сайтов ангел натыкался на все большие и большие несоответствия.Во-прервых, интернет был просто наводнен многочисленными фотографиями Дина. Порой подписи под фотографиями не соответствовали его имени - в половине из случаев Кастиэль находил одно и то же имя "Дженсен Экклз", но ангел списал это на очередную несуществующую личность, которой настоящий Дин пользовался в ходе своей деятельности, как охотник.Во-вторых, к его удивлению, "Сверхъестественное" почему-то называли телевизионным сериалом, а не серией книг.В-третьих, тут и там ему на глаза попадались новые и новые пророчества о том, чему еще только суждено было свершиться, и о чем мог знать лишь Отец и пророк Чак. Но, судя по обилию этих пророчеств, которые почему-то все называли "спойлерами", пророков среди людей было гораздо больше.В общем, к тому моменту, когда окончательно запутавшийся и абсолютно переставший что-либо понимать ангел, добрался до неприметной ссылки, гласящей "My Angel of the Lord", он окончательно и бесповоротно оказался затянут в загадочный и пока необъяснимый мир интернет-пророков, фанатов и фанатских дискуссий.Сайт размещался на Livejournal.com, про который ему рассказывал Сэм, сопровождая лекцию о блогах реальными примерами, и, судя по количеству подписанных на него людей, процветал. Быстро промотав неинтересные ему темы, Кастиэль наткнулся на достаточно горячее обсуждение под темой "Дин и Кастиэль" и углубился в чтение. Уже спустя каких-то десять минут у него возникло жгучее желание высказать свое мнение по поводу некоторых, задевших его, рассуждений фанатов. Какое-то время покопавшись на сайте, ему удалось зарегистрироваться под именем "curious_Cas" (он втайне был горд этой своей маленькой, но абсолютно самостоятельной победой) и вступить в заинтересовавшее его сообщество.Дискуссия, мимо которой не смог пройти ангел, была таковой.missis_huggins пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 11:38:00Меня просто не перестает поражать тот факт, что и Дин, и Кастиэль упорно продолжают ходить вокруг друг друга кругами и в упор не видят, в какую сторону уже давно развиваются их отношения. Это уже настолько избирательная слепота и глухота, что просто хочется уже схватить этих двоих за шкирку и запереть в одной комнате. И не выпускать до тех пор, пока они уже не придут к каким-то однозначным (вполне понятным всем динокастиэлевцам) выводам. Количество юста на экране под густым соусом дженового шоу уже зашкаливает настолько, что еще немного, и наш ОТП станет каноном, невзирая на все усилия Великого и Ужасного удержаться в рамках средней аудитории.Ronina пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 11:45:00ППКС! Юст с экрана прямо-таки сверкает и переливается всеми цветами радуги. Еще чуть-чуть и даже неосведомленному (живущему в танке со стенами толщиной в метр) зрителю станет ясно, что за такими переглядками и трогательными эмоциональными, буквально на надрыве, беседами должно последовать вполне ожидаемое продолжение: свидание и долгожданная НЦа. Потому что если Великий и Ужасный так будет жечь и дальше в их сценах, то его убьют нафик за слив перинга.april_willow пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 11:50:00*Задумчиво рассматривает капсы из 4х22* Люди, я вас обожаю! Вот все то самое, что давно вертится в моей голове по поводу неизбежного финала этих отношений. Если, конечно, Великий и Ужасный не надумает обломать нас по полной программе и прибьет пернатого в конце 5-го сезона (хлюп). Вот тогда я буду готова вырыть заныканный еще моим дедушкой томaгавк и выйти на тропу войны.RaSTudytTya пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 11:52:00Да, НЦ - это наше все. Только увидеть этот перинг на экране, по-моему, вот просто рассуждая здраво, нереально. Хотя, надежда умирает последней. Пойду читать фикшн и свуниться.Terrek_Mislow пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 11:53:00Великий и Ужасный нам, конечно, ни за что не покажет того, что мы все так ждем, но на то и есть фикрайтеры, чтобы, хе-хе, "сказку сделать былью". А Дин, да... Я уже не знаю, что нужно сделать Кастиэлю, чтобы до него дошло наконец! Кастиэль - ладно, он ангел, имеет право не быть в курсе всех человеческих заморочек. Но Дин-то!!! *ушла писать фикшн и свуниться*rosmarinus пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 11:55:00Всем ППКС! Оба хороши, если уж по хорошему. Один просто сам напрашивается на вполне понятную трактовку своих долгих взглядов, второй уже даже не видит в них что-то ненормальное. А постоянное вторжение в личное пространство? Это же просто песня! Да зуб даю, что, если бы Кастиэль выбрал себе вессель женского пола, то наш ОТП уже давно бы сиял неубиваемым каноном, тем самым, который не вырубишь и топором.missis_huggins пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:01:00Quote rosmarinus: “если бы Кастиэль выбрал себе вессель женского пола”Изыди, исчадие ада! ))))) Никаких женских весселей! К тому же на настоящий момент Дину уже, ИМХО, давно по барабану, по лепесину и мандарину, есть у касова весселя член или нет. ))) Дочитав до конца дискуссии, которая, судя по дате и времени появления комментариев, была сейчас очень актуальной, Кастиэль озадаченно откинулся на спинку стула. Ему было многое непонятно в разговора этих людей. Взять хотя бы это сокращение "ОТП". Что это такое, ангел даже предположить не мог, но, судя по всему, участники дискуссии были с ним хорошо знакомы. Или постоянное упоминание некоего "Великого и Ужасного". Они его вроде бы и побаивались, но в то же время достаточно свободно посмеивались над ним. Впрочем, Кастиэль был не первый день знаком с Дином, и такое поведение перед лицом опасности было очень присуще охотнику. Вполне возможно, это была общая черта людей. К тому же фанаты, участвующие в дискуссии, похоже, достаточно хорошо изучили характер Дина и были достаточно уверены в своих суждениях.Кастиэль решил, что вполне может задать им несколько вопросов. "Ведь хорошее знание своего подопечного является частью обязанностей ангела", - успокаивал он себя. Эти же люди постоянно намекают на какие-то факты о Дине, которые он, Кастиэль, не замечал или не придавал им должного внимания. Ему обязательно нужно было выяснить, что же, по мнению этой группы фанатов, он упустил из вида, строя отношения с Дином Винчестером. Ангел колебался всего несколько секунд, прежде чем начал печатать свой первый пост в сообществе.curious_Cas пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:07:00Здравствуйте.Ваша дискуссия показалась мне интересной и не лишенной некоторого смысла, однако хотелось бы уточнить некоторые моменты. Дин, которого я знаю - прекрасный человек. Он искренне служит человечеству и когда-нибудь выполнит миссию, возложенную на него Отцом. Его сердце отдано его делу и призванию, он превосходный охотник и, если и позволяет себе иногда... хорошо, достаточно часто, расслабиться (как он сам это называет) в баре или познакомиться с девушкой, то это никогда не становится для него главным, не затмевает его великую цель и предназначение.Что же до отношений между ангелом Кастиэлем и Дином Винчестером, то это сакраментальная связь между подопечным и приставленным к нему воином Господа. Вполне естественно, что после того, как они провели вместе достаточное время, их искренняя симпатия друг к другу (по крайней мере, в той части, которая касается вышеупомянутого ангела, я могу быть уверен) переросла в дружбу (как мне хотелось бы верить и со стороны Дина).Я не вполне знаком с принятой вами терминологией, поэтому не могли бы вы пояснить такие, часто употребляемые вами слова, как "канон", "юст", "ОТП" и кто такой "Великий и Ужасный". А также, что такое сезон и почему он 5-й.С уважением,curious_Casdanuzzi пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:08:00тихо ржеть люди, нашего полку прибыло ну что, кому не в лом провести курс молодого бойца для Cas?у меня пока объяснялку заклинило, потому что паццталомmissis_huggins пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:10:00Привет, Cas!Как модератор сообщества, приветствую тебя на сайте "My Angel of the Lord", посвященном пейрингу Дин/Кастиэль. Не обижайся на веселье, у нас редко появляются настолько незнакомые с фандомной жизнью новички, что приходится объяснять все на пальцах. Но, раз уж ты все же пришел к нам (кстати, серьезно, ты парень??? ), то располагайся, надеюсь, тебе у нас понравится, а я, как сказала дорогая danuzzi, проведу "краткий курс молодого бойца".Сезон.Ну, тут ты даже меня удивил, хотя мне всякие отжиги попадаются в сети. Сезон - это 22 серии сериала "Сверхъестественное", который мы все смотрим. Сезон начинается обычно в сентябре и заканчивается в мае. А потом наступает страшный зверь хиатус или межсезонье. Это то время, когда новых эпизодов сериала еще нет, либо они только задумываются Великим и Ужасным (который Эрик Крипке, создатель сериала про братьев Винчестеров, но его имя проклято, поэтому мы им не пользуемся ). Сейчас мы все активно ждем премьеры 5-го сезона и считаем дни до его наступления.Канон.Это просто. Все, что нам показали в сериале - это канон. Все остальное, что ты мог прочитать в фанфиках или в дискуссиях, называется фаноном, то есть фанатской фантазией. К примеру, если кто-то начнет яро уверять, что братья Винчестеры ездят по стране на розовых велосипедах, а не на родной Импале - это фанон.ОТП и ЮСТ.А это вообще-то причина, по которой мы здесь все и собрались такой теплой компанией. Наш ОТП (one true paring) - Dean/Castiel, что означает, что мы свято верим, что эта совершенно крышесносная парочка должна быть вместе. А ЮСТ - это то, что случается, когда люди долго скрывают друг от друга свои истинные чувства, но, зато, когда правда всплывает на поверхность... ух, фейерверк эмоций и прочувствованная НЦа. Сразу поясняю, НЦа - это наивысшая цель любого слешера (с) RaSTudytTya, или постельная сцена. И чем горячее, тем лучше.Если все вышеперечисленное тебя еще не испугало, то еще раз: добро пожаловать!Кстати, а ты, часом, фики не пишешь? Мы всегда рады новому фикрайтеру. Будут вопросы, обращайся, поможем, чем сможем.Ronina пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:15:00To missis_hugginsВау, солнце. Ну ты и расписалась! Респект и уважуха просто.To Curious_CasПривет, Cas ) велком.Да и расслабься ты, здесь все свои и общаемся без взаимных расшаркиваний.Прочитав ответные послания фанаток, Кастиэль еще пару минут тупо смотрел на экран. В этом мире он очень многое мог понять, многое в своей долгой жизни повидал, и мало, что могло его удивить или вывести из равновесия. И все же этим человеческим девушкам на такую, воистину практически невозможную задачу потребовалось пятнадцать минут.Если он все правильно понял из объяснений missis_huggins, все эти люди искренне верили в то, что его отношения с Дином Винчестером не ограничиваются дружескими. А идут дальше. Намного дальше. Ангел Божий был потрясен. Не то, чтобы его настолько взволновала сама вероятность отношений между двумя представителями одного пола - он был выше этого, - но Дин!Дин, ради которого он спустился в самые глубины Ада, ради которого пошел на прямое неповиновение, восстал против Захарии и плана Небес, потерял все, что когда-либо было ему дорого, и оказался изгнан на землю и приговорен к уничтожению... Дин бы никогда даже не посмотрел на него с чем-то иным во взгляде, кроме признательности и дружеской поддержки. Кто угодно, только не Дин Винчестер, которого Кастиэль уже успел достаточно хорошо изучить.Лишь иногда, вдалеке от пронзительного взгляда зеленых глаз охотника, когда Кастиэль оказывался наедине с самим собой, ангел мог бы признаться себе, что был бы совершенно не против, если бы Дин ответил на все те чувства, которые он втайне испытывал к охотнику.Кастиэль не сразу распознал в себе любовь. Для этого понадобилось много времени, разговоров со старшим Винчестером, попыток заглянуть в такую завораживающую и, несмотря на все испытания, по-прежнему чистую, сияющую ярким ровным светом душу Дина.И с каждым днем, с каждой встречей, с каждым взглядом на своего подопечного Кастиэль все сильнее ощущал, как его омывает новое и совершенно незнакомое чувство, которое толкает его на безрассудные поступки, поднимает из глубин его бессмертной души волну какой-то неправдоподобной нежности и потребности защитить этого человека. Одного из многих, встреченных ангелом за тысячелетия существования, и единственного, ради которого Кастиэль был готов умереть без приказа, по собственной воле пожертвовать собой.И сейчас, читая записи этого сообщества людей, которые искренне верили в возможность того, что Дин и Кастиэль могли бы быть вместе, ангел испытывал обиду. Обиду на то, что этого никогда не будет; на то, что эти люди так спокойно и даже весело обсуждали чувство, которое выворачивало его душу на изнанку, горело в его сердце и сводило с ума. Чувство, которое было недосягаемым, сокровенным и неприкосновенным.Кастиэль закрыл окно веб-браузера, выключил компьютер и встал из-за стола. Минуты, потраченные на чтение сказок о самом себе, сейчас показались ему бесполезной тратой времени. И... ангел просто не хотел обманывать самого себя. Это было бы жестокой игрой с собой и своими чувствами.Он отошел к окну и долго смотрел на пробегающие по небу обрывки облаков. Они не напоминали ему о Небесах. Человеческая фантазия скудна и скупа для того, чтобы представить себе истинное великолепие Небес, их холодную, спокойную красоту. Но ему просто нравилось смотреть на небо. Оно тоже было одним из творений его Отца.В то же время Кастиэль не зря выбрал себе ник "curious_Cas", он действительно был очень любопытным ангелом. И чем дольше он стоял у окна, тем сильнее его тянуло вернуться к компьютеру и узнать, почему же такое количество людей, которое было подписано на сообщество "My Angel of the Lord", так истово верило в возможность того, что он мог быть с Дином не только в качестве друга, но и в качестве... любимого? Любящего. Того, кому хотя бы позволено любить Дина Винчестера открыто, а не только в самых потаенных мечтах.И он вернулся.Сел за стол.Включил компьютер.Открыл окно веб-браузера.Каждое действие отточено и отстранено. Словно все внутри не сжималось от малознакомого ему чувства затаенного страха. Словно это касалось не его самого, а кого-то совсем другого. Для кого ответы на вопросы значили все на свете и еще чуть-чуть.И вот перед ним снова главная страница с красивым темным баннером "My Angel of the Lord", с которого на Кастиэля смотрит он сам, серьезный и, как всегда, сосредоточенный, и Дин Винчестер, в глазах которого за усмешкой прячется едва различимая нежность и тепло.Кастиэль уже не раз задавался вопросом, откуда эти фанаты настолько хорошо знают, как они выглядят. Он достаточно знал о телевидении и сериалах (спасибо Дину, который рассказал ему обо всех актуальных шоу в этом году) и единственное, что вызывало у него легкое удивление, это то потрясающее сходство между ними реальными и актерами, играющими их на телевидении. Впрочем, в жизни случались и еще более удивительные совпадения.Прежде чем начать писать ответ фанаткам, Кастиэль некоторое время собирался с мыслями. Он уже знал, что такое фанфикшн, о котором его спрашивала missis_huggins - просветился в Википедии - и был совершенно уверен, что это не входит в круг его занятий. Однако, если небольшая хитрость поможет ему свободнее общаться с этими людьми, почему бы немного и не напустить тумана? В конце концов, он никому и ничего не собирался обещать.curious_Cas пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:45:00Благодарю за гостеприимство.Я думаю над тем, чтобы попробовать себя в фанфикшне, но мне бы не помешала некоторая помощь.У меня есть несколько вопросов, касающихся отношений между Дином и Кастиэлем, и я хотел бы узнать ваше мнение по ним.- Вы думаете, что они могли бы стать хорошей парой?- Как, по вашему мнению, Дин относится к Кастиэлю?Мне действительно важно услышать не только ответы, но и обоснование.Заранее благодарю за помощь.Отправив короткое послание в сообщество, Кастиэль приготовился ждать столько, сколько понадобится. Он очень надеялся, что хоть кто-нибудь откликнется на его просьбу о помощи и внятно ответит, откуда же в них столько незыблемой уверенности в том, что он и Дин могут быть вместе.danuzzi пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:51:00О, мы всегда рады новым фикрайтерам! Так что не стесняйся, пиши и выкладывай, чтобы мы могли приобщиться к прекрасному.По вопросам же...У меня даже нет никаких сомнений, что Дин и Кас влюблены и просто созданы друг для друга. Это был бы союз равных, уважающих друг друга партнеров. Причем при всей взрывоопасности Дина, как ты заметил из эпизодов, с Кастиэлем он редко позволяет себе вспышки темперамента. Да, их разговоры эмоциональны и насыщены сдерживаемыми чувствами, но, при всем при этом, к концу сезона Дин может и просто говорить с Касом, он делится с ним тем, о чем болит его душа, ничего не скрывая и не прикрываясь щитами. Перед ангелом он весь, как на ладони, откровенен до обнаженных нервов... Он словно ищет поддержки у того, кто за короткий промежуток времени смог стать ему другом. Как я думаю, больше, чем другом. А Кастиэль, в свою очередь, делится с Дином своими мыслями. Пусть не часто, но даже такая малость, ангел, снизошедший до простого разговора с человеком, признавшийся ему в своих сомнениях, пытающийся поддержать смертного, а не просто отдавать приказы, и к тому же прислушивающийся к мнению этого человека. Это очень показательно для того, насколько здоровой и полезной для душевного равновесия Дина является динамика их отношений.Если это даже еще и не любовь, то уже солидная база, на которой могут появиться и более сильные чувства.Ronina пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 12:55:00Привет фикрайтерам! Прежде всего один неадекватный вопль: ДиноКас мой ОТП!!!Мне всегда казалось, что этой паре на экране просто не хватает какого-то толчка извне, чтобы они наконец-то проявили свои чувства. Вспомни, как началось общение Дина и Кастиэля. Кастиэль давил авторитетом, пусть и не очень агрессивно, если сравнивать с методами того же Уриэля, но ощутимо для того, чтобы нагнать капитального страха на Дина угрозой отправить его обратно в Ад. А Дин? Он же буквально шарахался от Кастиэля, воспринимал его в штыки, с сомнением в глазах, ожидая подвоха и подставы в любой момент. И не скажу, что он был так уж и не прав (как показал финал 4х22). Но вот дальше, после 4х03, когда они начали сближаться, узнавать друг друга...Мне кажется, реальный прорыв в их отношениях произошел именно в серии, в которой Дин отправился в прошлое. Кастиэль просто был рядом именно тогда, когда был нужен, когда Дину просто необходим был кто-то, чтобы он не остался совершенно один со своими воспоминаниями, с тем, что он узнал, с тем, что грядет, с тем, что он изо всех сил пытается предотвратить. И когда все попытки Дина терпят неудачу, Кастиэль сделал одну простую, как мир, вещь, показал Дину, что ему не все равно, что ангел может сопереживать человеку, разделить с ним его боль. Он просто положил руку на плечо Дина. Но это изменило все их дальнейшие отношения. Для Дина это был переломный момент. Он увидел рядом не просто холодного воина Небес, а существо, умеющее чувствовать чужое горе, пропускать его через себя, сочувствовать и сопереживать.И не случайно именно после этого момента, в разговоре с Сэмом Дин впервые назвал ангела коротким именем. Кас. Вроде бы ничего особенного, ну, длинное у мужика, упс, ангела имя. Или наоборот, ах, какая фамильярность! Но только не для Дина. Для него это знак принятия Кастиэля в близкий круг общения; признание того, что ангелу удалось перешагнуть порог между "мы" и "они", стать частью одного целого "мы", под которым Дин подразумевает тех, чья судьба ему уже не так уж и безразлична. Это еще не принятие в семью, но уже что-то гораздо большее, чем наблюдающий со стороны ангел Божий.Уф, расписалась я что-то.Надеюсь, это тебе поможет в написании фика ))missis_huggins пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 13:15:00О, девушки, да тут просто сплошные теоретики шиппинга собрались Даже не уверена, стоит ли вставлять свои пять копеек, но все же...Все мы знаем, насколько знакомый нам всем Дин терпеть не может "chick flick moments". Он постоянно, на протяжении всех сезонов очень громко озвучивал свое мнение по поводу эмоциональных моментов. А что такое эмоциональные моменты? Это те ситуации, когда мы все делимся с близкими нам людьми тем, что творится в наших душах. Болью, радостью, горем, счастьем, тем, что нас тревожит, что не дает спокойно спать по ночам, да просто тем, что как-то зацепило нас, заставило переживать.Дин пытается убежать от этого, маска крутого чувака настолько срослась с ним, стала частью его характера, впиталась в кровь, что снимает он ее только в тех случаях, когда все, пиздец, он либо сломается, либо все же приоткроет малую часть своего я тем, кто рядом с ним.В разные моменты сериала это либо Сэм, либо Бобби. Но это все знакомые, близкие люди. Сэм - брат, Бобби - суррогатный отец. Все логично, и это действительно те люди, которым Дин вполне может доверить себя. Они - его семья. И этим все сказано. Круг очерчен, казалось бы, раз и навсегда. Остальным приходится иметь дело лишь с его многочисленными масками.И вот появляется Кастиэль. Кто он Дину? Да, по сути-то, никто. Ну вытащил его ангел из Ада. Ну и что дальше? Дальше он взвалил на плечи Дина неподъемную ношу, похлопал по плечу и оставил одного, изредка появляясь только для того, чтобы вывалить на охотника новую информацию или послать к черту на кулички защищать очередную печать. С самого первого появления ангела на экране нам ясно дают понять: Кастиэль - всего лишь исполнитель чужой воли. Ну а ему самому от этого не должно быть ни жарко, ни холодно.Ах да, совсем забыла, кто у нас Кастиэль? Ангел. А что такое ангел? Конечно же, проявление сверхъестественного. А что у нас говорит несуществующий, но тем не менее свято соблюдаемый, устав охотников по этому вопросу? Правильно, возьми с полки печеньку. Все сверхъестественное мы убиваем. И Дин сталкивается с дилеммой. Кас - хладнокровный ублюдок, который ему угрожает, говорит загадками, ни хрена ему не объясняет, требует полного подчинения... Как-то не вяжется с образом светлого ангела, да? Но разве можно убить ангела? Он же, по идее, должен стоять на стороне хороших парней или нет? Дин мечется между привычной заповедью и тем, что, даже не веря в Бога, он не может поднять руку на ангела. Каким бы редкостным пернатым гадом тот ни казался.И в то же время, не доверяя ангелу, эмоционально Дин показывает ему удивительное доверие. Все те запретные "chick flick moments"? С Кастиэлем почему-то это незыблемое правило просто отбрасывается. Дин не боится показаться слабым в глазах ангела, тот уже видел его в самый худший момент его существования. Дин не боится открыться ангелу, показать, что его тревожит, что волнует, ангел первым открыл ему кредит на доверие в той сцене на скамейке в парке. А ведь все те вещи, в которых Кастиэль признался парню, для ангела ужасны. Это прямое указание на возможность непослушания. И это мы знаем, что на тот момент Кас был так же далек от непослушания, как Уриэль - от желания поцеловать Сэма (хе-хе, сорри, не удержалась). Дину это не известно, но он, уверена, понял, что все вещи, которые ему наговорил Кастиэль, лучше не делать достоянием общественности.Так к чему я это все? Мысль, вернись назад, поганка такая! А, вот, поймала.Я веду к тому, что с Кастиэлем Дину не нужно носить маски. Даже с Сэмом он стоически пытается сохранить образ сильного старшего брата. А вот с этим конкретным ангелом он весь открыт, предельно искренен... и он не боится плакать при нем. И дело не в том, что он не считает ангела за человека или принимает его за нечто сродни бездушной машине. Как раз наоборот. Кастиэль просто и доступно показал, что он может понять Дина и никогда не осудит его слезы. Потому что они идут из сердца, из самой глубины истерзанной души Дина. И он не будет его успокаивать и говорить, что все обязательно будет хорошо и за черной полосой всегда следует белая. Он просто положит руку ему на плечо. Или посидит с ним в тишине больничной палаты, слушая, как плачет этот неимоверно сильный и волевой человек.Мдя, пять копеек растянулись на эссе. Люююдиии! Заткните меня, плиз! А то меня несет april_willow пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 13:25:00Вау! Ну ничего себе пять копеек... Всем ППКС и пара слов от себя.Мы забыли о самом главном компоненте любого свуна по этой паре! Их переглядки!Cas, понимаешь, когда два мужика, пусть один из них и ангел, а второй типа натурал до мозга костей, ТАК пронзительно смотрят друг на друга, то остается только недоумевать: это что, у нас теперь так принято, кыхым-кыхым... дружить? Серьезно? Ага... мы прям так и поверили! ))))И если поначалу инициатором переглядок был Кастиэль, то, когда в 4х21 к нему активно и с энтузиазмом присоединился Дин, меня просто вынесло. И камера, уплывающая в небеса. При том, что парни, словно так и надо, продолжают смотреть друг другу в глаза. Так что, если бы раньше я еще может быть (что под большим вопросом) и поверила бы в то, что Дин у нас стойкий натурал, а Кас по нему застрадывает, то после этого душещипательного шипперского момента просто хочется похлопать Дина по плечу, сочувственно заглянуть в глаза и спросить: "Ну что, парень, пропалился?"З.Ы. Это я еще скромно промолчала про сплошной вынос мозга в 4х22 и как Дин, уже по собственному почину, проникновенно заглядывал в виноватые глазки Кастиэля, а тот их упорно (скромный наш) отводил.Terrek_Mislow пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 13:30:00Ну просто ППКС. Всем докладчикам!Есть еще один очаровательный момент, который выносит уже меня, а именно - личное пространство, которое абсолютно игнорируется Кастиэлем. И если поначалу Дин еще как-то дергался, то очень скоро вообще, по-моему, перестал обращать на это внимание.Мелочь, а приятно.Ну и еще, как он Аластара по башке чем-то твердым приласкал. Гул пошел. Хорошо так пошел.Типа: а ну, лапы прочь от моего ангела! И одобряющее эхо фанатов: "Правильно, так его, нечего тут на народное достояние покушаться". И еще... еще.. ой, меня, похоже, тоже несет, хи-хи-хи он никогда не называл Кастиэля "junkless". А вот бедолаге Ури от Дина регулярно доставалось. Особенно на предмет отутствия орехов в ореховницах.Пойду я, пожалуй, а то у меня фантазия что-то разыгралась.RaSTudytTya пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 13:41:00Quote Terrek_Mislow: “И еще... еще.. ой, меня, похоже, тоже несет, хи-хи-хи он никогда не называл Кастиэля "junkless". А вот бедолаге Ури от Дина регулярно доставалось. Особенно на предмет отутствия орехов в ореховницах.”Убила, солнце, в землю закопала и надпись написала. Но, кстати, да. Все так и было. В, гы-гы, наличии орехов у своего личного ангела Дин даже не сомневается. А вообще, действительно, он мог обзывать Каса бездушным, бесхребетным, но в том, что тот мужЫк, сомнений не было.И тихо себе под нос: охренеть, вы тут разбор полетов замутили! missis_huggins пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 13:47:00Еще вспомнились пара моментов.Для начала уже, наверное, со всех сторон обмусоленная серия с пытками Аластара. Вот представим на минуту, что Ури явился один и без Каса, ну или с любым другим произвольно выбранным ангелом в качестве небесной чирлидерши. Не знаю, какие у вас мысли, но я думаю, что хрен бы Дин зашел в ту комнату и рискнул встретиться со своей темной стороной. Той, которая пугала его, от которой он бежал уже второй год (глюки в третьем сезоне все помнят?); той, которую он предпочел бы забыть и никогда больше о ней не вспоминать. Он же сам сказал Кастиэлю: "Если я зайду в эту комнату, то тебе не понравится то, что выйдет оттуда". Его просили встретиться лицом к лицу с демоном, который пытал его 30 лет подряд, который сломал его, из-за которого Дин встал на тропу становления демоном.Но... его попросил об этом не Уриэль, а Кастиэль. Именно этому ангелу удалось пробиться к Дину, убедить его встретиться с тем ужасом, с которым охотник ни за что не хотел встретиться вновь. Он просто сказал, что отдал бы все, лишь бы Дину не пришлось снова проходить через весь этот кошмар. Но иногда цель выше, чем желания отдельно взятого (лучшего) представителя семейства пернатых и одного задолбанного уже со всех сторон смертного. И Кастиэль потом чувствовал вину перед Дином. Потому что верил, что подвела пентаграмма, которую чертил именно он, Кастиэль; что это он плохо выполнил свою работу, а в результате пострадал Дин. И, махровая ИМХА, конечно, но мне кажется, что именно из-за того, что Кастиэль был в таких расстроенных чувствах, Уриэлю удалось поставить Кастиэля на колени. Будь Кас в более спокойном состоянии, еще не известно, из кого бы перья летели в итоге.Ну и похулиганю напоследок. Все помнят шикарнейшую 4х18 и то, как братья просвещались в интернете, что думают о них фанатки? Как Дин возмутился: "Они вообще знают, что мы братья?" А Сэмми такой: "Похоже, их это не волнует". Я лично до сих пор думаю над тем, что Дин, Дин!!! который вечно громко возмущенно вопил на голубую тематику, подумал прежде всего, что они братья. А не мужЫки, в общем-то. И после этого больше ни гу-гу. Все, от Дина на тему гомосексуальных отношений на протяжении целого сезона мы больше протестов не слышали. То есть где-то там, в промежуток времени, который он провел в Аду, Дин перестал так сильно переживать то обстоятельство, что он натурал. До мозга костей. Или уже не натурал, но инцест его все равно продолжает сквикать?Конечно, притянуто за уши, но просто, как довод в защиту того, что отношения между Дином и Кастиэлем возможны еще и потому, что тот факт, что ангел находится в теле мужчины, может быть принят совсем не так, как в ранних сезонах.Вот теперь я действительно выдохлась.Ну, Cas, что скажешь? Вроде бы все основные моменты нашего ОТП мы подняли. Если у тебя и после этого остались сомнения, что пара была бы шикарной, то я уже даже и не знаю, что еще сказать. Кастиэль тоже не знал, что сказать. Он внимательно прочитал все, что написали фанатки в ответ на его вопросы. И все же вместо того, чтобы дать влюбленному ангелу надежду, дискуссия еще сильнее убедила его в том, что между ним и Дином ничего, сильнее дружеской привязанности, не может быть. Он понимал, что когда кто-то очень хочет во что-то верить, то любые действия интерпретируются в угоду фантазии и мечте. Но у него не было такой роскоши. Это не было заложено в самой природе его существа. Там, где эти люди видели намек на что-то глубокое, его холодный, аналитический и нечеловеческий ум видел лишь истину.А истина заключалась в том, что Дин был прекрасным человеком, в чьем сердце нашлось место и для ангела, которого изгнали с Небес. Но это было чувство товарищества, признания того, что Кастиэль на его стороне, дружеская расположенность. Настолько же далекая от романтической любви, как и братская любовь к Сэму. Дин мог переживать за ангела, волноваться, срываться на него, когда тот в чем-то подводил охотника, радоваться его успехам в понимании людей и даже затащить его в близлежащий бар, чтобы в очередной раз попытаться, любопытства ради, напоить Кастиэля до состояния опьянения. И все же это не было любовью в том понимании этого слова, какое вкладывали в него фанатки.Кастиэль пришел к ним, надеясь на то, что они помогут ему обрести хотя бы малую толику веры в то, что Дин когда-нибудь ответит на его чувства. А результате он только окончательно уверился в невозможности этого. Ангелу хотелось просто закрыть компьютер, прекратить терзать себя несбыточными мечтами, но это было бы слишком большой неблагодарностью по отношению к тем, кто хотя бы попытался...curious_Cas пишет в "My Angel of the Lord"2009-08-20 14:03:00Спасибо вам всем за ответы. Мне очень жаль, но я все равно не верю. Я совершенно уверен в том, что Кастиэль любит Дина, но что Дин может испытывать к нему такое же чувство? Нет, не могу поверить. Дружба, привязанность - да. Дин - удивительный человек, и я всем сердцем желаю ему обрести когда-нибудь свою любовь, но это не будет Кастиэль. Я глубоко поражен силой вашей веры, ее искренностью и непоколебимостью, и за это примите мое уважение.Прощайте.Кастиэль едва успел отправить свой пост в сообщество, когда неожиданно по ноутбуку пробежали тонкие разводы незнакомой ему энергии. Все произошло так быстро, что ангел не успел среагировать, когда энергия неожиданно собралась в один пучок и ударила ему в грудь, отбрасывая Кастиэля от стола к дальней стене. Перед его глазами все померкло, и впервые за всю историю существования мира ангел Божий узнал, что это такое - потерять сознание.<<<>>>Был уже поздний вечер, когда усталые охотники вернулись домой. Бобби первым зашел в гостиную и замер на пороге, в изумлении оглядывая комнату.- Черт! Что здесь произошло? - потрясенно выдохнул он.Дин оттеснил его плечом, заглянул внутрь и, громко выругавшись, бросился к ангелу, неподвижно лежащему у стены.- Кас! Кас, твою же мать! Очнись!Спустя пару секунд к нему присоединился Сэм, который склонился над стоящим на коленях над ангелом братом:- Не думаю, что Кастиэль придет в себя скорее, если ты будешь так его трясти, - прокомментировал он действия старшего.Дин метнул на него раздраженный взгляд:- Сэм, ты не в курсе, ангелы вообще могут потерять сознание, если их капитально приложить об стенку?- Понятия не имею, - пожал плечами Сэм и хмыкнул, качая головой, - тоже мне, нашел специалиста по ангелам. Хотя... Его не могли снова насильно вытолкнуть из тела Джимми?- Джимми мертв, - отрезал Дин. - Без Кастиэля это тело не может поддерживать жизнь.- Ну, тогда проверь его пульс, - посоветовал младший брат. - Мы все равно больше ничего не можем сделать, кроме как дождаться, когда Кастиэль выйдет из этого состояния. Может быть, он и поделится с нами тем, что здесь произошло.- Пульс есть, - спустя полминуты отчитался Дин, - нормальный, ровный. Сэм, помоги перетащить его на диван, не оставлять же на полу.Устроив ангела поудобнее, Дин остался стоять над ним, с тревогой вглядываясь в его лицо. Для Сэма уже давно не было секретом, что старший братишка сохнет по Кастиэлю, и шок от осознания этого остался в прошлом, поэтому он не удивлялся уже ничему. Винчестер-младший подошел к столу и проверил ноутбук, на экране которого все еще отображалась последняя страница, которую читал ангел. Быстро пробежав глазами по строчкам, Сэм хмыкнул, бросил короткий взгляд на полностью поглощенного своим ангелом Дина, прокрутил страницу вверх и начал уже внимательнее читать дискуссию с самого начала.- Дин, - наконец позвал он брата и мотнул головой на экран, - мне кажется, тебе стоит это прочитать.Старший Винчестер недоуменно смотрел на него пару секунд, но подошел.- Что там?- Довольно интересная дискуссия, про тебя, между прочим, - ухмыльнулся Сэм, на всякий случай отходя подальше.- Про меня? - удивленно распахнул глаза Дин и уткнулся в текст.- По-моему, мы здесь будем лишними, - спустя несколько секунд прошептал Сэм на ухо Бобби, который все это время просто наблюдал за суетящимися вокруг ангела Винчестерами, уцепил его за локоть и потащил из комнаты.- Почему это? - вяло попытался сопротивляться старый охотник.- Потом объясню, - тихо хихикнул Сэм, - если ты уверен, что хочешь это знать.Поглощенный чтением, Дин даже не заметил их ухода. Ему не нужно было быть семи пядей во лбу, чтобы догадаться, кто скрывается под ником "curious_Cas", уже сама по себе занудная манера общения в комментариях выдавала ангела с головой. Молодой человек только порадовался тому, что обитательницам сообщества даже в самых безумных снах не могло привидеться, что с ними действительно разговаривал ангел Божий Кастиэль собственной персоной. Иначе, Дин был уверен, тон и содержание их записей радикально отличались бы от того, что он сейчас читал.А почитать там было что. Уже с самого начала Дину стало не по себе, что где-то могут существовать люди, которые искренне верили в Дина и Кастиэля вместе, любящих друг друга. И эта их вера была на виду у всех, кому не лень было зайти на этот сайт и почитать то, что там писали фанатки. Смущало лишь то, что речь шла не о книгах Чака, в которых дело заканчивалось его, Дина, смертью и Адом, а о сериале. В котором, судя по всему, зрители были детально, с ужасающей точностью осведомлены о каждом их взгляде каждом вздохе, каждом прикосновении и более-менее содержательном разговоре.Возможно, не будь он сейчас настолько обеспокоен состоянием Кастиэля и поглощен чтением дискуссии фанатов, Дин и заинтересовался бы причинами такой потрясающей осведомленности, проверил бы сайт на принадлежность к миру сверхъестественного, заставил бы Сэма детально покопаться в интернете, в общем, отнесся бы к этому, как к еще одной работе. Но сейчас Дин был слишком выбит из колеи тем, как точно эти люди трактовали его поступки, словно увидели сквозь все маски его неуверенность и страх быть отвергнутым. Сэм бы его на смех поднял и издевался еще долгие годы, узнай он о таком радикальном повороте в ориентации старшего братишки. И ладно бы Дин просто вместо девочек стал бы интересоваться мальчиками, но ангел Божий... Это уже граничило с богохульством и извращением. От такого позора он бы еще долго не отмылся.И вот сейчас, читая черным по белому фону страницы признание Кастиэля в том, что он любит его, Дина, молодой человек хотел прыгать от радости, обнять своего неуверенного ангела, поцеловать его так, чтобы у того пол ушел из-под ног. А еще Дину хотелось хорошенько встряхнуть влюбленного ангела за шкирку за то, что он, казалось бы созданный для Веры в самом прямом значении этого слова, так и не смог поверить даже в возможность того, что Дин может его полюбить.Едва Дин успел дочитать последние записи фанатов, жалеющих о том, что так и не смогли переубедить новичка, и продолжающих дискуссию дальше, как экран ноутбука замигал, с него пропала страница сообщества, а вместо нее на абсолютно белом фоне появились черные буквы крупного текста: "Надеюсь, ты-то хоть понял, что должен сделать дальше? Или Мне, как Отцу Кастиэля, еще и лекцию прочесть, какого обращения Я жду от тебя к одному из Моих сыновей?"- Чтоб я сдох... - только и смог выдохнуть потрясенный Дин."Всегда можно устроить, но он же тебя снова вытащит".- Ни хрена себе... - Дин все никак не мог устаканить в голове то, что с ним сейчас разговаривает Бог... в которого он не верит... не верил..."Сейчас ты Меня попросишь доказать, что Я это Он?"- А ты сможешь? - с любопытством спросил Дин."Та страница, которую ты читал, уже достаточное доказательство. Я включил в архитектуру этого мира крохотный кусочек другого. Ненадолго, на время."- А я-то все удивлялся, откуда те дамочки так хорошо осведомлены, - пробормотал парень и тут же возмущенно вскинулся. - Слушай, мужик, может хотя бы объяснишь, почему ты тратишь время на то, чтобы устроить личную жизнь своего сынишки, вместо того, чтобы делом заниматься? У тебя там полный развал и анархия: ангелы, что хотят, то и творят, Апокалипсис уже дышит всем в задницу, а ты тут нашу с Касом "Санту-Барбару" смотришь!"У Меня есть План".- Ну, так может поделишься им с нами? Кастиэлю пришлось в бега податься, когда он попытался этот беспредел остановить, и теперь любая пернатая сука без раздумий его угрохает на месте, если встретит. Какая тут, к черту, любовь? Выжить бы..."Всему свое время".Экран ноутбука замигал, а когда картинка снова стала четкой, то на ней была главная страница поисковика Google.- Вот и поговорили... - озадаченно пробормотал Дин, проверяя историю сессии и не находя там даже намека на такой сайт, как "My angel of the Lord".В этот момент с дивана раздался едва слышный стон, и Дину понадобилось меньше пары мгновений, чтобы сорваться со стула и оказаться рядом с пришедшим в себя ангелом. Кастиэль непонимающе озирался, ощупывал себя и растерянно хмурился.- Кас, - позвал его молодой человек, присаживаясь рядом с ним на корточки, - как ты? Что случилось?- Я...У Дина аж сердце упало, когда у него возникло страшное подозрение, что он сейчас услышит: "Я не Кас". Но обошлось.- Я не знаю... Энергия... удар... а дальше... дальше темнота.- Это тебя твой Отец небесный приласкал, - злопамятно наябедничал на Бога охотник. - По-родственному, так сказать.- Отец? - удивлению в голосе ангела не была предела. - Но за что?Дин смотрел на взъерошенного больше обычного, встрепанного, в одной белой рубашке и помятых брюках, без привычного плаща и пиджака, ангела и чувствовал, как в его груди поднимается волна нежности к этому существу, смотрящему на него сейчас огромными невозможно синими глазами, в которых отражалось непонимание и боль. "За что?" Мог ли этот ангел всего лишь год назад задать с обидой в голосе этот вопрос всемогущему Богу? Скорее, принял бы наказание и еще себя корил за несуществующую вину. Сейчас же... Впрочем, Дин не собирался долго раздумывать на эту тему. Кастиэль изменился и точка. И по его скромному мнению, в лучшую сторону. За что же Отец Небесный так приложил своего ангела? На этот счет у охотника были подозрения.Пользуясь тем, что ангел все еще находился в состоянии шока от проявления неодобрения Отца, Дин сгреб его за рубашку, притянул к себе и, не дав Кастиэлю даже возможности возмутиться, начал целовать. Первые пару секунд Кастиэль никак не отреагировал на поцелуй; он испуганно и ошарашенно замер в руках Дина, позволяя тому творить с его телом все, что заблагорассудится.Почувствовав, как ангел внезапно напрягся, и поняв, что тот сейчас начнет вырываться, Дин первым отстранился от него.- Вот за это, Кас, - глядя в глаза Кастиэля и мягко улыбаясь, сказал он. - За неверие. За то, что в тебе не было даже надежды, хотя любви - хоть отбавляй.- Ты прочитал... - выдохнул Кастиэль, когда до него дошел смысл сказанного молодым человеком.- И рад этому, - отрезал Дин. - Представить страшно, сколько бы я еще набирался решимости, чтобы признаться. Если бы вообще признался.- Признался в чем?- Господи, ну зачем ты сотворил ангелов такими идиотами? - картинно закатил глаза к потолку Дин. - В том, что я тебя люблю, пернатое ты недоразумение!Глаза ангела широко распахнулись, синева в них, казалось бы, стала еще более насыщенной, а в следующий момент Дин уже снова целовал его, и на этот раз Кастиэль даже начал неумело отвечать на поцелуи, хотя и чувствовалось, что он еще толком не знает, что делать со своим языком. Впрочем, судя по собственным робким ласкам, Дин был уверен, что им обоим есть еще чему поучиться. Он ведь тоже толком не знал, как правильно ласкать тело другого мужчины, чтобы доставить ему максимум удовольствия. Хотя Кастиэль и отвечал на его прикосновения с неожиданным для ангела энтузиазмом.Когда, тяжело дыша от возбуждения, они снова отстранились друг от друга, Кастиэль уткнулся Дину в плечо лбом и тихо прошептал:- Отец был прав, наказывая меня за отсутствие веры. Я так давно тебя люблю...Он не договорил, потому что, наконец-то услышав это признание из уст самого Кастиэля, Дин просто крепко взял его за руку, поднял с дивана и целеустремленно потащил в свою комнату; ангел совершенно не упирался, а наоборот - покорно шел за охотником, даже не спрашивая, куда тот его ведет. Оказавшись в более подходящей обстановке, нежели гостиная, открытая любому любопытному взгляду, Дин решительно сгреб своего ангела в охапку и опрокинул на кровать, накрывая своим телом.- Знаешь, - прошептал он на ухо Кастиэлю, когда они избавили друг друга от одежды и их обнаженные тела соприкоснулись в первый раз. - Название того сайта... просто в точку... My Angel of the Lord.Конец
|
139947
|
Lists
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid",
"Fandom": "Criminal Minds",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by lastchancetolosecontrol",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-17T00:00:00",
"words": "92",
"Additional Tags": "Drabble, Challenge Response, Established Relationship, Concerts, Slash",
"Relationship": "Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Criminal Minds drabbles",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It started with Derek finding Spencer’s list of things he wanted to do before he died, and it ended with the two of them in the first row of a U2 concert. After the opening band left the stage, Spencer – pressed between the barricade and his boyfriend’s body – turned his head to look at Derek.“The list said attend a rock concert not die at one,” he said, loud enough to be heard.“Oh, shut up, you’re having fun.” Derek wrapped his arms more tightly around his body, and kissed him wetly.
|
133218
|
Twilight
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Eric Weiss, Nadia Santos, Sydney Bristow",
"Fandom": "Alias",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by jezebel",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-11-14T00:00:00",
"words": "935",
"Additional Tags": "Angst",
"Relationship": "Nadia Santos/Eric Weiss",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Hmmm. Two down. Four Letters. Everyone's greatest enemy." Eric mused aloud as he sucked on the end of his pencil."Sark?" He joked, making himself smile. "Well, I suppose not everyone would get that. What about two across?"Weiss chewed on the end of his pencil nervously as he looked at the clue. "Evening; Dusk. Eight Letters. I guess that must be twilight." He answered, taking his pencil and filling in the letters."Four across." Weiss looked at the clue, chewed on his lip and then silently filled in the answer. He did not think that she would want to hear the clue to which the answer was 'mother'."Two down. Four letters. T something M something. Everyone's greatest enemy?" He asked again."Time." A voice said from behind him, startling Eric into turning around. "Time is everyone's enemy.""Syd." Eric said, seeing the heavily pregnant Sydney Bristow entering the room. "Should you be on your feet?"Weiss knew that she was eight months pregnant and it had been a hard few months."We were just here visiting his daddy." Sydney said, rubbing her stomach. "I thought I would pop in and see how you guys are doing."Eric smiled and squeezed Nadia's hand."We’re okay." He said. "We read the paper and now we're doing the crossword. Not that your sister is much use." To anyone else the words would be just another of Eric Weiss's jokes but Sydney knew him too well to know that he was using his humour to deflect the pain he was feeling inside."No change?" Sydney asked, although it was a pointless question. She knew that since they returned from Russia there had been no change in her sister's condition."No, but I'm still hopeful." Weiss said. Inside he could feel the hope fading but he would not tell Sydney that. He didn't want anyone to know what he was feeling inside."You want some help with the crossword?" Sydney asked."No, we're okay." Weiss responded, knowing that it was hard for Sydney to be here. She blamed herself for what happened to Nadia and the guilt was not good for the baby."Well, I'll leave you to it." She said, giving him a peck on the cheek before leaving.He was alone again with Nadia and casting the crossword aside he took her hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, smiling as he remembered how she had blushed the first time he had done that. They had been at work in APO and she was convinced that her father would be watching.Weiss' happy thoughts ceased as he was again reminded of Arvin Sloane, a man who was currently rotting in isolation in a cell that was too good for him. It was nothing compared to the prison Nadia faced, locked in her own mind with no escape from the madness.It surprised Eric that the only person that had really been there for Nadia since their ordeal was Jack. Mr Bristow had his own pains to deal with from Russia and the brief resurrection of his wife but he had put that aside and arranged this private care facility first for Nadia, and then after the accident for Vaughn too. Jack had found a safe house in the middle of a nice suburban area and arranged for all of the equipment and staff that would be needed for their long-term care.Weiss was the only one that visited Nadia now. Everyone had come by in the first few weeks but after the second month they had more excuses not to visit. Vaughn's move to the next room created a brief resurgence in interest but it soon waned as Vaughn too was moved to the back of their minds when the more pressing matters of saving the world were again brought to the fore.Eric didn't blame them, Marshall and Carrie had enough to worry about with Mitchell growing rapidly and another on the way and Jack was busy looking after Sydney and the imminent arrival of his first grandchild, but sometimes Eric wished that just once they would come by to see her. Weiss hoped that their friendship with him would be enough to bring a visit but no one even asked him about Nadia anymore.He wasn't going to give up on Nadia though. He had the closest thing to happiness he had ever found with her and Eric could not easily turn his back on that. He could not turn his back on her. Everyone in Nadia's life, everyone that she had ever loved, had left her at some point and he didn't want to be one of those people.A police siren wailed in the distance pulling Eric's mind from his thoughts and he wiped his tears away. Weiss chided himself for getting sentimental and picked up the paper turning back to the crossword."So, what do you think?" He asked, speaking to his unhearing lover. "Five Across. Six letters..." Weiss trailed off as he realised that his heart was no longer in doing the crossword. He had already told her about his day but he didn't think that Nadia would mind if he just sat with her for a while. The doctors told him that they were not sure she even knew he was there at all.Eric's mind settled again to what Sydney had said. Time is everyone's greatest enemy. Perhaps it was but Weiss wasn't scared of this adversary. He wasn't going anywhere and for Nadia he had all the time in the world.***The End.
|
146118
|
Graceless
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "John Cho, Karl Urban",
"Fandom": "Star Trek RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by withthepilot",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-30T00:00:00",
"words": "2,858",
"Additional Tags": "Divorce, Separations, Angst",
"Relationship": "John Cho/Karl Urban",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
The first thing he does after he signs the papers is crack open a beer. The second thing he does is call John, speed dial number four after his parents, Nat and Chris. There's something mindless on the television, some game show that tests your smarts. He doesn't understand the reality television obsession of trying to show how smart or how talented you are; in the end, everyone's average and everything is pointless."Hey, man, what's up?" John says when he answers. Karl squints, suddenly left without a thought in his head, no idea how to articulate what he's just done.He settles on, "I did it." A few silent seconds pass."Shit, man." John goes quiet and Karl hears a noise that sounds like papers being shuffled around. "I'd say 'congratulations' but that might be...I dunno. Not good."Karl laughs against the metal rim of his beer can. "No, not too good. But I know what you mean.""You need a break," John says. "You should come and spend a few days over here. Hang out and get your mind off things.""Yeah," Karl agrees, before he can stop himself. He knows damn well it's a bad idea, but the idea is just so comforting. He lifts the remote control and changes the channel. "You sure Kerri won't mind?""Nah. She's hardly ever here anyway."Karl doesn't know what that means but he doesn't want to ask. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and thinks about sitting on John's sofa instead of his own. He remembers it fondly from past visits; it's huge and beige and comfortable as all get-out."Okay, then," he says. "If you're sure."*John is all smiles when Karl arrives with his suitcase in hand, pulling him into a tight, warm hug. He's dressed casually in a white T-shirt with a low, low V-neck collar and ratty jeans, no shoes or socks. In a way, it's better than if he'd worn something more formal. Karl smothers a smile into the warm cotton against John's shoulder."Thanks again for having me," he says for the third or fourth time, once he's in John's kitchen, suitcase squirreled away in a guest room. John shrugs and tosses him a cold beer, which he catches easily."Stop thanking me already. You're great company."Karl smiles, opening the beer with a cool pop and hiss. "So where's the wife and little bugger, then?""Oh...out of town. Visiting Kerri's mom." John smiles slightly and shrugs, leaning the small of his back against the counter as he opens his own drink, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You couldn't have come at a better time, really.""I like Kerri. She's a great girl." Karl shrugs, sitting down on one of the stools beside the barren kitchen island. "And Kage is just about the cutest little rugrat around."John nods sagely. "Good genes.""Sure." Karl nods back and grins. "Hers.""Obviously," John drawls, rolling his eyes. They both laugh easily."So how long will she be gone?""I don't really know, to tell you the... Hey, did I tell you? We got an old arcade console. Space Invaders."Karl's jaw drops. "You're kidding.""Would I kid about this?" John straightens up and waves for Karl to follow him through to the back of the house. "Come on, I'll show you," he says.Karl throws one last disinterested glance around the kitchen; then he picks up his beer and scurries after John.*"All right, mate," Karl says a few hours later, patting John's knee. He pries himself up from his slouch on the sofa and shakes his empty beer can a little before setting it down on the table next to a pizza box that's equally empty, save for a few discarded crusts. "My eyes are killing me from all that Space Invaders we played. I'm calling it a night.""You sure?" John asks. He motions to the television with the remote. "But Jimmy Kimmel's on.""He doesn't need me when he's got you." Karl smiles and stands, yawning into the crook of his arm. "Extra linens in the closet, right?"John smiles up at him. "Right. Use whatever you need.""Right, then. 'Night, John.""'Night, Karl."Karl ambles into the guest room and strips down to his boxers, then goes to the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. When he's done, he wanders into the hall to peer out at John, who's still watching television, one hand on the remote and the other buried in his dark hair, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach. Karl licks his lips and goes back into his temporary room, climbing into bed and falling asleep in the center of the mattress, on top of the sheets.When he wakes up after six to take a piss, he hears noise coming from the living room and he looks out to spot John doing push-ups, shirtless, the television still on in the background. Karl thinks it must have been the television that he heard, until John grunts in frustration and he recognizes the sound. John bows his head, biceps tensing and shaking as he continues on, and Karl wonders just how many push-ups he's already done.Then he wonders if John ever even went to bed.Three hours later, Karl goes into the kitchen, dying for coffee. He blinks in surprise when he finds John already there, pouring out a steaming mug full."Sleep okay?" John asks, lifting his brow and looking—for all intents and purposes—like the most well-rested man in the world."Not bad," Karl says. He takes the mug from John and sips slowly.*A few days pass. They go out for meals sometimes but mostly order in. They play video games, going back and forth between the arcade console in John's garage and his Wii and Xbox. They play basketball in John's half-court and sometimes John lets him win."Heard from Kerri?" Karl asks randomly one night, as they're flipping between bad movies on cable. John's got more television channels than a man could ever hope to watch in his life."Yeah," John says, his jaw moving in a way that suggests he's got something stuck in his teeth. He doesn't take his eyes off the television screen. "She's good. Kage is having fun so they might stay a while longer."Karl quirks a brow. "You'd think she'd want to take advantage of the time when you're here and not rushing off to a film set every day.""I guess she's used to it." John shifts to his feet suddenly. "Be right back, gotta pee," he says as he walks off.Once he's gone, Karl looks to the iPhone sitting on the coffee table and picks it up. John's screen protector password is easy to guess: Kage's birth date. When the device opens up to him, he flicks to the log of recent calls and looks over the received and outgoing lists. No Kerri. Only fast-food and delivery numbers, and then, going a few days back, a single call received from Karl Urban."Hey," he hears, and it sounds a little stiff. Karl looks up and sees John, standing there and staring at the iPhone still in his hand. For a moment, John looks pissed—betrayed, maybe. Annoyed and hurt. But then he laughs, a nervous little thing, and walks back to the sofa, taking the phone from Karl and immediately fiddling with it, pulling up his list of apps."If you wanted to play around with my phone, you could have just asked," he says. Karl feels an incinerating sting in his chest."John...you don't—""Ah," John utters, lifting a hand for Karl to stop speaking. His smile is so harsh that it's a grimace. "Let's just... Let's not do this right now. Okay?"Karl drums his fingers on his knees. "When?""I don't know. Just not right now." John chews on his lip and starts scrolling through apps, going quiet for a few minutes. When he finally speaks again, his voice is lower in volume, strained. "I got this app that acts like a magic eight ball. Wanna see?""Yeah," Karl says, and leans closer to look.*Karl turns over his sleep and adjusts his pillow beneath him, cracking his eyes open to peer at the nightstand clock. It's way too early to wake up yet, so he settles back into a doze.It seems like mere seconds later when he feels the mattress shift under him, a weight settling somewhere near the edge. When he opens his eyes and adjusts to the darkness, he can see the outline of John's back and shoulders, the graceful curve of his neck as he hangs his head, his fists balled at his sides and pressed against the bed.Karl licks his lips. They're dry after hours of sleep. "What happened?" he whispers. He waits for John to answer, listens closely as he takes shaky, painful-sounding breaths."We're separated," John finally says. The admission hits the humid night air like a heavy shoe thudding against a wall. "She left.""Fuck." Karl kicks away the small bit of bed sheet draped over his legs and sits up groggily. "Fuck, John. I didn't—""It's not so bad," John interrupts. Karl squints and makes out the fine point of John's chin, the shiny slope of his cheek. "It's better than the fighting. The fucking...constant fighting. And then the crying...Kage, that is. I mean, that kid can sense everything; it's fucking uncanny." He runs a hand over his face, ending at his chin, which he grips between his fingers as he thinks. "I'm doing okay, aren't I? I mean, I'm trying.""Yeah, John. You're doing great." Karl exhales, shaking his head. "I wish you would have said something. I didn't have to come. I'm...I'm okay now, you know."He lets himself say it even though it's not true. He's not okay, hasn't been for ages; signing the papers should have been a relief, a point of closure, but it only made things worse. It's the giving up that hurts the most—one signature and he loses everything, years of investment in love and family. Karl thinks that he can't imagine anything worse; except, perhaps, the dejected look on his friend's face that mirrors all the bad things brewing inside him.He's a royal shit for letting this slip right under his nose, is what he is."I wanted you here," John says, turning his head and risking a slight smile. And despite the visible cracks in the surface, he still looks strong and assured, sitting there in a tank top and shorts, hair sticking up everywhere. He looks handsome as hell. "So don't go blaming yourself for any of this, or I'll throw a basketball at your head."Karl smirks. "Again, you mean?""Yeah." John keeps smiling as he looks around, as if appraising the contents of the room. It's not much, really—just a bed and a dresser and some knickknacks here and there, and a misplaced Kiwi. "My bedroom's sort of..." John trails off, scratching his head, and Karl just nods and shifts over."Stay," he says.John hesitates and then nods, lying down on his stomach in the vacated space. He curls his arms beneath him and tucks a fist beneath his jaw, ignoring the pillow completely. Karl takes a moment to adjust his body on the bed and get comfortable; when he looks over at John again, he's already out like a light.*In the morning, Karl wakes to John's nose poking against the crook of his neck, a strong arm draped protectively across his chest. John appears to be a light sleeper; as soon as Karl utters a single, small sound of confusion, John's lifting his head and assessing the situation at hand with half-lidded eyes."Sorry," he murmurs, on the verge of looking embarrassed. "I'm used to—y'know, with—""S'okay," Karl says. And it is; he doesn't mind a bit. He brings a hand up to touch John's side and almost gasps when he makes contact. John is so ridiculously warm, his skin radiating heat like a madcap furnace, to the extent that Karl half-worries that he's running a fever. He doesn't move his hand away, though, just shifts it upward, his thumb stretching out to caress the coarse, dark hair that fans out from John's armpit. John jerks and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper and it's then that Karl shifts back. "Shit. I didn't—""Oh, god," John rasps.He leans down and kisses Karl fiercely, like the life force will leave his body if he doesn't, and Karl blinks before he grips John possessively and pulls him close. He's still so hot—Karl doesn't know how he got so hot, but he wants to be pressed against every inch of him."John," he manages, with every fleeting ounce of sense he can muster. "Are you sure you want...? You're not really—""Fuck, Karl, are you blind?" John groans. He bites the rising jut of Karl's collarbone, licks at the small hollow. "I've had a crush on you for years. But it was never—""The right time," Karl finishes, nodding. He presses his face against John's wild hair, huffs a shallow breath. "Yeah. Now, though...""Now," John agrees.They kiss messily and fumble with the sheets, rumpled around them like discarded skins, wrestling with each other's scant clothing until it's all off and forgotten. Karl grabs John and rolls him onto his back, settling between his legs and slowly dragging their cocks together, both already on their way to full hardness. John makes a noise like a pained animal, open and raw, and he scratches down Karl's back, causing his hips to thrust forward. Then John makes the noise again, a bit softer. Karl murmurs encouragement into his ear as he rolls his hips—he's doing most of the work because John needs this, needs him, and maybe one day he'll get to witness John's prowess but that day doesn't have to be today. Miraculously, they've suddenly got the one thing they never seem to have: time."Feels so good, Karl," John says, throwing his head back with breathy, stuttering sounds. Their nipples catch just as the heads of their cocks bump together and John gasps, the muscles in his arms shaking the way they did when Karl saw him doing push-ups. "Please, just—just like that, yes, fuck.""Just like this, yeah. Go on, John, come on."It takes a few more heavy thrusts of Karl's hips, but then John is arching and coming with a loud cry, his release hitting both of their chests. It's still so hot and the added dampness heightens everything, renders the air between their bodies nearly tropical, and Karl kisses John one last time before he digs his fingertips into the bed and comes harder than he has in months. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.The last thing he sees before he shuts his eyes is the corner of John's mouth, curving upwards to a place it hasn't dared to go in days, maybe longer.*Karl's sofa isn't comfortable. It's lumpy and an ugly shade of blue, somewhere between cornflower and navy, wrecked with stains that the kids collected over time. He misses John's sofa something fierce; mostly, he misses John sitting on the sofa, any sofa, handing him fresh beers and convincing him to watch Love Boat reruns at two in the morning.He had to go, really. Kerri was coming back to square things away and Karl knew full well that John didn't need any witnesses for that. It's a private thing, divorce—a messy and horrid nightmare that unfolds between one unlucky person and one other unlucky person that ought to proceed as quickly as possible, like a blood test or a punch to the face. Then it's over and you move on. Or you pass out, drooling, on the carpet.Try as he might, Karl can't find a single channel playing anything good, though he doesn't have nearly as many as John. He downs the last of his beer quickly and drops the can on the table, about to call it a night when the doorbell rings. It's half past one. He knows exactly who it is."Jesus, that's a long flight," John says, exasperated, as soon as Karl opens the door. He's got a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a suitcase resting on the ground, clothes and hair disheveled. He leans his hand against the doorframe and sighs. "Please tell me you've got beer.""For you? Always."Karl takes John's hand and leads him to his unsatisfactory sofa, upon which John slumps lazily, as though he's always belonged there. He looks tired and jetlagged, eyes puffy from the long trip, but he somehow seems wide awake, already hunting for the remote. Karl smirks and kisses him, then goes to fetch more beer. And if he doesn't get to sleep tonight, well, it's no big loss.
|
168063
|
Red Sky at Morning
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Justin Crowe, Iris Crowe",
"Fandom": "Carnivale",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by voodoochild",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-06T00:00:00",
"words": "1,461",
"Additional Tags": "Sibling Incest, Vignette, Early Work",
"Relationship": "Iris Crowe/Justin Crowe",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
She tastes like emotion.It’s always been like this between us, ever since that first time she lay beneath me and I licked acceptance and surrender from her skin. Every place my mouth meets her body, I can taste a memory of us.(“Irina, take care of the baby.”)Her forehead is safety, the way she held me tight on a riverbank and whispered that nothing would hurt me anymore. Father gripping my hair harshly as he tried in vain to force his way into my mind – realizing when it didn’t work that I was the son he would come to fear. Irina screaming for him to stop, and throwing a glass at him when he wouldn’t let go of me, kissing my forehead in reassurance, just like she has done so many times. Like she does now.(“You are forgiven.”)Her mouth is salvation, cutting off my shouts and prayers of deliverance, baptizing and healing me all at once. The innocent way she bites her lip when embarrassed, or in concentration, that makes me want to soothe the abused flesh with my own. Irina now crouched down the length of my body, mouth on the skin of my stomach, and I have to shut out memories of the false women she sent me. False prophets, seeing their own destruction through my eyes. It drives them mad, you know. Not my Irina.(“I will show you things . . . wonderful, terrible things.”)Her neck is danger, walking the razor’s edge between my baser instincts to bite down until she screams, and the knowledge that she would hate me for it. The knowledge that I have done so, and she has matched my passion with her own, raking her nails down my back. Scarlet letters joining scarlet lash marks of fervent penance. Irina drawing out a growl from my lips as she takes me in hand, those squared-off nails walking the line between pain and pleasure.(“I can’t believe you said that!”)Her collarbone is laughter, the way she can’t hold in her giggling when anything touches her in that ticklish spot. Memories of her smiles and amusement, both at my expense and at my urging. Her surprised shout of laughter as I roll her beneath me and feather kisses along the line where her shoulder meets her chest. The skin there flushes red in the blush I know and love so well, and she wrinkles her nose in the distaste that her skin has betrayed her again.(“Alexei, nyet! Close the door!”)Her breasts are discovery, and the fact that I still go shock-still at the sight of them, just like I did the first time I caught her post-shower at thirteen. She was nearly a woman, a few days shy of her sixteenth birthday, and I’d been mesmerized by the slow beads of water pooling between her breasts and falling down her back. Irina still gives me that familiar half-gasp of shock even now, as I tease the rounded flesh with my teeth and tongue, leaving angry marks on white skin.(“It was just the flu.”)Her stomach is the unknown, the knowledge that she could carry a life within her, and the thankfulness that I haven’t left permanent evidence of my desires on her. Despite that, it is my fondest wish to see her grow round with a child of mine, but I know the effect it would have. She would end up like our mother, so far gone with madness that she would not even know my name any longer. Irina cannot go to that fate, no matter how willingly she would submit – would surrender, like how her hips cradle mine.(“I always said I’d follow the truth, no matter where it led.”)Her sex is pure and undiluted lust, the basest of my sins, but the evidence that I am not alone in my crimes – she is with me, as she always will be. Her eyes lock with mine as I thrust into her, only breaking the gaze to throw her head back in that high keen I could listen to forever. She is pure crimson heat, the fire to my ice, and it is all I can do to keep from being consumed by her. Not that that would be a terrible fate, but it is said that in obsession lies madness, and I need all the sanity I can find. And I find it in her.(“You are acting like a child.”)Her thighs are youth, the way she can turn me into a teenager again with the rise of a hemline, and the fact that she knows she can. Oh yes, Irina knows full well what effect the sight of her bare legs does to me, and my head drops to her neck in defeat as she wraps them around me. My grip on her thighs is most likely leaving marks, but I have never particularly cared who sees my claim on her. Because she is mine, as much as I am hers.(“Turn it back, Lord!”)Her knees are pain, constellations of bloody penance mapped out on the pale flesh, crimson lines bisecting the faint dusting of freckles. My gift, the secret knowledge of a person’s darkest sins, has never worked on her. It does not need to. Her own body betrays her sins – just as mine does. She can read every single transgression written into my back, because she has inscribed most of them herself. And I can read hers, written across the soft skin of her knees. I am powerless to ease her suffering, except for these few moments when I can make her forget everything except for the way I feel inside her.(“We will build it together.”)Her feet are support, the base of the solid foundation I lean upon when I lose my way in the woods, away from her and all sanity. When I lost my God, I went looking for him in the wilderness. I thought I’d found him again on a riverbank, but what I truly found was her, just as I always have. She is my salvation and my redemption. My way, my truth, and my life. And she will thoroughly damn me, just as I have damned her.(“I’ve always known what you need.”)What I need is her, more than I care to admit. She is my death and rebirth, beginning and end. I lose myself in her, and she helps me find my way back. She is passion and moderation – red and white – like the lash marks of my back and the stained glass of her knees. She reflects both her namesakes: Iris, the goddess and messenger, who embodies rainbows; and Irina, “one who finds peace”. She is my goddess. She is my peace. In her, peace is with me. I collapse onto her, finding release as she falls apart under me.Morning has always brought shame and guilt. Muttered apologies and the occasional sharp reprimand for leaving telltale marks in visible places. It is always I who has left evidence – she is far too careful to give anyone reason to question our relationship. Not this morning. This is an ending and a beginning. I murmur my love for her into her skin, placing my lips to her shoulder (regret). She does not reproach, and I do not accuse. There is enough blame to share, and we will certainly both be doing penance for this blackest of sins for the rest of our lives.She says she is going to hell, but oh Irina, not yet. Not before I make my own journey there this day. For did our Lord not bid those he gathered at his left hand to burn in the fires of hell? I am the Lord’s left hand, and I shall gather the unworthy to accompany me on this journey. And she cannot be among those souls. This morning brought not shame and guilt, but acceptance and benediction. Where I am going, she cannot follow. She must not follow, for she will not be sacrificed. Her Judas kiss burns me still, but I know this is how it must be.“Ya sozhaleyu, Alexei. Ya tol'ko sdelal to, k chemu vy hoteli men'a.”She speaks suddenly, and I shake my head. Please don’t apologize. I know you only followed your destiny, just as I am following mine right now. I have always followed you, Irina, but now I must follow my own path. The end of my journey will lead me to you, just as it always has. And before I leave you this day, to deliver myself up to my enemies, I make one final request of you, sister of mine.Do not seek the living among the dead.
|
130370
|
Slow Decay
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "The Mentalist",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by melonbutterfly",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2009-06-15T00:00:00",
"words": "346",
"Additional Tags": "Drama, Drabble",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Patrick Jane",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Sometimes, all Patrick wants is to die.And he's serious about it; apart from the fact that he really, really wants to catch the bastard that took his life from him, there isn't much that is keeping him here.He's not depressed or anything. No, not at all; he is quite able to enjoy the little things in life; a nice cup of tea, a tasty piece of chocolate cake, stepping on people's toes with observations that baffle them in their accuracy. He enjoys all of those things, and more.But there are also things he doesn't enjoy, like coming back to his empty home, empty house full of memories and deafening silence. Like slipping underneath a cold blanket, waking up to a wet morning and for just a second wondering why he should get up. But he, of course, always knows why. He never forgets, can never let go. There isn't a day in his life he doesn't think about it, about the person who murdered everything, everyone he had and what he's going to do to him when he finally catches him.Sometimes, he wishes he could be like other people who have lost someone; he has heard they sometimes forget they are alone. They wake up and for just a moment think that everything is alright, their loved ones are still alive, still there with them. He would give anything for a moment like that, never mind the pain afterwards that would be all the more crushing.But such a thing wasn't granted to him. They were gone, and he knew that. There was a pain inside of him that constantly kept it deeply embedded in his conscious; that they were gone, that he was alone. When he was bantering with Lisbon he knew it; when he was exploring a new case, somebody's home he knew it; when he was egging on Grace he knew it.And he was going to make the person responsible for that pay. And then… he might as well die, for he sure as hell wasn't alive anyway.
|
146186
|
things catch
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/F",
"Characters": "Dakota Fanning, Kristen Stewart",
"Fandom": "The Runaways (2010) RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by preromantics",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-30T00:00:00",
"words": "1,147",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Dakota Fanning/Kristen Stewart",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"That's just -- it's shit," Kristen says, sliding down the couch so her legs are over the top and her hair nearly touches the floor. It's a hotel room couch, the material rough under Dakota's fingers and her thighs where her light dress is rucked up from sprawling out, tired after a day's worth of press.There is a People magazine on the suite's coffee table, complimentary, and the corner sports a picture of Kristen and Rob, talking close in some city, with an obvious headline.Dakota hums, low, and slides down sideways on the couch, throwing her own legs over Kristen's, her skin colder than Dakota's own and almost shocking, for a moment."Is it so wrong to hate seeing the same pictures, the same fucking stories every time I walk in a drug store?" Kristen asks."No," Dakota says, but amends herself. "Maybe.""Maybe," Kristen repeats, the word falling out heavy, like it's hard to get out upside-down.It's Kristen's suite, and they'd gotten up at nine, done for the night. They took out all the little chocolate liquor bottles in the mini-fridge (five in total), and, even though Dakota had drank before, probably too much for only being sixteen, when Kristen pressed the first into her palm, chilled, it had felt like a little thrill down her spine.There is one little bottle left on the table, now, that Dakota can see sideways, the foil over the screw top bent just a little. She leans up while Kristen hums something tired, low in her throat, something from the shoot, from being together the past few months.She grabs the bottles and part of her manicure chips when she peels the foil off, but it looks good, rougher, less perfect. Dakota hates being perfect. "I --" Dakota starts, as she crumples the foil between her fingers and shifts to sit next to where Kristen is hanging upside-down, "I used to love seeing my pictures in magazines.""You're young," Kristen says, "that's what it's supposed to feel like.""Who knows what anythings supposed to feel like?" Dakota asks, deciding not to be bothered -- they've bantered about age, about growing up, about life enough in the past few months. Dakota is only young in numbers.Kristen looks up, laughing out in presses of air, eyes bright. "You're too much sometimes, you know that?"Dakota rolls her eyes, reaches down and holds Kristen's jaw open with her fingers, pressing in. She tilts the bottle in her hand down to get the angle right and then pours a good third of it into Kristen's open mouth while Kristen watches, one eyebrow raised.Dakota presses Kristen's jaw shut with her fingers. "Swallow," she says, watching as she does, feeling the way it moves her fingers.Kristen doesn't say anything, and her expression doesn't change, but she opens her mouth again when Dakota moves her fingers down, and Dakota pours another sip into her mouth. There isn't much left after Kristen swallows, and she keeps her mouth shut for a moment."Have the rest," she says, voice low. For a moment Dakota wishes they'd thought to put on the tv, or the radio, and it feels weird, like the time they'd practiced their kiss on Dakota's bed before filming, Kristen with her awkward laugh and fingers too-cold curled around Dakota's neck. (Dakota's lips felt different for days, like if she closed her eyes they didn't really belong to her, they were part of Kristen now -- which was silly, because Dakota had kissed boys before, kissed a girl once at a school party, another cheerleader, and. It hadn't been like that.)"No," Dakota says, because Kristen is pulling herself up. Dakota presses open her jaw while Kristen is still moving, just a little, and pours the rest of the bottle in. The angle is different, though, wrong, and the liquid dribbles down the side of Kristen's mouth, down to her chin. "Dakota," Kristen says, sitting up now, her knees pressed into the back of the couch. "You should've saved it."Dakota laughs, because she thinks, watches Kristen move her hand to wipe away at the liquid on the side of her mouth, her chin, and closes her own eyes once before she grabs Kristen's hand."I did save some," Dakota says, grinning quick, probably a little foolish and young. She darts forward before Kristen's expression changes and licks at the bit on Kristen's chin, moving up, catching the corner of Kristen's lips.Kristen sucks in a tiny breath, the sort she makes when she sees too many cameras, or she sees that a bakery has her favorite type of muffin, or that craft services has put out a new pot of coffee. (Dakota likes the noise, a lot, especially now.)Dakota pulls back for a moment, licks her lips and swallows the taste on her tongue -- the bitterness of the alcohol, sort of too-sweet, too, and the salt of Kristen's skin."Yeah?" Kristen says, sort of a question, mostly a breath."Yes," Dakota says, right as Kristen reaches up to curl her fingers low against Dakota's neck, leaning forward. "Yes a lot," she adds, and smiles.Kristen doesn't say anything, but she closes her eyes when she leans in, pressing her lips against Dakota's, this time more fully, slick and hard, tongue slipping in-between in a way that makes Dakota press forward, groan a little high in the back of her throat.They move at the wrong angle, and Dakota can feel it as they are about to slip down, but Kristen pulls away -- too soon, Dakota wants, more than she should, definitely more than she should be allowed to -- and she stands on a jump, extending a hand out."The couch is gross," Kristen says."Scratchy," Dakota agrees, short, letting Kristen pull her up with her fingers around Dakota's wrist."We should go do this out on the sidewalk," Dakota laughs, giddy, even as Kristen is pulling her across the room, not too fast, but not slow, either. They have tonight, but right now they don't have forever. Not yet.Kristen looks back at her for a second, eyes squinted, mouth open around a question, but then she laughs, too. "That would give me something better to look at on magazines," she says, "but I'd only do it if we could both flip all the cameras off, too.""That's implied," Dakota says, and she jumps on the bed before Kristen can pull her down -- young, silly, amazing."Maybe tomorrow, though," Kristen says, thoughtful, climbing over top of her. "Are we?"Dakota presses up towards her. "We are," she says, answering whatever question Kristen had, because they are, together, no matter what Kristen meant. Dakota arches her neck up into Kristen's drag of lips, and she thinks about how they won't go out tomorrow morning and make headlines, but maybe -- maybe someday, they will.
|
140976
|
Homework
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Jake Berenson, Tobias (Animorphs)",
"Fandom": "Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Poetry",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "2010-12-20",
"published": "2010-12-19T00:00:00",
"words": "1,727",
"Additional Tags": "Male Friendship, Missing Scene, Yuletide",
"Relationship": "Jake & Tobias",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Yuletide 2010",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
I was doing my homework in the afternoon. Surprising, isn't it? You'd think I wouldn't have the time. Even when I'm not saving the Earth from alien invasion, I'm always thinking about it. Most kids daydream when they're not paying attention in math class. I think about strategies. Mistakes I've made. New morphs we could use. With all the thoughts chasing each other around in my head, it's soothing to do my homework. It reminds me what normal people are supposed to think about.It was a handout with short answer questions for history class. History's always been my best subject, but I found it hard to concentrate. It was a really nice day out, so I had the window open. I started writing an answer to a question about the Great Depression, but then this breeze came in smelling of freshly cut grass, and I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to fly on such a nice day. I looked back down at the paper and tried to summon the facts and dates back into my head.«1929,» said a voice in my head."Aah!" I dropped my pencil on the desk and did a double-take. Tobias was perched on my windowsill, yellow eyes focused on my worksheet.«1929,» he repeated. «That's the year when the stock market crashed.»"Tobias," I said quietly, through clenched teeth. "You can't be here. Tom might see you."«He won't. Some girl just picked him up in her car.» He added, darkly, «Looks like his Yeerk is dating.»I tried not to grimace. The girl Tom was "dating", whoever she was, would probably be next in line at the infestation pier, if she wasn't one of them already.«You can't save everyone, Jake,» Tobias said.Yeah. Like I needed a reminder, with him sitting there on the windowsill, a voice in the back of my mind whispering he wouldn't have to live like this if you'd only planned the mission to the Yeerk pool better, if only you'd reminded him how long he'd been in morph, if only you hadn't led him on that hopeless charge into the mouth of hell, if only, if only, you fool. I had picked the pencil back up and had it clenched so tightly in my hand it could have snapped.«Look. Just let me help you with your homework. I can do that much.»Part of me wanted Tobias to go away. I didn't want him glaring at me with those eyes like yellow-pointed knives, reminding me of all he could have been if his human life hadn't been cut short. But I recognized his offer for what it was. He missed the homework. He missed learning about human things, like history and art and science. He wanted to help me, in whatever small way he could."OK," I said, relaxing my grip around the pencil. "So Herbert Hoover was president in 1929. What did he do about the stock market crisis?"Tobias helped a lot with the history homework, but what he was really good at was English. I had to write an analysis of this poem by Alfred Tennyson.Break, break, break,On thy cold gray stones, O sea!And I would that my tongue could utterThe thoughts that arise in me.O, well for the fisherman's boy,That he shouts with his sister at play!O, well for the sailor lad,That he sings in his boat on the bay!And the stately ships go onTo their haven under the hill;But O for the touch of a vanished hand,And the sound of a voice that is still!Break, break, break,At the foot of thy crags, O sea!But the tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me.I thought it sounded kind of pretty, I guess, and sad, but I couldn't figure out whether it had some kind of deeper meaning.«What do you think?» Tobias asked me."Um," I said. "Well, I guess the poet just lost someone close to him." I shook my head. 'Lost' was such a weak word to use. Death isn't at all like being lost. It's not just taking a left turn instead of a right and ending up on the wrong street. It's being breathing and moving and alive one moment and the next moment just gone. "Someone he cared about died."«But he's also talking about the sea. And the ships passing by.»"Maybe the person who died was a sailor. Or he lived near the beach. Looking at the sea makes him remember." It was a good idea. I wrote it down.«Try reading it out loud.»I started with the first line. Break, break, break. The K noises were harsh and fragmented, like bones crunching between my teeth. I kept reading. When I got to the last line of the third stanza, Tobias told me to stop. «Say it again, and listen to the rhythm of it.»"And the sound of a voice that is still." I could feel the emphasis falling on the words. It sounded like my dad telling a story or a joke he's told a hundred times, the phrases all coming out in the same order and pattern they always do. "It's like he's remembering the way his friend used to talk."I couldn't help it. In that moment, all my memories of Tobias as the dweeby kid he used to be just rushed over me. I heard the way he'd mumble answers when the teachers called on him in class, head down, hoping no one would notice that he got the answers right every time. I heard the muffled cries coming from a bathroom stall as those bullies tried to shove his head down a toilet. I remembered the awe and the sadness in Tobias' voice when he spoke to Elfangor that night.I kept my eyes glued to the poem on my desk. I didn't want Tobias to think I was pitying him, because that wasn't it. Anyone else in Tobias' situation would have gone completely nuts by now, and somehow he dealt with it. That wasn't something to be pitied. I just couldn't help but wonder if I was the first one ever to realize that Tobias was worth something. Had value as a person."Jake!" My mom's voice, calling up the stairs. "Dinner!"«Guess it's time to go back to my meadow,» said Tobias.I didn't want to go down for dinner. I didn't want to hear my parents talking about the girl Tom had gone out with, whether she was a good match for him, how he was growing up so fast. Tom was growing up faster than they could ever understand. So was I."Stay," I blurted out.Tobias fixed me with those laser-focus eyes. «It's OK, Jake. I don't mind. The meadow isn't that bad. It's… kinda nice, I guess.»"I know. But if you want to sleep in a bedroom, just for one night - it'll be like a sleepover. Just perch on the night table and trash talk me while I play video games or something."«Not so much into video games,» Tobias said. He paused, then asked, «Can you leave a book open while you're having dinner? It's been a while since I read a book.»"Sure." I pulled a Hardy Boys book off my shelf and left it open on my desk. I felt bad that Tobias couldn't turn the pages by himself, but I wasn't about to mention it, so I just went down to dinner and hoped it would be enough.It turned out that my parents didn't realize it was a girl who picked up Tom, so I was spared that awkward conversation, at least. My parents talked about politics - something about the president cheating on his wife - so I didn't even have to pretend to be interested. I washed the dishes afterward, then went back up to my room, feeling a little nervous about what I'd find.Tobias was gone. Still, I didn't have the heart to close the window, so I left it open, even though it meant I had to put paperweights on all my homework to keep it from scattering in the wind. I still wasn't done for the night. I sat down and wrote as much about the Tennyson poem as I could, then did some math problems from my textbook. I'd gotten plenty of ideas for the poem analysis earlier, and I knew how to do the math just fine, but I still wished Tobias had been there. He enjoyed doing the work, and that made me like doing it too.Once all my homework was done, I got ready for bed. I still couldn't get used to changing into pajamas in front of the mirror. All the little scars I've had since I was a kid - like the one on my knee from when I fell off my bike in the woods near Grandpa G's cabin - were gone. The morphing healed those wounds just the same as the bloody gashes I get from Hork-Bajir in tiger morph, but those childhood scars were wounds I wanted, to help me remember. When I got into bed, I didn't quite feel like myself.Clutching the pillows in my fists, I clung to that daze you fall into when you're half-asleep, when the seconds and minutes melt together and your brain feels like it's floating in a warm bath. That's always the best part of sleeping for me. Once that warm floating feeling goes away, the nightmares soon follow.I heard a faint fluttering sound, maybe an evening breeze, from the window. Why did I still have it open? I couldn't remember. Shadows moved across my room. I had a feeling of being watched, but it didn't put me on edge. There was something calm and watchful in the darkness of my bedroom, like a guardian angel, maybe. Some part of me knew what it was, but it was slipping away, and anyway it didn't matter because for the first time since I heard the words they have come to destroy you, for the first time since I found out my brother was one of them, I felt like the place where I slept was home.
|
197724
|
Send Someone to Love Me
|
{
"Archive Warning": null,
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins",
"Fandom": "Supernatural RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by tebtosca",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-05-10T00:00:00",
"words": "4,206",
"Additional Tags": "hooker!Jared, virgin!Jensen",
"Relationship": "Jared/Jensen",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
“It’s kind of…mechanical.”Jensen pressed the phone to his forehead for a moment to block out the tinny sound of his agent’s voice before answering. “Misha, I did what you wanted me to do. You wanted sex, you have sex. Can you leave me alone now?”“Jensen, listen to me. Nick St. James is a passionate guy. What’s wrong with wanting to see him get a little action? It’s time, man,” Misha sighed, frustration creeping into his tone.“Nick St. James is a computer hacking spy. What part of that screams love interest?” Jensen huffed, even though he knew the answer.“James Bond.”“Shut up, Misha.”There’s a pause like Misha is trying to weigh his words before he just spits it out. “Look, it’s what the publisher wants, what the public wants. There’s talk about optioning the rights out and you can’t pass that up. All I ask is that you write something that doesn’t make it sound like you’ve never touched a pair of tits before.”Jensen tried to stifle a choked gurgle, but couldn’t quite manage it.“Oh my god, Jensen, you’ve never touched a pair of tits before.” It was a statement, not a question and Misha’s voice sounded a little stunned.“Who said I want to?” Jensen asked, quiet and almost sad.“Oh. Oh. That’s, well, okay, that’s okay,” Misha mumbled a little, obviously trying to figure out how this conversation had ended up here. “So. Hmm. You’re gay. That doesn’t have to be a problem here. Just think about how you feel when you have sex and put a twist on it. Maybe be more vague on the actual parts, and just go with the sensation.”Jensen felt his entire face flame red and was mortified, even though Misha was 500 miles away in his office in Manhattan and couldn’t see him. “I don’t. Well, I never. I mean, I don’t have a reference for any sensation.”“Jesus Christ, Jensen, are you telling me you’re a gay virgin?” Misha blurted and Jensen almost coughed up a lung.“Well when you say it like that….”“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, Jen. Just trust me. You trust me, right?” Misha asked, his voice suddenly firm and confident. That made Jensen even more wary.“No, I really don’t,” Jensen replied, but he heard the dial tone buzzing in his ear and knew it was too late.*****Jensen hadn’t meant to run away five years prior when he used his first big royalty check to buy his cabin in the woods of Maine. He told himself he would just go there to clear his head enough to write better, longer, tighter. He hadn’t expected the silence to calm the constant coil of fear in his belly, but it did and he was grateful. He had told himself that he didn’t need more than what the cabin could give him and no one had bothered him as long as his manuscripts ended up promptly in Misha’s mailbox. Now, however, they were asking him to experience something that terrified him through his writing and it felt like a corruption of his only safe place.He sighed and leaned his head back against the back of his huge clawfoot tub. The water, tepid now from an hour of quiet contemplation, moved in waves as his hand brushed inner edge of his thigh. He breathed in the scent of balsam coming from the open window and it calmed him. Slowly, he moved his hand until it cradled his cock, which was half hard now just from the all too rare touch. This he could do. His hand couldn’t reject him or tell him he was going to hell or that he was a dirty sinner who would never have anyone to love him. His touch grew firmer and his breath sped up as he let his brain shut down for a moment.The phone rang suddenly, pulling him abruptly out of his reverie. He groaned when he heard Misha’s voice over the answering machine (and the fact that he was the only person left on earth with an answering machine never went uncommented on) and let his head drift down into the water. It covered his ears and he noted blissfully that Misha’s voice was suddenly nothing more than a replica of Charlie Brown’s teacher.He went back to stroking but this time he couldn’t help his mind from drifting back in time to a ball field in the Texas sun. To a long neck with sweat rolling down it as slow as molasses. To an overwhelmed boy sitting in the stands wishing he could catch that sweat with his tongue and drink it down like sweet tea. To a smile that the boy pretended was aimed at him, but went right past his head to a pair of full breasts and slim ankles pressed against his back.He was close, so close, his hand moved fast enough now to splash water outside the tub until he was startled by what sounded like knocking at his front door.“What the hell!” Jensen huffed, as he jumped out of the tub and dried himself enough to pull on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He grabbed his glasses off the counter and put them on as he blinked water off his eyelashes. His cock wasn’t pleased with the interruption and twitched angrily inside of his pants as he pressed a palm down to calm it.He was at the door before he realized with horror that there was an actual non-Misha person standing outside his sanctuary. Willing himself to not start wheezing, he shouted “who the hell is it?” through the wood. He wanted to sound intimidating, but it came out panicked.“Hi Jensen, my name is Jared. Misha sent me to help you,” a voice responded, calm and in a drawl that made Jensen both wince and want to stick his hand down his pants.“I don’t believe you! Misha knows I don’t want to see anyone, so just go away!”The voice remained steady. “Misha said to check your machine. He said he would call to confirm that I’m legit.”Jensen eyed the blinking red light wildly and pressed the button with shaking hands.“Jensen, listen to me. I know you are freaking out right now, but don’t be. I want to help you, and I think the only way I can do that is to force your hand here. Jared is a professional. He’s there for the weekend and I want you to let him help you experience what it’s like to be with another person. Jensen, you need this. You can’t live your life never knowing what it’s like to feel things. Trust me, that’s all I ask. I’ve let you be for longer than I should have and part of me thinks I failed you. Let yourself go for once in your life. And goddamit enjoy your present.”Jensen stared at the machine as Misha’s voice cut-off, too flabbergasted to speak.“So, can I come in?” Jared asked, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.Sheer anger helped Jensen reclaim the power of speech and he nearly snarled as he pulled open the door. “Misha sent me a fucking hooker!”Jensen gasped as he finally saw the present on his doorstep. Jared was….everything Jensen had ever wanted and yet told himself he should never need. Tall and endlessly long, golden brown muscles pressing through white cotton, hair flopping over his hazel eyes that made him look younger than he probably was. He smiled when he saw Jensen and it was like a black and white movie suddenly converted to Technicolor.“I don’t understand.”“It’s okay, Jensen. I do,” Jared murmured kindly, his smile softer than it was a moment before. His eyes flicked down Jensen’s body in an almost imperceptible way and it made him hotly aware that he was standing there with wet hair, skin flushed red and wrinkled from his bath, and a pair of sweatpants that did little to conceal his suddenly raging hard-on.Jensen felt his entire body tingle with some strange anticipation and before he knew what he was doing, he was opening the door to let Jared into the cabin.*****I’m not used to making enough food for two people. Obviously.”Jared smiled slightly and shook his head. “It’s okay, Jensen. I ate a big lunch earlier.”Jensen felt a thrill shoot through him at the way his name sounded draped around Jared’s tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to regain his balance, but it was nearly impossible. The strangest feeling was washing over him, a mixture of absolute terror and overwhelming ease. Jared’s presence was doing this to him, and he didn’t understand why he hadn’t told him to leave immediately after he discovered Misha had sent him a hooker. Jensen felt his ears burning as he thought about what exactly Jared had been paid to come here and do.Jared put his fork down and looked at Jensen with thoughtful stare, like he was trying to figure out the best way to proceed without making Jensen run screaming into the woods.“What do you usually do to relax, Jensen?” he asked, repeating his name again, like it was important. Jensen looked up at him, startled out of his daydream.“Um, well, I write. But my current subject isn’t exactly relaxing,” Jensen mumbled as he was suddenly hit with flashes of Nick St. James the computer hacker spy on his knees to a tall gorgeous Texan, dimples indenting his cheeks as he peered down with dark eyes.“How about a bath?” Jared suggested, taking the reins. “I have a feeling I interrupted you earlier and you do have that big beauty of a tub in there.”Jensen’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull and he felt his glasses fall down his nose. “You want me to take a bath with you?” he nearly squeaked, as Jared couldn’t hold back a chuckle.“I want to make you feel good, Jensen. I want to teach you what your body can do.”His voice was low and deep and it shot straight to Jensen’s dick. Jared obviously took his slight twitch as a green light, as he stood up and grabbed Jensen firmly by the hand. Without further conversation, he pulled him into the bathroom and ran his hands lightly over Jensen’s shoulders.“You are so beautiful, Jensen,” Jared murmured, pressing in closer and moving his lips lightly over his jawline. “You don’t even need me.”Jensen realized he was holding his breath. “I need you.” His voice was so faint he didn’t even realize he said it.Jared moved over and pressed his lips chastely to Jensen’s, no intent behind it, waiting for him to respond. His huge hands moved soothingly up and down Jensen’s sides, trying to stop the trembling under his fingertips.Jensen felt like he was dying, but in the most glorious way. His skin was on fire from one kiss and he couldn’t even fathom how he could feel more than this. Yet he desperately wanted to find out, so he opened his mouth slightly. Jared took his signal and pushed his tongue past Jensen’s plush lips, gentle enough not to startle him, but firmly enough to make sure he knew that he was serious.Jensen made a noise deep in his throat and pushed into his mouth. His glasses bumped Jared’s nose then and Jensen remembered just how awkward he was. Mortified, he tried to pull back, but Jared’s hands pulled tight around his waist and pressed them groin to groin. He moved one hand up to Jensen’s face, took the wire rims off gently, and placed it down on the counter. “That’s better,” he breathed, dipping his mouth back into Jensen’s.They kissed for what seemed like an hour before Jared finally moved to lift Jensen’s shirt off. The bliss of the previous contact wore off as he realized that this huge Adonis of a man was going to see how pale and skinny he was. Jensen tensed immediately, but Jared just threw the shirt away and ran slightly calloused hands across his nipples until he was shivering with want.Time stood still as Jared started running the bath before coming back to undress him. Jensen was thankful that he didn’t have his glasses on, the blurriness helping him believe that Jared was merely his most glorious fantasy come to life. But then Jared picked him up and placed him in the bath and his almost-orgasm brought reality crashing back.“Can I?” Jared whispered, his tongue licking the shell of Jensen’s ear. He was kneeling beside the tub, fully clothed, his hand skimming the surface of the water.Jensen opened his eyes finally and Jared was right there, his breath on his cheek, his eyes warm but with pupils so dilated that his want was obvious. Jensen couldn’t bring himself to speak, but he nodded slightly. His erection was sticking up hard and red from the water and Jared’s huge hand wrapped around it with purpose. Jensen gasped as his thumb moved over the crown and rubbed the precome that dripped out of the top down the length of him.The only sounds in the room were Jensen’s panted breaths and the obscene splashing of the water as Jared jacked him, twisting his wrist every time he hit the top, pulling back down all the way to the base. He watched Jensen’s face the entire time, his mouth slack and passive but his eyes intense with some weird emotion.It didn’t last long and Jensen was painting his belly and Jared’s fist with white before the water was even lukewarm. Jared pressed another kiss to Jensen’s lips and smiled against them.*****For the first time in his life, Jensen woke up next to another person’s body. It was so foreign to him that at first he tried to pull away, but Jared was already awake enough to pull him back into his warmth. Deciding to not fight how unbearably good it felt to feel skin against skin, Jensen curled around Jared and put his head right over his heartbeat.They hadn’t done anything else that evening besides lying together and kissing. The incident in the bathtub (as Jensen was calling it in his mind) had already drained him more than he could have imagined, and he didn’t have the emotional stability to go past it all at once. Jared hadn’t pushed him and had merely wrapped his ridiculously long body around him like a heating blanket. Jensen felt warm and safe. And loved. As insane as it seemed, he actually felt loved. His heart nearly beat out of his chest at the mere thought.“Why do you do this?” Jensen blurted out, not knowing why the need to know suddenly overwhelmed his sense of decorum. He felt Jared tense for the first time since they met, and looked up to see his face.His dimples had smoothed out, and Jensen wanted to press his thumbs into his cheeks to make them reappear, desperate to get the suddenly sad look of his face. “I’m sorry, Jared, it’s none of my business. I mean, you’re the first person I, I mean, oh god, I don’t know why I asked, so I’ll shut up now.”That brought a light smile back to Jared’s lips and he smoothed a hand over Jensen’s sleep rumpled hair. “Well, it’s not like I planned it, of course. Went to New York to go to school but my parents didn’t have enough money to cover tuition and living expenses so I listened to a friend of mine who worked for an escort agency. The money ended up being too good to stop and, well--”He paused, frowning slightly. “Wow, I’ve never actually told anyone that before.”Jensen flushed red and couldn’t keep himself from beaming. “What did you want to be?”It was Jared’s turn to blush and it made Jensen want to rub his face against his skin until he could feel the blood burning into him. “This is going to sound silly, especially to you, but I was going to be a writer.”Jensen guffawed without thinking and instantly felt bad when Jared’s mouth twisted. “No, no, I think it’s amazing,” he whispered, peppering kisses all over his face until it relaxed again. “I mean, you’re here to make me a better writer. It just surprised me, that’s all.”Jared relaxed again and pressed his fingers lightly to Jensen’s cheeks. “So what about you, Jensen? How does someone as hot and talented as you stay a virgin this long? I would have thrown myself at your feet if we went to school together.”Jensen felt sad then, and he wasn’t sure if it was the question or the implication that they could have been something more, something real, under different circumstances. His mouth tilted down into a frown and Jared made to smooth it out with his thumb.“Hey, now, I didn’t mean to make you sad. You’re just so beautiful, you have all these freckles all over your face and when you blush it makes them stand out…your eyes are so green, almost like polished glass…and your mouth, Jensen, your mouth makes me forget my own name.” Jared only hesitated a moment before rolling over and pressing Jensen’s body deep into the mattress with his own. His legs parted instinctually and wrapped around Jared’s waist, pulling a groan out of him.Within seconds they were grinding against each other like wild animals, cocks pressed together yet separated by two thin layers of cotton. Jared had just enough control left to pull them both out of their boxers before he wrapped one gigantic hand around both their lengths and pulled roughly.Jensen moaned around Jared’s mouth but refused to part from him, ravenous for his spit and the bitter taste of sleep as he sucked on his tongue. Nothing had ever felt this good, and he almost started crying when he realized that nothing probably ever will. With that thought, he was spilling himself over Jared’s hand and cock, and the extra lubrication was enough for Jared to finish himself off as well.They laid together in a heap, foreheads touched together in silence, breathing as one.*****They spent the rest of the day just being together, taking a short hike in the woods and lying on the couch watching television. Jensen even let Jared read some unfinished chapters that Misha hadn’t even laid eyes on yet, and it felt more intimate than having Jared’s hand wrapped around his dick. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath as Jared read, until he finished and looked up at him with a look that ranged somewhere between admiration and awe. Every cell in Jensen’s body screamed at him to break eye contact, but he didn’t, and it felt like a victory when Jared leaned in to kiss him softly.They took a bath together after dinner, Jared behind him with legs and arms wrapped tight around him. He ran his knuckles across Jensen’s stomach, touch light as a feather but full of the promise of more. Jensen ached for it and pressed his head back against Jared’s shoulder.“I’m scared,” he whispered later, when they were in bed and Jared had him held tight underneath his massive body.“I know, Jen, I’ll make it so good for you.” The nickname made Jensen tingle low in his groin and all of the nervousness drifted away in a cloud of need and lust.He heard a click of a cap as a ghost of a finger pressed around his hole, teasing the muscle lightly before sliding in to the second knuckle. Jared swallowed Jensen’s groan with his mouth as he pressed firmly inside his body, all hesitation abandoned. One finger led to two and then three and he finally twisted them around to hit the gland that sent Jensen nearly flying off the bed.“It’s ok, baby, you’re so hot like this, so hot for me, go ahead and moan, I love it so much,” Jared babbled as he threaded his fingers out and fucked Jensen down onto them as he smeared lube around his inner walls.“Jared, I can’t, it’s too much!” Jensen mumbled, but his body disagreed with his head and he thrust himself down onto Jared’s wrist as far as it could go.“Trust me, Jen, trust me, I know what you need, I know how much you can take,” Jared licked down his collarbone, continuing until he could suck one pebbled nipple into his mouth and tug it between his teeth.Jensen was so overwhelmed with sensation that he missed the tear of the condom wrapper and squelching sound of more lube being stroked over him. His face contorted as Jared pushed something much larger against his poor virgin asshole, begging for entrance. The head finally popped through the ring of muscle and Jensen screamed.Jensen’s felt like all his nerve endings were in flames and tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes. Jared stilled suddenly and kissed the moisture from his face, whispering words of encouragement as he stroked down his sides. Eventually the pain subsided and this shattering sense of fullness soared throughout him. So this is what it felt like to belong to someone completely, he thought. This is what it felt like to be whole.“It’s okay, Jared, it’s okay,” Jensen breathed, astonished eyes meeting his as he pulled him closer by the shoulders.Jared groaned “thank god” before pulling one of Jensen’s thighs higher and pounding in fully. They whined in unison the moment that Jared’s balls touched Jensen’s ass and they knew they were fully connected.After that it was pure delirium as they moved together. Jared pulled Jensen up onto his lap and wrapped solid forearms around his back. The angle made them both insane and they kissed like they were dying of hunger as they found their own natural rhythm.After what felt like an eternity Jared wrapped a hand around Jensen’s length and implored him to give in. “Come for me, Jen, only me, let me be the only one, come on, let me feel you around me, god.”Jensen shattered at that, sobbing into Jared’s neck as he come all over both of them. Jared followed moments later as Jensen’s muscle clenched tight as a vice around him.They stayed that way for awhile, reveling in their connection and trying to contemplate what had really just happened.Suddenly, Jensen was overcome with words soaring through his mind and he jumped up, groaning as Jared’s softened member pulled out of him. He ran to his desk and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen before rushing back to the bed.“Turn around!” he ordered as Jared looked at him with a surprised, yet amused smile.“Yes, sir,” Jared saluted, laying down on his stomach and grinning when he felt the notepad touch his back. Jensen scribbled furiously for nearly twenty minutes and Jared laid there silent and still, happy to be an inspiration to him. Finally, he threw down the pen and pressed a kiss between Jared’s sweat covered shoulder blades.“Stay with me.”Jared stilled, unsure of what was being asked of him. “What do you mean, Jen?”Jensen rolled him over and straddled his hips, for the very first time unashamed of his nudity. He threaded his fingers in Jared’s and pressed them against his heart. “Jared, stay with me. Write with me. Live with me. Love with me.”Jensen could see hundreds of emotions flickering in Jared’s hazel eyes, an entire lifetime of doubt and fear and hope. He couldn’t do anything but show that he was willing to give himself to Jared so he smiled until the lines around his eyes crinkled and his cheeks hurt.Jared’s expression turned then, and Jensen knew it would all be okay.“Yeah. Yes. Yes, Jen, I’ll stay with you.”*****“So Misha, Nick St. James is gay. The reason he became a computer hacker spy was to hide his true self but he’s ready to finally live up to his full potential and live the way he wants to, the way he needs to.”There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Damn, how good is this Jared guy?”Jared laughed happily as Jensen smacked him on the arm and shushed him. “This has nothing to do with Jared! This is about Nick and he’s a badass spy who happens to be awesomely and happily homosexual. Who has tons of gay sex. So much gay sex.”“Well, Starz is one of the networks bidding on the rights. If we can get Barrowman to commit to the pilot, I think this could really work….”Jensen hung up the phone before he could hear the screws in Misha’s head work themselves to a grind. He grinned at Jared and cocked one eyebrow.“How about we outline the part where Nick meets his new handler?”
|
188635
|
Apathy
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Bernard Black, Manny Bianco",
"Fandom": "Black Books",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by anemptymargin",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2004-09-14T00:00:00",
"words": "3,046",
"Additional Tags": "Old Work",
"Relationship": "Manny Bianco/Bernard Black",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Philosophy:3. A system of values by which one lives: has an unusual philosophy of life. Bernard Black has always had a certain philosophy on life. While he admits it may not be a perfect one, it has always suited his needs quite well. His philosophy? Apathy. It's always been a very good way of life for him and with a few exceptions it's just easier to not care about most things in general.The exceptions of course were wine, tobacco and a decent book. They were all very worthy things to care about. Without books he'd be even more broke than he already was and terribly bored even more often, without tobacco he'd never be able to have a good smoke and without wine... well, there is no such thing as a world without wine - and if there is he certainly wouldn't want anything to do with it. The other possible exception happened to be doing something with the shelves that Bernard knew he would probably find terribly annoying if he really cared about it.Bernard had come to have a kind of an indescribable outlook towards the bloke. Manny had been his assistant for quite some time now, and when he wasn't be an absolute idiot, he wasn't so bad. He was handy at finding things, and always ready with some wine or a light or a sandwich. In fact, while it was all Manny's fault that he had to deal with buying more books - not to mention pricing them or putting them on the shelves - he had to admit it was nice to actually have the money that came with the selling of the books."Bernard..." Manny's voice drew the shop owner out of his two-bottle thoughts, causing him to slowly glance upwards from the page he'd been pretending to read. "Are you alright?""Quite." He made a big show of marking his place to be sure Manny had noticed that he was interrupting something. Of course, Manny had not noticed.Instead, he walked down to the desk and pulled out his chair. His chair... when had it become Manny's chair? Bernard shook away the thought, rubbing the corners of his eyes as the other man poured out more wine. "Just... you've been rather quiet tonight. And, uh... well, there's no easy way to say it...""What are you on about now?" He sighed to himself and took a long drink off his glass. It was time for another one of Manny's rambling mostly non-nonsensical attempts at conversation.Not that conversation was particularly a bad thing, it just required a lot of talking and some degree of thought."Well, you've been reading the same page for two hours." Manny shifted in his seat, slowly sipping at the wine."Have not." Had he? It was possible that he had been daydreaming, histories had always been a bit of a bore - but two hours? Impossible."Have too." Manny picked up the book and pointed at the page, "Page forty-two. You were on page forty-two when I asked you if you wanted a pizza.""That wasn't two hours ago... the pizza would be here by now." Ah, logic. That might shut him up."You said you wern't hungry."Ah. Right. Two hours? Not possible..."You've been awfully distracted lately, Bernard. Are you sure all's good?" Manny was stroking his chin slowly, looking at him a little too closely for complete comfort."Fine." Bernard waved a hand, directing his attention anywhere but at his friend. "Just a little... tired." He nodded to himself at the good recovery, tired always worked...How could he have just lost two hours like that? Sure he'd had some wine... but he was far from drunk. However, he couldn't even remember what he had been thinking about that had caused the words on the page to go runny and not really matter much."Right then." Manny nodded, slowly standing up. "You, uh... wanna go get something to eat?"Food. Yes, food was mostly still in the apathetic category... entirely too much time spent worrying about eating it or preparing it. Unfortunately it was more difficult to feel apathetic about hunger... especially when it pertained to oneself instead of children in Ethiopia or whatever. With a slight nod, Bernard finished off his glass.***Sleep. Sleep was another one of those things that made it hard to be apathetic about everything. It was a necessity and for the most part a rather pleasant thing that was easy to do without really thinking about it. Of course, everything changes when one suddenly can't get any.Bernard sighed and scratched over his stomach, briefly considering rolling onto his side before deciding that would probably take too much effort. Instead, he concentrated on nothing at all.The problem with concentrating with nothing is that it often leads to concentrating on the furtherest thing from what he would would normally concentrate on. Stupid things like the sound of the rain on the window, or the hollow tapping as it leaked in through the roof onto the spot on the floor where it had leaked for as long as he'd own the place. Things like how another glass of wine would be wonderful, but that would mean getting up and putting on his robe and going downstairs and pouring out the wine...There was a shallow cough outside his door, but Bernard was too busy deciding if the wine was worth the effort to actually hear it. The gentle knock drew him out of his daze."Bernard... are you awake?" Manny's voice came from the other side and Bernard froze... watching a thin beam of light from the hallway as the door cracked open.He didn't respond, instead he looked up from the floor, to the hem of Manny's robe... up the carefully tied slit down the front and eventually settling on the other man's beard."Bernard?"He groaned and faked a cough to appear as though he'd been sleeping; "What is it, Manny?Manny stumbled forward, leaving the door partially open. His footsteps echoed with the rain drumming against the window. "I, uh... I couldn't sleep and thought you might be awake." He hoisted a bottle of wine, the reddish color barely visible in the mostly dark room. "I brought some wine.""Wine, good - great." Bernard pushed himself up on the bed, letting the dusty duvet pool at his waist.Manny slowly settled into the bed, brushing aside some crumbs before pouring two glasses of red wine. "I've been thinking and...""That's your problem." Bernard sighed, fumbling on the nightstand for a cigarette and a light. "If you just stopped thinking so much you wouldn't be so fecking annoying."There was a pause, "You really think I'm annoying?"Well. In a word? Yes, sometimes... but from the look that Manny appeared to be tossing at him it might be a bad idea to answer. For anyone else, he'd probably just say the first thing in his mind... but ever since Manny's episode with the photographer he was wary about saying things that could potentially drive him away.Not that he was afraid of losing Manny, of course not. He'd barely noticed that Manny had gone... were it not for Fran's incessant whining about the man's absence he could have been gone for months without any notice. Possibly. Perhaps. Well, probably no... but that was really irrelevant in the scheme of things because if he felt the way he thought he could then that might mean he was a homosexual. And he was definitely not a homosexual, they're so fussy about that whole shower thing... and the dancing... and that dreadful music..."Bernard... are you alright?" Manny look concerned again, and Bernard felt it might be best to respond."No. I mean. Yes, what was the question again?" His mind had gone off on a tangent again. "You're not really that annoying, Manny.""Oh. Right." Manny was silent again. He finished his glass and reclined against the headboard, appearing to settle in quite nicely.He knew what was going on. Fran used to do it all the time, fishing for a compliment... trying to strike up conversation without being the first one to speak. What Manny didn't seem to realize was that it hadn't worked for Fran, and would certainly not work for him.He poured out more wine and Bernard finished his cigarette, stubbing it out in an old wine glass. "Bernard... do you ever think about love?"Bernard scoffed, "Love? You're joking, aren't you?" Love. Shite. Pure and simple just a load of crap as far as Bernard cared.Manny shrugged, "No. I'm not."Silence again as Bernard really had no response to that. Manny seemed to move closer and pressed another cigarette in Bernard's hand. "Thank you, Manny... I..." Bernard caught himself short, wondering just what it was he was actually going to say."What was that?""Nothing." Bernard sighed and pulled away, suddenly even more confused than before. Perhaps Fran was right and all the wine he'd consumed over the course of his life was catching up to him. Yes, perhaps Manny had thwarted his philosophy of apathy, but it wouldn't be too bad. He could care about the bloke, maybe. You know, assuming it didn't turn out like the last time he actually tried to care about something. And it was beginning to become clear that he'd come for more than just wine and good conversation."Right." Manny nodded to himself, his robe falling open at the chest.By the time Bernard had finished his second cigarette and glass of wine the silence had become just as annoying as the conversation. Finally Bernard snapped, "Why did you come here?"Manny shrugged again, pushing his hair back. "Just thought you might want to talk, that's all.""So you have absolutely no intentions of having sex with me?" It was a simple, to the point, question.The other man seemed amazingly shocked, then rather embarrassed. "I.. uh, well. Of course not." He shook his head, "I like women.""Sure, sure." Bernard nodded, a tingle near his thighs making him wonder if he was actually interested in the idea or just had an odd itch. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been interested in having sex with a bloke... but it was Manny, "Of course you aren't. Look, maybe you should go back to your room now..."Manny ran a hand over his beard, "Bernard... what makes you think I was here to... you know...""I don't know... you just sort of had that sex aura. Now, if we're not going to have sex this conversation isn't going anywhere and I'm sure you'll have me up at the crack of noon and...""I suppose we could." Manny cut him off."What?" Confused again, though not about the subject matter."Have sex. I suppose." His hands were at the belt of his robe."Alright then.""Right." Manny's belt was untied and he appeared to be hesitating."Right." Bernard echoed.The both finished their third glass and set them beside each other on the nightstand. Bernard's glass tipped, then rolled off and shattered on the floor. Neither of them seemed to notice."So, we're going to do it, then?" Manny raised an eyebrow tentatively.It occurred to Bernard that one of them would have to actually do something, and seeing as how he had already said something he didn't think it should be him. Of course, Manny was annoyingly being himself. Taking what little initiative he wanted, he tossed the covers off his lower half."You're naked." Manny was obviously no stranger to the obvious, that was a nice bonus."Nice of you to notice." Bernard ran a hand up his thigh, finding that the tingly sensation was indeed something he would usually take care of on his own time, but he'd already taken a big step... no sense in fouling it up.Manny pushed the robe off his shoulders, his skin looking almost too pale in the dim room. "I'm not really good at this type of thing...""Dreadful, actually." Bernard nodded in agreement, "Would you mind terribly putting your hand right here?" He took the closest hand and set it on his lap."Uh, no." Manny shook his head slightly, "Guess not."They progressed slowly, Manny's hands working over Bernard's thighs closer to his crotch - seeming to find every mole or weird bump or stray hair along the way.Bernard had pushed himself up against the pillows and let one arm slide behind his friend, pulling him closer as the other had mindlessly began to stroke at Manny's beard. He very much tried not to think about it at all.Manny began to trace subtle lines up Bernard's cock is it strained closer to his hand, eventually giving in and wrapping his fingers around the length. "Gently, now..." Bernard whispered, a smile crossing his face before he had known it was there."Is that alright?" Manny whispered back and Bernard realized that Manny was also stroking himself, so he wasn't the only one aroused. It was a little comforting, if nothing else."Yes." He answered simply, pushing his hips into Manny's slow strokes as his hand pushed back into the other man's bed-snarled hair. Before he caught himself, Manny had pressed closer so they were almost face to face... eye to eye. He swallowed, feeling the pressure building in his cock.The kiss was unexpected, but not bad. The beard grated on his face... but it wasn't nearly as annoying as he imagined it would be. Bernard's mouth opened, letting the other man's tongue slide past his lips as he felt himself getting closer. He knew it wouldn't take long... he'd always been a bit of a quick-draw, but it had never really bothered him.Manny's hands worked faster still, as though he'd been rubbing cock all his life. His thumb rolled the first signs of wetness over the head, causing Bernard to pull away and bite into his lip as his body acted without him."Do you want me to..." Manny started, but Bernard cut him off with a loud grunt that meant something along the lines of 'whatever you do, don't stop that' and apparently he understood.He pushed his face into Manny's neck then, kissing at the skin as though seeking out a vein. He bit down gently as muscles clenched, groaning loudly into Manny's skin as he came over the top of his hand.When Bernard pulled back up his friend had switched hands, using his come as a lubricant to his own stroking. His eyes were closed and he had leaned farther back against the sturdy frame, his lips parted slightly as he thought about whatever he thought about at moments like that.Normally, admittedly, Bernard would simply wipe up with a well used handkerchief and let whomever finish... but it was Manny, and he had come with at least a little intent of something happening. It wouldn't really feel right to just leave him to his own devices. In what he would consider a romantic gesture, Bernard moved onto his belly between Manny's legs before pulling himself up on the bed, pushing up under his thighs.Manny's eyes opened and he froze, letting his knees be hooked over Bernard's shoulders as he gently began to nose at his cock. "Bernard..." The name was barely a whisper, and missed Bernard's mind completely as he took the length in his mouth.Manny tasted of sweat and come and just the faintest hint of the soap he'd showered with that morning. Again, he tried not to let himself think... but it was getting tougher to consider himself even slightly apathetic about the bloke. Sure, he found Manny to be the epitome of annoyance... even to the point of being a complete and total twit in general. But, it was the rather annoying things that were beginning to grow on him. Things like the fact that he was always so nice... and so easy to manipulate and so trusting of everything.His inner monologue slowed considerably when he felt Manny's rough grip on his hair, pushing himself in deeper and faster. It was a side Bernard had never seen before and while it would be interesting to see the look on his face, he wasn't about to slow down..."Yes... oh God..." Manny was still whispering, mostly incoherent as he seemed to put everything he had into it. The headboard rattled and thumped against the wall, then his body froze and Bernard felt the familiar taste of come on his tongue.It had been quite a while, and Bernard hoped Manny wasn't too surprised when he sat up and swallowed. Then grabbed blindly for the wine bottle and a cigarette.They were silent for a long moment, then Manny picked his robe up from where it had been discarded among the rumpled sheets. "Well, then." He coughed slightly, stopping as Bernard swigged right out of the bottle. "I suppose I should get off to bed...""Yeah, it's getting late." Bernard nodded, his mind suddenly feeling a little too dim for his liking."Right." Manny pushed himself off the bed and pulled on his robe, then looked to Bernard as if waiting for something.Bernard lit his cigarette and cleared his throat, washing down the remainder with more wine. It hadn't been good, nor bad... it was nice to know that his apathy was still standing strong in the face of opposition. Of course, there was that whole Manny thing to resolve. What did it mean? Why did it matter so much that it had to mean anything?"Well, good night then, Bernard." Manny seemed to give in, turning towards the door.Just as he opened it into the hallway Bernard finally thought of something to say, "I'm ambivalent, about you." It was fair, he had some sense of feelings for Manny - though the bigger portion of them not easy to really cope with.Manny stopped again, as though thinking about it. "I... I guess that's alright.""Yeah?" Bernard smiled to himself, knowing full and well Manny couldn't see it."Sure." Manny took a step out the door."Right then." Bernard nodded, "Good night, Manny."
|
125427
|
Beautiful
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "Kaylee Frye, Inara Serra",
"Fandom": "Firefly",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by SecondSilk",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-10-10T00:00:00",
"words": "306",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Kaylee Frye/Inara Serra",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/F, Gen",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Inara's been on Serenity three weeks and still Kaylee hasn't done more than nod and wave and say hi to her. And blush whenever Inara looks in her direction.It's just that Inara's so piao liang and refined and has such pretty clothes. Nicer than Kaylee can get Serenity to looking without more money than the Captain's prepared to spend on ship that still flies.Kaylee tries to explain this to Inara when Inara asks what it is that she's done to offend Kaylee. But her words stumble over each other and she flees to the engine room, which understands her and doesn't ask questions.Inara looks ridiculously out of place amid the wires and tools that are still scattered across Kaylee's space. But she doesn't move any less serenely for having to pick up her feet. She crouches down beside Kaylee and watches her connect a trail of leads from various parts of the engine to a device settled in her lap."Just testing the voltage drop," Kaylee says, with a shrug and most of a smile.Inara reaches out to cup Kaylee's cheek, headless of getting grease of her hands."You are beautiful, bao bei."Then she leans forward and presses her lips to Kaylee's. When she pulls back, Kaylee is beaming at her, and makes no move to wipe the swear of lipstick from her mouth."I want us to be friends," Inara says. "Let me make you some tea.""I've got to finish running this check, first. Don't want us all to be electrocuted in our sleep."Inara smiles at the light tone Kaylee uses, and tucks her legs under her to sit on the grating beside the engine. Kaylee looks back at her from the trail of wires, surprised. Inara waves at the blinking device."Explain it to me," she insists.
|
152579
|
Phone call
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Helen Magnus, Nikola Tesla",
"Fandom": "Sanctuary (TV)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Shadadukal",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-01-16T00:00:00",
"words": "269",
"Additional Tags": "Community: sfa_pornbattle",
"Relationship": "Helen Magnus/Nikola Tesla",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Sanctuary Pornbattle",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"I'm bored.""I can't believe you're calling from wherever it is you are just to tell me this!""It's cheap to make a phone call these days.""What do you want, Nikola?""I'm bored. Entertain me… Please?""No. Whatever your game is, Nikola, I'm not playing it.""An adult game.""Nikola!""Come on, where's the harm in it? Or are you not alone in your office?""That's not the point.""I'm sure you need to relax.""There is no relaxation to be had where you're involved, Nikola.""What are you wearing?""Nikola!""Helen, what are old friends for?""Drive you mad apparently.""Mad with pleasure.""Just with a burning desire to kill you next time we meet.""Getting shot hurts…""Good.""…even if I heal. Oh Helen, we can definitely play it like that too. Would you spank me if we were together?""I'd rather whip you.""Really? And would I be tied up?""Of course. And blindfolded as well.""What would you be wearing?""I wouldn't let you see.""Helen…""And you'd have a gag too.""… Are you... still playing?""Clearly it doesn't make a difference to you whether I am.""It does.""Are you close?""Simply… thinking of you …always gets me… halfway there.""I wouldn't blindfold and gag you.""No?""Maybe at first. But then I'll take them off. It's interesting to see you transform when you're losing control.""Are you… saying… my real self… turns you on?""I said interesting.""I'm not… one of your… pets.""Oh Nikola, you are and that excites you.""…""You're so easy, Nikola.""Only for you, Helen. Only for you."
|
149483
|
Shine
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Casey (Supernatural), Original Female Character",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by EllieMurasaki (AlexSeanchai)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-01-07T00:00:00",
"words": "24",
"Additional Tags": "Episode: s03e04 Sin City, Bechdel Test Pass, Community: 100_prompts",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Take Me For What I Am",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Hey beautiful, you know how to make a Rise n' Shine?""Sure do, sweetheart. Southern Comfort, banana liqueur, orange juice, grenadine?""That's the one."
|
133300
|
piggyback ride of love
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Yamaguchi Kumiko, Sawada Shin",
"Fandom": "Gokusen (TV)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by anenko",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-11-14T00:00:00",
"words": "330",
"Additional Tags": "Jdrama, Snippet",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Yankumi thumped at her chest, and said: “you think I can’t do it, Sawada? I’m strong!”Shin glowered at her. He knew she was strong; he didn’t care. “No,” he said, “absolutely not.”Yankumi leaned in towards him. “It’s late. No one will see us.”“I’m fine,” Shin said, shrugging off Yankumi’s hand. She looked affronted. Good. Maybe she would give up, and leave Shin with some pride intact. “I can manage by myself,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ankle.Yankumi had left the thugs piled up in front of the broken door of the garage they had forced Shin into. He had knocked out one of them; Yankumi had taken care of the rest. If Shin was the kind of man to indulge in petty revenge, he would have kicked at the pile of groaning bodies as he limped past them into the cool night air.Shin’s ankle throbbed. His pride drove him forward.He made it to the end of the street.“Sawada,” Yankumi said.“I’m not helpless,” Shin muttered. “I’m not a kid.”Yankumi’s hands settled on her hips. Her feet were braced wide apart, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes shining. “I understand a man’s pride! I know that a man believes in shouldering his own burdens,” Yankumi said.He didn’t want to get a lecture on manliness from Yankumi. Better to walk home on a twisted ankle than listen to one of Yankumi’s ridiculous, enthusiastic speeches.“But a real man knows that he can’t do everything by himself. There’s no need to be embarrassed in front of me,” Yankumi said. Her eyes slid to the side, suddenly embarrassed. “You’ve already impressed me. You won’t lost my respect by asking for my help now.”She was so earnest about everything.Shin gave up just before his ankle gave in. “Okay,” he said. “You’re right. I need your help.”Yankumi beamed. “Okay! Climb on,” she said, and offered her back to Shin.
|
140183
|
A Work of Art
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Assassin's Creed",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by orphan_account",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-12-18T00:00:00",
"words": "1,551",
"Additional Tags": "Community: kink_bingo, Suspension",
"Relationship": "Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Leonardo da Vinci",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
“Ezio!”Leonardo’s lips are moist and fever-warm when he kisses Ezio hello. It’s a sign he’s been working—he presses his lips together when he concentrates—as if the paint staining his forearms and ink splatter across his jaw aren’t enough.“I have something to show you!” He grasps Ezio by the hand, pulling him back through the cluttered studio to a space covered by draperies, most often utilized to conceal corpses. He isn’t breaking any laws—the Medici have granted him leave to pursue his interests in anatomy, but as Leonardo has said, it doesn’t make for the most charming décor.“Che cosa, Leonardo?” Ezio groans fondly. “You are pulling my arm off.”“You scale the sides of buildings and jump dozens of feet. I think you’ll be alright.” He pulls back the sheet, revealing a contraption to which Ezio has never seen the like. It’s an elaborate conglomeration of wood and leather, attached to the ceiling with two hooks and long leather straps.“Is it for torture?” Ezio asks after a moment or two. “It doesn’t look like any weapon I’ve ever seen.”Leonardo shakes his head, hair gleaming in the dying afternoon light. “No, caro, it’s nothing like that. It’s used for holding a man suspended above the ground, more or less comfortably.”Ezio raises an eyebrow dubiously. “Why would you want to do something like that?”"To keep him stationary, of course," Leonardo says, slowly, as if he is speaking to a particularly slow child. It's alright, though, since half the time Ezio has no idea what he's talking about. It's usually best just to smile and nod."For captivity, you mean?" he asks, scratching his head, still attempting to orient the device in his mind."Dio, Ezio, everything is business with you."Ezio shrugs. "I am an assassino, I cannot help myself." He grins, hooking a hand into Leonardo's belt, pulling him close. "But let us leave things like that aside for awhile." He leans in for another kiss, but Leonardo is so entranced in explaining his latest masterpiece that he waves him away."It can be used for captivity, I suppose, as well as keeping a man motionless when he has been injured. It also has...other uses." The way Leonardo trails off makes Ezio curious."Other...uses?"Leonardo turns round, and there's something dancing in his eyes, something that, in any other man, Ezio might have mistaken for mischief. "Would you care to help me with a little experiment, caro mio?"Ezio narrows his eyes. “What kind of experiment?”“I need to know if it can hold the appropriate amount of weight,” Leonardo tells him excitedly.Ezio gives the gleaming leather a dubious look. “You have assistants, don’t you? Why don’t you use one of them?”Leonardo steps just close enough for Ezio to smell oil paint and ink, the slightly sweet scent of his hair. “They are boys, Ezio. I need to know if it can support the weight of a man. If I were to use my assistants, I may as well use myself.”Ezio sighs. “Alright, alright. But then…” He brushes his knuckles along Leonardo’s jaw, feeling the slightest shiver in response. “I will get what I want.”Leonardo leans into his touch. “Grazie, amore mio. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” He pulls away, turning back to the leather and wood contraption. “Now, remove your clothes, would you?”Ezio chuckles. “Do you say that to all your captives and injured men?”Leonardo smiles fondly before shaking his head. “I only wish to see if the straps are delicate enough not to do harm to bare flesh. I imagine you can withstand it, if they are not.”“I have withstood worse, I am sure,” Ezio agrees, releasing the catches on his belts, pulling off his gloves. The dress of the assassino is complicated and involved, much like their work, but he has put on and removed the vestments so many times he hardly need think about it.Leonardo continues to make adjustments to his contraption for a little while, but then he turns around and watches, giving Ezio’s act of removing his clothes the same degree of concentration he gives a painting, or one of his latest sketches. Still, Ezio likes to imagine that the pale flush across his nose is unique to this particular situation.He pulls his undershirt up over his head, letting it drop slowly to the floor. Leonardo nods appreciatively. Ezio reaches for him, almost unconsciously, but Leonardo steps backward, out of reach, a smile tugging at his lips.“None of that now, caro. Here, let me get you into it.”It’s looks a great deal more complicated than it turns out to be—slender leather straps attach to Ezio’s wrists and his shoulders, holding his arms more or less comfortably level. There are more straps to go between his legs, and he is a bit surprised how they are shaped to wrap around his cock and balls, as if they were originally meant for someone to be naked.“Leonardo…”Leonardo shushes him, adjusting something behind him, and Ezio feels leather pull snugly up against his backside. “Now, let your weight off your feet, slowly.”“The things I do for you…” Ezio murmurs, as he slowly lets himself sink back into the leather contraption. The wooden structure groans a bit under his weight, but it holds him well enough. His legs sway slightly in the air, a few inches above the floorboards. It feels a bit like flying.“Comfortable?” Leonardo asks, suddenly close to his ear, breath puffing out warm and moist on the back of his neck. Fingers move to the small of Ezio’s back, adjusting the straps.“As comfortable as I could be, considering,” Ezio says. On the other side of the curtains, he can hear the sounds of Venezia—merchants shouting their wares, criers calling out the latest papal news that hardly anyone heeds this far north of Roma, the tramping of hundreds of feet going by.Ezio realizes he has made a tactical error. The door to the studio is closed but not bolted. Anyone could come through and see him like this. He is utterly helpless.Ezio can feel the beginning of fear-sweat on his neck. If one of his enemies found him here…he couldn’t fight back. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind before, as it had been Leonardo asking for his help, Leonardo asking him to do this thing, however absurd it may be.“Leonardo…” He struggles, trying to pull his arms out of the straps, shifting until the whole contraption sways alarmingly. How did this happen? “Leonardo, I think…Leonardo, release me at once!”“Shh…it’s alright, caro.” Cool hands sooth across his back, stroking over his flank and up to his chest, which has begun to heave with his panicked breaths. “I would never allow anything to happen to you. You are safe here, you have my word.”“I am not safe anywhere,” Ezio answers. The sound of Leonardo’s voice calms him slightly, and yet—“I wish you would not stand behind me.”Lips descend on his neck. “I would never hurt you.” Leonardo kisses his way across the blade of his shoulder, down his arm, tongue tracing the veins and the neat criss-cross of scars. Ezio shudders lightly. “And I am glad to know you trust me.”Ezio squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a slow breath. “Leonardo…”Leonardo comes into view, hair slightly disheveled and cheeks tinged pink. “If you ask again, I will let you down. Va bene?”Ezio swallows. “Va bene.” His cock twitches as Leonardo runs his hands along the curve of his knee, up along his inner thighs. They are painter’s hands—sensitive and expressive, moving like Ezio’s body is a canvas and his fingers are brushes.“Mmm…I like you like this,” Leonardo hums. His fingers come temptingly close to Ezio’s cock, but skate past. Ezio lets out a long, shuddering breath as they move to caress his stomach instead. “Unable to run.”“Leonardo…” Ezio groans. Just hearing those words said aloud is enough to make his throat tight with fear.Leonardo looks up, and his eyes are glassy and just the slightest bit dazed, the way they’ve looked when Ezio has interrupted his sketching in the past—as if he is looking at something the rest of the world can’t see.He smiles rather apologetically. “Mi dispiace. Is it too much? Shall I release you?”It doesn’t sound like a challenge, but to Ezio’s ears, it is one. He has never known Leonardo to behave this way before.“No, it’s alright. I’m fine.”The heat that flares into Leonardo’s eyes makes it worth it.“This…this wasn’t designed to hold captives, was it?” Ezio asks, as Leonardo’s tongue circles his nipple, flicking the nub and biting down, making Ezio curse.“A vero. I admit I my not have been entirely truthful. No, holding captives was not what I had initially intended it for. I suppose I could always alter it, if you truly…”Leonardo’s exploration finally leads him to his mouth. His tongue traces along the seam of Ezio’s lips, coaxing them open.Ezio groans in surrender. “I believe I like it the way it is,” he says.
|
105237
|
Noble Pursuits
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": null,
"Characters": "alt!Donna Noble, Rose Tyler, alt!Ianto Jones, Jackie Tyler, alt!Pete Tyler, alt!Martha Jones, alt!Owen Harper, alt!Toshiko Sato, Tenth Doctor (duplicate), Tony Tyler",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by queanofswords",
"chapters": "10/10",
"completed": "2010-08-05",
"published": "2010-08-04T00:00:00",
"words": "51,619",
"Additional Tags": "Pete's World, Community: tardis_bigbang",
"Relationship": "Tenth Doctor (duplicate)/Rose Tyler",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Noble Verse",
"Collections": "TARDIS Big Bang Round 3",
"Fandoms": "Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": "F/M, Gen",
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It was Monday morning and the coffee pot in the break room was empty. The last hour and a half had been spent on the phone, shifting Mr. Holiday's appointment calendar, and arguing with people over conference room times. And now, the coffee was gone. There was tea, but Donna didn't want any bloody tea. She held the carafe and glared at the coffee-stained glass bottom.What she wouldn't do for a smoke.She put the carafe down and went out into the sea of cubicles. "Who finished the pot and didn't refill it?" she demanded. "Come on, who was it?""There's decaf," said a young, weedy man who was very new.Donna turned on him. "Why, tell me, would I want decaf? Are you thick? Who drinks blinking decaf?"The man opened his mouth, and then closed it. Oh, he wasn't going to last long.Donna found the coffee bag; it was disappointingly light. There was less than a teaspoon of grounds left, not even enough for one cup. Maybe if she just chewed on it? She gagged silently at the thought and unconsciously reached in her pocket for the packet of fags that was not there.She'd promised Gramps.She left a large note on the empty coffee pot that said, "Woe betide the bastard who lets this happen again."Unsatisfied and twitchy, Donna returned to her desk.She sat in Mr. Holiday's office while he was on a conference call, taking notes in shorthand. Mr. Holiday shouted a lot, and when he shouted, he let fly bits of spittle and his face turned red all the way up to his retreating, sickly yellow hairline. Donna wondered why Mrs. Holiday didn't explain to her husband about men who bleached their hair. Then again, she'd met Mrs. Holiday at the company Christmas Party last year: Mrs. Holiday was platinum, permed, pushed-up, and powdered within an inch of her life. A trophy, Donna supposed, and a very expensive one.At 11:15, Donna was outside, holding a cigarette that she'd begged off of Doreen. She hadn't lit it, but it felt good to hold it, even if it was murder seeing everyone else with his or her lovely fags and smelling the smoke and almost tasting it.1:30: she was back at her desk after a small salad and a skim milk cappuccino. The phone wouldn't stop ringing, but at least that meant she was too busy to spend time feeling guilty for lighting the blinking fag. She'd enjoyed it. It had been better than sex—not that she'd been having any lately—but it was the last one. For real this time.Four last ones later, Donna was getting ready to head home. She sprayed herself with vanilla and jasmine body spray and put two sticks of gum in her mouth. Then she wished that she'd taken the Tylenol for her headache first. She debated with herself over whether or not to take the gum out of her mouth and damn anyone who saw her or just try to keep the wad of spearmint in her cheek and lose half the flavour to water.She was holding her gum delicately between finger and thumb when her phone rang. She threw away her empty paper cup and picked up the receiver."H.C. Clements, Mr. Holiday's office."There was a strange buzzing noise, but no voice. Donna held the phone away from her face and stared at it."Hello?"Still the buzz. Donna rolled her eyes and put her gum back in her mouth before hanging up.The spearmint had been a mistake, she decided. Too sweet. She spit it into the bin and then she poked her head into Mr. Holiday's office."Anything you need before I go?" she asked.Mr. Holiday's chair was turned towards the windows.Donna stepped inside. "Mr. Holiday?" she ventured cautiously. He didn't like being interrupted when he worked.It was a pretty good view out that window. You could see Big Ben if you went to the far edge of the room. If Donna had had a real office like this, she'd spend all her time looking out of the window."Mr. Holiday?" Donna noted the half-cup of tea—the same one she'd brought in at four o'clock. He hadn't finished the chocolate biscuits, either."Are you feeling all right?" She touched the corner of his chair and jumped when it spun to face her."What is it, Miss Noble?" Mr. Holiday snapped. His eyes were bloodshot and there was a patina of sweat on his rubbery face.Donna forced a grimace into a girdle to make it a smile. "Just wanted to see if there was anything you needed before I went home, sir.""No," he said shortly. "Nothing.""Are you sure you're feeling all right?" she asked tentatively."Of course I am!" he shouted."Only it's freezing in here, and you're sweating like a—" She stopped short of saying pig. It was a bad idea to compare her boss to swine. That was how she'd lost the job at Vitex four years ago. "Like you have a fever," she said instead. "I can call Mrs. Holiday for you, if you like?"Mr. Holiday got out of his chair and stood by the window. "How long have you worked for me, Donna?"Oh flipping fantastic. It was going to be one of those conversations, was it? This was what she got for sticking her nose in. Had he asked her for anything? No. He hadn't."A little less than a year, sir," she said."Do you like your job?""Of course, sir," she said. How could she not love fetching photocopies and fighting with printers and wrestling with conference lines? But it paid the bills (mostly) and kept her and Gramps off the street.Mr. Holiday turned and looked at her. She blinked a few times. Her eyes itched. He needed drops, or something.She felt a cold shiver run down her spine when she caught the predatory glint in his eyes. When his gaze lingered too long on her throat, and then her chest, her hackles rose.Oh no, he didn't. She wasn't in for any of that quid pro quo crap.He took a halting step towards her. Donna backed away and put the desk in between them. She wished she hadn't left her purse out on her desk. She'd just bought a new can of pepper spray. Sometimes she couldn't get home before dark, and Chiswick wasn't exactly a nice area, was it?"If you'd like to stay, have a chat…" Mr. Holiday said. His voice sounded strange, kind of buzzy, like he was on the other end of a bad line. "I'd love to get to know you better.""No, thank you," she said, using her most polite telephone voice. "I've got to get home.""Donna, Donna…" Mr. Holiday licked his lips. What a pervert! He rounded the desk. Donna went for the door, but his sweaty hand covered hers on the handle."Oi!" she shouted, glaring at him in an attempt to hide the sick terror that was rising up her gorge. "This is harassment!"Mr. Holiday's face broke into a slovenly grin. "Oh, Donna." His red eyes looked into her and she felt the blood drain from her face. He tsked. "Be nice!"Donna raised her other hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.When he turned his face back towards her, his eyes weren't just bloodshot anymore. The whites were completely red, like a blood vessel had burst. His pupils had grown so large as to crowd out his irises completely. He hummed, no buzzed, at her and then he opened his mouth.When the long black proboscis where his tongue should have been snaked out of his mouth towards her neck, Donna screamed.Someone pounded on the door."We know you're in there! Come out with your hands up!"Donna yanked on the door handle with all her might, pulling it into the side of Mr. Holiday's head. He buzzed angrily and grabbed her by the hair."Stay back!" Holiday buzzed warningly. Donna tried to pry his chubby fingers open and to blink away the tears of pain from her eyes."Let her go!" said a man's voice, bristling with anger. "Right now.""But I need food for my young! Growing family, you understand. She'll feed them for a week!""Oi!" Donna bellowed. "Are you calling me fat?""He said let her go." This voice was a woman's, and Cockney by the sound of it. Donna heard a click that sounded like a gun. She hoped it wasn't building security; they were rubbish. When someone had broken into the 4th floor offices last month and threatened to blow the place to kingdom come, they'd just sat around with their thumbs up their arses."Are you going to shoot me?" Holiday laughed. Donna tried to master herself and focus her eyes. She couldn't raise her head, so she could only see the ground, her hair, Holiday's shoes, a pair of burgundy Converse trainers, and some black leather women's boots that looked terribly expensive. Were they police? What kind of copper wore trainers?Focusing on Holiday's shiny black shoes, she raised her foot and slammed her heel onto his toes as hard as she could.Holiday swore and loosened his grip enough that Donna was able to pull away. Lucky thing she kept her head low, because she heard two shots ring out.There was a wet thud and then silence.Donna stood up straight and looked at the still form of Edwin Holiday. Well, it wasn't him, was it? She'd known plenty of insect-like men, but never quite so… literally."Nice shot, Rose," said the stranger. Donna looked at him. He was a skinny thing, with a beaky sort of nose and sideburns and hair that stuck straight up in the air. He was grinning like a maniac at a bottle-blonde woman with a wide mouth and dark eyebrows. She looked eerily familiar."'Come out with your hands up?'" the blonde wondered, incredulous."I've always wanted to say that," he replied with a grin."Oi," Donna breathed. "What just happened?""Insectoid biomorph," said the man, almost bubbling over with energy. "We've been tracking her for a few days now. Caught her bio-signal while we were…" He stopped talking and stared at her.Donna looked back at him. "Insectoid what?" she repeated. "What are you on about? That was my boss!" She glanced at the body on the carpet. "And you shot him.""Tranquillizer gun," said the blonde, holding up a handgun. "She'll be fine." She went over to Holiday and prodded his arm with her boot. "She'll have a headache, but no permanent damage done.""She was going to eat you," the man said. He was still looking at her. Just her face, though, she noted. Good. She wasn't in the mood for any of that."He was not," Donna said."I'm afraid she was," he said. He had dark brown eyes that made the rest of his face look a bit more handsome. Not her type, though. Bones like his, she'd bruise her hips. And what was with the blue suit and burgundy trainers? Was he blind, or something?"Why do you keep saying 'she'?" Donna demanded. "He's a ma— Well, he's not a she, at any rate!""Biomorphs can change their shape, within reason," said the man. "Helps them get into nests to find suitable prey." He was still looking at her."Oi, do you mind?" she snapped.He blinked. "Mind what?""Stop staring at me."He looked away, and affected nonchalance. He took a deep breath through his nose and grinned at the blonde as she stooped over Mr. Holiday."Well, now that that's done with," he said. "I say we call in the cleanup crew and go back to our dinner."The blonde stood straight. She had better fashion sense than her partner, at least. Donna wasn't entirely sure about the dark indigo colour of the leather jacket, but the style was very hip. And those boots were to die for."Everyone's already out on call," the blonde said wearily.He looked put out. "Oh, no.""We can put her in the back seat of the SUV.""We're going to miss the film," he complained."Yes, we are. There'll be another show."Donna looked between them. "I'm sorry," she cried, "am I the only person who cares that a man turned into a bug and was going to eat me?"The woman looked at her with the smallest of smiles. "We're used to it," she said apologetically. She extended a hand. "M' name's Rose. Rose Tyler."Donna gaped. "Oh. My. God." She shook the woman's hand vigorously. "You're Rose Tyler? Your dad owns this company!" Rose looked down at their hands and Donna stopped shaking and let go. "Right. Sorry. Still. Oh my God! You're practically a celebrity!"Rose's smile waned. "Yeah, right. Thanks, I think.""Who are you, then?" Donna asked the man."I'm the Doctor," he said. He shook her hand more enthusiastically than she'd shaken Rose's."Doctor who?"He looked nonplussed. "Er… Just the Doctor."He's mad, this one. "Donna Noble," she said.His smile widened again. "Yes," he said happily. "Yes, you are. Brilliant!"A little while later, Donna was sitting at the table in the break room with her coat on. Miss Tyler had said they'd get her a car home, but there was some delay because they had to run some kind of test. The man who wouldn't give his proper name and Miss Tyler were joined by a couple of people in black leather jackets. From the looks of it Miss Tyler was definitely the one in charge. The Doctor seemed to be more of a scientist than a secret agent. That was what they had to be, after all. Like most people, Donna had heard the rumours of an underground organization that dealt with weird things like aliens and such. (Though it was mostly on the Net.) The bioform-morph-thing had to be an alien. Had to be.A young man in a well-tailored black suit brought her a cup of coffee from an upscale shop and said, in a lilting Welsh accent, that he was her ride.He had a tight little smile and a pleasant demeanour. Donna pegged him for a butler or something, except she caught a glimpse of the gun on his hip when he reached over to open the car door for her. He had a wired headset hooked into his phone; dreadfully old-fashioned, but it made Donna feel safer. She didn't understand people who could still wear wireless earpods and the like.She wondered if he'd lost anyone that day.Donna poked her head between the front seats. "What's your name?""Ianto Jones," he replied, lips twitching a tiny smile."Donna Noble," she said."Yes, I know. Donna Noble of Chiswick, daughter of Geoff and Sylvia Noble."She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know that?"He met her eyes briefly through the rear-view mirror, and then looked back at the road. "Cybus Industries, 2007."She nodded and said nothing. He had lost someone, then. If he seen those names on the list… There was only one reason anyone looked at those lists. She looked out the tinted car window in silence for the rest of the drive. He wasn't chatty, thank heavens.Mr. Jones opened the car door for her and insisted on walking her all the way up to her front door."I'm fine," she insisted. She held up her pepper spray. "See? Always prepared.""Very good, ma'am," he said, but he kept in step with her all the way just the same. She unlocked the door and stepped inside."Do you want some tea?" she asked him from the threshold, even though she was still holding the nearly empty coffee he'd brought her. "I always put a kettle on for Gramps.""No thank you, ma'am," Mr. Jones said, inclining his head."Well, you take care, then. Thanks for the lift." He nodded curtly and went back to the sleek black car. Donna watched through the little window in the door until he drove off."Donna? S'that you, sweetheart?" Gramps came into the little hall. He was in his plaid dressing gown and fuzzy slippers."What did I tell you?" she cried. "You're not supposed to be up!""I heard voices! Was that a man?" He smiled hopefully at her. "Did you have a date?"Donna took her grandfather gently but firmly by the arm and directed him back to his favourite chair in front of the telly. "No, Gramps," she said wearily."You should get out more," he said while she adjusted a pillow and placed it behind his back."And leave you alone? You and your wild parties, you'll burn the house down," she teased.Gramps took her hand, stopping her from completing her tidying sweep of the room. "I mean it, Donna. You've got better things to do than takin' care of your ol' Gramps."Donna's heart shuddered in her chest. She squeezed his hand. "No, I haven't," she said for the millionth time. "Now, you stay put, and I'll bring your tea and you can watch telly while I make supper." She kissed his forehead.In the kitchen, she put on the kettle. She could hear the news from the next room. She half-listened to the glorified gossip about some charity event that was set for the weekend, and who was going to be there, and some piece about the latest Net craze before taking Gramps his tea.She cut her thumb while she was doing the potatoes. It wasn't deep, but it hurt like hell, and she was unable to stop the tears. She rinsed the cut and put a plaster on it. While the food was in the oven, she snuck outside with her last hidden pack of cigarettes and smoked three of them, one after the other.It had been six years since Cybus Industries had tried to destroy them all. She was okay now, she was. And she didn't mind taking care of Gramps. After all, he'd taken care of her all her life. But in the last few months, his health had been getting worse, and it was all she could do to keep that smile on, even for him.That wasn't what was bothering her, she realised as she pulled a fourth fag from the packet. (Only two left now. Maybe she should just finish them off.)If she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin, it was because of Mr. Holiday. Had that creature been him the whole time? Or was he in Spain, and the biomorph thing had just decided to pose as him while the real Mr. Holiday was away? And what were Miss Tyler and that Doctor bloke going to do with the biomorph thing? If they were going to kill it, they would have done it already. Right?Donna lit the fifth fag and wondered if she still had a job. She wished that she could talk to Gramps about it. She used to tell him every stupid thing that happened at work. Especially the stupid things. But this was different. This was big, she could feel it. She couldn't lay something like this on him.She looked guiltily at the last cigarette in the packet. She'd promised him she'd quit, and here she was, sneaking around like a teenager. She could remember the first time she'd smoked. She'd hated it, hated the taste, the smell… But the second one hadn't been so bad, the third was better, and by the time she'd finished the fourth, she'd wondered why she'd never tried them before. Not far from there to wondering how she'd gotten by without them.She soaked the last fag in a glass of water and then tossed it down the garbage disposal.§Every morning, Donna listened to Etta James. She usually skipped "At Last" because she didn't need to hear romantic drivel first thing in the morning. What she needed was something with attitude and sass and energy. Something sexy and bluesy. She had whole playlists of old jazz songs, collected and arranged to help her wake up and keep her alert on the drive to the office.However, her car was still where she'd parked it yesterday morning. Muttering to herself about parking tickets, Donna pulled an old pair of headphones from the clutter drawer in her bedside table and fixed her iPod to her lapel. (It was old and it only held ten gigabytes, but it was the only thing she had that still took wired earphones.) Etta James didn't energize her the way she normally did—though perhaps it was because she'd gotten only three hours of sleep. Caffeine that late in the evening, plus the spidery nightmares, them crawling on her back and over her shoulders… She switched to Peggy Lee. That helped a little bit.She was about ten, fifteen minutes late to work. It wasn't until she sat at her desk and looked over at the open door to Mr. Holiday's office that she realised that it probably didn't matter. She could have stayed home.What good would that do? she asked herself. Besides, the computer at home was almost five years old and she didn't have access to the H.C. Clements database there.She started her search with Edwin Holiday. There wasn't anything on the news feed, neither disappearance nor death. There was a tiny article in the gossip column about Mrs. Holiday's annual feline leukaemia drive, which Donna could not resist reading. She'd never much liked cats, but it was a pleasant surprise to find out that Mrs. Holiday cared about something. She felt a pang of guilt. The Holidays had a son at university. What was going to be done if Mr. Holiday was really dead? Who was going to tell his wife and son? Did the police know? Was he dead?She turned her search to Rose Tyler. She found the first articles that related the tale of Pete Tyler, Vitex millionaire, and the miracle reunion with his wife, Jackie, thought to have died in the Cybus Industries "incident" of 2007.Then there was the added miracle of Rose—the daughter that the Tylers had long thought lost, stolen as a baby (which Donna found rather melodramatic), and found by happy accident by the Torchwood Institute. Despite the fact that it was widely known that the Tylers had no children, genetic testing had proven Rose to be, without doubt, the daughter of the millionaire and his wife. Under the harsh spotlight of the sudden media attention, the Tylers had said they'd never made the sad story of their lost child public for the sake of privacy. Rose had been born before Mr. Tyler had made his fortune. Twenty-seventh of April, 1987. That made her twenty-six years old.At the time of the 'miracle', Donna had thought it was all very romantic and wonderful. Everyone had, especially given that Jackie had been thought to have been killed by the Cybermen. It had given people hope and more than a few of them renewed searches for lost loved ones.Donna had ended up hating the false hope of it all. Of course the Tylers were lucky. They were rich. Tyler had worked for Lumic, the madman, so Lumic had spared his wife. No one else was going to get that kind of treatment.Of course, there were the articles expounding upon the events before the recovery of Jackie in 2010. After losing his wife, Pete Tyler had shown a public about-face, denouncing Lumic, and donating piles of money in the effort to hunt down the remaining Cybermen. Which was good. Least he could do to make up for being a patsy to that devil was to lose a few million pounds.Donna searched for people called "the Doctor." She got millions of hits; not one of them relevant. She tried "the Doctor" and "alien" and still nothing.As it stood, Donna saw two real options: sit on her arse and wait for something to happen, or alternatively, she could do some proper sleuthing.She did not feel like waiting. So, sleuth it was, then. She'd always liked Poirot and Miss Marple and Campion and all that. Time to work ze leetle grey cells.She started with Vitex, Cybus and H.C. Clements. They all had Pete Tyler in common, and thus Rose Tyler. If she could figure out who Rose worked for (or at least whose payroll she'd been slipped into), then she'd have a clue where to start looking for more information on what had been done with Mr. Holiday. Or rather, the bug-thing. Biomorph. Whatever.Lunch hour sprang upon her in the form of Elouise from Accounts."Donna?"Elouise was a thin, pinch-faced creature with over-processed tawny hair. She was habitually dressed in one of five pastel pantsuits with a matching scarf around her neck. And pearls. She always wore pearls. Today, her suit was pale spring green, and her pearls were in the form of a long double-strand half-hidden in the gossamer of her scarf.She looked owlishly at Donna through pale green reading glasses."Yes?" Donna looked back at her computer screen. No Rose Tyler in H.C. Clements, either. Damn."I need to see Mr. Holiday," Elouise said.Donna looked up again. "He's not in," she said carefully.Elouise blinked at her. "What do you mean?""I mean," she replied, "that he is currently elsewhere.""Is he out to lunch?"Donna eyed the thin woman with irritation. Elouise was not known as a time-waster. This was the woman who had told off the entire Accounting department for talking in non-designated break areas."He's in a meeting," Donna said. Personal assistants' code for, 'he's buggered off.'"Until when?""All day," she answered shortly. "And probably tomorrow. What's this about, anyway?""I'd prefer to speak directly to Mr. Holiday," Elouise said primly.Donna forced herself not to say what she was thinking, since it was uncalled for and made a lot of reference to a nature programme she'd seen a few weeks ago about termites feeding their young. Larvae. Whatever."Yes, well, if you tell me the gist of it, I can relate it to him and we'll see what happens."Elouise hesitated. Donna watched in fascination as the pastel woman looked around her as if she thought they were being spied upon. She enjoyed a short, hilarious fantasy about Elouise Morris, Secret Agent, in pale pink and pearls and a big pair of shades, speaking in a faux Russian accent."I found something in my office," Elouise whispered."What sort of something?" Donna demanded. If it was somebody's mouldy lunch…"I would rather discuss it with Mr. Holiday," Elouise sniffed."Look," Donna snapped, losing what little patience she possessed. "He's not here. He's not likely to be here for the foreseeable future. So, why don't you just tell me what stupid little note somebody stuck to your computer or the name of the prat who put tacks on your chair, and I'll see it sorted, all right?"Elouise's grey eyes went wide and her lip trembled for a moment. Inside her head, Donna was kicking herself. It was bad enough that people laughed at Elouise behind her back. Letting on that she knew about it was just stupid and mean.The accountant drew herself up to her full height and said, "I want him to talk to the building manager. There's an infestation in Accounting."How can you tell with all the accountants? Donna thought nastily."We put down mouse traps," she said."Not mice," Elouise hissed. She glanced over her shoulder again. Then, in a stage whisper, "Insects."Suddenly, Donna was all ears. "Show me," she commanded.Accounting was on the 17th floor. Everyone else was at lunch, so the offices were empty. Elouise led Donna to the very last cubicle on the right."Where did you see them?" Donna asked. "What sort of bug was it?""It was an insect," Elouise said. "It looked like a big mosquito. I told Mr. Holiday that there was lasting damage from the pipe that burst last summer." She shuddered. "There's probably a pool of water in the walls breeding all sorts of unimaginable things."Donna thought this unlikely, but she did not say so."How big was it?""At least two centimetres!""It's probably flown away by now," she said."It didn't have wings," Elouise said.Donna frowned. "A mosquito without wings? Since wh—?"Elouise's mouth opened for a soundless scream. Donna turned and saw a big, many-legged thing sitting on top of a keyboard. The only resemblance it had to a mosquito was a long black proboscis. The rest of it was more like if an insect tried to be a puppy. Too many legs (more than six, not an insect) held up a round black body a few inches off of the desk. It was covered in millions of brush-like bristles.It turned red, segmented eyes on them. The eyes glittered under the fluorescent lights and Donna heard a noise that sounded something like a guinea pig's grunt.Elouise found her voice and screamed like a 50s movie heroine. The bug buzzed and backed off the keyboard and into the cubicle wall behind it, stumbling as if it had been startled."Be quiet!" Donna told her. The bug's legs were trembling. For a surreal moment, Donna imagined that it was frightened. So was she, honestly, but Elouise was hiding behind her and screeching her head off, so the terror department was covered. Donna put out her arms out as a shield."Stop that noise, you silly cow!" she shouted."What is that thing?" the accountant cried shrilly in Donna's ear. "Oh, kill it! Kill it!"The bug buzzed angrily.It couldn't have understood that, could it?"There wasn't time to think about it, because it jumped at them. Donna grabbed the nearest thing to hand—a telephone—and held the receiver up like a club. Elouise wailed and ran off, letting the door slam behind her.The bug landed on Donna's arms. She yelled and tied to shake it off. It gripped her jumper with is hooked, crab-like feet. The buzzing was almost a roar in her ears. It jabbed at her neck with its barbed proboscis.Letting out a noise that she (later) hoped sounded more like a battle cry and less like a girly squeal of revulsion, Donna took hold of the bug with her free hand and pulled it off. She threw it to the ground as hard as she could. Its legs beat pathetically against the air for a few moments, and then it rolled and righted itself and vibrated angrily.Donna wished she had one of those tranquillizer guns. She picked the rest of the phone off the desk and hurled it at the bug. It sidestepped. The buzzing got louder. Donna's mouth fell open. There were two more of the bugs crawling on the desk. Where the hell were they coming from?"Right."Donna turned and ran. They were following her, she knew it. She got to the door and slammed it shut behind her. Something crunched and something else screeched. Wincing, she glanced down.There was part of a black, spiny insectoid leg caught in the door. Donna's stomach turned. She yelped when another leg poked from under the door and caught her heel. She stomped and missed.After she'd got a safer distance from the door, she pulled her mobile from her pocket and dialled security."Hello? This is Donna Noble.""Who?""Donna. Noble. I'm Edwin Holiday's PA. Look, that's not important! I'm calling to tell you that we have an infestation in Accounts. The 17th floor. You have to close it off. Don't let anyone back in there.""Building manager put down traps last week," said the guard irritably."Not mice!" Donna snapped. "Insects! Bloody huge insects the size of small dogs!"There was a heavy sigh. "Pull the other one. It's got bells on.""Are you trying to be funny?" she asked scornfully. "Because if you are, I want you to know, I can see you sacked, you useless lump! Close off floor 17!""Am I supposed to call the building manager?""Oh, I wouldn't want you to sprain something," Donna snapped. The legs were still flicking out under the edge of the door. She ended the call with a jab of her thumb.The building manager was an idiot, she thought, and exterminators would probably turn and run with their tails between their legs if they saw these things. She needed to get someone better.She needed Rose Tyler.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Miss Tyler?"She didn't look up from the computer screen, though she wasn't really working. She was thinking about chips. Not the ones they usually had from the place down the street that did the fish. Proper chips that actually had a bit of potato in them instead of being the thin shoestring things that were always over-done and dark. With all the money at their disposal, you'd think they'd be able to find decent, proper chips."Miss Tyler?"Rose closed the file; she'd stopped actually working on it twenty minutes ago."How long have we known each other? I'm not answering until you address me properly," she said."Apologies." Ianto Jones stood behind her workstation still as a lamppost.Rose looked at him. "Well?""Argus has raised a flag, ma'am."Rose decided not to fight the name battle today. He'd learn to drop the formality eventually. Even if she had to employ a shock collar."What is it?"Ianto inclined his head a bit. She took this as a cue to follow, so she did so.Sometimes she wished people would just say what was happening instead of "you'd better come and see, ma'am"-ing her, but that was the price of leadership, she supposed.Argus was the name of the Torchwood computer. It was mostly terrestrial technology, though the system had been amplified by alien tech over the years. (But that was Torchwood's motto: If It's Alien, It's Ours. Which was better than what it had been when Rose had arrived: For the Greater Good. That phrase had given her unpleasant, squirmy feelings.)On top of the massive Torchwood Archive and all the government databases, Argus had complete access to all of the major data networks. Mobile phones, the Net, land line telephones, television, cable and satellite… Rose hated it in principle, but this world had different ideas on privacy when it came to electronic mediums.What annoyed her the most about Argus was how bloody good it was. If she wanted to, she could find out what the King of Lithuania had had for breakfast, or how many fleas were on Paris Hilton's dog. If it was on the Net, in a text, or if someone had said it into a microphone, it was theirs.Ianto touched the swirling blue screen and brought up a mobile tracker.A loud woman's voice sounded through the office."Yes that Rose Tyler!""I cannot release a private citizen's information, ma'am. That would be a breach of—""It's a bloody emergency," the woman said, anger in her voice combining with derision. "I'm not just some nutter looking to rub elbows with toffs! I have a giant alien bug infestation in my office and— oh, bloody hell—!"The voice cut off. Rose stared at the screen. "Is that it?" she cried. That was Donna. That was a voice you didn't forget."The call ended there," Ianto said. He brought up a map. "The call was placed at the main H.C. Clements building by D—""Donna Noble," Rose finished. She tried to swallow the bundle of nervous queasiness creeping up her throat.Ianto looked slightly put out. He hated being interrupted mid-flow, especially when he was giving information. He liked to show off."Yes," he said."How long ago was that?" she asked."Call was placed at a quarter after twelve," he replied, checking his fob watch. "Ten minutes.""Where's the Doctor?""Last I saw him, the Doctor was in the Archives." Again, added Ianto's thin-lipped expression.Rose wondered if it was even worth it to dig him out. The Doctor had spent most of the last three days down in the Archives. Dinner last night was supposed to have been a clever plan to get him out. And then the biomorph detector in his pocket had gone 'ding' and that had been the end of the evening.She'd have to get him, though. Meeting this world's version of Donna had obviously affected him. He hadn't spoken much on the way back to the Tyler mansion last night, and in the morning he'd avoided the subject entirely and gone on about some article in the Times about experimental aeroplanes. He'd told Dad an anecdote about Kitty Hawk and the Wright Brothers from the other universe and given several theories as to what the brothers of this world had gotten wrong. Some things would never change. Rose took comfort in that."I'll get him," she said. "Get the car ready. We're leaving in five minutes. Tranqs and nets.""Yes, ma'am."The Doctor was sitting at the microfilm projector. Pages scrolled by at impossible speed. She'd never understood how he could take in everything, but she'd tested him long ago. Some things were just the same."Doctor?"The projector ground to a halt. He turned and smiled at her. "Lunch already? I'm starved." He spun off of the chair and bounced on his heels. "I'm craving chips. It's odd. I don't think I've ever had a craving."She wanted to smile back, but couldn't quite manage it. "Ianto just picked up a call," she said. "It's the H.C. Clements building again."His smile disappeared, replaced by that closed-off, cold expression that made her heart hurt. It was one of those familiar things, yeah, but still."We're going," he said."Right now," she agreed.He nodded and they walked upstairs in silence. On the ground floor, the sound of the SUV's engines filled the empty warehouse. Ianto disengaged his headset as he put the tranquillizer case into the back.The siren and flashing lights got them through the traffic quickly. Rose tried to think of the plan of action and not the Doctor sitting in the back seat with Ianto in dark silence.Rose glanced at Lalit Mehra in the driver's seat. He was young—younger than her, even—with short black hair and a proud nose. He'd transferred to the Warehouse a couple of weeks before the final dimension cannon mission. She barely knew him, but she liked him based on those very few conversations they'd had between her trips. He'd grown up on the Powell Estate. He liked pop music and when he wasn't wearing black for Torchwood, he found nothing more comfortable than a hoodie and a handful of chips. Details like that, similarities and commonalities, had always made Rose feel a little bit better about being in this world. In the three years she'd been here, they'd given her something to latch onto.But Lalit driving and the Doctor in the back seat in silence felt so… wrong. Some things were completely different. Rose tried not to think about it. She would later, when she could do something about it.They gained access to the H.C. Clements complex with one word. It was easy to find out which floor the disturbance was on.Ianto stayed behind to deal with the building manager and security. Rose, Lalit and the Doctor headed up to the 17th floor. Rose loaded the tranqs into her handgun while Lalit pulled out the nets."I don't know how much room we've got in the cells," he said."We'll deal with it," Rose said, clicking the last cartridge into place. She cocked the gun and looked at the Doctor. He was watching her with one eyebrow rising. She flashed him a smile and bit down on the thrill in her stomach when he winked back at her.The lift doors opened onto 17. Rose took point. Lalit held a net with both hands."Tell me it's the little ones," he said hopefully."If they've been eating, they'll grow fast," the Doctor said. He had the biomorph detector out. It was dinging insistently. He hesitated, looking at the little silver box with the dish spinning and grinding on top. He adjusted something and grimaced."Just as long as Mum's really out of the way," Lalit said."Mum's in the holding cells," Rose said. "Keep your eyes open for any humans. Security said they cleared the floor. If the biomorphs have grown enough, they'll be able to change.""I hate the Bug People," Lalit grumbled."Insectoid biomorphs," the Doctor corrected, making a face at the young man.Lalit shrugged. "Whatever.""This way," the Doctor said, nodding to their right. He went through the door first, holding the dish in front of him like a dousing rod.They had to run to keep up with him. Rose tried to remember that they were working, that this wasn't some romp on an alien world; they were in London.But then he looked back at her and he had that look on his face just like the one she remembered. Her smile was so wide that it hurt her face.Something moved in her peripheral vision. She spun, holding the gun in both hands and aiming.A black shape the size of an Alsatian leapt at her, knocking her onto the ground. The buzz filled her ears until they hurt. It aimed for her neck and jabbed savagely. She turned her head and hit it with the butt of her gun. The bug grazed her under the ear."Rose!" The Doctor's voice was thunderous.Rose struck again, trying to knock the biomorph off of her. Its weight was crushing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.Something heavy and red swung overhead and the bug was suddenly gone. Rose gasped for breath and took the hand offered to her. Back on her feet again, she tried to focus her eyes. When she touched her neck, her fingers came away bloody."Rose, are you all right?" The Doctor touched her hand and looked at the blood. "Damn," he said vehemently.She looked down and saw that he was holding what looked like a fire extinguisher. She squinted. She was pretty sure. He put it down."Lalit, did you bring the antidote?""There isn't much of it," Lalit said. He was holding her gun. When had she dropped it? Rose turned her head to see where the biomorph was. There was something dog-sized on the carpet."Give it here," the Doctor ordered. Lalit handed him a small vial. "Rose, here, drink this. Quickly."Rose shook her head and tried to clear her vision by force of will. "No," she said. "'M all right. Jus' need a second to…" She wobbled and the Doctor caught her. He put the vial to her lips."Drink it," he said. His voice was gentle, but insistent. "Come on, Rose."She tipped the vial back and swallowed the sour yellow antidote. After a few moments of coughing and gagging, her vision started to return to normal and she was able to stand up straight again.The Doctor hugged her briefly. "That's better," he said."We're out of luck if they jab either of us, you know that, right?" Lalit said. "That was all the antidote we had left.""We'll be fine," the Doctor said, not taking his eyes off of her.She squeezed his arm reassuringly. "That's one done, then?" she said lightly.The Doctor looked grimly at the fallen biomorph. "They've been eating.""How many more are there?" Lalit asked.The Doctor pulled his detector out of a pocket. "Judging by the mass of that one, calculating average rate of growth, taking into account a constant atmospheric temperature of about 72 degrees Fahrenheit…" He looked at the unconscious alien. "Too many."Rose gave him a look. "Could you be a bit more specific?""Far too many," he said, almost smiling."I thought you were supposed to be a hot shot alien expert," Lalit complained."I am!" the Doctor cried brightly. "The hottest of shots!"Lalit rolled his eyes and gave Rose a sidelong glance. "Brilliant."The biomorph detector dinged again."Ah, there we go! Nets at the ready, Lalit! One's coming this way!"Lalit handed Rose her gun. "Are you sure it's one?" Lalit asked the Doctor. "Maybe you're reading that thing wrong. Could be saying 'some'."The Doctor grinned. "Just one. A big one.""Yeah, well, thanks for the warning this time," Rose said mildly.He winced.The biomorph charged through a heavy door like a bull. Rose fired twice into it.The Doctor dodged a swinging claw as the biomorph lashed out at them. "Come on!" he cried, daring it to strike again. Luckily, the tranquillizer was already working.Lalit's net spread over the biomorph. It stumbled and collapsed onto the carpet.The Doctor was flushed and still grinning. "Oh, that was too easy!" he cried."He's even bigger than the last one," Lalit grumbled. "You think two shots will keep it out long enough?"Rose put one more dart into the biomorph's thorax. It had taken them a week to get a dart that would puncture their exoskeletons without causing too much damage. These were perfect. Small holes that could heal, but still doled out enough tranquillizer to floor them."That better?"Lalit nodded. "Much.""Two down, how many to go?" Rose turned to the Doctor. He was engrossed in the detector again. "Doctor?"Oh no nono…""What's wrong?"They heard a scream. Rose spun around, looking for another biomorph."Donna!" The Doctor was off like a shot."Who?" Lalit wondered.Rose was already running. She shouted into her wrist comm. "Ianto! We could use some back up. Get Owen and Faye here. And tell them to bring more tranqs and antidote!""Yes, ma'am!" replied Ianto in her earpiece.Rose caught up with the Doctor in the middle of a labyrinth of cubicles.Donna Noble stood in an intersection, staring at them as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing."Oh my God," she cried, looking from the Doctor to Rose. "What the hell are these things?!""Are you all right?" the Doctor asked. "Did any of them bite you?"Donna shook her head and came closer. "No, I'm fine. Thank you. I was afraid you'd never get here."Rose lowered her gun. "How many have you seen?""Eight at least," Donna replied. She rubbed her eyes. "I was so scared."The Doctor held back. "You're not Donna," he said, deliberately.She stared at him, obviously taken aback. "What?""Doctor," Rose warned. "Of course that's Donna.""No," he said vehemently. "It's not."Rose edged closer to him. "Alternate universe, alternate Donna," she said gently, and low enough that Donna wouldn't be able to hear.He shook his head in exasperation. "Yes, I know that," he said, as if she'd told him that water was wet. "But I know Donna, and even an alternate Donna would never have antennae."Rose snapped her eyes back to the ginger woman standing before them.Donna's face went from frightened to blank and something very small on either side of her head twitched."Oh. Good point." Rose raised the gun again. "What did you do with her?"A dark rictus spread slowly across the biomorph-Donna's face, revealing black teeth. "She was delicious."The Doctor wore his darkest glare. "Where is she?"The biomorph tossed long red hair over its shoulder. "As if I'd give up the best meal I've ever had. We were all getting sick of accountants. She has fire in her blood."Rose felt sick with guilt and rage. They should have triple checked the building last night. Quadruple checked. But she'd been distracted, worrying about the Doctor. She hadn't been thinking properly, and now Donna was in danger.Her trigger finger itched, but she had to let the Doctor talk to it first."This is your only warning," the Doctor said. The biomorph didn't seem to realize the trouble it was in. It was still smiling at them. "Tell me where she is now."Biomorph-Donna's smile crumbled into a pout. "Oh, what's the point?" it said petulantly. The pale freckled skin darkened into a shiny black carapace. "All the best bits will be gone soon anyway."The Doctor was shaking. Rose watched him carefully.Born in war, said the Doctor's voice in her mind. She might have to hold him back."Take us to her," she said, gesturing with her gun."Those aren't even real bullets," the biomorph said, still sounding like a spoiled child."No," Rose admitted. "But I bet they still hurt.""Fine." The biomorph resumed its proper insectoid form. Donna's long ginger hair shortened into wiry black bristles and her blue eyes swelled up until they resembled the inside of a pomegranate. It walked on four of its twelve limbs and pointed towards a door with one long, spindly arm.The Doctor charged for the door. The biomorph clicked in irritation. A tiny computer-generated voice in Rose's ear said, "You could at least say thank you."Lalit held up a net. "You gonna come quietly, then, Bugsy?"Rose went after the Doctor.They were in a storage closet. The air was thick with humidity and the nauseating smell of sickly sweet sweat and rot. She put a hand over her mouth and fought nausea. There were bodies—three of them, probably human—in varying states of decay littered around the room.The real Donna was in a corner, lying on a metal shelf. She was pale and clutching a thermos like a precious doll. Her eyes were open but unfocused. The Doctor felt her neck for a pulse."Donna, can you hear me?"There was a neat puncture wound near her clavicle. It wasn't bleeding much, but the biomorph venom thickened the blood to an almost jelly-like consistency if left long enough. Donna's head lolled to one side."She's still breathing! Donna! Donna, wake up!" The Doctor picked her off of the shelf. The Thermos clattered to the floor; the glass inside tinkled as it broke.Rose spoke into her comm. "Ianto, is Owen here yet?""Just arrived, ma'am." Ianto sounded out of breath."Where are you? We've got wounded."Owen's bored and bitter tones muttered in her ear. "Always a bleeding crisis, isn't it?""Hurry up!" Rose snapped. She opened the door so the Doctor could carry Donna out of the storage room. "Go on, get her safe," she said. "Lalit and I will take care of the rest of them."The Doctor nodded and carried Donna's limp form away.Of course, Rose thought when three more biomorphs appeared to block his way. She shot without hesitation, taking one out, missing the others. The smaller of the remaining two jumped straight into the air and clung to the brackets that held up the drop ceiling. It crawled like a zealous spider and prepared to dive on the Doctor and Donna. He wouldn't be able to dodge in time.Three green darts appeared on the biomorph's middle. It fell onto a desk with a crash, knocking out dividing walls and destroying a computer. The Doctor darted back, still holding the unconscious woman in his arms.Rose shot at the third biomorph, hitting it twice in the thorax, once in what could have been called its neck. It stumbled and then tottered over, half-landing on an office chair and rolling comically to one side.Owen and Lalit appeared at the edge of the cubicle. Lalit still had his gun out."Since when can they jump like that?" Owen demanded."Hurry!" the Doctor said, cutting off Owen's inevitable string of complaints. "Antidote!"Owen Harper was a sad bastard most of the time, Rose thought, but he was a good doctor. He wasted no time in helping the Doctor get Donna laid out on the floor. Rose held her breath as she watched. Don't let her die, she thought. Don't do that to him. Please.Owen checked her vitals and gave her an injection. The Doctor held tightly to Donna's hand and watched her. Rose tried not to be chilled by his silence. She wanted to kneel on the carpet next to him, to take his other hand and tell him it would be okay. Instead, she was frozen to the spot."Are there more?" Faye asked. Faye was brunette, small, and quick—she dealt with their tech, mostly.Rose wondered where the Doctor's detector had got to. "Faye, you, Ianto and Lalit check the rest of the floor. Owen, how is she?""I need to take her back to the Warehouse." He glanced up at her, as if to ask permission."Do it."The Doctor lifted Donna up again."Doctor." Rose stopped, not sure what she could say. Mostly, she just wanted to apologize. This was her fault.His mouth hung open, like there was something that he wanted to say, too.It could wait. She forced a smile. "Take care of her. I'll see you later, yeah?"He nodded, and then he and Owen left.Rose joined the rest of the team.§Donna woke up three times without actually waking up.The first time, she was staring at a white-and-beige grid that was probably a ceiling. There was a pinching pain in her arm and something that might have been voices, but as heard underwater.The second time, it was dark and her stomach was tight and heaving. She smelled vomit, but she couldn't tell if it was hers or someone else's. She was freezing cold and her arms wouldn't move. Someone was holding her shoulders and her hair and murmuring softly.The third time she was blind. Everything was bright white and painful. She was still cold. The skin of her back was pressed against flat metal. She might have screamed. She was scared, but the scream wasn't for that as much as an experiment to see if she could. She heard it through her skull, like her ears were plugged with rubber stoppers. Someone—maybe several people—held her down. She wanted to move, to get out of the bright lights. She wanted to go home. She wanted Gramps and Mum and Dad, but nobody listened to her.The fourth time she opened her eyes, she was lying on a hospital bed, wrapped in a pink hospital gown. She felt hung over and her arms were heavy. She could wiggle her toes, though it took her a frighteningly long few seconds to remember how. From there, she quickly relearned how to swallow and rub her eyes. There was an empty cup on a little table on the left hand side of the bed, and a plastic pitcher full of water. She found she wasn't strong enough to lift the pitcher with one hand.Donna had seen plenty of hospital rooms in the last few months, ever since Gramps' heart had started its inconsiderate games. This room was not located in any hospital she was familiar with. It didn't smell right. The walls were too white. The monitor on the other side of her bed wasn't wired up to anything but the wall. Watching a line spike and rest in concert with her own uneasy heartbeat, she realised that it was hooked up to her. She found a two-inch white circular patch like a plaster stuck to her chest. There was probably some kind of microchip in it.Why didn't the hospital have things like that? Gramps had been wired up like some kind of stereo to boxes and monitors that all made god-awful sounds.She looked at the monitor again. Her name was at the bottom (NOBLE, DONNA) and there was another line showing something she couldn't identify at first. She found another two stickers on her temples. Why were they looking at her brain?Who were they anyway?The last thing she could reliably remember was hitting one of the bugs with someone's half-empty coffee thermos and then a pain in her neck followed by a floaty feeling and the vague thought that she should bring her own coffee from now on.A man came into the room. He had short dark hair, a cold, bored expression and he wore a white lab coat over a dark t-shirt and denim jeans. He looked at her without saying hello and crossed the room to the monitor where he stopped and wrote something on a clipboard."Where am I?" Donna asked. "Who are you? Is this a hospital?""Not gonna tell you, Dr. Owen Harper, and no." He looked over the clipboard at her. "Anything else?"Donna swallowed. There weren't any windows."Why won't you tell me where I am?"He crossed a 't' with a ruthless stroke. "Because it's a secret," he said snidely."Why is it a secret?" Donna snapped, voice rising. "Why is that machine looking at my brain? How long have I been here? How do I know that's your real name?!"Dr. Harper stared at her a moment, trying to decide between sarcasm and incredulity."Owen!" someone shouted. A young Indian man burst into the room. Donna clutched at the neck of her hospital gown. There was blood on the man's shirt. "We need you!"Dr. Harper left the clipboard on top of the monitor and ran after him.There were a lot of worried voices shouting. Donna assumed someone was hurt. Was it more of the bugs? She felt a big gauze bandage on her collarbone. One of them had bitten her. Had it sucked her blood, then? Oh, that was disgusting.The commotion outside went on. Dr. Harper was barking clichéd medical orders.Donna looked at the abandoned clipboard on top of the monitor. She might be able to reach it, but she'd have to get out of bed to do it.She moved carefully. Her legs worked, even if they were shaky. She planted her feet on the cold white floor. It was some sort of secret government facility, it had to be. She touched the edge of the clipboard and lost her balance. She caught herself on the edge of the monitor. It tried to roll away."No, you don't," she told it under her breath. She picked up the clipboard and scanned it quickly.There was a cry of rage or frustration—a man's voice, probably Harper's—followed by a string of curses.Donna put the clipboard down and sat back on the bed."This is your fault!" Dr. Harper shouted."Leave her alone," another man said angrily. He sounded a little bit familiar. There had been someone with her in the dark."Shut the fuck up!" Harper raged. "How long have you been here, a week? She's supposed to be the fucking leader, it's her fucking responsibility! You'd better get it under control, little girl!""That's enough," said the other man.A woman's voice said, "No, he's right." There was more but the voices were quieter now, so Donna couldn't hear what they were saying. She was desperately curious to know what was going on.Of course, she was much more curious as to why "plasmapheresis" was written on her chart. The word was familiar. She knew what plasma was, but what on Earth was 'pheresis'?There were people in the hallway. She could just make out the echo of their murmured conversation if she strained her ears and held her breath."…Not your fault," said the familiar male voice."I've got calls to make.""Rose…""Yeah. You should check on Donna."Donna snuck a silent breath."Rose."A woman's footsteps faded. Donna sat very still and listened for anyone was walking towards her room. She considered pretending to be asleep, but who could have slept through all that racket?At length, a man appeared in the doorway. Donna turned her head to look. It was the tall, skinny bloke who'd called himself "Doctor." He was wearing the same rumpled blue suit he'd been wearing last night. He had a nine o'clock shadow and dark circles hunkering under glum eyes.He smiled at her. "Hello," he said with well-acted cheer. "Feeling better?"Donna wasn't sure how to answer that. "Where am I?" she asked. "And who are you?""We met yesterday," he said with an 'aren't I charming?' smile. She suspected that he was used to people taking him at his word. He didn't look like a liar, but liars rarely had the decency to be easily identified by sight."Yes, I know," she said. "You called yourself 'Doctor'.""The Doctor," he corrected her."Your first name is 'The'?" she asked sharply."Er… no.""Next thing, you'll be telling me your name is John Smith." She narrowed her eyes and he looked sheepish. "I know your game. Secret bases, weird monsters. You're like the X-Files, right?" She hesitated a fraction of a second. "Or are you some technology firm? A competitor? Those bugs are part of some scheme to replace people in the securities industry?" She drew herself up as best she could for someone sitting in a hospital bed. "You some sort of Lumic wannabe?"The Doctor's mouth hung open for a moment. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he demanded hotly. "We saved your life!"Donna would not be put off. "How did those things get in H.C. Clements, then?""They're aliens!" he said, biting the words and spitting them out. "One of their ships stopped here for a nice meal. We are collecting them and sending them on their way!""What about Mr. Holiday?" she cried. "Where is he, then?"The man's angry expression cracked like an old concrete wall, only to be replaced by a harder, colder one. "He's dead."Donna's heart sank. "How long ago?" she asked. How long was I getting coffee for an alien monster?"They found his body three days ago.""Who's 'they'?"He laughed bitterly. "Torchwood," he said. "It's always Torchwood."Donna frowned. "The Torchwood Institute?" she cried. "The Health and Safety committee?""Not a bad cover story, eh?" he said, sniffing and glancing at the monitor. His eyebrow arched. "Your heart rate's elevated.""Do you think?" Donna shouted. "My boss is dead, his bug-replacement and its super-fast-growing spawn tried to eat me, and now I'm talking to a skinny git in two-day old trousers who tells me that Health and Safety is really the Extra-Terrestrial Immigration Police!"He was grinning at her. Mental. Absolutely barmy."I want to go home," she said. "What time is it?""Ten after midnight," he said, still smiling like a buffoon."What are you smiling about?" she snarled. "Midnight?! I have to get home!""You can't leave," he said."Like hell, I can't!" Donna threw her legs over the side of the bed. "You're not stopping me!" She stood, wobbled, and fell back onto the bed. Before she even registered that he'd moved, he was beside her. One bony hand was on her shoulder to steady her."No, I mean you're still weak. Owen had to perform a complete plasmapheresis to get the toxins out of your system. Even so, you're not going to be on your feet again for a day or so.""What's plasmapheresis?" It sounded like a bloody monkey, she thought."A sort of dialysis."Donna narrowed her eyes. "They washed my blood?"He seemed surprised. "Yes. Well… the plasma was fine. The toxins actually attach themselves to the erythrocytes and…" He trailed off, seeing her glare. "You don't know what I'm talking about.""I know exactly what you're talking about," she said. "I've seen thousands of hours of documentaries and flashy medical dramas. I just don't care about your technical mumbo-jumbo. I want to go home. Now.""You need to rest," he protested."I have to go home," she said again. "And you're not gonna stop me, sunshine!""It's all right! Donna!" He put up his hands. "Your house will keep for…" He blinked as if something had just dawned on him. Suddenly quiet, he said, "Your grandfather's at home, isn't he?"Donna remembered the man who'd brought her home. He'd known about Mum and Dad. These Torchwood people probably knew all about Gramps living with her. There was probably a secret file on every citizen of the Republic in the Torchwood computer."I'm not leaving him alone," she said firmly. "He needs me. He's probably out of his mind worrying about me! If he has another attack—" She shut her mouth, unwilling to give voice to her worst fear. He was alone, all alone, she wasn't there. She couldn't leave him alone.The Doctor put up his hands in supplication. "Donna, listen to me. I'll send someone. Right now. All right?"Donna tried to master her trembling.He looked her in the eye. She stared at him, taken aback by his intensity. He held her shoulders in a vise-like grip. She almost believed that he really gave a damn."I won't let anything happen to him. I promise."She was helpless to do anything but nod.He stood straight and ran a hand back through his hair, making it stand straight up. He needed a hairbrush, desperately. The heavily gelled, spiked look was so three years ago. He also needed a shower. He smelled as if he'd been wearing the suit more than just two days.He glanced at the monitor again, then went over to the other side of the bed. Donna watched him pour a glass of water. He handed it to her awkwardly, thrusting it forward like a little boy with a peace-offering. She took the cup from his hand. When she drained it, he poured her another.He was almost out the door when Donna found her voice again."Thank you."The Doctor turned his head and nodded slightly before leaving her alone.Donna sat in thoughtful silence for a while, wondering why he wouldn't tell her his name. Could she trust him to see that Gramps was taken care of for the night? Who would he send?At least this Doctor No Name was a human being, she told herself. She very much doubted that Dr. Harper would have even offered to send anyone at all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
As the Doctor marched down the hall, he passed the room where Owen was working. There was paperwork when an agent died.It was strange. Death wasn't new, but the Doctor had never had to fill out any forms for it, even back in the days when he'd been on UNIT's retainer. The thought of a life being reduced to a stack of dead, dried, pulped pieces of tree was one of those things he'd never wanted to understand about humanity.He found Ianto carrying a tray with tea and biscuits."Miss Tyler is in her office," Ianto said, reading the Doctor like a billboard advertisement. The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck."Those for her?" he asked."Yes, sir.""Don't call me 'sir', Ianto," the Doctor said, wincing. "Please." He hesitated. "Can I ask you for a favour?""Of course." Only Ianto Jones could say 'sir' so loudly without actually saying it."Donna's grandfather needs looking after. Would you—?" He considered. He could go himself. There was nothing to stop him. The Donna in him was raring to."I've taken the liberty…" Ianto began. The Doctor almost started; he hadn't meant to get so lost in the thought. "… Of calling Mr. Mott to alert him that Miss Noble was detained as part of the safety procedures following the quarantine on the H.C. Clements building as per the news story seen earlier yesterday afternoon."Yesterday? Oh yes. After midnight. Ianto was precise about that sort of thing.Gramps—Wilf—would have tried to come see Donna. "What did you tell him?""I told him that she would be under strict supervision and quarantine for three days," Ianto said. "Just to give us leeway if we need to keep her that long.""Right." Donna had been determined not to leave her grandfather alone. A voice inside him was practically jumping and shouting in agreement. "Just the same. Do you think you could…?"You shouldn't be pawning it off, said the voice. He's your responsibility.No, he told himself firmly. I am not Donna! And besides, alternate universe, alternate Wilf.What does that matter? Blood is blood."I was planning on checking in on him first thing in the morning," Ianto said. "If you like I could go now."The Doctor sagged in relief. "That would be brilliant." He paused. "Though, it's late, he'll be asleep…""I doubt that, sir." He didn't even flinch under the Doctor's glare. Which was good, because the Doctor hadn't meant to glare like that. "Mr. Mott has called the hotline provided by the news every half hour since three p.m. I'm expecting another call from him in…" He checked his fob watch. "Eleven minutes."He ought to be in bed! said the inner Donna voice.The Doctor nodded. "Donna's worried about him," he murmured. The biscuits on Ianto's tray were calling to him. He hadn't realised how hungry he was. He swallowed and thought guiltily of Rose."I'll take those up to her," he said.Ianto hesitated a moment before handing over the tray. "Yes, sir. Shall I report to you on Mr. Mott's status?""What?" he asked, stricken. "Oh. No… that's… Follow your best judgement. Or whatever."Ianto gave him a curt little nod and went to get his coat.The Doctor balanced the tray on one hand and snatched a biscuit with the other.Rose's office was down at the end of a long corridor. Most of the Warehouse base was subterranean which increased the "secret base" feel. The Torchwood offices at Canary Wharf (both Canary Wharfs) were all white, glass, and silver. Other than the medical section, this base was all gunmetal and multicoloured lights. The Doctor wasn't particularly fond of either colour scheme.The door was closed, but both it and the wall were glass, so he could see Rose sitting at the desk. Her arm blocked a view of her face, but she was obviously on the telephone. Her shoulders were slumped and her fingers were tangled into her hair like she was getting ready to tear it out.The Doctor hesitated. He held his knuckles an inch from the glass and, in two seconds, flashed through fifty or so times he'd knocked on her door before.Her rooms on the TARDIS, at the Powell Estate, a few instances on various planets were they'd been temporarily sequestered. He'd rarely hesitated then. If he had wanted to see her, to talk to her, he had knocked. (Sometimes he hadn't even waited for her to answer.) Maybe once he'd held back—on Krop Tor. But that had been different.Maybe it was the glass. Seeing the inside of the room meant he could see how upset she was. Maybe she didn't want to see him. Why should she?He was just about to turn away when he heard plastic slam against plastic. Rose cursed loudly. She looked and saw him. He waved. Her lips made an abortive attempt at a smile.He opened the door and took the tray to her desk."Brought you some tea," he said. "And biscuits." He glanced down. There were only two left. "I ate a few of them, I'm afraid."She smirked and took the tea. "Thanks. That's sweet of you.""Ianto's idea," he admitted. "Can't really take credit.""Ianto's a smart man," Rose said. She looked at the biscuits. "You can finish them. I'm not really hungry.""You haven't eaten since this morning," he said. Even so, it'd only been a pastry and coffee. When had she started to drink coffee? It was probably Ianto's doing. The man seemed a bit obsessed with it."Neither have you." She rubbed her eyes. She looked like she'd been crying. His insides knotted. "How's Donna?""Better. Worried about her grandfather. I sent Ianto to keep an eye on him."Rose's expression was a mix of surprise and… pleasure? Annoyance? "You sent Ianto?""Well…" The Doctor tugged his ear. "Wilf's been calling every half hour demanding to know about Donna, and his health's been a bit off of late, so I thought… I shouldn't be giving your people orders. Sorry.""No!" Rose cried. "That's fine! I don't mind!" She shook her head. He watched her fingers as they combed through her hair. Suddenly, he wished very much that it was his hand. She picked up her tea and sipped at it. He watched her lips and her hands, her throat, her shoulders, her… And he stopped himself, because there were more important things right now.The inner Donna voice was silent, but still made its smug opinion known."I'm sorry," he said. "So sorry."Rose looked at him questioningly."About…" He gestured vaguely at the papers spread between them on the desk and swallowed. He didn't remember the woman's name. A flush broke out over his cheeks. (Damn human body.)"Faye Martin," Rose said. She stared into space. "President Jones always insists on calling the families of agents personally. I should, too. I just… I barely knew her. She only transferred here last month.""You should get some sleep. And food." Calling the family. Another nightmare of the aftermath he'd usually been spared. He didn't like the idea of Rose doing it."Yeah." She picked up the receiver. "I'll meet you in the main office in a little bit."He nodded, though most of him railed. He was dismissed?She was staring at a piece of paper and dialling."I'll be waiting," he said.Rose nodded, but she wasn't looking at him.He couldn't find Ianto's biscuit stash. Reaching into a high cabinet over the coffee maker, he caught a whiff of his underarm. Oh dear. He tried to think of the last time he'd showered, but it was somewhere in the mists alongside the last time he'd slept. Well, no. More recently than that.He was tired, or at least his arms were when he raised them to pick up the glass cylinder of tea bags. Telling Rose she needed to rest was all well and good. She'd always liked to sleep. He did not. But this body was weak and it tired easily. Humans ran too hot. Hot blood, pumped by a single heart doing the work that could better be done by two. They needed near constant feeding. (That wasn't too bad, at least. This incarnation loved to eat.)He sat at Owen's workstation.He had to stop thinking like that. Regenerations, two hearts, respiratory bypass… That was gone. This was it. This was all he was going to get.It wouldn't have been so bad, if not for the loneliness. He had lost the Time Lords long ago, lost that connection, their quiet gravity in the back of his mind. But even after, he'd had the TARDIS.He had assumed that humans didn't feel this way. Their lack of psychic capabilities made them blind to the agony of that kind of loss. Lucky devils, he'd thought.But being human (plus the Time Lord brain, thank each and every possible deity) was just as lonely. More so, even. He constantly wanted to touch people—especially Rose, mostly Rose—but even if he gave in and did so, it was different. The nerves in his hands didn't tell him the same things anymore.And his palms got sweaty. Sweaty palms! Him!Owen had a plastic dinosaur on his desk. It was a pteranodon: it was painted all the wrong colours, of course, but otherwise it wasn't a bad likeness. He held it in his right hand—the old hand, the original hand—and regretted that he'd never taken Donna to Eeeny 2. They'd had an excellent exhibition of extinct Earth animals—clones of course, but without the rubbish frog DNA.Would have hated it anyway, said the Donna voice. We would have ended up running away from T-rexes to avoid being eaten."What are you doing?"It was Owen. The Doctor jumped out of the chair. "Sitting. I was… sitting." He put the pteranodon back on the desk. "Sitting."Owen claimed his chair and leaned back into it, spreading his legs in a wide 'I'm the dominant male' posture.The Doctor crossed his arms, noticed that he'd done so, uncrossed them, and then leaned as nonchalantly as he could manage against Ianto's coffee counter. A small box of sugar packets hit the floor, scattering white paper envelopes everywhere.As he debated whether or not to pick them up, Owen watched him; he wanted to see if he'd do it. So he shouldn't, right?Wait a moment, why do I care? He picked them up, but it was because he didn't want to annoy Ianto (other than the 'sirs', he was very pleasant), not because he cared about any stupid male dominance games."How long are you going to hang about?" Owen asked."I'm waiting for Rose," he replied as he set the acrylic box back on the counter."I meant here." Owen jerked his head in the general direction of the entire room. "Torchwood. Just moonlighting or joining up? Or are you just hoping for a few office shags with the boss?"The Doctor gave Owen a cold look. 'Hotshot alien expert' was how Pete had introduced him. That had been a week ago now. (Already? His time sense was getting slipshod. Damn damn damn.) Pete had made it clear that the Doctor was very welcome at Torchwood.Torchwood made the Doctor uneasy in either universe. People who were certain in the knowledge that what they did was the best thing for the world were dangerous.Are you kidding me? wondered the Donna voice in his head.He ignored it."I don't know yet," he admitted. He put his hands in his trouser pockets and bounced on his feet. "Still getting my bearings."Owen looked unimpressed. He spun around in his chair and started to work."Well, while you're hanging about, you might as well make yourself useful and fill out a report.""What?"The man picked a green file folder off of his desk and held it out to him. "We're a government agency, Doctor. We have paperwork. President Jones reads every bloody report about every bloody encounter." He pulled a pair of glasses from the front of his lab coat and settled them low on his nose.All the better to look at me condescendingly with, the Doctor thought. Or was that Donna again? Damn. Sometimes it was hard to tell."Try and make yourself useful," Owen finished, smiling smugly.The Doctor took the folder and opened to the top page."Oh, come on!" he cried.Owen looked at him from under arched, possibly tweezed, eyebrows. "Is there a problem?"The Doctor fumed. "This is the supplies manifest!"The smug smile widened. "Somebody's got to do it."Oh, let me do it, Spaceman. You're just hopeless.The Doctor looked at the papers. Right. Donna was good with paperwork. He was part Donna. Easy-peasy.With a flourish, the Doctor whipped a fountain pen from the depths of his breast pocket. He filled in lines, did sums and ticked boxes enough to satisfy any bureaucrat. It took him exactly thirty-four seconds to finish.Lucky thing, too, because Rose appeared in the door just as he was flipping the folder closed. He gave Owen a grin, dropped the folder into his lap, and went over to Rose. He offered her his arm."All done, then?" he asked her."What was that about?" she asked, glancing at her second-in-command as he stared at the Doctor."Just doing some paperwork." He held his elbow a little closer to her. "I'm famished, how about you? Chips?" § "You?" Rose was in shock. "Paperwork? You?" Her voice echoed in the nearly empty warehouse.The Doctor gave her a slow smile. "Well… It wasn't hard. Daily expenditures, supplies. Just sums, really.""Why did…?" She decided not to worry about it. "Never mind."He stopped them about five feet from the car and looked at her. "Rose…"She pulled her hair behind her ear and bit back a sigh. "What?""I… I just thought…" He grimaced. "Never mind." He fixed his eyes on the ground. "Owen doesn't like me much, does he?"Rose hesitated. "Owen doesn't like anybody," she said. The Doctor was wearing a strange expression. Was he embarrassed?Two weeks later, you'd think she'd have started to get used to him. It hadn't taken this long to adjust after he'd regenerated in front of her. He didn't even look different. But he was, and he wasn't. He stood on the opposite side of the car from her, posture like the man she knew, but his expression was oddly uncertain."Does it bother you?" she asked him, genuinely surprised. "That's not like you." She immediately wished that she hadn't said that.He winced. "No, it isn't. It's Donna." He sighed deeply. "It's not even that. She'd be the first to tell you she didn't give a damn whether someone liked her or not… but… wellll… Inside…" He rubbed his neck. "That's Donna for you. Other Donna. Though…" He paused thoughtfully. "I suspect this Donna's got quite a bit in common with her." He frowned at his own hand on the car door. "Has Owen ever shown interest in you?""What?" Rose fiddled with the car keys in her hand. "Owen?" She hesitated, and then decided to tell the truth. "Yeah, I s'pose so."The Doctor's jaw went rigid.Rose smiled, but only a little bit. "Owen just likes anyone with a pair of tits and a nice arse." Owen had hit on her a bit, but she'd ignored him and he'd stopped. Faye, however, had seemed to like the attention."I thought you said he didn't like anybody?" the Doctor reminded her, one eyebrow rising slowly."You know what I mean," she said. "Can we get in the car now? I just want to go home.""No chips?" he said, disappointed."No one around here does 'em right," she said with a sigh. "I bet I could get the cook to make some up. 'Cept we'd have to wake her up, so… no.""We could find them," the Doctor cried, suddenly grinning. "Be a bit of an adventure! Finding the good chips!""I'm exhausted. And I don't mean to be rude, Doctor, but I think you could do with a bit of a shower."He winced. "That bad?"She nodded apologetically. "'Fraid so.""Why is Owen the second-in-command?"Rose hit the button to unlock the car. "Because he's got seniority." She pulled the driver's side door open and got in. "What did he say to you?"The Doctor shrugged. "Nothing. I was just curious."The drive back to the Tyler Mansion took one short detour to a small fish place. Rose purchased enough fish and chips to feed a small army (or at least one ravenous human and a Time Lord-human meta-crisis).The Doctor started eating in the car and fed her chips while she drove. ("You concentrate on the road! I've got this under control!") They were lucky that they didn't cause any accidents. Her driving suffered from the Doctor's occasional bad aim and protracted bouts of laughter. By the time she stopped the car in the drive and they got out, both their hands were greasy and covered in salt. Rose felt good for the first time since they'd come back from Norway.This wasn't so bad. This felt right. This was how it was supposed to be.They took the remaining chips to the kitchen so they could sit down and stuff themselves.Mum and Dad were sitting up with tea and talking in low voices when Rose and the Doctor came in, ineffectively stifling their laughter."Where have you two been?" Mum cried, glaring at them over her cup. Rose noticed a new shade of nail polish on her mother's hands."You got your nails done!" she said brightly, in hopes that she could keep Mum from talking about whatever it was she wanted to talk about. Whatever it was, Rose did not want to talk about it. "Looks nice!""Don't you start," Mum warned, narrowing her eyes. She was in her dressing gown, and her hair was down. She'd had her roots touched up, too. "Where have you been? I've been worried sick!""We got chips," the Doctor said, holding up the bag as evidence. "There's enough, if you want some. Hello, Pete."Dad nodded slightly. "Jackie, it's all right." He squeezed her hand. "Why don't you go check on Tony?"Mum stood and took the bag from the Doctor's hands. "You do know that it's after two in the morning?" she said, accusingly."Yep," the Doctor said, smiling at her.She reached into the bag and picked out a pair of chips and bit them in half. Then, she shoved the bag back into the Doctor's chest and left him holding it with a bemused expression on his face.Rose looked at the man who had become her father. He glanced at the Doctor, and then turned back to her."Long day?" he asked."Yeah," Rose said simply. The Doctor put the bag on the table and looked between them. He seemed to be aware of the discomfort of the room. That was new."I'll just…" He glanced at her, waiting for a cue, or just hoping for a way out."You were wanting that shower," she offered."Right. Shower. Good." He ruffled his hair and then pulled his hand away and gave it a mildly horrified look.Rose half-smiled at him as he left the kitchen and the chips behind."You should have called me," Pete Tyler said firmly."I did," she said. She gave him a defiant look. "Not my fault if you didn't pick up.""This is serious.""Don't you dare," she snapped, jabbing a finger at him. "Don't you dare lecture me like I'm some little kid."His blue eyes widened. "I wasn't going to lecture you, Rose," he said, gently. "I just meant…"Rose sank into a chair and put her head on her arms, but only for a moment. She looked up at him again, determined not to cry again, but starting to fail. "There were too many of them," she said. "Just when we found the main nest and had it cordoned off, a dozen more showed up to ambush us.""It wasn't your fault, sweetheart," he said gently. "Nobody blames you.""Yes, they do," she said. Owen did."Did I tell you about the first time I lost someone under my command?"Rose wiped her eyes and sniffed. Suddenly, there was a tissue in front of her. She took it. "No," she said."We were in Paris, me and the Preachers. Thanks to Jake and Mickey, we'd picked up a few more recruits. We'd found the Cyberman factory. They'd already started…" He trailed off. "Anyway… We didn't all make it."She couldn't think of anything to say, so she reached out and took his hand.He squeezed her fingers gently and moved his hand to emphasize his words. "It wasn't my fault they died. Did everything I could. But I felt responsible anyway, because they were with me, and I didn't manage to save them."Rose glared in the general direction of the chip bag. Faye Martin's death was on her, no matter what anyone said. She should have told them to fall back, but there'd been so many bugs, and they had to keep them from overrunning the building, the streets, London."You don't have to do this," he said after a long silence.She looked up at him. "What?""You don't have to go back," he said. He looked tired and sympathetic. Rose felt a rush of affection towards him, even as she writhed at the idea of just… packing it in. "You've earned a proper rest, all you've been through this last year."Her head was shaking before she could even think to make it do so. "No," she said. "I don't want rest. I need to do something." Besides, if she ran away after this, she'd be proving Owen right. She could do this, no matter what he thought. Just because she was young, that didn't mean she didn't know what she was about. She'd been saving the world since she was nineteen. Not that Owen knew that, precisely. The last thing she wanted to do was sit around on her arse. The Doctor wouldn't want her to just give up.Which Doctor? The one who abandoned you here, or the one he left for you to baby-sit?Rose rubbed her eyes. She was so very tired, and she had to be back first thing in the morning. Thank God Ianto always had coffee ready."I'm going to go to bed," she said giving his hand a final squeeze before letting go.He nodded. "Good night, sweetheart."Upstairs, Rose found herself outside the Doctor's rooms. She could just make out the sound of a shower running, and his voice singing something that sounded suspiciously like a pop ballad. She played with the idea of going in and surprising him, but she suspected that it wouldn't turn out anything like she was imagining.Not that that was keeping her from imagining. She let go of the door handle and went the rest of the way down the hall to her own suite.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Donna felt much better when she woke the next day. The little clock on the heart monitor said two p.m. Had she really slept that long?A dapper man with a professional smile brought her a tray."Thought you might be hungry," he said cheerfully. Donna found the button to bring the bed up."I know you," she said. "You drove me home the other night.""Yes, ma'am.""Mr. Jones, was it?"He nodded. "I hope you like steak and kidney pie. Dr. Harper said you need an iron-rich diet for the next several weeks. A good excuse to eat red meat."Donna dug into the food. Usually she wasn't much for broccoli, but she was ravenous.Mr. Jones produced a familiar red bag."That's mine. Where did you get that?""I went round to check on Mr. Mott last night. He prepared these things for you. A couple changes of clothes, some reading material…" He pulled out the edge of a magazine to show her. "He also entreated me to inform you that he is well, and that he hopes you recover quickly."Donna nodded thoughtfully. Mr. Jones put the bag neatly at the end of the bed."Did that doctor ask you to do that?"Mr. Jones nodded almost imperceptibly. "He was quite adamant that your grandfather be taken care of for the night."She stared at him. "You didn't stay all night, did you?""Your grandfather was kind enough to offer the use of the sofa."Donna tried to shake off her embarrassment; the house wasn't clean enough for visitors."You didn't have to do that," she protested."It was no trouble. Mr. Mott is a charming gentleman." Mr. Jones smiled. "He demanded that I come back again to report on your health. He also invited me to supper."Oh Lord, he's going to try to play matchmaker now, is he?"Don't think you have to do as he says," she said. She drank the cranberry juice, even though she hated it. Probably gave it to her for the anti-oxidants or something. It did not go with the pie."When can I go home?" she asked."As soon as Dr. Harper sees you're properly on the mend." Mr. Jones took her water pitcher and went to refill it at the lavatory sink."Where is Dr. Harper, then?" She needed to use the loo. She was pretty sure she could make it on her own. She certainly hoped so."He'll be down directly.""What about the other doctor?"Mr. Jones poured a glass of water into a fresh cup. "The Doctor? He's working at the moment.""Could you tell him I said thank you?"He smiled politely. "Of course, ma'am. I would be happy to." And then he was gone.Donna did manage the loo—turned out to be no problem at all, thank God—and then she finished her food and finished off the water pitcher.She rummaged through the red tote and took out the newest magazine. Dr. Harper appeared without a word and checked her chart and the monitors. At last he asked her routine questions: how's your appetite, any bowel movement, headache, nausea, take a deep breath, one more, are you a smoker?"Am I okay to go home?" she asked him as he made his notes."Tomorrow morning," he said without looking at her.Donna glanced at the monitor. "What's wrong with me, then?""Nothing, now," he replied."So why can't I go?""Because I'm your physician," he said. He looked at her over that blinking clipboard. "And I said so.""Can I get a second opinion?" she tried. "What about that other doctor?""He's not a medical doctor," Dr. Harper said with a cold sneer. "If you ask me, I doubt he's any kind of doctor.""Well, what about Miss Tyler?"Dr. Harper paused. "What about her?""I want to talk to her. You lot can't keep me here against my will. You said yourself, there's nothing wrong with me. So I want to talk to Miss Tyler."Harper's thin lips pressed together. He left.Donna waited with her magazine, but she wasn't really reading it.Rose Tyler looked like she'd had a rough night, followed by a rougher day. Her make-up was more subdued than the last time Donna had seen her, and her hair hung thin and limp against her cheekbones. Her posture was informal and just a little bit hunched."Owen said you wanted to talk to me," she said in a hoarse voice.Donna wondered why she was the one in the hospital gown."I'd like to go home now."Miss Tyler's expression didn't betray much. "Did he say you were clear?""He says I'm fine." Donna felt like a little kid going to one parent for permission the other had already denied. "Miss Tyler… Look, I'm grateful for you saving me from the bugs and everything. But I have to go home. Send me the bill or whatever, but I can't stay here. I've got to start looking for a new job."The other woman's face showed considerable surprise. "Call me Rose. And there is no bill."Donna couldn't believe it. There was always a bill. "What?""There's no bill," Rose said again. Informal wasn't just because she was tired, then. In fact, standing here, sans the leather jacket and tranquillizer gun, Rose looked like a normal person. What kind of a secret agency was headed up by someone this young? "We've got the budget to pay for all this. We're not gonna charge you.""Oh." Thrown, Donna needed a moment to regroup. "Good. I mean, thank you. That's very decent of you." She paused. "Can I ask you something?"Rose nodded. Donna remembered something; it was fuzzy, but there was familiarity in the set of Rose's jaw, the thinness of her cheeks."Why do I have the feeling that we've met before? Before the other night, that is.""'Cause we have." Rose pulled a bit of hair behind her ear and smiled. "We met when you interviewed at H.C. Clements.""I knew it!" Donna cried. Then, more quietly, she said, "But you work for Torchwood."Rose nodded."And Torchwood deals with aliens?"The other woman smiled a little wider this time. "Among other things.""Have you talked to Mrs. Holiday about her husband yet?"Rose's entire face seemed to ice over. "Not yet. Who told you—?""That doctor who won't say his name.""That is his name." She used clipped tones and took a defensive half-step backwards. There was something going on there, Donna thought.She frowned. "What, 'Doctor'? His parents had high hopes, didn't they?"Rose shrugged her shoulders and looked around the room once. "That's his name." She shifted on her feet and then pulled her shoulders back into business-mode. "The biomorph venom's nasty. You got a full dose, plus you lost a lot of blood. You almost died.""I feel fine.""It's for your own safety. Trust me, I get it. I'd hate being cooped up here, too. But I'll make sure Ianto looks in on your granddad again tonight."That's a bribe, Donna thought. It made sense that Jones or the Doctor would have talked to Rose about it, being as she was the boss. However, these people were still strangers. Why did they care so much?Mr. Jones—who did not ask her to call him Ianto—brought her food again around seven o'clock. No broccoli or cranberry juice this time. She picked at her liver and onions and then she read until the lights dimmed to night mode.Donna changed into her own clothes. She had her socks on before she realised that she didn't have any shoes. No matter. She'd be quieter without them. She peeled off the chest monitor patch and the two patches on her temples. The monitor made a worrying flat-line noise. She hastily pressed the power button and it stopped.Escape was unlikely—besides, she was holding them to the promise of tomorrow morning. But she could explore while she was here anyway. It was after nine. They'd have all gone home.Even with her thick cotton socks, Donna could hear echoes in the stark white hallway. The brushing of the bottoms of her trouser legs was unnaturally loud. She decided that they were underground—no windows, and those looked like waste water pipes overhead. It felt like a subbasement. She turned left at the fork and followed the sound of beeping until she came to a massive room.Her muttered "Blimey!" echoed against the concrete walls and the 'I' beams and rebar in the ceiling. There were four computer workstations. The technology was slick—much better than her computer at work, and that was only a few months old. She stopped by one of the computers and peered at it. There wasn't a mouse. Curious, she touched the screen. The blue whirling screensaver disappeared, revealing a red desktop with a long honeycomb 'T'.She poked a few applications, but everything was pass-code protected. Too bad. A place like this would have some kind of keystroke logging software. Donna looked up, expecting cameras. She couldn't see them, but she knew they'd be there somewhere. Damn.Well, it wasn't as if she could damage anything.She decided to see what else she could find. There was always a map of fire exits on the wall. This was a top-secret office, but it was still an office."There we go." Donna smiled to herself and went up to the white sheet on the wall by the doors with the green 'exit' lights.After orienting herself, Donna turned on her heels and headed down a new corridor.She did not expect to find a high-security door. Well no, she did, just not so soon.There was a thumbprint scanner on the wall. Just out of curiosity, she tried it. The panel beeped loudly and turned red. Too bad. So she turned around and tried another hallway.There were a lot of stairs. A number on the wall proclaimed it Subbasement Five. She went down a couple more flights and entered Subbasement Seven.She followed the sound of click-and-rattle. Line after line of metal shelves stretched out before her, each filled with boxes of varying ages and materials. One label had the dates 1904-1905, and 'Personnel.' Her fingers itched to flip through folder, but she restrained herself.The click and rattle became a quiet, steady whir. Donna realised it was a familiar sound. Just between two rows of shelves, there was a desk. A man sat with his back to her. The whirring stopped and she could hear muttering.When he ran his hands through his hair, grumbling louder at persons unseen, Donna realised that it was the nameless Doctor. He'd taken off his suit jacket. The maroon t-shirt he wore was tight across his back as he leaned over his lap. She could see his spine and ribs. Did he not eat? Mr. Jones ought to have been bringing him dinner.She ducked behind a shelf when he turned around."Someone there?"Donna held her breath. When enough time had passed, she thought she'd sneak a peek.The Doctor bumped into her. Startled, Donna cried out. He grabbed her arms to stop her running off."Donna? What are you doing down here?"She tried to think of a cunning lie, but she was too busy wondering how she hadn't heard him coming."I was bored," she said, stepping away and affecting nonchalance. "There's no telly in my room."He glanced at her feet. She wiggled her toes self-consciously. Why was he smiling like that?"Well…" he said expansively. "Can't blame you. Haven't been watching much telly myself. Anything you're missing?"She shrugged. "Just Lost.""That's still on?"Frowning, she asked, "What do you mean 'still'?"He looked away. "Never mind. So…"He crossed his arms over his chest, and then hurriedly uncrossed them. "Feeling better?""Much," she said. "I'm going home in the morning.""Good. That's good.""What are you doing down here? I thought everyone would have gone home by now."He jerked his head towards the desk. "Going through the Archives. Got a lot to catch up on."Donna tilted her head. After a long, incredulous moment, she asked, "Is that microfilm?""Yep."Encouraged by the fact that he wasn't insisting she return to her room, Donna ventured over and took a closer look at the screen.The current picture was a newspaper. She pushed her fringe out of her eyes. "You're reading the newspaper," she accused. She leaned forward and read the date. "From 1973?"The Doctor tugged on one ear. Donna catalogued the movement: it could prove useful if she ever played him at Texas Hold 'Em."Thought it'd be interesting," he said. She would have bet money that that was some kind of a lie.Donna looked at the headline.
Death of King Gustaf VI Adolf of Sweden - Accession of King Carl XVI Gustaf.
"What's that got to do with aliens?" she asked."Nothing, surprisingly," he replied. "I was just…"She peered at him. "So, why won't you tell anybody your name?""I did tell you!" he cried. "The Doctor! It's not difficult to remember, is it?"Donna threw back her shoulders. "Oi, don't you shout at me, skinny boy!"His mouth shut with a snap. There was the ear tug again."Look, I don't…" He grimaced and sighed loudly. "I don't have any other name, okay? Satisfied?""You don't have one?"He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and then in a fervour, he bounded around the desk, ruffling his hair and scrunching up his face. Donna pushed papers aside and leaned on the desk and watched him with misguided fascination."No," he said. "No name. I had one, long time ago, but I… I lost it. I had to. I had to give it up, it was the only way I could…" He stopped moving abruptly and stared at the floor. "That doesn't matter. It wasn't me, not really. It was, but it wasn't. I—" He held his breath for a moment, and then he let it out in a rush and looked at her as if waiting for sentencing.He was out of his mind, truly. Certifiable. Completely bonkers. But he looked so lost, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.And he'd been kind to get someone to look after Gramps for her.I'm going to regret this.Keeping her voice low, she said, "A long story, I'm guessing."The Doctor's face crumpled for a moment, but he straightened himself and cleared his throat. "Yeah."Men."You don't have to tell me," she said as gently as she could manage without sounding condescending. "I can call you Doctor, if it's easier. It's just odd, is all."He gave her a watery smile. "Oh, Donna Noble," he breathed, almost reverent. "Always brilliant, you are."She smiled and shrugged off the compliment. "Don't know about always," she said."No, you are!" he cried. He was bouncing about again, leaning on the desk right across from her and putting his face far too close. "Trust me. I know."She stood up straight, reclaiming her personal space. "How do you know?" She narrowed her eyes. "Oi, have you been watching me, or something? Is that how you know about my granddad? Have you been stalking me?" She backed away, then, changing her mind, she surged forward and applied a forceful finger to the centre of his chest. He fell back and glared at her with growing indignance. Her finger hurt. "You and Torchwood! Tyler and Jones and you, you've all known more than you should… And then that bug thing kills my boss and up you show! Very bloody convenient!""No! Donna!" He held up his arms, shielding himself as if he thought she was going to smack him in the head. Not that she wasn't tempted. "It's not like that! I swear!""And why should I believe you?" she cried. "I don't even know who you people are! How do I know any of what you've said is true? How do I know I'm not your prisoner, or something?""Don't be stupid!" he shouted back. "What would we want to keep you prisoner for?""You captured that insect thing—""Biomorph. They're called the Zvazveraz.""Don't interrupt me, sunshine! You captured that insect thing. Does it get a trial? How do I know you're seeing to its rights? How do I know that it was the thing that killed Mr. Holiday? For all I know it was you lot!""For all you know," he said, giving her a cross look that said, very loudly, that she was being thick. "This is all a bad dream and you're about to wake up."Donna gaped at him. "Oi," she warned, unable to think of any other response."You want to know what's going on?" he said. "Do you really want to know? The truth? All of it?""Yes!"Suddenly, the Doctor was calm. He gave her a smug little smile, snatched his jacket from the back of his chair, and grabbed her hand."Good. Come with me."The Doctor led Donna to a lift and took them back to Subbasement Five. She watched very carefully as he put a wallet over the front of the hand scanner. It turned green and let them pass. Scanning an ID seemed far less secure than a hand scan.The door was at the end of a very long corridor lined with Plexiglas.They were prison cells. Donna swallowed and kept close to the Doctor, though part of her wondered why she was doing it. She didn't exactly trust him.Each cell held one of the biomorphs. Alone in their jail cells, they were far less frightening. She half-expected to see holes poked in the plexi and a bit of grass and a twig for each one. Most of them sat and buzzed listlessly, though a few bounced their glittering heads against their prisons like flies against a window.The Doctor stopped in front of the last cell. The biomorph inside was bigger than the others; it was probably the one who'd pretended to be Mr. Holiday."Donna meet Zzfstaz." The Doctor buzzed at the biomorph and the biomorph buzzed back. "She says hello," he told her."You can speak bug?"Zzfstaz twitched her antennae violently.The Doctor gave Donna a condescending look. "They don't like being called 'bugs', Donna. It's the equivalent of a racial slur."She looked back at him and tried to decide whether to laugh at him or not. Not, since he looked so serious, but really."So are you going to translate?" she wondered. "How will I know if you're doing it right?"Vexed, the Doctor rolled his eyes. "I speak Zvazveraz. I speak a lot of languages. Well… every language." There was a short exchange between him and the biomorph and then the biomorph began to change colour. The transformation from shiny black to blond and ruddy and clad in an expensive grey suit was rapid. Donna's mouth hung open as she found herself face to face with a red-eyed Edwin Holiday."I can understand you," he/she said irritably."That's not funny," Donna said. "That man you're imitating is dead. Show some respect, why don't you?"Biomorph Holiday heaved a mighty sigh. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to look like you creatures?""You can change," the Doctor said coldly.The biomorph screwed up his/her face and a moment later, the blond hair turned long and darker. She looked like a she now, at least. Donna didn't recognize this face, though something in the Doctor's eyes suggested that maybe he did. However, he made no protests."What do you want, anyway?" asked Zzfstaz.The Doctor nodded at Donna. "This is her, Donna."Donna looked at the dark-haired woman standing in the cell. She wore a very simple sheath dress, and she was tan-skinned. Her irises were still red."Did you kill him? Mr. Holiday, I mean.""Yes.""Why?"Zzfstaz stared back at her. "I needed to eat.""But he had a family!" Donna cried."So do I," the biomorph said coolly. She raised her arms to indicate the cells surrounding her. "That's a lot of responsibility. Family is very important to us.""But you knew that this was a Level Five planet," the Doctor cut in, angrily. "You have no right to be here.""Under whose law?" Zzfstaz asked. "I don't know anything about this Shadow Proclamation you keep citing.""So you just killed him, then," Donna said.Zzfstaz turned her eyes back to Donna. They glittered under the fluorescent lights. "He was alone. His blood called to me. You don't know how intoxicating you are. The smell of you, the heat." She crept closer to the glass. Donna backed away without thinking. The biomorph's irises expanded across her whole eye, deleting whites and black. "All that hot blood. So nutritious. So very good for a growing nymph. Better than anything on our world. Nothing so hot. And all that lovely iron." She smiled, revealing black teeth. "My children tell me you were quite delicious. I suspected as much when I smelled you.""Stop it," Donna said. She crossed her arms and looked at the Doctor. "Are you just trying to scare me?""No," he said, brow creasing. "I'm showing you that everything that happened is real."She shook her head. "Well, I've had enough."He looked disappointed, but he nodded. They started to walk back down the long corridor to the door."You don't think that I came alone, do you?"The Doctor spun around. The biomorph was leaning against the glass, arms over her head, and smiling at him, all inky teeth and ruby eyes. Her skin was getting darker by the moment; she was grey now. Donna fought nausea."How many of you?" the Doctor demanded."Dozens. Hundreds by now. Thousands soon. There are so many of you, enough to feed generations. You'll never find all of us, and even if you did, you'll never contain us."Donna's mouth went dry. Zzfstaz let out a low drone and shifted back to her insect form. The Doctor took Donna by the arm and led her away."What are you going to do?" she asked him.He didn't answer her. She pulled her arm back to her side. "They've got to be stopped, haven't they?"The Doctor's expression was like steel. Donna glanced over her shoulder, back to the cells and felt a cold dread creep over her shoulder like a spider.He took her back to her room and told her to get some rest. She'd be going home in the morning, and she needed to sleep, et cetera. Donna found that she did not believe the smile on his face; he couldn't really expect her to have pleasant dreams, not after what the alien had said about blood.She spent most of the rest of the night thinking of Mr. Holiday's wife and son, but mercifully, when she did finally sleep, she didn't dream at all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The next morning, Donna was awake at eight, packed and ready to go. Her mind raced with speculation and worry over the biomorphs, but she was faced with more immediate needs. She needed to go home and shower, for one thing. She hoped that Gramps was okay.At eight-thirty, a well-pressed Mr. Jones appeared with a full breakfast in Styrofoam boxes. She ate the sausages and the eggs, and then asked him to drive her home."But my car's at H.C. Clements," she explained. "So, you could drop me off there.""Dr. Harper usually gets here around nine," Mr. Jones said. "I can't let you go without his permission."Donna picked at a tomato. So much for her diet. At least she hadn't had a cigarette for a couple of days.Of course, the moment she realised this, a craving with the urgency of a charging rhinoceros hit her.Mr. Jones left her a fresh copy of the Times. She didn't read the printed news—she had thought that no one did anymore—but she picked it up and read the headline. Nothing interesting: something about a MP's sex scandal, another about a large charity ball. She read a few articles anyway, just to kill time. At nine, she could hear the voices of Rose and Dr. Harper echoing in the corridor."My guess is it's a surprise inspection," said Dr. Harper with his usual semi-smug boredom.Rose's voice was grey and tired. "President Jones doesn't do inspections personally, Owen.""Maybe she's shutting us down, then," he said, suddenly almost cheerful. "I could do with a transfer. Maybe Barbados. Is there a Torchwood in Barbados?""You'd be bored," Rose said."Bored, but tan.""Can you tan?"Their footsteps moved away. Donna rolled her eyes and took off the monitor patches again. Enough waiting around. She slung her tote over her shoulder and found her way to that big central room.Dr. Harper was at his computer. His whole posture was unconcerned. He didn't acknowledge her, even when she stood with her arms crossed and a carefully constructed look of disdain focused right on his heavily furrowed forehead."Donna? What are you doing up here?"Donna turned and saw that Rose was hunching over a mug of what smelled like coffee—really good coffee—and looking at her as if she'd forgotten all about her. Well, that was fine, then."I'd like to go home now, please," Donna said briskly.Harper looked up from his desk. "I wondered how long you were going to just stand there."Donna ignored him. "I'm all ready to go. Check me out, or whatever it is you do. You're a doctor, aren't you?"Rose took a sip from her mug and smiled at her. "Owen?" she prompted.He smirked. "Whatever, boss." He picked what looked like a prescription pad off of his desk and scribbled something. "Get this from the chemist. Eat three square meals a day, no shakes or salads or rubbish fad diets. You seem like the type."Donna glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded."Ianto'll take you home," Rose said."I'll do it."The Doctor wasn't five feet away from her, but Donna jumped at his voice. How had she not noticed him there? He was clean shaven, except for the sideburns, which were neatly trimmed, but he was wearing the same blue suit and burgundy Chucks. It was possible, though, that he simply had multiples of the same suit. That was the sort of thing eccentrics did, wasn't it?Rose did not seem pleased. "Are you sure?""Of course," the Doctor said with a wide, disarming smile for Rose and a wink for Donna. "What do you say?""That's fine," Donna replied. "But I want to get my car.""Allons-y!""Stay out of trouble," Rose called after them. Donna noted the worried wrinkle over the younger woman's nose and the slight pout of her lips. There was definitely something going on there.They were almost to H.C. Clements when Donna gave into her curiosity.She asked, innocently, "So you and Miss Tyler, then?"He hit the brakes slightly harder than necessary at the light. "What? Oh. Rose. Wellll…" He glanced in the mirrors. "Not exactly. It's complicated.""How complicated?" she asked. "'Her dad is rich' complicated? 'You're old enough to have baby-sit her' complicated?"The Doctor made a put-upon face. "Very complicated."Donna knew that she was being nosy, but she couldn't help it. "You were on a date the other night, though, weren't you?"The car started moving again and they'd gone more than a block before he responded. "We've been on dates," he admitted. "So to speak. We used to… we travelled together, Rose and me." He glanced at her. "A lot's happened since then." And then he was forbiddingly silent.They arrived at the spot Donna had parked her car, only to find that it had a bouquet of tickets on the windscreen and a boot on one wheel. While she swore loudly and cursed the Council, the Doctor went through his pockets. It was several minutes later, after she'd read each brightly coloured paper aloud with increasing indignation, that she realised how many things he had laid out on the blue-painted roof of her car."Is that a Rubik's Cube?" she demanded. It had too many squares on each side, but there wasn't anything else it could be.The Doctor glanced up. "Do you want it? I don't even know why I have it. S'pose I could give it to Tony."Donna stared at the pile: there were rubber bands; a few coins of unfamiliar colours and shapes; a banana; a very small cactus wearing a tiny false moustache; something that, in life, could have been some kind of aquamarine squid but now was a brittle-looking thing, like a dried sea-star; a fountain pen; and a crumpled white paper bag, among other things."All that was in your pockets?""Why didn't I keep a spare?" he cried, glaring at the pile of objects. "I'm going to have to start from scratch. It's stones and bearskins all over again!""Spare what?" Donna asked."Doesn't matter." He frowned petulantly at the boot. "I'm afraid it's stuck for now."Donna held up the tickets. "I certainly hope that Torchwood can take care of these."The Doctor waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes.""What is all that stuff?""Just stuff," he replied.Something in the pile beeped. The Doctor moved the paper bag aside. "Ah hah!" he cried, triumphantly. "Looks like we've got a nibble!" He held up a little silver box with a mini satellite dish on it."What's that thing?""Biomorph detector!" He swung it around in an arc and made a circuit around the car. "Ooh, she's close!""Are they still in my building?" Donna asked. They weren't far away from there."No, H.C. Clements is clear," he said. He pointed down the street in the opposite direction of the office building. "That way! Come on, Donna!" He broke into a run, leaving her by the car.Donna stared after him. "Wait a bleeding minute!" she cried. Thinking quickly, she swept the contents of the Doctor's pockets and the tickets into her tote bag. After a moment of struggling to find her car keys among the random objects and her dirty clothes, she threw everything into the backseat."Wait for me!" She slammed the door and ran down the street after him.§Harriet Jones, President of the People's Republic of Great Britain did not make a lot of visits to the Warehouse. She went to Canary Wharf all the time, but Torchwood Alpha was usually of little interest to her. At least Rose had thought so. She was not prepared for a surprise visit. This was the worst possible time. They were all exhausted from dealing with the Zvazveraz, and they were down an agent."That's why I'm here, Miss Tyler," Harriet Jones said, matter of fact. Her greying hair was swept back from her face, which was thinner and less kind than the face of the Harriet Jones Rose had met at Downing Street. "Quite simply put, I'm concerned about the effectiveness of this particular office."Rose managed to close her mouth. She'd liked the other Harriet Jones better.President Jones's expression softened a tiny bit. "Your service to this country, this planet, and this universe are not unappreciated Miss Tyler. Rose." She surveyed the office and let out a little sigh. "In fact that is one reason I'm doing this. You deserve a rest.""You're firing me?" Rose heard herself say."Not at all!" President Jones looked scandalized. "In fact, I very much insist you stay on. Torchwood needs agents like you. But the circumstances under which you took command of this base… To be very frank, circumstances have changed. Besides, it was never meant to be permanent."So, I'm good enough when I'm spending every second of every day working on the cannon, but now the stars are back, and everything's back to normal, so it's back to the trenches.What she said aloud was, "Dr. Harper will be taking over, then?""No." President Jones hesitated. "No, I don't think so. I had someone else in mind, actually. She's very good. She's been stationed at Torchwood Seven, but I thought it was time to bring her home. Her name is Martha Jones. She's quite excellent. She'll be arriving this afternoon with Toshiko Sato. Ms. Sato will be your new technology expert."This kind of thing was supposed to come from Canary Wharf. Why was Jones concerning herself with it? Rose wondered for a moment if this was Pete's doing, then dismissed the thought as ludicrous. Pete Tyler was rich and powerful, but Harriet Jones was still the President."Torchwood Alpha was founded as a research branch," President Jones went on. "I'd like it to return to that now.""But we've been dealing with an infestation of Zvazvera and—""Yes, I am aware of that," President Jones said, smiling. "I don't think Torchwood One will have any trouble picking up the slack. I hear you have a rather brilliant expert on all things extraterrestrial on the recruitment short list."Rose realised that she meant the Doctor. "That's not settled, yet," she said.The President smiled wanly. "Well, if all else fails, you can remind him of his patriotic duty. That works on most people, especially men."Not bloody likely, Rose thought. "What about the rest of us?""Mr. Mehra and Mr. Jones will be reassigned to Torchwood One. Dr. Harper will stay where he is. I'm putting you in the number two slot. You'll report to Ms. Jones."Rose shook her head. "No!"President Jones gave her a hard look. "I believe in free speech, young lady," she said. "But I am not sure I like your tone.""Give it to Ms. Jones," Rose said hurriedly. "But leave Ianto and Lalit." She hesitated. "They're valuable team members, ma'am.""I am aware of that. That's why I want them at Torchwood One.""Ianto Jones is right in the middle of reorganizing the Archives," Rose said quickly. "If we change personnel now, it'll delay the project by six months, at least.""Very well," the President sighed. "Keep him. But Mr. Mehra is going to Canary Wharf."Rose's heart sank. "Yes, ma'am."The President sipped at the coffee. "Who makes your coffee, dear?" she asked. "It's the best I've had in a while. I've half a mind to hire them for my office."Rose hesitated a moment before saying, "That'd be Lalit, ma'am.""Does he? He doesn't seem the type." She smiled pleasantly. Rose wondered if Jones knew she was lying and was humouring her. "I think that's everything, then."Rose walked with President Jones through the main office. The President smiled warmly at Ianto, Owen, and Lalit, taking a brief moment to say hello to each of them, and complimented Lalit on his coffee-making skills before signalling to her bodyguards and taking her leave.Lalit stared after her. "Coffee? Me?""That was my fault," Rose said.Ianto was not amused. In fact, he was visibly ruffled. "You told the President that Lalit made the coffee?""It was either that, or lose you to Downing Street," Rose said. "I've had some news. You might not like it."She told them about Jones and Sato, and Lalit's transfer."But I just came from Torchwood One!" Lalit protested."I know.""So you're getting demoted, which means I get demoted," Owen said dryly. "Brilliant.""The President wants us to be more of a pure research facility again.""And where do you fit into that, if I may ask?" he demanded, voice dripping with insolence. "You're not a scientist, and you're not a doctor. Or even a glorified secretary."Ianto glared at Owen with frosty dignity."I don't make these decisions," Rose said sharply.Owen wore an insufferable smirk. "Not anymore you don't. Though, we're probably better off for it."Rose wanted to throw Owen up against the wall and throttle him. Instead, she dismissed him with a roll of her eyes and went back to her office. She'd have to clean out her desk.Not that there was much there. She'd been installed during a time of uncertainty… back when she'd had no intention to ever return. She was supposed to be there now, with her Doctor in the TARDIS.She found the sort of cardboard file box people always used for this sort of thing and swept her pens into it. And the bit of asteroid from Salisbury Plain. She had a framed picture of Mum and Dad with Tony when he'd only been a few weeks old. She picked it up and sat in the chair.She had been ready to leave them behind. It was good that she hadn't had to, she supposed. But it should have been her own choice, and he'd taken that away from her. It wasn't the first time he'd done that, making her decision for her in the name of what he thought was best, but she'd thought it would be different this time. It was like a wound in her chest, throbbing with every injured heartbeat. After everything she'd done to get back to him, he'd just left her.Someone knocked. Rose wiped her face. "Yeah."Ianto opened the door. "Am I interrupting, ma'am?""Nah, s'all right."He took a stance a respectful distance from the desk. "I wanted you to know, ma'am, that Lalit and I do not agree with Owen's assessment of your tenure as first in command."Rose looked at Ianto. He was earnest as ever, just like he'd been that first day she'd met him. "Thanks," she said. "It's okay, though. I wasn't exactly in love with being the boss. It's a relief, actually." It wasn't entirely a lie, either.Ianto nodded. "As you say, ma'am." He did not move away, which meant he had something on his mind.Rose felt herself smiling. "So, did you find out anything about Martha Jones, then?"Ianto's mouth curved ever so slightly. He produced a shiny aluminium clipboard from behind his back and began to read."Martha Jones, born second of May, 1984, daughter of Francine & Clive Jones. Two siblings. Sister Latisha, killed in the Cybus Industries incident of 2007. Brother Leonard, second lieutenant in the Army. Ms. Jones left medical school in 2007, after which she joined the London Metro Police and earned rank of Sergeant. She was recruited by Torchwood in August of 2011 and assigned to Torchwood Seven in Tokyo."What made someone go from wanting to be a doctor to being a copper? It might have been the death of her sister, but you never knew."Anything about Toshiko Sato?""Ms. Sato was raised in London and Osaka. She joined Torchwood in 2005. She's spent one to two years a piece at Torchwoods One, Three, Nine, and Four, until settling at Seven in 2009. According to this, she's a genius." Ianto pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, the files did not deign to give any more detailed information."Rose nodded. "That's fine. We'll find out when they get here, won't we?"The Doctor was never going to believe that Martha Jones is going to be here. Next thing they knew, this universe's version of Jack Harkness would appear. But he was from so far in the future… What were the odds he'd be anything like the Jack she remembered, or that he would exist at all? Mum was always saying how different this Pete was from hers…"Not that I mind," she would say. "At heart, he's the same man. He's just had a different life. The little differences aren't so hard to live with."When she'd said this, she'd had one eye on the Doctor. Rose was a little surprised that her mum was so keen on the two of them getting together, and she'd said as much."It's what you were working for all this time, isn't it, sweetheart?"But Mum didn't understand about the full effects of the meta-crisis. She got as far as "clone, same memories, one heart," and she was satisfied. Then again, the Doctor had only told Rose about the parts of Donna that lingered.Rose desperately wished that she knew how to help him. She could see evidence of Donna in his hesitations, his sudden turnabouts—not like the usual mercurial, magpie stuff, which he still did, but actually turning around and doing exactly the things he'd just said he wouldn't do. As if Donna was inside his head, shouting at him.She didn't know the first thing about multiple personalities. Was this like that? He only gave her vague answers and assurances that he was all right and buried himself in the Archives. He'd have been down there now, if he hadn't suddenly been presented with another Donna."Is there anything I can get you?" Ianto asked her."No." Rose put the picture frame in the box and stood. "They're coming this afternoon. We'll have to finish clearing out Faye's work station.""I'll take care of it, ma'am," he said.Rose glanced up at him and found his expression uncharacteristically soft. "Thanks."Ianto left her to finish.She shouldn't be jealous of Donna. The Doctor had told her how he felt: he'd said 'I love you' in her ear on the beach on the second worst day of her life.He hadn't said it since, but then again, neither had she.And here was Donna Noble—not the same Donna Noble who had saved every Universe, but she was the next best thing, wasn't she? In fact, without a Donna in this world, they'd never have been able to hone the dimension cannon in on the other Donna.Rose picked herself out of the chair and propped the box on one hip. Back upstairs then.Just as she was about to pass through the doorway, the phone on the desk rang. Rose went back and forth a moment before going back and answering it."Rose Tyler.""Is that how you answer the telephone?"Rose's throat closed with sudden emotion. "Yeah, Mum. Hi.""How's work, sweetheart?""Fine, Mum. 'S fine."Jackie Tyler's voice sharpened. "What's wrong? What's happened?""Nothing," Rose said hurriedly. She cleared her throat. "Really. Just had a visit from President Jones.""Oh, how is she?" Mum cried. "Did she get the basket I sent her last week?""I don't know. She was here on business. What d'you want, Mum? Why're you calling?""That's nice! Can't a mother call her daughter without wantin' something?""It's eleven o'clock.""So?""Tony takes his nap at two. You never call before then 'less you need something. Is everything okay?""No problems here," her mother said airily. "Only…"Rose waited."Well, I was wondering if you and Himself would be home at a reasonable hour tonight. I was just planning supper."Rose could still remember when that meant a quick trip to the market. Nowadays it meant a long list for the cook."I don't know.""I'm only wondering, no need to take that tone. You've been working so hard since we got home, I thought you could use a quiet night.""We'll see.""Rose—""We'll see, Mum," Rose said, more firmly."I'm worried about you, sweetheart."Rose held her head with her free hand. "Mum, I'm okay," she said quietly."Oh, and I wanted to remind you: your dad's birthday party's this Saturday night.""I remember.""You'll need a new gown. Should I have Olga make one for you? Are your measurements the same? And Himself will need a tuxedo. I wish you'd convince him to let me get him some more clothes. I don't care how many times he cleans it, that suit's gonna walk away soon.""Mum, I've gotta go."Her mother sighed. "I know, I know. Go save the world. Love you!""Love you, too."Rose hung up. She should have told her. Later. That'd be great dinner conversation. Mum, Dad, today the President demoted me and gave my job to this Universe's version of another woman who travelled with the Doctor. And the Doctor ran off with the alternate Donna. Pass the carrots? By the time she was back in the main room, Ianto had already finished clearing every bit of personal debris from Faye Martin's desk. That would be Ms. Sato's station now, Rose supposed.She put her things down at the empty station to the right of the Argus terminal."When will they get here, do you think?" Owen wondered."Half one," said Ianto. He nodded at the Argus terminal. "They get to Heathrow in about thirty minutes. Orders are they come here directly." He looked to Rose. "Shall I pick them up, ma'am?"Rose looked up from the screen saver on her computer screen. "If you like."Ianto nodded curtly and went to work.Owen watched her as she placed the picture frame behind the keyboard. She could feel his eyes on her, but the last thing she wanted to do was acknowledge him. He was insufferable enough when he wasn't feeling smug and justified. Right now, he'd only make himself a nightmare.As if to confirm this, when Rose got up to get herself a cup of coffee, she caught a glimpse of his smirk.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Donna caught up with the Doctor only after a hearty chase, which was very unfair, given that she was wearing the shoes she'd last worn to work. No wonder he wore trainers, she thought. Thus far, it was the most sensible characteristic he'd displayed.When she found him, he was standing on a street corner amongst the usual Thursday crowd. His hair stuck out in clumps. Donna worked to catch her breath as she stood beside him. He was still toying with the little detector, teeth bared in a grimace of frustration."What's wrong?" Donna said between deep, almost ragged, breaths. Obviously her exercise regimen was not brisk enough. She'd have to start jogging. (Not that the years of smoking would be helping.)"The signal's gone," he said. "It was coming from…" The dish stopped whirling. He smacked the box against the heel of his hand and it started again."Maybe it's moved on," she ventured. More than a few people were giving them quizzical looks as they passed. Donna sent back 'mind your business' glares."I need my screwdriver," the Doctor grumbled."Did you leave it on my car?" Donna tried to take a closer look at the little silver box. There were no identifying marks, just a collection of wires and LEDs sticking out of a box the size of a small portable hard drive."What?" The Doctor looked at her like she'd suggested something scandalous. "Of course not! I don't have one, that's the problem! I knew I should have started working on it first thing, but I've been distracted by…" He waved vaguely around them. "All this… stuff."Donna crossed her arms. "If you're not going to talk sense, can we please go back to the car? I do still want to go home."He jerked his head up and gave her a wounded look. "Oh." He nodded. "Right. Of course, right." He put the detector thing in an inside pocket of his suit jacket, but there was no lump in the fabric. There couldn't have been anything in those pockets, certainly not all that stuff she'd seen him pull out."You've got one hell of a tailor at Torchwood," she said as they started to walk back to the cars. He laughed and put his hands in his trouser pockets.Back at her car, Donna fished his belongings from her bag and watched as he put them away. When he was done, he was as slim in the blue suit as ever. He raised a mischievous eyebrow at her stares."I'll call the Council from home," she said as they got back in the SUV. "I can at least get the boot taken care of." She gave the Doctor a significant look and prompted, "Unless Torchwood can take care of this?"He didn't answer that question, but he did begin to talk. "What I don't understand," he began, "is where they went. You heard what Zzfstaz said: there will be literally thousands of them. Admittedly, the detector works better at finding them when they're in their natural state, but they're not perfect shape shifters. It's not like they grow a full set of human organs. It's mostly just the outside that changes.""Is that why their teeth are all black?" she wondered, shuddering at the memory of the woman in the cell smiling hungrily at her."Wellll… that depends. She wasn't trying very hard; most of the adults are more skilled than that. If they weren't, she wouldn't have been able to fool you into thinking she was your employer for three days."Donna watched the dashboard in thoughtful silence."We've got a very big problem," he went on. "At the rate they reproduce, and with a nearly unlimited food supply, even a handful of Zvazvera could overrun a city the size of London in a matter of…" He winced. "Oooh… Days. Maybe a week. We've got to find a way to stop them.""I'm going to call Mrs. Holiday," she said, cutting him off.The Doctor was so busy staring at her that he missed the turn the GPS had directed him to take. "I'm sure that Torchwood can do that…" He swallowed. "You know, all part of the job.""Are you going to do it?"He looked genuinely horrified. "What?""That's what I thought," she said softly. She pointed out a new route for him to take on the GPS screen. "That's faster."He glared at the little screen on the dash as if it were cramping his style. "I don't need that," he said primly. "I know where I'm going.""And how is it that you know it so well?" Donna asked him, deciding to humour his assertion."Used to live in Chiswick, not too far from here."She could almost believe it, given the way he navigated the little streets. It wasn't long before they had pulled up in front of her house. Donna saw a curtain move in the sitting room window.The Doctor stood next to the car and scratched a sideburn. She was halfway to the door when she turned around and called back to him."Are you coming in or not?"He bounded up behind her like a puppy. "Tea?" he ventured. "I could do with a good cup of tea.""I'll put on a kettle."The door opened before she could lay a finger on the handle. A few tightly-hugged moments later, she smiled at her grandfather."There you are, sweetheart!" Gramps cried. "Ianto said you'd be back this morning. I was hoping they wouldn't try keepin' you for any tests. You know how these secretive government types are. Who's this?""I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said, grinning wide enough to impress a game-show host and shaking Gramps' hand vigorously. "Mr. Wilfred Mott, I presume? Lovely to meet you! Donna's told me all about you."Donna lifted an eyebrow, but decided not to bother correcting him. Gramps was eating it up, anyway."'S that so?" he asked, smiling and winking at her. "That's my girl. Come in, Doctor, come in!"Her grandfather led the Doctor into the sitting room, where he began talking the younger man's ear off, mostly about how he'd seen the news about the H.C. Clements building being under a quarantine and how sorry he'd been to hear about those three accountants who'd died. It was a crime what some people thought they could get away with, corporate terrorism and the like.Donna listened in between trips to her room to put the dirty clothes in the hamper and the kitchen to start the electric kettle and get cups and saucers. The cabinets yielded half a packet of Jammie Dodgers. It was too early for biscuits, she thought, but there was almost no food left in the fridge and she wasn't about to start cooking. Though it was getting close to lunch now, perhaps she ought to make something? She wasn't usually home in the middle of the day on Thursdays.She turned a baleful glance on the dishes in the sink. How hard was it to load a dishwasher?The Doctor's voice drifted into the kitchen. He sounded amused. "Aliens, you say?""Of course," Gramps replied seriously. "I don't know how else you explain the stars all disappearin' and then reappearin' like nothing'd ever happened. It has to be aliens, doesn't it?"Donna went into the sitting room. "You're not going on about that again, are you?" She tidied and picked an empty glass off the coffee table and glanced at the Doctor seated on the sofa. He looked perfectly at home sitting across from Gramps. Donna spotted a ratty old plaid blanket folded neatly next to a pillow. The Doctor was half-sitting on the pillow."Did Mr. Jones spend the night?" she asked."It was late, couldn't have him driving home in the wee hours. We watched The Thin Man," Gramps said to the Doctor. "Said it was one of his favourites." He gave Donna a knowing sort of look. Donna's heart sank. Oh no, he was already making plans, wasn't he? "Not a lot of men his age like old films.""Don't you start," she warned, giving him a Look. "He's too young for me, Gramps.""Who, Ianto?" the Doctor wondered. Donna stiffened as she realised he was looking her up and down. "You're thirty-six, right? Ianto's thirty; that's not much of a difference.""Nothing wrong with getting a younger man," Gramps said, winking conspiratorially at the Doctor. "How old are you, Doctor…?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name.""Smith," the Doctor said. Donna was almost impressed how easily the man could lie. She could have believed it, if she didn't know better.Her grandfather looked doubtfully at the skinny man. "Doctor Smith…""John Smith."Donna hid her face by turning and whipping the pillow out from under the Doctor, who jumped up like a cat. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and picked up the ratty old blanket and took them away to the closet where they belonged.After realizing she'd forgotten all about the tea, Donna brought the two men a plate of the Jammie Dodgers and a cup for each. "I'm going to take a shower, if you don't mind.""Of course, sweetheart. Tell me, Doctor Smith, which hospital do you work for?""Oh, one of the big ones," the Doctor said mysteriously over his cup. "Like you said, secretive government types.""I thought as much. Are you married?"Donna bit back a groan. Through gritted teeth, she said, "He's got a girlfriend. Leave it alone, Gramps."The Doctor looked appalled. "Mr. Mott— I— That is, me and Donna, that's not— Er… I don't think…""See, now you've embarrassed him," she scolded. "You're obsessed."Gramps was contrite. "It was just a question. You know I just want to see you happy, sweetheart.""Married and happy are not synonyms," she snapped. "Or am I the only one who remembers Lance?" She glanced hurriedly at the Doctor, wondering what he must be thinking. Her face was burning. He looked back at her, stricken. "'Scuse me."She hid in her room with the door closed for a while, too mortified to show her face. Gramps meant well, of course he did, but just because a man stepped across the threshold didn't mean that he was interested in being any sort of marriage candidate.Besides, the Doctor was most certainly not her type. Ianto was closer to the mark, but… No. Too young. And too polite.She went into the en suite and took a fast, hot shower, then wrapped her hair in a towel and sat on her bed in her bathrobe. The address book in her mobile had Mr. Holiday's home number. She selected the entry and stared at it for what felt like aeons before pressing 'end'. She couldn't do it over the phone like that. She had the home address. Maybe a visit would be more appropriate.It was better, she thought, that they get the news from her. Better than hearing it from coppers, or spooky secret agent types. Not that Rose Tyler was remotely spooky, but she'd never want to get news like that from somebody like Dr. Harper. At least she'd met the wife before. She had worked for Edwin Holiday five days a week for a year. It wasn't anything like being friends, but at least she knew him.Not well enough to notice when he was replaced by a giant space insect. She dressed in a dark suit, something sombre and professional but not black, and then dried and straightened her hair. A cab would be easiest. She'd have to call the Council about her car later. This was more important.Even if the thought of the parking tickets to come made her stomach hurt.Donna was more than a bit surprised to find that the Doctor was in her kitchen, and shocked when she realised that he was halfway inside the dishwasher. Surely he would have run back to Torchwood by now?The lower half of him knelt on the open door. Looking at him from this angle, and a purely objective standpoint, Donna thought that Rose could do a lot worse. She caught Gramps coming back into the room. He gave her an apologetic look."It broke last night," he explained. "I only mentioned it in passing…"The Doctor backed out and held up a palm full of squashed grey-brown… matter. Donna gagged."There's your problem," the Doctor said brightly. "Just a clog. You ought to rinse better. Ooh! Or you could get one of those units with the disposal built in." His smile turned into a look of abject horror. "Oh… Lord help me, I'm talking about appliances." He looked at the stuff in his hand and pulled a dramatically revolted face. "Bleh!" He shook it off into the sink and ran his hand under the tap. "Disgusting."Donna replaced the racks, loaded the machine and started it. It rumbled to life. She watched the Doctor put his jacket back on. "Thanks.""No problem." He sniffed and looked around the room as if he'd just entered it. "It's a nice house. I like what you did with the colours." Donna glanced up at the aqua walls behind the counter. "Did you choose them? I bet the border stencil was yours, too.""Yeah, we painted it last summer." She gave him a curious look. "How'd you know about the stencil?"He shrugged. "Lucky guess.""Donna's always been creative," Gramps said proudly. "The painting hanging above the telly is hers.""Yeah?" The Doctor ducked into the other room. "Oh, that's brilliant, that is!""It's just a meadow," Donna said, feeling a blush encroaching. "I did it at university. I don't do that sort of thing anymore."The Doctor came back. "Why not?" he asked, disappointed. "You should! Never mind what Mum said about art school, you've got a great eye."Donna stared at him. "What was that?"He blinked. "What?""About my mum.""Did I say 'mum'?" He waved a hand as if clearing smoke. "Wellll… you know mothers. Pushing this way, pulling that way. They're all like that." He eyed her suit. "Are you going out?"She smoothed her jacket over her hips. "I'm going to the Holidays'.""Your boss?" Gramps frowned. "Is he making you pick up his dry cleaning from home again?""No, Gramps." Donna caught a glimpse of her fingernails; the polish was chipped. She hadn't even thought to do them. Then again, it was a clear coat. Even a woman like Mrs. Holiday couldn't take notice of that."You've been ill," he went on, turning red. "You should get the whole week off!""It's not like that," Donna soothed. "Calm down." She put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. "Mr. Holiday passed away."The old man's face went slack. "Bloody hell. I had no idea! They didn't say that on the news. Oh, Donna, I'm so sorry!" He hugged her tightly. Donna buried her face in the wool of his jumper. She would have to fix her make up if she let herself cry, so she didn't."I'm all right," she said, giving him a smile. "But I want to go talk to his wife.""Of course. Didn't he have a boy at university?""Yeah."Gramps shook his head sadly. "Poor thing. It's never easy."Donna nodded and tried not to think about dead parents, but it was all too easy to remember being thirty and thinking, I'm too young for this. Josh Holiday was twenty. She wondered if there was a body to bury, if the family would be able to recognize it. There needed to be a funeral. They deserved to get a funeral and a body to bury. They shouldn't have to wonder what happened.Maybe she shouldn't have been doing this alone."Doctor?"The Doctor looked up from a photograph he'd picked off of the breakfast table. It was a picture of her and her father when she'd been about seven."Yes, Donna?" he replied."Could you…? Would you mind driving me to the Holidays'?"He smiled at her. "I'd be delighted" The Holiday house was large and brick, with a garden in the front, and a clean-swept driveway. Donna watched the bay window at the front. Two long-haired grey cats watched her in return. One of them twitched a tail and jumped out of sight. Donna and the Doctor sat in the car. He seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move."Does Torchwood have the body?" she asked.The Doctor nodded. "They have a strict quarantine procedure.""Does that mean they have to keep it?""I don't know," he replied, frown deepening."Why not?" she demanded. "You're Torchwood, you should know!""I am not Torchwood," he said firmly, like it was the association he resented, rather than the ignorance."You're working for them," she argued."Not for them," he spat. "I don't work for anyone.""Then what are you doing, exactly?"He glared at her, then the steering wheel. "I'm trying to save everyone."Donna stared at him. Now if that wasn't a case for a psychoanalyst, she didn't know what was. And she'd been in therapy, so she ought to have some idea.She looked at the house and its lush garden. It looked so peaceful. She was here to ruin all of that. She took her time walking up to the front door.A blonde woman answered. She was wearing an expensive grey jumper and blue jeans. It took Donna a moment to recognize her. Mrs. Holiday wasn't wearing any make-up. Her eyes were puffy and tired, and she looked about ten years older than she was."Yes?""Mrs. Holiday," Donna began. "I'm sorry to disturb you." When the other woman's face did not change, she went on. "Donna Noble. I'm your husband's personal assistant. This is the Doctor. He's an… acquaintance.""Donna…" Mrs. Holiday nodded, only glancing briefly at the Doctor. "Yes, I remember. The Christmas party; you won the raffle, didn't you?""Actually, that was Francis from H.R." Donna stopped herself. "That's not.… well, I'm actually here about your husband."Mrs. Holiday nodded. "Oh. Yes. Thank you."She backed away to let them in and ushered them into an absolutely exquisite parlour. It was something out of a magazine, very elegant and classic in ivories and pale wood. Part of her drooled in envy as she noticed the curve of the sofa back and how it flowed into the arms.The Doctor was looking at Mrs. Holiday."You already know why we're here," he said.Mrs. Holiday blinked at him. "The police came by this morning. Edwin's been missing since Monday night. I called Tuesday, after that business on the news…" She glanced at Donna, probably taking in the plaster on her collar bone. "I thought maybe… But there was no sign of him until last night." She was calm and collected. Donna couldn't imagine how she did it. She'd have been hysterical, she was sure. She hadn't exactly been stiff upper lip after Mum and Dad had died."I am so sorry," said the Doctor sympathetically."Did they tell you what happened?" Donna asked."They said it was the same toxin that killed the other people," Mrs. Holiday replied. "Bio terrorism." She looked at her hands a moment, and then said, "I'm sorry, I haven't offered you anything to drink.""We're fine," Donna assured her. "Is there anything we can do for you?"Mrs. Holiday gave a smile free of any warmth. "No, we're all right.""Is Joshua still at school?"The other woman looked a little surprised by the question. "No, he's come home. He's going to take a short leave of absence. He's upstairs."Something beeped loudly. The Doctor reached into his breast pocket."Is that your mobile?" Mrs. Holiday wondered.Donna looked at the bug detector in the Doctor's hand. The dish was spinning wildly. The Doctor leapt from his seat."What's wrong?" Donna asked, worried."Mrs. Holiday, when did you last see your husband? Did he spend any time at home recently?"She blinked at him, affront and confusion on her face."What kind of a question is that? Are you some sort of detective?"Donna watched the little dish spin. "Are they here?""Your son, get him down here, now."Mrs. Holiday didn't argue; nobody could argue with that voice. The Doctor's posture and tone spoke of danger. Even his hair was standing on end. Donna's heart was beating harder. She followed Mrs. Holiday and the Doctor into the foyer."Josh!" Mrs. Holiday called up the stairs. "Josh, come down!"Before the boy had had a chance to even call back the Doctor was dashing up the stairs, two at a time. Donna held back, not sure if she should get in the way. At the same time, she remembered how Elouise had reacted to the bugs at the office. She doubted very much that Mrs. Holiday would prove to be the rough and tumble type. Donna galvanised her nerves and followed the shaking widow.The Doctor paused a moment on the landing. He followed the signal to the left."What is that thing?" Mrs. Holiday cried."Stay back," he advised. Donna put a hand on the other woman's shoulder."What's going on?" Mrs. Holiday asked fearfully. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder. "There's an alien bio-signature in that room." He nodded at a closed door at the end of the hallway. The door opened. A tow-headed boy of twenty years poked his nose out."Mum? What's going on?"Mrs. Holiday took a step towards her son. "Josh."The boy frowned at the Doctor and Donna in turn before opening the door a little wider."Who are you?" The Doctor held up the detector. The sound seemed louder now. He held up his arm to stop Mrs. Holiday."What's going on, Mum?"The Doctor took a tentative step towards the boy. "We're not going to hurt you.""What are you talking about?""You think he's one of them?" Donna murmured. Josh looked entirely human. He even had acne, for Pete's sake.The Doctor didn't take his eyes off of him. "It's all right," he said calmly. "How many of you are there?"Josh gave the Doctor a funny look. "Just me… Mum, are you okay?"Mrs. Holiday looked uncertainly at the Doctor. Donna turned her head; she'd caught movement in the corner of her eye. The door to the right of Josh's room had moved. She waited, hoping to see it again. Had she imagined the black claw beneath the door?"Doctor, over there!" Donna grabbed his arm. "Over there!"The Doctor held the device up close to Josh's face, then, apparently satisfied, he pulled the boy by the arm and into his mother.Josh was red in the face and glaring. He looked very much like his father when he was angry. "What the hell are you do—?"The Doctor had turned the door handle and pushed the door open, revealing a man-sized biomorph, complete with twelve spidery limbs and a shiny black approximation of a human face. It was rigid, like a plastic mask. Two red eyes glowed out of it and the mouth was set in a grotesque smile. Mrs. Holiday screamed. Donna nearly did, too, but there was the distraction of another door opening to their right. Without thinking, she grabbed the Holidays and shoved them back towards the staircase."Go! Get out of the house!""Hallo!" the Doctor said to the masked-biomorph.Donna turned and saw that several more biomorphs had come out of the first room and were making to surround the Doctor. His friendly smile wavered as they skittered and buzzed threateningly. His expression went from tense to worried to terrified in quick succession.Josh took his now-hysterical mother down the stairs, where her screams only got louder."Where are they coming from?" Josh cried."Doctor!" Donna shouted. She was too scared to move."Donna, run!" He was trapped against the wall. She wanted to run, but she couldn't. She couldn't leave him, they'd kill him.She cast about for anything she could use as a weapon. There were paintings on the wall and a pedestal with a vase and flowers. One of the biomorphs was advancing on her. There was no sound that could compete in her mind with the buzzing, not even the rush of blood in her ears."Run!" the Doctor shouted.Donna grabbed the vase off the stand. She threw the flowers in the face of the closest biomorph to her. While it backed away in confusion, she went for one of the bugs blocking her way to the Doctor. The vase shattered in a spray of glass and water. The biomorph didn't drop, like a human would have, but it staggered, giving her opportunity to reach for and grab the Doctor's hand.They hurried down the stairs. Mrs. Holiday was shouting—they were still in the house. Why hadn't they gone outside?The Doctor kept hold of Donna's hand as they went towards the noise. The bugs from upstairs were following them, making enough noise on the stairs to be mistaken for a herd of elephants (and their flies). Donna picked up another vase—this one was too light, like it was made of papier-mâché. She held the end like it was a bat. A cricket bat would have been just the thing. Better yet, a big can of bug spray."Don't you have any weapons in those pockets?" she asked the Doctor, hopefully.He looked scandalized. "Why would I want weapons?""Are you kidding me?!"In the kitchen, Josh and his mother were holding off their attackers with a meat tenderizing mallet and a large chef's knife, respectively.The Doctor pointed at a small fire extinguisher hanging on the wall beside the refrigerator. "Josh! Hand me that!"The boy glanced around and pulled it off the wall and lobbed it to the Doctor.The Doctor pulled the pin and held it up, aiming it at the first biomorph to face him. "Stop right there," he ordered. Another of the bugs turned. It buzzed meaningfully."You don't want to do that," the Doctor advised. "You really don't."The bug buzzed again, and the others chorused in. Donna abandoned her vase for a chair. She held it up like a lion tamer, keeping the bugs behind her and the Doctor at bay. They looked at the legs with apparent concern. Why didn't they just attack? There were at least eight of them, only four humans…One of the bugs between the Doctor and the Holidays put out a claw and stepped towards Mrs. Holiday. Josh swung at its head, just as the Doctor warned him to stop. The mallet made contact with the biomorph's segmented eye. It screeched in pain. As one, the other bugs surged forward.Donna brandished her chair and found herself scrambling on top of the kitchen table. The Doctor sprayed a bug in the face. It screamed and fell back. Josh was hitting wildly at the bugs nearest him and his mother, while Mrs. Holiday stabbed and swung her knife at anything that came too close.The Doctor sprayed two more of the bugs with the fire extinguisher. The ones he hit fell back, or to the ground. Donna wondered if it was the chemicals or maybe the freezing temperature of depressurized gas, but mostly, she was busy trying to stay out of reach of the bugs' many arms and proboscises. Or was it probosci?When the Doctor ran out of chemicals, he swung the red metal cylinder like a club, knocking one bug's arm away from Donna's leg. She winced at the crunching sound it made as the shiny exoskeleton cracked.One of them had her. She screamed as the claws dug into her thigh and waist. She lost her grip on her chair when one pulled it away from her and dragged her off of the table.The Doctor shouted something, made sounds like he had when talking to the bug in the cell at Torchwood, then shouted something, not angry, but victorious, as he clambered onto the kitchen island.Mrs. Holiday screamed her son's name as he was overpowered by one of the bugs. Donna struggled to keep her exposed neck away from the barbed straws coming at her. She attacked with elbows, heels, teeth. Bloody exoskeletons! She just wasn't strong enough to do any damage on her own.There was a high pitched screech. Donna clenched her eyes shut involuntarily, and would have clapped her hands over her ears had they been unoccupied. The sound grew higher and louder, until she wasn't even sure she was still hearing it, but she could definitely feel it, like a mosquito in her ear.Suddenly, she was free. She opened her eyes and looked at the biomorphs that had held her. They were falling to the floor, shivering and screeching piteously.Donna extricated her self from the limp grasp of the claws and went over to where the Doctor stood on the island, holding up what looked like a smoke alarm. He grinned manically at her and jumped down. He tossed the alarm into her hands, and pulled Josh to his feet. There was a bloody mark on the boy's cheek, maybe a bite, or perhaps a stray cut from his mother's poorly aimed attacks. He wobbled. Donna quickly went to help him, semi-successfully stepping over the biomorphs as they lay twitching on the floor.The Doctor held up his hands to Mrs. Holiday. "It's all right."She stared at him, eyes wide, both hands shaking around the handle of the knife. There were red and black stains on the steel. The Doctor held her gaze. "What's your name?" he asked."Daphne," she breathed.He smiled at her and spoke gently. "Lovely. Give me the knife, Daphne. It's all right. We're going to get you and your son someplace safe, all right?"She held out the knife. He took it from her hand and set it on the counter before taking her hand and giving her a quick, comforting hug. She sobbed into his jacket. "There now, it's all right. You come with us now. It's all right…"Donna pulled Josh's arm over her shoulders and helped him out the front door. They got into the SUV, the Doctor gave Josh a shot of something, and they drove away at speeds that certainly weren't legal on a residential street.In the backseat, Josh seemed to have fainted. His mother held his head to her chest and rocked back and forth. Donna wondered what had been in the shot.She glanced at the Doctor once or twice as he drove. Back to Torchwood, she supposed."Can you take me home?"For a moment, he didn't speak. He seemed disappointed. "Are you sure?"She looked at the Holidays. She could imagine Gramps alone at home, those things surrounding him, no one to defend him."He'll be fine," the Doctor said. When she frowned he went on, "Your granddad. He's a tough old soldier." His eyes darted behind them for a moment. "They could use your help."Donna stared out the window for a few moments. All those people, unaware that anything was going on. Any of them could be surrounded by these things, and not know it until it was too late. She took a deep breath."I've got to protect him," she said quietly. "He's all I've got."The Doctor nodded.Outside her house, the Doctor gave her a card. It was blank, except for a watermark of the honeycomb 'T' and a telephone number."If you need anything, call." He gave her a small smile. "Thank you, Donna Noble."She glanced at the black SUV, where the Holidays were waiting. "For what?" she wondered.He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. "Well… You know… for everything." He nodded back at the car. "They would have been killed if you hadn't insisted on seeing them."Donna hugged herself. "Or they might have been left alone," she said, though she knew it wasn't true."Call me," he said. "Any reason at all."She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you asking me out?" she asked, in what she hoped was a forbidding tone.He blinked. "No! Just… You know. If you see any more Zvazvera buzzing around. Or if you, you know… just want to. Not for a date. Just… whatever."He was sort of darling when he was awkward. She tilted her head. "Good. Because I think that Rose would have something to say about that."He blushed. "Right.""I'm going to go in."The Doctor nodded. "Right. You go." Donna smiled and turned to go up the walk to her front door."Donna?"She turned back. "Yes, Doctor?""If I don't see you again…" He hesitated. "Be magnificent."She laughed. "You, too."Donna avoided the inquisition from Gramps for a few minutes by standing by the window. The SUV drove away, but she thought she caught a glimpse of the Doctor looking back at her before the car was out of sight.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The Doctor helped Daphne and Josh Holiday from the SUV. He was a little surprised, but pleased, that Daphne was so calm. He'd half-expected her to still be shaking. Good for her, he thought.Rose was standing at the front of the car when he looked up. She had a cross look bending her lips and eyebrows, and her arms were tightly folded. He closed the car door and it echoed across the empty warehouse floor."Where have you been?" she demanded."Took Donna home," he began. He nodded at the Holidays. "Then we rescued them from a nest in their house. Took Donna home again. How are you?"She did not smile at him. The Doctor frowned. Why was she angry?"And who are they?""Rose Tyler, meet Daphne and Joshua Holiday." Daphne nodded a greeting, since she was largely occupied by holding up her half-conscious son. Rose stared back at her."You went to their house?""Donna wanted to see them."Rose grimaced. "The police were handling it.""We didn't know that." He nodded at Josh. "Besides, the police were in and out and never knew that they had a nest under their noses. Lucky thing Donna and I showed up. Josh here got a bite." When Rose's eyes widened, he said, "Just a little one. I already gave him some antidote. Still, Owen'll probably want to have a look at him. I thought I'd bring them back here. They can't go home at the moment. Speaking of which, somebody ought to go back there and capture the Zvazvera. There were nine of them that I saw, might be more still hidden.""Stop!" Rose cried. She shook her head. "Just stop."The Doctor closed his mouth. "What's the matter?" he asked after a moment.Rose turned to Daphne. "Come with me, we'll get you sorted, yeah?" She darted a glare in the Doctor's direction. He kept silent, deciding it was best until he figured out exactly why she was annoyed with him. Everything was all right. He'd gotten Donna home, like he'd said he would, he'd rescued two people, incapacitated nine Zvazvera with a slight modification to a smoke alarm (without his screwdriver, even!), and no one had gotten killed, or even seriously injured. Except maybe a few of the Zvazvera.As he followed the others down the stairs to the office, he thought over the incident. There was the gore on Daphne's knife… that was worrying… and the way Josh had hit that first biomorph.And the one he'd hit himself with the extinguisher. The gas wasn't any more harmful to the biomorphs than it was to a human (okay, so it wasn't healthy), but when it had run out… Their arms had been reaching out, clawing at him, at Donna… He hadn't even thought about it, he'd just reacted. He'd smashed that Zvazveraz's leg. Like he'd hit the one who'd attacked Rose at H.C. Clements. No thought, just action, and he'd struck out. That one had come out with a crushed thorax… His attack had had far more force than necessary to incapacitate it. He hadn't measured the blow. He could have, should have. He hadn't been thinking. Rose had been in trouble, and he'd just…He'd have to be more careful, he decided. The adrenaline this human body produced clouded thought. Couple that with the other hormones—troublesome testosterone for one—and he was a bomb waiting to go off. He was dangerous, maybe more so than his Time Lord self had predicted. He couldn't go around hurting people just because they were his adversaries. That was what a human would do. He was better than that.You are human, Spaceman.Half human. I can still behave like a Time Lord.There's nothing wrong with protecting the people you care about."Not like that," he muttered, determinedly."What?"He looked up. Rose was looking at him with a crease on her forehead."Nothing," he lied. He glanced around the office and saw that Owen was already ushering the Holidays down to the medical bay. They'd be all right. He turned back to Rose and was about to ask her if she'd had any lunch when he stopped dead.There were two new people in the room. They stood near the main entrance, followed closely behind by Ianto, who nodded a greeting to Rose.Rose went over to the newcomers and extended a hand. "You must be Martha Jones," she said, in a not entirely friendly tone, which wasn't like Rose. Rose was always friendly. The Doctor frowned.Wait, had she said Martha Jones?He blinked and stared. It was, it was Martha. His hearts—heart—leapt and he stood up straight, unable to suppress a grin. She looked just as he remembered her. Well, no… she was several years older; her hair was in long braids swept back from her face into some sort of elaborate twist. The smile she gave Rose was not the brilliant and bright thing that his Martha had had. It was small, restrained, and just a little smug. She carried herself differently. Her shoulders were stiff and square. Despite the fact that she was several inches shorter than Rose was, she had a towering sort of look to her. She wore a leather jacket and black trousers. He was disappointed to see that the jacket was dark green and not red.Her companion was a Japanese woman dressed in a grey pencil skirt and an indigo blouse. She had a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on, and her hair pulled back from her face, giving her a librarianish look. He thought that he recognized her, too, but he wasn't quite sure where from. Maybe there'd been a version of her in Torchwood back in the other universe.Martha Jones shook Rose's hand. "A pleasure to meet you. This is Toshiko Sato."Sato, yes! There'd been a Dr. Sato doing the autopsy on that poor pig when the Slitheen had tried to destroy Earth.Toshiko shook Rose's hand. The look Rose gave Toshiko was decidedly nicer than the one she was giving Martha.He put himself forward. "Rose Tyler," Rose was saying, "And this is the Doctor."He nodded. "Nice to meet you. New recruits?"Martha raised an eyebrow at him, and then turned to Rose. "You should keep your team better informed," she said.Rose's smile faltered. "He was out when President Jones informed me you'd be coming.""Wait, Harriet Jones was here?" the Doctor cried. "Why'd she come here? Incidentally, what's she like? I've been wondering ever since…" He trailed off, seeing the looks on the women's faces. "Anyway… You could inform me now.""I'm taking over this branch of Torchwood," Martha said. She gave the room a quick survey. "My reward, I suppose." She gave Toshiko a private smile. "Well, Miss Tyler, you might as well show me to my office. You can brief me on the current situation. Your man Mr. Jones wasn't very forthcoming."Ianto, who had retreated to his coffee nook, glanced up at his name."Of course," Rose said."Doctor…" Martha began."Yes?" He didn't like the look she was giving him. Like she thought she knew everything there was to know about him just after one quick glancing-over. His Martha'd never looked at people like that.Alternate universe, alternate Martha, chimed the Donna voice."You can show Ms. Sato to her station. And then I think I'd like it if we could get some sort of lunch." Martha looked at Rose."Ianto can arrange it," Rose replied. "There's a good sushi place nearby. Make you feel more at home."Toshiko and Martha exchanged glances."Is she serious?" Toshiko muttered in Japanese.The Doctor caught the quirk of Martha's lips. "I think sushi is the last thing we want," Martha said diplomatically. "Sandwiches would be fine."Rose gave Martha a plastic smile and walked with her down to the head office. An uneasy feeling settled in the Doctor's stomach. When he turned around, Toshiko was waiting."Sorry," he said when he realised she was waiting on him. Then, in Japanese, "So, how long have you been with Torchwood?"She looked surprised, but pleased. "Eight years. How about you?""Oh, I'm not an agent." He smiled. "Just helping out.""Miss Sato?" Ianto walked over with a large mug of coffee in a teal blue mug. "Your coffee.""Thank you," she replied, in English. With a British accent, no less. The Doctor grinned."Would you like any coffee, sir?" Ianto asked."Yes, thanks." Then, remembering, "Hold the 'sir'."Ianto gave that same little nod he always gave."Which is my desk, then?" Toshiko asked.The Doctor looked at the desks for a moment. There were three of them in a semi-circle around the central terminal."I'm… not sure…" There was Owen's on the far left, with the dinosaur, then there were the two on the other side of the Argus interface. The one in the middle had a picture of Pete and Jackie holding baby Tony, so that would be Rose's desk…Rose's desk? What Martha had said about taking over sank in.He pointed at the empty one on the right. "I assume it's that one."Toshiko sipped her coffee as she walked over. "It's rather dark in here, don't you think?"The Doctor looked up. The lighting was minimal, but they were several levels underground. "Not too bad," he said reasonably. "No windows, of course.""It reminds me a bit of the Hub in Cardiff. Now that was a dank little hole in the ground." She smirked at the computer as she pressed the screen, signed in, and started to manipulate different files at an impressive speed. (For a human.)"Oh, I don't know," the Doctor said. "I expect there's a charm to it.""I liked the facilities in Washington, personally. But then again, I like Federal architecture." She brought a new file to the screen; it looked like technical schematics, then quickly dismissed it and moved on."Hang on!" He bounded forward. "Bring that back!"Toshiko stared at him. "What?""Those schematics."She brought the diagram back to the front. The Doctor was almost open-mouthed in his amazement."Do you know what you have here?" he asked her.She pushed her glasses down her nose and peered at the screen. "It's a sonic wave generator.""It's not just a generator," he said. "It's an amplifier. Where did you get that schematic?""It was in the Archive," she replied. "It's something I've been studying for the last six months. I thought, since I was going to be stationed at Alpha now, I could have a look at the physical document.""Do you understand it?" he asked her.Toshiko hesitated. "I can't read the language, if that's what you mean. The Torchwood language matrix has never been able to give more than a partial translation; not enough extant data. But I think I understand the major principles."The Doctor felt himself grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, Toshiko Sato, you and I are going to be best friends."She frowned. "I'm sorry?"He pointed at the screen. "What if I told you that I have my own plans for a sonic device, better than this one? And that I can read what that says?""I'd say you were lying," she replied shortly. "Our scientists haven't come anywhere near this far in that field. And the idea that any human could know the language of a species we've never even encountered—""Not yet," he said. "I imagine these schematics came through some sort of rift in time and space."Her eyes widened. "How did you know?""Want me to teach you?"Toshiko took off her spectacles and gave him a searching look. "Who are you?""I'm the Doctor." When she opened her mouth to ask his name, he said, "And yes, that's all of it." He sighed. "Blimey, never satisfied, you lot, are you?" He stood up straight and jerked his head towards the stairs that led down to the tech lab. "Come with me."Toshiko was bright—almost frighteningly so—and it didn't take her long to understand the basic principles behind sonic manipulation. She was also quite adept at asking just the right questions. She'd be an excellent companion.What are you going to do, stuff her in the TARDIS and fly off? He grit his teeth and kept working. The lab was full of spare parts and abandoned projects. It was easy to steal a casing here, a filament there… By the time Ianto had brought them lunch—sandwiches and surprisingly good chips—the Doctor had a pile of parts to sort through.Ianto peered at the sketch the Doctor had made to illustrate his plan to Toshiko. "May I ask?""Just a little pet project," he replied."Is this what you wanted?" Across the room, Toshiko was holding up what looked like a comm headset from a Q'alatrixi warship. The Doctor grinned. "Exactly!" He hopped eagerly over and took it from her. He put it on and peered through the viewer with one eye. "Just the thing!" He went back to the work station, yanked off the headset and popped off its earpiece. Toshiko caught the headset as he tossed it back over to her. She looked down in dismay."Was that it?"The Doctor pried the earpiece open and picked at the innards. He held up the little blue emitter on the tip of his finger. "The Q'alatrixi are masters of sound production. This little gizmo can produce up to three megahertz. With a few modifications, I can get that up to five.""That's ultrasound," Toshiko said. Ianto looked pained, but curious.The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Average human can't hear above sixteen thousand Hertz. The Zvazveraz can hear up to one-point-five megahertz; more than that and they're a bit worse for the wear. Like nails on a chalkboard…" He frowned. "Take it too high, and it liquefies them in their shells." At Toshiko's grimace he said, "Of course, being somewhat similar to Earth insects, their internal organs are already relatively liquid.""These are the things you've been fighting?" Toshiko asked."They're sentient beings," the Doctor said, less patiently than he'd intended. "Not things.""Sentient beings who want to eat us and take our planet," Ianto said with a tiny smile.The Doctor frowned stubbornly at the workstation. "It's what they've evolved to do. Humans eat other animals all the time.""You're not suggesting we should let them?" asked Toshiko.He glanced at her. "No," he said, "of course not. But acting like they're just inhuman monsters to be destroyed…""We've only killed one, so far," Ianto said. The Doctor met his eyes. There was no judgment in Ianto's expression, but it was clear exactly which Zvazveraz he was talking about. The Doctor looked away."With this," he said, holding the emitter between finger and thumb, "we can incapacitate them without harming them. A lot more efficient than darts."Four hours, forty-three minutes elapsed between the time Ianto brought the sandwiches and when Martha came into the lab to demand a report on what had happened at the Holiday house. Every minute ticked by in his head, a comforting, familiar sense among unfamiliar senses and impulses. Moments were punctuated by cutting wires and discussions on the relative merits of a titanium versus adamantium casing, even debate on what the proper colour of the lens ought to be. He liked blue. It had been blue for a long time. Toshiko had suggested that he ought to expand the infrasonic range he had planned. And that red was sportier.The discussion was cut short by Martha's arrival. Toshiko vacated the lab after one nod from her.Martha Jones—the one he'd known in the other universe—had been more scrutable. Not an open book, exactly, but there had been the little smirks, the rolling of the eyes both incredulous and irritated; she'd had a lovely, expressive face.The Martha Jones of this world was… well, her smile was wrong, for one thing. That was the most obvious and unacceptable difference. At least this world's Donna still made the same face at him when she thought he was insane. Martha Jones gave him a critical eye and demanded that he explain himself. The nerve!"As I said," he growled through his teeth. "I took Donna home and then I brought them here.""This would be the same Donna Noble who works at the H.C. Clements building, witnessed two separate attacks there, and was in the holding area last night when the subject Zzfstaz informed you of the presence of high numbers of invaders in the city of London?""Yes.""And you just took her home?""Yes."Martha gave him a very cold look. "I don't suppose you gave her any retcon?""No. She wouldn't have wanted that.""Her wants are immaterial next to the security of this planet, Doctor."The two of them glared at each other."She's not going to go shouting Torchwood secrets from the rooftops, Ms. Jones.""What I find most interesting," Martha said, "is that a man who is not even a Torchwood agent has been able to insert himself into—""I'm going to stop you there."There was the incredulity he remembered. "Oh?""You were going to go on about how I'm not Torchwood, so what am I doing in your base, playing with your toys, right?""That is a good question. Rose has told me that you aided in the original Cybus Industries incident in 2007. Obviously, you're some kind of technical expert." She looked at the work station. "Peter Tyler has vouchsafed for you, and is eager for you to join the team officially." There were several seconds of silence as they regarded each other."So what are you waiting for?" she went on. "You've had two weeks to see what we're about."It took him half a second to realize that his mouth was open. "Are you asking me to join up?""That is why you're here, isn't it?"He glanced at the bare-bones of a sonic screwdriver at his fingertips, thought of Rose, and the Holidays, and Donna smashing a vase and reaching out to help him."I haven't decided yet."Martha let out a short sigh. "Well, I can't force you. But we could always use another agent. And Rose thinks very highly of your abilities."That brought up a question that had been buzzing around his mind. "Why are you replacing her?"She smiled wanly. "I'm not at liberty to discus internal affairs with outsiders.""I guess that answers my question then," he said nastily.Martha raised an eyebrow.Nice, Spaceman. Such a measured response.He went back to work for twenty-six minutes until the space that had been occupied by Martha held Rose. He inhaled her perfume, looked up at her face, and decided that he could leave the sonic screwdriver until later.Rose was hugging herself. The patterned green and blue fabric of her blouse bunched around her elbows and stretched quite pleasantly over her breasts and hips. He had never really considered women's fashion to be of much interest before. He wondered if the change was due to Donna, or to the new hormone cocktail."How did it go?" she asked."What go?""Talking to Martha."He looked away from her breasts, stared at her clavicle for a moment, and then busied himself with the tool he'd modified into a passable hyper-spanner. "Fine."Rose chewed on a lip. "Did she ask you to join?""Yep.""Are you going to?"There was something in her tone, obviously nervous, or maybe it was exhaustion… She always looked tired. Maybe she wasn't sleeping? He ought to get her away from here. They could go to… He grimaced."Do you want me to?"Her mouth hung open for a moment. "I don't know. It's your decision, isn't it?""That's not what I asked.""Do what you want," she said. It wasn't a dismissal, not the way she said it, but he felt a twinge anyway. She pulled her hair back and nodded at the work station. "What's that you're doing?""New sonic screwdriver. I meant to start it ages ago, but there was all that mess with the living arrangements and biorhythms and alien invaders and whatnot." He waved a hand in disgust."You look tired.""I'm fine," he said, automatically. He hesitated. "You look…"Rose rubbed her eyes. "I'm half-dead." She tilted her head and looked at the bits on the table. "How long is that going to take?""The basic structure will only take a few hours, assuming I can find all the materials. The programming is another matter, of course. The last time I needed a new screwdriver, I had old templates to build on. And the TARDIS."She nodded. Then, after a long, horrible, awkward silence, she asked, "How are you holding up?""I'm all right."Rose narrowed her eyes. "Well. That's good. Glad everything is hunky dory.""Oi," he said, feeling his hackles rise at her sarcasm. "You don't have to take that tone.""I'll take whatever tone I like if you're going to lie to me," she snapped back."Look, there's nothing you can do, all right? I'm fine! I'll be fine!""Fine," Rose said, mockingly. "You go ahead and play with your screwdriver, then. I'm going home." Before he could come up with a response that didn't sound childish, she had marched out of the lab.That went well."Oh, shut up," he muttered.Unacceptable. There was no other word for it. The Doctor sat heavily on the shiny chrome stool. He'd never had this much trouble adjusting to a regeneration—and that was including the sixth and the ninth. The ninth had been bad. He'd been more than a bit mad after… After. He'd wandered aimlessly, ended up on Earth a few times, saved a family from their fate aboard the Titanic, seen Kennedy shot, not to mention a few hazy adventures that he couldn't entirely remember. And then he'd met Rose, and aimless as he still had been (he liked aimless) he hadn't been talking to himself anymore. He'd had a hand to hold.He flexed his right hand. Well… not this hand. He'd barely gotten to know it before he'd lost it. (It had been the replacement hand that had taken hers outside the Powell Estate that Christmas, out there in the not-snow.) This one had touched hers before that, in the TARDIS right after the discovery of the mole and before he'd flown the TARDIS into the pavement. That was this hand. The hand that pressed the big threatening button. (Not the fighting hand, though he was beginning to wonder.) It was the hand that had taken up the sword in the first place. The hand that Donna had given new life.Half life, half human, one bloody heart, and the echoes of his friend in his head. Absolutely unacceptable.All he had to do was one, simple, solitary thing, and that was be with Rose, but here he was, sitting alone in Torchwood basement while she went home to her family. And she was cross with him.But she kept poking where he didn't want to be poked, and… and…He waited for the answering Donna voice. When it said nothing, he felt a sudden crushing emptiness. That had been simple. Him and Donna, just mates, running around the universe. None of these twisted, pining, agonizing feelings gutting him. (At least, not in the foreground.) He thought of going to Chiswick, just to have a chat with her, or Gra—Wilf.No. He had to remember that he was a stranger to them.Donna might have been a comfort, but he wanted Rose. But the first thing in the zeppelin from Norway, the very first thing, she'd asked for time. It wasn't easy for her, either. She'd been stranded here with him, when what she really wanted was him. She hadn't said it, not like that (she was too kind for that), but he'd known it. He still knew it.He considered several options. One: go after her now, and maybe have a row. Two: go after her now, definitely have a row. Three: Go after her now, no row, but suffer Jackie's probing until bedtime, when he would be allowed to retire to the rooms he'd been given to spend the night reading or watching horrible late-night television. Four: stay here and work on the sonic screwdriver, maybe even finish the basic programming by the time Rose came back in the morning, drink coffee.He decided on option five: drink coffee, then stay and work on the screwdriver.On his way to the coffee, in between wondering when he'd started to find lists so satisfying, he stopped at Rose's desk. Everyone seemed to be gone for the evening, except Ianto, who was working quietly at the Argus station."Can I help you, sir?""No, I'm fine." The Doctor winced. "Actually, I was hoping for a bit of coffee."Ianto left Argus for the coffee nook. The Doctor stood his ground, unconsciously putting his hands in his pockets and keeping a good distance away. The nook was Ianto's domain, at least when he was here.The sense of human personal and territorial boundaries was useful, at least. Not as useful as a tongue that could taste the molecular composition of things, but useful.He liked coffee more now, too, which was good, because he was going to need the caffeine. He could feel his body flagging. Fifty-seven hours might be pushing it. Thing was, he still had a Time Lord brain, and it did not need all that wasteful sleep.After some quiet, controlled, but largely abstract (at least to the Doctor's mind) busyness, Ianto presented him a cup of espresso."A double-shot," he said with a tiny smile."What did you do before Torchwood, Ianto?" the Doctor asked, genuinely curious."One year of University, and a summer of painting houses."The Doctor grinned at him. "I spent a summer painting houses, once," he said. "Well… when I say houses… More like daub and wattle huts.""Habitat for Humanity?" Ianto ventured."Yeah," the Doctor lied. He drank from his espresso and winced. Too hot. His poor human tongue couldn't take it. "Ow.""Planning on burning the midnight oil, then, sir?"He gave the young man an annoyed look. "Yes. No 'sir'. I mean it." He sipped his espresso more cautiously this time and only after blowing on it. He couldn't be sure if the effect was real or psychosomatic. Damn tongue—he might as well have it coated in wax. "Are you sure you weren't somebody's butler?""I was Mr. Tyler's personal valet for four years.""Ah! That explains it. Wait… Was this after you joined Torchwood?"Ianto smiled conspiratorially. "It was my first assignment."The Doctor glanced at gun at the young man's hip. Like most Torchwood agents, Ianto went armed. (He and Rose had argued over that the first day he'd come to the Warehouse. And it had turned out that Rose's gun only ever had tranqs in it.) Was 'valet' really code for 'bodyguard', then?"I got to know the Tylers quite well.""How well?" the Doctor asked."Well enough to know that you were never actually part of Habitat for Humanity. At least, not in this reality."It took the Doctor a few moments to collect his chin from his chest, metaphorically speaking."You… what?""I've known Miss Tyler for some time, Doctor. You were," he constructed his language like one might arrange flowers, "… a frequent topic of conversation."The Doctor put down his saucer. "Ianto Jones, I think you have me at a disadvantage.""Yes, sir."Well, that was something."Tell me about myself, Ianto.""I wouldn't presume.""What is that, valet/valee confidentiality?" the Doctor teased. "What can you tell me? Perhaps you can fill me in on things I ought to know about them? Or can you not presume that, either?""That's a long list," Ianto replied, somehow managing to show thoughtfulness without moving more than just one muscle in his (generous) forehead."Whatever you can tell me," the Doctor said, holding in a sigh as he thought about Rose leaving the lab. Ianto began to talk.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He woke up with the hyper-spanner pointing right between his eyes. His cheek was pressed against the table, and the hand under his temple was numb.Part of his brain informed him that Something had made a noise; it had been loud, but it seemed to have stopped now. He groaned and closed his eyes against the florescent lighting. He wondered if he'd damage this world's timeline too much if he just went ahead and "invented" a more energy-efficient light source that didn't hurt human eyes so bloody much."Doctor!"The noise again.Jackie.Wait, Jackie? Where was he?He sat up quickly; his stool leaned back just a little further than his centre of gravity could balance. His arms pin wheeled and his hands just failed to grip the edge of the table.The Doctor looked up at the ceiling. He was temporarily windless from the impact. (Human lungs were dreadful. No wonder some of his companions had needed so much breaking in…) Maybe if he didn't move, he could preserve some semblance of dignity.Jackie Tyler's face appeared in his vision. She frowned worriedly at him, but instead of asking if he was hurt, she said, "You have something on your face."He felt his cheek and pulled off a little silver ring of scrap metal and flicked it away.Once he was upright again—he tried to move as if he were not in pain—he looked at Jackie."What are you doing here?" he asked. He was still in the lab. Why was Jackie in the lab? Did Rose know that Jackie was here?"You didn't come home last night," she replied sharply."I wasn't aware that I had a curfew."Jackie put her hands on her hips. "We need to talk."He grimaced. "You mean that you need to talk and I'm to keep my gob shut, am I right?""Whatever," she said. The Donna bits translated this: yes."Look, I was working on something, Rose wanted to go home, I don't see—""This isn't about Rose," Jackie said.Oh. He glanced uncertainly at her. "It isn't?"Jackie rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Not everything is about your relationship to my daughter. Besides, Rose told me to keep out of it, so I'm keeping out.""You are?" he wondered, unable to keep the disbelief out of his tone.Jackie sniffed. "If you hadn't noticed, and I'm assuming you haven't, you keeping yourself locked up in here when you're not swanning around London, but the rest of us have lives. You're coming with me.""I am? Where?""You'll see."She went to the door and waited, arms folded across her well-tailored but garishly green blazer. Jackie Tyler was certainly better dressed these days, but there was no curing what the Donna bits wanted to simply call colour blindness.The Doctor wondered if he should resist Jackie's efforts to pry him from the lab. He couldn't imagine that anything that Jackie could plan would hold any interest for him. It fact, he fully expected some sort of domestic torture, accompanied by a never-ending stream of prattle.Then again, it would upset Rose if he upset her mum. And he dearly wished that he knew if it was Doctor or Donna who provided this thought: maybe if he listened to the prattle, he might glean some information he could actually use. (It was probably Donna. It had to be. When would his Doctor side ever advocate listening to Jackie chatter?)Feeling strangely like he'd been coerced, he picked the sonic screwdriver off the table and slipped it into his inner breast pocket.Jackie had a small limousine waiting outside. Her driver, a bloke named Morris, opened the door for them and tipped his hat."You really need all this?" the Doctor said, still writhing under the man's cheerful, "Good day, sir!""We're paying him good money," Jackie said pragmatically. "What good is being rich if I can't employ people?""Where are you taking me?" he asked hoping for an answer this time."You need clothes for the party tomorrow night.""What?!" The car was already in motion. His hand spasmed around the door handle. Locked. Bloody hell!"Don't you dare start fussing!" Jackie warned in such a severe tone that the Doctor wondered if he was in store for a Tyler slap. "You've been in that same suit for ages! I'll shave my head before I let you wear it for Pete's birthday party."The Doctor frowned. "Birthday party?""Yes," she said as if he were thick. "Pete's. You know Pete? He's the one who's been feeding you and putting you up?"Jackie seemed to have mastered new depths of sarcasm in the last three years. He gritted his teeth. "I never asked for—""Oh, don't be stupid," Jackie said, rolling her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. We're happy to do it. But you can't spend the rest of your life workin' and runnin' about. You've got to live a bit.""I know how to live, Jackie.""I don't think you do," she argued."I'm over nine hundred years old!"Jackie gave him an exasperated look. "You've been alive three weeks!"The Doctor closed his mouth and turned his face to the window. The hand on his left knee moved. When he looked down, Jackie was holding it tightly. The human hand. His right clenched and he pulled it close to his body."You've got to learn how to take care of yourself," Jackie said quietly. "You're going to have to sleep in your own bed and take meals and have more than one pair of shoes."He swallowed. He couldn't remember the last time someone had… acted motherly towards him.Suddenly, he could remember a thousand times, but it wasn't Jackie or even his own long-lost mother. It was Sylvia Noble; stroking his hair, giving him a hug, plastering a scraped knee, tickling him as he wriggled and laughed.The Doctor took a deep breath and fought for self-control. Those were Donna's memories, not his. He tried to replay them again, recasting himself as Donna, more specifically, the little girl she'd been when she'd experienced such things.This world's Sylvia Noble was dead and gone; why did that have to hurt so much?I'm not Donna.Jackie squeezed his hand a little tighter and smiled sympathetically. "You've got us to help you, sweetheart. I know it isn't easy, but you'll be all right."He swallowed against a stubborn lump in his throat and nodded. He didn't trust himself to talk, so he simply squeezed her hand back and forced a smile. (That was the human thing to do, right? Funny how it didn't feel as false as he expected.)She let go and gave a satisfied little sigh. "Let's get you a new tuxedo." The man in the mirrors looked… Well… he had always looked brilliant in a tuxedo. And this was a very nice one, with a waistcoat and everything. He played with the shirt collar while a tailor pinned the hem on the trousers. He still couldn't recall Rose mentioning the party to him, but they'd all been distracted by the Zvazveraz. Maybe she had said something and he hadn't been paying attention. (Donna was suggesting to him that this happened quite a lot more than he thought it did.)Jackie came back into the room."That's much better!" she said happily. "Don't you look handsome!" Her eyebrow lifted knowingly. "Rose will be pleased."The Doctor fiddled with the bow tie. He needed a shave. Again. He could swear that his beard grew ten times faster now. How patently unfair."Did they get you the shoes? Doesn't Asim have the best taste?"The tailor looked up and smiled modestly. "Thank you, Mrs. Tyler.""Now, as soon as you're done with that, Doctor, there are some other things I want you to take a look at.""Jackie…" the Doctor groaned, "it is too much." He wasn't sure how much more he could take. Mothering was one of those things you outgrew, and he'd outgrown it centuries ago. So how was it that Jackie Tyler, of all people, was making him feel like a petulant kid?"I haven't even got started yet," Jackie said breezily.Asim the Tailor looked up. "You must hold still! Otherwise your hem will be above your ankles, and I cannot be responsible!""Sorry." The Doctor straightened and tried not to move. He watched Asim surreptitiously via the mirrors. He seemed oddly familiar; like the man who'd fit him for robes at the Academy. What had his name been? He frowned as he tried to remember."How is that?" Asim asked."Perfect," he replied without looking. Coritaxavrot? No, that wasn't it. It had started with 'Cor', though."I'll have everything sent to the house tomorrow afternoon, Mrs. Tyler.""Two o'clock if you can," Jackie said. "The party starts at eight, but I want everything ready as early as possible."Asim bowed slightly. "Ma'am."The Doctor had barely reclaimed his clothing before Jackie had dragged him into another room. He rolled his eyes and groaned. "What else could you possibly…?"The room was full with rack after rack of trousers, shirts, and suits in a variety of colours. There was an entire section devoted to denim, another to belts and sundries. And shoes. And hats. Did people wear hats here? He pushed down the pang of loss he felt; no TARDIS, no wardrobe, none of the familiar things. He was stuck with twenty-first century Earth clothing. Not that he wanted to wear a Napoleonic General's uniform, or anything like that.Jackie let out a little sigh of contentment and looked at her watch. "All right. We've got three more hours before I have to get home to Tony. Rose should be done with Olga by two. I'm going to call the caterer and check in with the band. I've never used them before, but they're supposed to be good." She gave him an indulgent look. "Mark'll take care of you while I do that. Get anything you want."A merry tune played, and she pulled her mobile from her purse. "Laurie? I was just about to call you, love! No, just shopping. With Rose's friend. You'll see him tomorrow night…" She wandered away and was replaced by Mark, a young man with dark hair and a smile that reminded the Doctor a bit of Ianto for all its careful inoffensiveness.The Doctor looked out across the racking, feeling a strange mixture of trepidation and excitement.I've always wanted to get you shopping.With another pang, the Doctor put his hands in his pockets. Rose would make this fun. The real Donna would, too, though she'd spend far too much time trying to get him to put on things he didn't like. Proper Martha would probably have gotten bored; she'd never shown as much interest in clothing as either Rose or Donna had. He had learned on the one shopping trip she'd asked for that she was rather like him when it came to clothes. She knew what she wanted from an outfit, she got what she wanted and that was it. No fuss, no dawdling over piles of blouses or bawdy earrings and scarves. (Well… scarves. He'd liked scarves, once upon a time.)Rose would have been a lot more fun.It occurred to him that this was long over due. If he thought of the current situation as a regeneration, true and proper, then it was all well and good that he find new clothes to suit the new man.You and your puns, Donna groaned."Where would you like to begin?" Mark asked him, wearing a servant's smile. All these people running around, doing things for people… What did Rose think of having a cook, or a dress-maker? It made him feel caged and watched.It was slow going. Most of these suits were too boring. Charcoal grey, grey with grey stripes, navy blue with no stripes. Black with white pinstripes wasn't too bad. He put that aside and got a burgundy shirt to go with it."I need a tie," he thought aloud."Right over here." Mark escorted him to a massive, multi-tiered table filled with ties in a whole visible-to-the-human-eye spectrum of colours and designs.A grin spread over the Doctor's face. "Oh yes!"The toile was definitely out, he thought. At least, until the fourth time it came up. Before he knew it, he had a whole mountain of ties."What do you think of this one?" Mark held up a grey jacket.He made a face. "Grey? Grey's boring!"Mark held a sleeve up for closer inspection. There was a bright orange pinstripe subtly woven in, but it caught the light if moved just so. That was something."Not bad," he said reluctantly."Have you considered the brown?" Mark suggested. "We have classic cuts, modern cuts… I think you'd do well with it."The Doctor stopped. The other man was holding up a brown blazer. It was nothing like the one he'd worn; no stripes, it was double-breasted (ye gods, no) and the cut was all wrong."No," he said vehemently. "No brown." Mark's face registered surprise, so he said, "Boring."By the time Jackie returned, he'd narrowed it down to five suits, twenty shirts, three dozen ties and a bounty of socks and pants. (When pressed, he'd told Mark that, out of the available choices, he preferred boxer briefs, but a couple of pairs of shorts wormed their way in. He wasn't quite sure how.)Jackie's mouth opened and shut with deafening surprise, but she made no complaints as she told Mark to put it all on the account."Are you sure you don't want any blue jeans?" she asked. "Nothing casual?""Jeans aren't me," he said, mostly sure that that was true."You're wearing a t-shirt," she pointed out."Under the suit," he replied, wondering how she could miss that detail."We can always come back," she sighed. "Did you get shoes?""I have shoes."Jackie made a face. "You need more," she insisted."They don't have the kind I like," he said, hoping that would be enough to get her to let it alone. "Really, Jackie…""Okay, okay! I'll take what I can get. Thank you, Mark.""Thank you, Mrs. Tyler. Doctor. Everything will be delivered tomorrow afternoon."Back in the car, Jackie asked, "Have you eaten anything today?"Lunch with Jackie. He dissembled. She gave him a look rather like the one Rose had more than once. That was the 'you're being especially thick' look. He wasn't sure that it was deserved. Jackie couldn't want to have lunch with him. Things weren't that different."You're all bones," she protested. "I already thought you were thinner when we were on that ship-thing. You look like you've lost a stone since then!""I have not!" he cried indignantly. "I'm svelte.""You're a scarecrow!" She looked worriedly at him. "You haven't got some sort of alien eating disorder, have you?"The Doctor stared at her a minute before bursting out laughing. "Wha—what?" he managed amidst guffaws.Jackie turned pink. "How am I supposed to know? You're not human!"He got a rein on himself. "That is probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he said wryly. He added, "Any me.""Are you hungry or not?""Yes," he admitted. His stomach growled in agreement. He glanced down in surprise. Since when did his organs have comic timing? Was that a human thing? Should he be worried?"There's some time before I need to be home. We'll get something and then I'll drop you off at the Warehouse."There was no getting out of it now, he supposed, so he nodded."So…" Jackie was suddenly feigning a casual attitude. Suspicion popped up inside him like a rodent from its burrow.Oh dear, here it comes."… Rose tells me you found the alternate of your friend Donna." Jackie smiled, readying herself for gossip. "Tell me about her!" § Rose walked into the Warehouse main office feeling hassled and irritable. She hadn't wanted a bloody new dress, what did it matter what she wore? It wasn't as if Pete cared…Owen was on the telephone, arguing with someone about medical supplies. Toshiko and Martha were huddled next to Argus. Ianto greeted her with only a perfunctory hello before going to Owen and handing him a clipboard."What's going on?"Martha turned. She looked calm, but her tone was biting. "You're back. Good. My office, please."Rose followed her, feeling like a child being escorted to the headmaster's office, or like that time on Ba'an Vei, when she'd been sentenced to death for desecrating a temple by talking in it. And then arguing with the monks who'd arrested her.She took in the changes to the room. There was a family portrait on the desk, and another showing Martha in a black mortarboard and a smiling young woman leaning on her shoulder: the sister who'd died. There was a coral sculpture on a rosewood pedestal on one corner of the desk. Next to the pale white coral was an empty soapstone pencil holder.When she felt the weight of Martha's eyes on her grow too heavy, she sat down."What were your plans for the prisoners?""We hailed their ship and demanded that they retrieve them. We were waiting on a response."Martha raised an eyebrow. "You were going to send them home? After they killed four people?""Yes."The other woman looked thoughtful. "This morning, I got orders from Torchwood One to turn the aliens over to them.""And what are they planning on doing with them?""We turn them over, then they're not our problem," Martha said."Then why did you ask what I was going to do with them?"Martha leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. Her hands were clasped in front of her face."You've worked for Torchwood for three years, am I right?""Yes.""You tested the dimension cannon yourself. That was incredibly risky."She wasn't sure if she was expected to respond, but it didn't matter, because Martha went on. "I know that President Jones and the Torchwood heads want this facility to concentrate on tech and research, but I don't think we can function without a field team. Of course, you need a partner."Rose did her best to hide her frown. "You want me to convince the Doctor to stay on.""We need him," Martha said bluntly. "I've seen the records of the Cyberman incident; I know that he was the object of your mission when you used the dimension cannon to go through to his universe."Rose fought to keep her face impassive, though it was getting harder.Martha narrowed her dark eyes. "I also know that you were at Lumic's control centre."Rose flipped her hair over her shoulder. "You've read my file.""I may not have the title, Miss Tyler, but I am a detective." She leaned back in her chair. "A 'restricted access' stamp isn't much of a deterrent.""Is there anything else?"Martha plucked a small white envelope from the neat papers on the desk."I did want to ask you about this."Rose took the envelope. Martha's name was written out in fancy script. "Looks like an invitation.""To Peter Tyler's fifty-ninth birthday party." Martha looked almost suspicious.Rose handed the envelope back. "Dad always invites everyone in Torchwood, though most of them don't usually come. It's just a bit of fun.""If any of my things were here, I'd say that I'd go through my closet, but my things are two days behind me."Rose uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. "I could give you the name of the woman my Mum and I go to. If you want."There was hesitation on Martha's face. "That's very kind of you, but I doubt that I could afford it. My pay isn't that good."She pulled the number from her mobile and took the only stray paper she saw to write on. "Tell her that I sent you," she replied. "It won't be a problem.""That's very kind." Martha finally smiled. "Thanks."If Rose hadn't known better, she would have thought that Martha was relaxing a bit.The rest of the day went quickly. She checked the lab for the Doctor, but only found a cluttered work table and a sketch of the sonic screwdriver. She studied it for a little while before folding it up and putting it in her pocket. That wasn't the sort of thing one wanted to leave lying around.The Doctor wasn't in the Archives, either. Where had he got to?Donna. He'd run off with her again. Rose sat in the empty chair by the microfilm viewer and thought black thoughts; mostly helpless, abandoned ones. What had she expected?It was an unconscious thing that moved her hand to her mobile. She didn't even realize she'd dialled until she heard her mother's voice."Rose! Hello, sweetheart! How did it go with Olga?""Mum…?" She wiped her cheek and tried to clear her throat without making a sound. "Mum, he's gone.""Who's gone?" Mum wondered, alarmed. "Is it your dad? What's happened?""No, Mum. Dad's fine. The Doctor. I don't know where he is." Rose forced a shaky breath. "It's my fault. It was so stupid—""Rose, sweetheart! He's here."Rose wiped her face again. "What? Where are you?""We're at home. I took him to get some clothes and then we had lunch and—""You? And the Doctor?" Rose gaped at the clutter on the desk. "You took him shopping?" She wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream in frustration."You don't have to sound so shocked. I practically had to kidnap him, anyway.""He's there now?""He's playing with Tony. When are you coming home?""I don't know.""Come now," Mum urged. "They can spare you for the night.""I should stay. There are reports I have to look over and…""Rose!""I've gotta go."Mum sounded disappointed. "Rose!"She ended the call and went to the loo to straighten out her face. She was relieved, she told herself. He hadn't disappeared with his new companion. Mum had probably had to drag him to see Asim, anyway. The poor Doctor—even she didn't particularly like shopping with her mum.She sat at her desk and continued working on the report the Torchwood One agents had sent over after the clean up of the Holiday home. Rose had requested to see them specifically. This whole mess was her fault. She hadn't thought everything through properly. All the bureaucracy and the paperwork and the procedures…Owen whistled at her. "Oi, Tyler!" he hissed when she didn't look up."What?""What are we doing about the two in medical?"Rose clicked over to page five of ten. Whoever had written this had far too much time on their hands. "I thought Canary Wharf was taking care of them?""Yeah, well, Mrs. Holiday wants to see her husband's body."Rose darted a glance across the way. Owen was serious-faced. It had a way of making him look like an old man."You recommended the quarantine," she reminded him."Yeah, well, that was days ago. Any contagion or unknown effects of the toxins, my tests would have shown something by now. His family deserves to get to see him.""I'm surprised you think that."Owen looked offended. "I'm not heartless! Besides, we're going to retcon them both anyway. But they'll still get to take the body home to burn or bury, and I don't have to be Frankenstein hoarding corpses in the basement."You'll have to ask Martha," Rose said, turning back to the report.His voice darkened. "Martha Jones doesn't want us going to Faye's bloody funeral."Rose froze. "Why not?""Apparently, it's against some Torchwood policy. I told her to shove it." His wide mouth bent into a glower. "Are you going?""When is it?""Tomorrow morning."The guilt she'd been trying to ignore for the last few days washed over her. "I doubt I'd be welcome.""Bollocks," Owen said. Some internal battle was won, and he said, "She really liked you.""You and she were close, weren't you?" Rose asked quietly."We fucked," he said, shrugging. "It wasn't anything big."He was lying. Rose closed the report document. "I'm sorry."Owen turned his chair away from her and back to his computer. "Not your fault."Stunned, Rose stared at him. Before she could think of any reply he said, "So, are you coming or not?""I'll come," she said quickly.He nodded. "Good. Fuck Jones and her rule book."Rose put a foot on the edge of her desk and leaned back. "I've never heard of this rule," she said, thoughtfully."I looked it up." Owen picked up the red toy pterodactyl and gesticulated with it. "Apparently, it's on the books from the 1880s, back when Torchwood was mostly just a few nutters in Scotland going on about alien werewolves or some rubbish like that. They were more of a secret society back then. And whenever an agent died in the line of duty, the practice was to keep their body in cryo indefinitely. Don't ask me where they got the cryogenic technology from.""You're kidding me," Rose said, horrified."So, no funerals for members who died in the line of duty, and other agents were forbidden to attend funerals for former agents, not that there were many for the sake of secrecy.""They don't keep agents' bodies now, do they?""Lucky for us, no. They changed that in the Sixties after somebody zombified the contents of the Torchwood freezer in Cardiff." He held the pterodactyl up to the light from his desk lamp. "Course, it looks like they didn't bother to change the rule about the rest of us going to funerals, even if they do release bodies to their families now."Rose shuddered to think of those people kept in cryo drawers. It was sick.The phone on her desk rang. She jumped, and her legs hit the floor with a thud. She snatched up the receiver before it had a chance to ring again."Rose Tyler," she said, once she'd collected herself."Rose, it's me.""Dad? What is it?""Go home, Rose."She gaped.Owen's ears pricked up. "What is it?" he asked nosily.Rose turned her back to him. "Why?" she asked her father in a low voice. "Did Mum call you?""Go home, Rose Tyler. It's Friday, it's four-thirty, and if you're not home for supper tonight, your mum is going to hound me.""I was in the middle of—""Go home." He spoke softer, "You've had a hard week. Let someone else finish up there, all right?"She bit her lip. "Yeah. Okay.""Do you want me to send Morris to get you?""No, I can manage." She paused. "Thanks.""No worries. See you at home.""Bye."Owen was still watching her. "Orders from the General?"Rose flashed him a deflective smile. "I'm off.""It's good to be the boss's daughter," Owen observed dryly."Send me the info for tomorrow morning," she said as she gathered her jacket."Right."She stopped by the door, thinking that she would thank him, or maybe say something clever, but Owen was hard at work, as if she were already gone.When she arrived at the mansion she was immediately greeted by two-year-old Tony Tyler. The toddler had chocolate on his face and red-and-white striped shirt, and his hair was a tousled mess."Ro!"She picked him up, giving him a good swing around into the bargain. He laughed with delight."You are getting big, Tony-tony!"He pressed his sticky face to her cheek. "Play with us!""Whatcha playin'?"The Doctor rounded the doorway in what looked like a panic. When he saw them, he sagged in relief. "There you are!" he cried, then, "Rose! You're home early." He sounded so pleased that she momentarily forgot that she had intended to be angry with him for disappearing."Yeah." She looked the Doctor over. He'd discarded the jacket and his t-shirt was spattered with finger paints. "What have you been doing?""Well… Sarah wasn't feeling well and Jackie had more calls to make, so she asked me to watch Tony." He scratched a sideburn. "He moves fast; one second he's showing me his favourite book, the next I look up and he's scampered off.""He is two."The Doctor wore a wicked grin. "I was going to say he's a Tyler."Rose put Tony on her hip. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and started to play with it. She failed to keep him from putting it in his mouth. "I didn't think you liked kids.""I love kids!" the Doctor cried, offended."Last time I saw you with one, you were terrified," she said. She carried Tony up the stairs towards the boy's room."That was a baby," he pointed out. He took the stairs two at a time, almost bounding ahead of her. "I'm rubbish with babies. They're so…" He made a face. "Fragile. And helpless… Loud… smelly… Cute, though. Very cute."Rose took Tony to the en suite off of his room and sat him on the counter and started to wash his face and hands. The Doctor leaned in the doorway and watched. Tony whined and wriggled as he lost his hard-won dirt and gunge. Rose dried his chubby cheeks and combed his brown hair with her fingers."That's better," she cooed, setting him down again and letting him run back over to his toys. There were the finger-paints on the play table, but he settled on the floor with his blocks.She realised that the Doctor was watching her. "So, you have fun shopping?" she asked."It wasn't as bad as I expected," he admitted. "And the sandwiches, Rose! You have never seen sandwiches like the one I had today!"Rose laughed. "Mum took you to Temple's, didn't she?""It was brilliant." He grinned at her and pointed at her cheek. "You've got chocolate."Rose rolled her eyes and groaned, "Tony…""Let me."The Doctor ducked into the en suite and picked up the flannel she'd been using. But instead of handing it to her, or just using it on her face, he paused. Rose stood still as he took her chin in one hand. He stroked her cheek with the other, laying gentle pressure with the pad of his thumb across the patch of transferred chocolate. He stopped at the corner of her mouth. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, or perhaps even lick her cheek. The second option seemed more likely, since this was him, and he had that tendency to lick things. Their eyes locked. His were wide and dark. The floor of Rose's stomach fell out, like a lift dropping down the shaft.That was when she knew that she really wanted him to kiss her. Really. Why wasn't he kissing her?She didn't realise that she was holding her breath until the Doctor took one, deep and ragged, and glanced down. "Rose, I—""Ro? Ro? Ro!" Tony pulled on her hand and held up a cardboard book.Sick with reluctance, she tore her eyes away from the Doctor's face. "What is it, Tony?""Story, Ro!"The Doctor cleared his throat and ran a hand across his hair. It sprang back into place. "Ah. Yes. That would be the one." He took the book from Tony's outstretched hands and looked at the cover. His face twisted into a mix of horror and bemusement. "The Littlest Eel?" He appealed to her. "That's not even a word! Whose idea was it to give him a book where the title contains an obvious grammatical error?"She gave him a look. "It's just a book. Besides, it's his favourite."Tony reached up towards the book in the Doctor's hand, a look of determination on his face. "Doc-tur! Doc-tuuuur!"The Doctor blinked down at the child like he'd just realised he was there. "What?"Rose slid the book from his hands before crouching down in front of the toddler. "You want me to read it, Tony?"Tony nodded with all the gravity a two-year-old could possess. "Ro, read it!""I do all the voices," she explained."Ah, well, then. Who can argue with that?" the Doctor replied with a sly smile. He nodded towards the door. "I'll just go…"Tony picked a plush elephant in a green suit off the floor and held it up to the Doctor. "Babar," he said.The Doctor took the toy. "Babar, indeed! I loved him when I was little," he said, smiling fondly and almost caressing the big grey elephant ears. Rose gave him a funny look and he blushed. "Donna loved him."Rose sat in the story chair—it was bright red, very comfortable, and big enough for two grown-ups. She pulled Tony into her lap and started to read. She was nearly half way through the strange story of the tiny eel as it moved from its tiny pond to the great big ocean when the Doctor settled into the chair beside her. By the time she'd finished the story, Tony was curled against her and drowsing. When she tried to get up, she discovered that she was pinned under more than the toddler.The Doctor was fast asleep and leaning on her shoulder. Suddenly, it was like iron bands were tightening around her chest. She put the book down on the arm of the chair and gently brushed the Doctor's hair away from his forehead. True to form, it bounced right back to where it belonged.Rose's face hurt from smiling. She always loved these moments, when the Doctor would be still and quiet and she could just watch him. They were rare, since he was always jumping about, running here and there. When he slept, he looked young, so young, and she could imagine that all the pain and loss he was running from (what else could it be?) was forgotten. She was witness to his peace, and she loved him like this as much as she loved him fast-talking and brilliant.For a moment, she hated herself. It felt like a betrayal, thoughts like that, but she couldn't help it. He'd changed, yes, he was different, but he was still the Doctor, how could she doubt it? She'd loved him when he had that worn leather jacket and big ears, she'd loved him in pinstripes and great hair and she loved him like this. Uncertain and blushing, but still so mad and brilliant. (He still had really great hair.)But they were off-kilter and it was agony, and he sometimes he seemed so lost and frightened. What could the rest of them do if the Doctor was afraid?She manoeuvred out from under his heavy head and took Tony into his crib. When she came back, the Doctor was rubbing his eyes."Sorry," he said. "What was—" He yawned hugely. "Sorry."Rose yawned in response. "'Sokay. Tony's asleep. You must have worn him out. He never wants to go to sleep before seven."She watched the Doctor stand and stretch. He yawned again. "I'm not that tired," he told her. "I got a couple of hours last… this morning. I think.""There's probably time for a nap before supper," she said. "You should get some rest.""So should you," he said earnestly. "You look terrible.""Thanks," she muttered."Not terrible," he said quickly. "Just tired. I thought maybe you haven't been getting any sleep.""Have you?" she asked. "Tell me the truth."He frowned. "I don't need—""You know that can't be true," she said, trying to be gentle about it. "I know you stay up all night."He didn't look at her. Rose reached out and took his hand. That got his attention. "Just a nap," she murmured. "I'll wake you when it's time for supper."Something flitted across his face, but she was too slow to catch what it was. "All right," he said reluctantly.She left him at the door to his room. For a moment, she considered following him in, but he didn't ask, so she figured it was a bad idea. Back in her own bedroom, she lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Nerves, confusion and dread were coiling up in her stomach, threatening to spill out.Why hadn't he kissed her?It hadn't been her intention to fall asleep, but minutes later, she was.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Donna had just finished loading the dishwasher when the telephone rang. "Can you get that, Gramps?"He picked up in the living room. Donna finished wiping down the counters and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She used to always have a cigarette after supper. She hadn't given smoking a second thought while she'd been running around with the Doctor—she'd been too bloody terrified. Was adrenaline a good replacement for nicotine?Then her sense kicked in and she wrote, "Buy patches and gum" on the notepad hanging on the icebox."Donna, it's for you, darlin'."Donna sighed. "I've got it in here," she called. She picked up the phone. "Hello?"A woman's voice, common and a bit on the grating side said, "Hello, my name is Jackie. Is this Donna Noble?""Yes," she answered. "If you're selling something, we don't want any.""Actually," Jackie said, not in the least bit fazed by Donna's tone, "I wanted to invite you to a party."Donna frowned. "A party? What kind of party?""It's a birthday party. For my husband," Jackie replied.She rolled her eyes. "And who's he?" she demanded."Pete Tyler."Donna felt like her limbs had been locked into place. "I'm sorry? Did you say Pete Tyler? Vitex Pete Tyler? H.C. Clements Pete Tyler?""That's right." The voice sounded like she was smiling. "You and I have a mutual friend. We were talking, and I thought you might like to come and celebrate with us.""When is it?" Donna wondered, before her brain demanded that she ask, "What friend?" That was Rose Tyler's father. Was Rose behind this? Why on Earth?"He's called the Doctor," Jackie said. "And it's tomorrow night. I know it's dreadfully late notice, but I hope you can come. It would mean the world if you did."Donna's left hand managed to grip the icebox. "Jackie… Tyler?""That's right," Jackie said patiently. "The party's at my house at eight o'clock. Your grandfather is invited, too, of course.""You," Donna started. "Jackie Tyler of the insanely rich Tylers… want me to come to your mansion… for a birthday party?""You don't have to," Jackie said quickly. "I know, it might be a bit much. But I thought you could maybe do with some fun.""I… I don't have anything to wear…" Nothing posh, nothing rich. She was a secretary, for Pete's sake! Just that black dress she'd worn to that executive dinner back in April that Mr. Holiday had dragged her to. She'd only been there to take down notes and hold onto the cards people gave to him.There was a short thoughtful silence on the other end. "Oh, that's not a bother. I can send someone by in the morning. How is eleven o'clock?"Donna was flabbergasted. "That… that's fine." Catching her own reflection in the glass of the china cabinet, she was surprised to see that she was smiling. "That'd be brilliant."Jackie made a high, happy noise. "It's settled then!" Then, her voice lower, "Ten o'clock then. I'll send a car."Donna fanned herself with one hand and tried to keep her voice steady. "Thank you, Mrs. Tyler.""Call me Jackie, love. I look forward to seeing you and meeting your granddad. Cheers!""Cheers!" Donna put down the phone and did a silent, vibrant, fist-punching dance of excitement before running into the next room. Gramps was watching telly."Who was that, sweetheart?""Oh. My. God! You are never going to believe this!"He turned around in his chair and smiled at her. "What's got you so excited?""Jackie Tyler just invited us to her mansion. Us!'"Who's that?" he wondered.Donna rolled her eyes. "Oh, Gramps. You know! Wife of the billionaire?""Oh, that was very nice of her, then," he said. "Why'd they invite us?""I don't even know. But apparently they're friends of the Doctor's. I don't know. But someone's coming by in the morning to fit us or give us clothes or something.""When's the party?""Tomorrow night at eight."Gramps frowned. "But I'm supposed to meet up with the lads at the pub tomorrow night."Donna gave him a look. "You. Are. Not going to the pub when you could be going to a fancy party.""They're expecting me!""You'll see them next week!"He sighed resignedly. "All right, all right."That night, it was all she could do to get to sleep. When she did, she had very strange dream that included such incredible images as a mountain made of sapphires, and ridiculous ones like the Doctor handing her a paper crown which turned to bright gold the moment she put it on her head.There was also something about a volcano and a man who looked like an octopus. The octopus man had a beautiful operatic voice. She followed him down a long dark corridor, lit only by the crystal lantern he held aloft in his right hand. It kept getting darker and darker, but the music got louder. What had been a sort of lamenting aria became a bouncier swing tune. The octopus man's lantern was a trombone now. God knew how he was playing it, but they were in a great big hall now, and there were bright lights and she was wearing some spectacular gown that she couldn't quite see, but it was a blue or black with bright sparkling lights like stars on it. And there was the Doctor again, but his hair was flaming red, and his suit was a vibrant purple. He was dancing with Rose, who was wearing grey-flecked furs. Then there was some bloke in a toga who turned into a biomorph in front of her eyes and she woke up, feeling out of breath and not quite sure why.At eleven o'clock, Ianto Jones showed up at the door with a car and took her and Gramps to a very fancy clothier, then to a dress shop. Donna drank it all in, feeling for the first time in her life like she was somebody important. The woman who showed her gowns was friendly and called her 'madam' like she was a lady. Everybody called Gramps 'sir', and it was obvious that he was enjoying it almost as much as she was. When they got back home, Donna was in a spectacular mood. She didn't even complain when Gramps asked Ianto in for tea and started going on about God knows what."So this party, eh?" he said. "Is it some big thing with toffs and bigwigs and all that?"Ianto smiled into his teacup. "Some. But there's a large contingent of government workers, as well. I don't think you need to worry about fitting in.""Not with the duds we got today," Gramps agreed. "That suit's better than the one I got married in, I don't mind telling you."Donna poured herself a second cup of tea and munched on a chocolate biscuit. "I wanted to thank you again," she said. "For bringing my car back yesterday.""Not at all," Ianto replied. He finished his tea. "You should be hearing from the Council by Tuesday afternoon about the parking tickets. A very nice young man named Eddie promised me that they would be taken care of by then. If not, you should let me know.""That's brilliant." Donna pushed the plate of biscuits towards him.He declined with a shake of the head and patted his stomach. "Watching my figure. Thank you.""My Donna always keeps me fed," Gramps said proudly. "Always taking care of people."She waved away the comment. "You said there would be a car later?""Be ready to go at seven-thirty." He glanced at a fob watch he had kept hidden in his waistcoat. "I'm afraid that I must get going. I have a few other things to do before the party this evening."They walked Ianto to the door."Oh, I wanted to ask…" Donna wondered if she wasn't being stupid. "Should we bring a gift?"Ianto looked amused, but not cruelly so. "Mr. Tyler prefers that his guests donate to charity in lieu of gifts. Though, if you like, he's partial to Scotch whisky. McCrimmon & Bell, specifically.""Thank you. Again. For everything," Donna said."My pleasure, Ms. Noble. I'll see you both this evening."Donna sent Gramps out to get the whisky and started on her hair. She wasn't about to look common, even though she fully expected to feel so. She found herself looking forward to seeing the Doctor and Rose. At least she knew them.By the time the car arrived, she looked as good as she was going to get. The skirt of the gown was a bit wider than she'd anticipated. Getting through the door was unfortunately comical and the whole process did not do much to inspire confidence. She helped Gramps into the car and checked her make-up for the fifth time."Do you think this is okay?" She peered into the tiny mirror—the only one that fit in the ridiculously small clutch she'd gotten to match the deep blue of the dress—and pressed her lips together. She should have chosen a different colour lipstick. This one wasn't bright enough."I told you, you look lovely," Gramps said, patting where he thought her knee was, but missing. What he patted was the edge of the seat.She clicked her clutch closed and pulled the top of her dress up. "I feel like I'm going to fall out. I knew I should have gotten something with straps. Why did I let that woman talk me into this dress?""Stop worrying, Donna." He adjusted his bow tie. "Is this straight?""It won't be if you keep fussing with it." She flipped her scarf aside (smacking both of them with the heavy beaded end) and arranged his tie."I wish you'd have let me get the clip-on.""Nobody there's going to be wearing a clip-on tie. These people are quality."Gramps frowned. "You say that like we're not."Donna gave her grandfather a baleful look. "You know what I mean.""Tyler's one of those self-made types," Gramps pointed out. "He's not going to care about ties." He pulled her hand from dusting his lapel. "Just like your Mum, worryin' yourself over nothing." She stopped and stared back at him. "Just look at you. You look like a goddess off the silver screen. Any of them who can't see that ain't worth a thought."Donna squeezed his hand. "I do like the dress," she murmured, a smile creeping over her mouth."Try an' have a good time. One night of dancing with the rich and famous." He squeezed her hand. "I just wish you had someone 'sides me to share it with."She looked at his eyes as they turned red and shining. She took his hand a little tighter, and shook it for emphasis. "Well, there is nobody I can think of I'd rather be with. You're my world." She sniffed and cried out in dismay. "Oh, lord, I'm gonna ruin my mascara!"Gramps chuckled and helped her dab at her eyes.By the time the car pulled into the neat gravel drive of the Tyler estate, Donna's make-up was immaculate and their eyes were clear. She was giddy when a man opened the car door and helped her out, and surprised that he seemed to know their names. They were shown to the front door and through a magnificent foyer lit by a crystal chandelier the likes of Donna had only seen in films. Wearing a floor-length gown made her move carefully. She was regretting the strappy shoes a bit, though she was still glad she'd turned down the stilettos.Gramps offered her his arm in a playful mockery of a gentleman. Grinning, she accepted. Her attempts at a demure smile were completely defeated by her excitement.The main party seemed to be out behind the house. She could hear bright, brassy music, laughter and talking, the clinking of glasses… Then she heard her own name. She looked around and saw a woman waving for her attention. The woman had blonde hair in a spectacular up-do, and her dress was a charming rosy pink. Donna smiled automatically. The woman hurried over and clasped her hand like she was a long-lost friend."It's so good to see you! I'm late getting to the door to greet everyone. I'm so glad I caught you.""You're Jackie," Donna said, her brain finally catching up. Jackie looked different than she'd expected. She'd never read the biography, but she'd seen the cover when the book had littered book stores those years ago. This woman was less serene, less poised, but she looked happier.Mrs. Tyler held out her arm to Gramps. "This must be your granddad!""Wilfred Mott. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Gramps actually bowed a bit and kissed Jackie's hand.Donna was ready to wish for the floor to swallow her up, but Jackie was delighted. "Oh, you charmer! Go on, then! There are nibbles everywhere, lots of champagne…"Gramps nudged Donna."We brought a gift," Donna said. Gramps held up the sparkly orange gift bag."Oh, that's so sweet!" Jackie took the bag and smiled conspiratorially before peeking inside. "Ooh, he'll love you for that." She kissed Gramps on the cheek. "I'll make sure he gets it. Go now, I'll catch you both later." She waved over their heads. "Amanda, love! Is that you? My God, your dress!"And thus Jackie was gone as quickly as she'd come."Shall we, then?" Donna said. Gramps took her arm again and they continued on. They stepped out onto a lovely courtyard lit with fairy lights and what looked like a million candles leading up to a tent that was bigger than their entire house. The music was coming from inside.Donna's heart fluttered a little to see all the glorious dresses and the men in their tuxedos—she recognized a good number of them from telly and the Net. Gramps pointed out the President standing and talking with a woman Donna had seen on some entertainment programme."That's Harriet Jones!" he said, barely keeping his voice at a whisper. "I voted for her!"Donna grinned. "Oh, this is wizard! Better than any old pub, right Granddad?"The band ended their song ("Begin The Beguine") and a very handsome man took hold of the old-fashioned microphone stand."Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said in a pleasing American baritone. "I just wanted to say how happy we are to be here tonight." He flashed a smile brighter than the glints of light off of the brass instruments behind him. "I hope to see you all dancing. And just so you know, we do take requests. We have the entire Glenn Miller, Count Basie and Lady Gaga songbooks." The people who were listening laughed. "Enjoy the party!"With a flourish that sent the tails of his jacket whirling, he turned to the band and counted off. Within moments, there was an energetic swing in the air."Who is that?" Donna wondered, mesmerized by the man as he half-danced, half-conducted."Fifty-first Century Brass," Gramps said.Donna gave him an odd look. "Up with the latest music trends?" she teased."Nah, it says so on the bass drum."A man with a tray passed by, distracting her from her appreciation of the handsome bandleader and his equally dishy band. She gave Gramps a mock-serious look. "Jackie said something about nibbles, I do believe.""Lead on, my girl!" § "Rose?"The Doctor tapped on her door with two knuckles. "Are you in there, Rose?"He waited. There was no sound from inside. He waited five more seconds, then six, ten, fifteen, thirty…"Rose? Are you all right?"Okay, now he was worried. He tried the knob. It was locked. He wondered why she was locking the door; who exactly did she want to keep out?Just when the Donna voice suggested that maybe it was nosy gits like him, he whipped the sonic screwdriver from inside his tuxedo jacket. (The first test had been to modify the inner pocket to allow for bigger-on-the-inside. More tests were forthcoming.)Time to test it on a lock.The blue light at the end glowed promisingly and the whirr was at the right frequency. At least it started out there. Suddenly, the screwdriver made an annoyed sort of screech and the light went out."Oi!" he grumbled. "That's not helpful!"The door opened. Rose stood with one hand on the door knob and the other on her hip. "Were you sonicing my door?" she accused."Apparently not," he said ruefully as he examined the sonic screwdriver. He tapped it against the door jamb until it lit up again, and then he turned it off and put it back in his pocket. "Still got some bugs to work out."Rose rolled her eyes and retreated back into the room. He followed."Close the door behind you," she said wearily.Rose was not dressed, though she was by no means naked. There was a satiny dressing gown obscuring all the best bits (okay, some of the best bits, he thought, catching a good glimpse of her leg as she sat down at the vanity) but it was pale ivory and he could see the outline of the back of her thong through the material. He became suddenly very lost in thought when he realised that she wasn't wearing a bra. Thought that was rudely interrupted by the Donna bits' commentary on how she couldn't stand thongs. He shut the voice down as fast and hard as he could; he was not going to acknowledge the fact that he had intimate knowledge of Donna's opinions on and experiences with… intimates."The party's started," he said, hoping this would help him ignore the unwanted information."I know." Rose still had her back to him. She was looking in the mirror and sweeping her hair back and off of her shoulders. Even with his human nose, he could smell her perfume."I can go…" he began."No, 'sall right. I need help zipping up the dress anyhow."He swallowed and nodded quickly to cover up the fact that he'd done so. "Right."She put on her mascara and eye shadow. She worse less make-up now than she used to. He sat on the little padded bench at the end of the bed with his hands suspended between his knees as she went into the next room. He wasn't sure if it was an en suite, or simply another room. He'd discovered the other night that he not only had his own en suite bathroom, but also a small sitting room. Even as he'd wondered what he needed with his own sitting room, he had been somewhat relieved by the idea of having more than one room that was his.Rose emerged and the Doctor found himself staring. The dress was black and strapless. It was form-fitting at the top, and had a sort of gently gathered look to it from the top to her hips. The skirt was simple, and the fabric had a satin sheen to it that looked like it would feel wonderful under his fingertips. Rose smiled at him."What do you think?" she asked."You look brilliant," he said. That wasn't right. Not what he meant. "Beautiful.""For a human?" she wondered, eyes sparkling with just a hint of mischief.Somehow, he dared to stand and move closer. "So beautiful."She turned to show him her side. "I got the zip up most of the way. Just need a hand for the last bit."His hands didn't shake as he pulled the zip upwards. How were his hands not shaking? He hadn't been this close to her since yesterday before he'd slept through supper. He'd had dreams—the sort that he wasn't used to having—and he'd spent most of the day burning to speak to her and never finding the opportunity. He had to make her understand how important…"Thanks," she said, smiling shyly up at him."You're welcome," he murmured."I suppose Mum sent you up here to see what was taking me so long.""No," he said. He hesitated. She had moved away from him and back to the vanity to put on her jewellery."Give me a hand?"He did the clasp on her necklace. Why was this so hard? She knew how he felt. She'd said it. (Once. Years ago.) He'd said it. (Three weeks ago as of this morning.)Why couldn't he just say what he was thinking?In the back of his mind, Donna sighed. Because men never do, do they?"Rose?""Yeah?" She turned to look at him over her shoulder. His hand was already resting there, on her bare skin. The urge to reach for her face was like some sort of hurricane inside him."I wanted to… to ask you about…"Her eyebrows crowded together. "Ask about what?""You know what we said on the zeppelin… On the way here."Fear flickered in her eyes. "Yeah…"Oh. She wasn't ready. He was an idiot for even mentioning it! She was still thinking about him. How could he compete with that? He may have felt the same about her as he did, but that didn't mean that she felt the way she had.He tried to take his hand from her shoulder and back away. His hand, however, did not obey."What's wrong? Doctor?"The right hand was still on her shoulder. He stared at it. He was going mad. His hand did not have a mind of its own, and it was not trying to rebel, or stage any sort of coup.Are humans always this hysterical?Don't start, Spaceman.Rose's hands found his face. "Doctor? Are you okay?""I know I'm not the same," he said suddenly. "And you're probably furious with him, and I don't expect…"Rose's mobile rang. She glanced to her bedside table. "Ignore it," she said.He shook his head, dislodging her soft fingers. His throat was all tight and his stomach felt like it had been replaced by a black hole. Part of him wondered if he wasn't ill. "No, no, you'd better get it.""Are you s—""Yeah. Go ahead. It's fine."Her hands left his face entirely and he wanted to collapse on the vanity stool. His heart was pounding worryingly. He wasn't sure how much more it could take. One muscle the size of his fist could not possibly withstand this for very long.Rose answered her phone. "Rose Tyler." She frowned. "When? Do you want me to— I know, but I can…" She sighed. "No problem. Call me if— Yes, ma'am."She dropped the phone on the bed."Something wrong?" he asked.Rose was glaring at the little black phone on the dark blue duvet. "That was Martha. There was a power surge at the Warehouse. She says Toshiko got everything back online, but they lost all the systems for a few minutes. The Argus terminal was fried." She let out a growl of frustration. "I don't want to deal with this anymore!""You don't have to," he said, confused. "If you want to leave Torchwood—""It's not Torchwood," she said, and for a terrible moment, he thought he understood.The single heart wasn't going to last long. At least, the metaphorical one wasn't. Funny how he thought in metaphors. Not that he hadn't before. They were just significant now.He nodded. "We should go down to the party.""I'll be down in a minute. I have to finish my hair.""I could help," he said."I've got it." Her voice was cheerful, but the smile was fake, and he knew it and she had to know that he knew it, so why was she doing it? It was like she'd forgotten. He'd never thought she would forget.Cursing the time lost and the aching singularity in his gut, he went downstairs and joined the party. The tent was a spectacle, all bright lights and bubbling champagne. There were more than a hundred people here, and a lot of them were dancing to the swing music. (Though most of them didn't seem to know what they were doing.)He surveyed the band. Nice large saxophone section, plenty of trombones and trumpets. The drummer seemed to favour Chick Webb, the guitarist was trying to sound like Django Reinhardt, the pianist looked a bit like Blossom Dearie, and the bass player… He was standing with a bright white upright bass, wearing a tuxedo and grinning at his band mates as he played.The Doctor took a deep breath. He was going mad. Because he knew that man, and he couldn't possibly be here. He didn't exist.Despite whatever could or could not be, there was Lee McAvoy. Well… That wasn't his real name, of course. At least it hadn't been.But there was no mistaking him. Donna knew that face. The way he stood and smiled, his laughter, his dear voice, and the touch of his hands.The Doctor left the tent as quickly as he could without running. Out on the garden pavement, he stopped a caterer carrying a tray of champagne and drank two glasses in quick succession. Then he found a chair and sat down and fought the panic roiling inside him.Donna's voice was silent. He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself and Donna and him.He had known that losing the family she'd had in the Library computer had been hard for Donna. Until this moment, he hadn't known how hard, how devastating. What recovery she had made had been aided by the knowledge that what she'd lost was only a fantasy.But if Lee was real in this world then it was possible that he'd been real there, too. And she'd given up looking for him. She'd promised that she would find him, and she'd just given up.He'd given up. He'd said goodbye to Rose and left her alone, and he'd given up on ever seeing her again. Oh, maybe in his weakest moments, he'd snuck the occasional glimpse at her childhood (always at a distance), but he hadn't tried everything he could to get her back, and he should have. To hell with timelines and universes and the Void, he should have kept trying."Doctor, is that you?"The Doctor lifted his head and saw a vision in ginger and blue."Donna?" Whatever this mental illness could be called, it was very cruel this evening, he thought bitterly."What are you doing out here?" she asked.He bobbed his head from side to side. "Going a bit mad," he said."Going?" she teased.He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, well…""Mind if I sit down?"He shrugged. The vision of Donna sat in the chair next to him."Brilliant party," she said. "I should thank you.""For what?" he wondered. He'd only caused her trouble. He didn't even want to think of what he had had to do to the real Donna. He couldn't process it. The Donna in him bucked up in rage at even the tangent of thought."Well, when Jackie invited me, I got the impression it was because of you."Pushing the mental Donna to the side, the Doctor stared at the one sitting beside him. "Jackie invited you?"Donna frowned. "You didn't know?""I had no clue.""Oh." Donna looked away nervously. "I see. I'll let you get back to your madness, then." She started to get up."Donna, wait!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her back. She stared at their hands, a little bit surprised, a little bit scared. "I'm sorry, I was only… Don't mind me." He spun a finger around his temple. "Quite mental. I am glad you're here, though."Her smile returned and she squeezed his fingers reassuringly before pulling her hand away. "Isn't it posh? I love the candles everywhere. And did you see the band? I haven't seen that many beautiful men together since that time Nina dragged me to a gay club.""Good music, too," the Doctor said."Oh yeah. They played my favourite song.""What's that, then?" he wondered."'A Sunday Kind of Love'," she replied. Then she blushed. "It's smarmy, but I love it.""That's a good song," he said."That bandleader has a great voice. He ought to be in shows.""Which one was he?"Donna gave him a sly little smile. "If you have to ask, then you didn't see him.""Ah! Somebody devastatingly gorgeous, then." Then, as an afterthought, "It wasn't the bassist by any chance, was it?""No, he didn't have an instrument." She stood up and nodded towards the tent, wearing that smile she always wore when she was trying to cheer him up. "Come on inside. You look like you could use something to break you out of your sulks."Dear old Donna. "Yeah," he agreed. "That'd be lovely."She pulled him into the tent by his cuff links, showed him which hors d'oeuvres were the best ("Avoid the grey stuff."), made sure that he got a glass of champagne (he drank this one a little more slowly, since he was afraid that the last two might have made him a teensy bit squiffy…) and then she tried to find Wilf so that he could say hello."Where's he got to?" she grumbled."Over there." The Doctor pointed in the direction of an elderly socialite in ivory. Wilf was spinning her across the floor and smiling like he was having the time of his life."Oh Lord…" Donna moaned."Let him be, he's having fun." The Doctor waggled his eyebrows. "And so's she from the looks of it.""Yeah, all right." Donna looked at him. "So, what happened to you? Somebody make you comb your hair?"Baffled, he stared at her. "What?"She pointed at his head. "Usually you look like you stuck your finger in a socket."The Doctor put a hand to his hair, which was combed down at the moment for the sake of formality. "Oi! I spent a lot of time cultivating that hairstyle, I'll have you know. Took me years to get it just right.""I'll bet." She flipped a bit of her hair back over her shoulder. She was wearing it down and curled, except there was a bit at the top where she'd pulled it back and put in some shimmery hair pins. Her dress had some of the same features as Rose's (strapless, gathered on top) but it was a deep blue that was almost the same colour as the TARDIS. The skirt was grand and had gathered sections dotted with bright rhinestones, plus there was a big patch of rhinestones in a vee on the bodice."That's a very nice dress," he said. Indeed, there was a thread of jealousy in him."Thanks," Donna said. "I thought so. So… Where's Rose, then?"The Doctor looked away and watched the stage. They were playing an Ellington tune. The pianist was having quite a good time. "Upstairs," he said."You should go get her." Donna had one meaningful eyebrow raised at him."Nah," he said with false nonchalance. "She'll be down in a minute."Donna did not believe him, he could tell. That was precisely the look that went with, "Time Lord code again?" Except this Donna didn't know it was Time Lord code.He realised, either from internal sources or lightning strike epiphany, that he wanted to tell her everything. Maybe it was because she was part of him now, but he knew that she would understand, or even if she wouldn't understand, exactly, she would listen. He wondered if they could get away now. He could take one of the cars and they could just drive and talk and maybe it would help.Then he turned and saw Rose standing at the entrance of the tent. His heart stopped. Or started to race, he couldn't have even been sure. (Stupid contrary human biorhythms.) All he knew was that his chest felt like it was going to burst and that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.Donna bumped him on the arm. "Go on," she whispered encouragingly.He couldn't move. "I don't—""Don't be thick," Donna said. "She's looking for you."Rose was looking around the tent, yes, but that didn't mean that she was looking for—oh. She was smiling now, and walking right towards him.Donna gave him a little shove. He stumbled and glared back at her. When he turned back, Rose was there, still smiling that wide, brilliant smile. Her hair was a combination of twists and cascades, and her eyes were bright and sparkling, and if he didn't kiss her now, he was never going to forgive himself."Rose!"Jackie. Oh, no, not now! The Doctor groaned as Rose turned around gave her mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Don't you look lovely! Hello, Donna!"Donna smiled broadly. "Hello, again.""Rose, have you seen your father? He's supposed to be in here by now.""Haven't seen him," Rose said, shaking her head. "Did you check in the house?""Of course I did," Jackie said, rolling her eyes."I think I see him over there," Donna said. "Let's go get him, shall we?" Then, with a tiny wink in the Doctor's direction, she gracefully directed Jackie away and walked with her toward the other side of the dance floor. "Tell me, Jackie, where on earth did you find this band?"Rose rolled her eyes in relief. "God bless Donna," she said."Amen," the Doctor replied with a smirk. He reached out and took her hand. "Do you want to get something to eat?"Her fingers moved serpentine between his. Maybe it wasn't him she was tired of dealing with? Hope rose up in him like a bird of myth."Sounds like a plan," she said, tongue peeking between her teeth, and for one wonderful moment, it was just like the years apart had never happened. They walked hand in hand to the buffet table. They didn't talk, but they didn't have to. It was perfect enough that he decided he could forgive himself just for a little while longer.They danced together next. The band was playing "Moonlight Serenade." The Doctor held Rose close. She let him press his cheek to hers and her hand wandered from his arm to his waist.When the song changed to "Come Fly With Me", he grinned and they danced a livelier step. The words started and he murmured along, half-singing, half-reciting.Rose stopped dancing. She turned her head to the stage and stared. "Oh my God."He frowned. "What's wrong? I thought I was dancing rather well."She swatted at his arm. "Not you, up there. Aren't you listening?"The Doctor looked up at the stage and his mouth fell slack. "I have gone mad," he decided.Rose grinned back and grabbed his arm in her excitement. "Oh my God, it's Jack!"Jack Harkness was on stage in a white tuxedo, singing and dipping the microphone like a dance partner."He's the bandleader," the Doctor said helplessly. "How is he the bandleader?""That's so brilliant!" Rose exulted. "Oh my God, do you think he's still a Time Agent? He looks younger than he did on the Crucible. Like when we first met him." She pulled him by the arm towards the stage. "We have to say hello!"He held her hand, trying to hold her back. "I'm not sure that's a good idea.""Why not?" Rose wondered. "You can be friends with Donna. I want to say hello to Jack. What harm can it do?""For one thing, he might not be going by Jack," he said. "That was a name he assumed when he was in 1941, remember?"Rose's smile fell away. "Oh. You're right. He never told me his real name. Did he tell you? You must have had a chance to find out, after you met him again. How did he get to the twenty-first century, anyway? I wish I'd had more time to talk to him.""Didn't ask," he said carefully. "Anyway, Rose… He's just here to play for the party." He darted a glance at the rhythm section. Lee was taking a solo. He wondered if Donna had noticed him at all.Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, expecting Donna, but to his surprise it was Martha Jones. She was in a garnet gown and she was flushed and a little bit out of breath."Sorry to interrupt," she said.Rose tore her eyes away from the stage. "Martha? You made it! You look—""Can I have a word with you two?""Of course," Rose began. "What's—?""Outside." Martha turned on her heels and headed out of the tent.The Doctor and Rose exchanged glances before following her. Martha didn't stop until they were actually out in the grass, quite a ways from the tent and all the party goers. There was, however, Toshiko wearing a teal dress and Owen looking sullen in a tux. Toshiko smiled at the Doctor as they approached. She was holding what looked like a larger version of the biomorph detector he'd made, except it didn't have the little dish."Status," Martha said.Toshiko called out as they approached. "Still one signal. It's very faint.""Are they here?" Rose asked sharply.Martha gave her a sidelong look. "The power surge that knocked out our systems? Turns out the source was down in the Warehouse holding cells. Something that the Zvazvera did.""They created a bio-electric field," Toshiko said. "Apparently they can create a charge by—""What matters," Owen said, cutting Toshiko off. "Is that when they knocked out the power, they were able to escape. By the time we had the system up, they were long gone.""How did they get past you?" Rose wondered."They dug a tunnel." Martha pulled the hem of her gown up and revealed a wide black garter on her thigh. It had a holster on it. The Doctor narrowed his eyes at the small pistol."You don't need that," he said.Martha raised an eyebrow at him. "Says Mr. Expert. I don't suppose you were aware that they could tunnel through concrete?""I'd never seen them do it," he said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "I suppose I knew it was possible, but…""We have to get everybody out of here," Rose said. "If they come here, people will get hurt.""They're already here," Martha said."But you said the signal was faint!"Toshiko shook her head. "The scanner can't get a good reading on them when they change shape. I think they mask their bio-signature with a sort of—"Martha turned to Owen. "Do you have the tranquillizers?"He held up a silver briefcase. "Right here. Ianto is supposed to have the gun.""Where's Ianto?" the Doctor demanded.Owen rolled his eyes. "I'm not his keeper! I haven't seen him since this morning."Martha narrowed her eyes. "This morning?"Owen whirled on her. "That's right, I went to the funeral! Why don't you just demote me? I'll clean the ruddy toilets.""We all went," Rose said, voice rising in challenge. Martha's eyes were steely.The Doctor felt off his game. What funeral? This morning? That was the problem with sleep, you missed things!Rose continued. "Ianto, Owen and me, and Lalit, and my dad. Faye was one of us. You can give us reprimands later, if you like. But right now, I want to do whatever is necessary to keep any of these people from getting hurt."Toshiko held up a hand. "Um… I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've got movement."The Doctor peered over her shoulder. It seemed that she'd rigged up a simple visual user interface. There was a sweeping line like a radar screen, showing a moving yellow blip. "That's twenty meters north of us.""Nobody leaves," Martha said. "We followed them all the way here. There's more than a dozen individuals, all of them could have assumed a human shape. Keep on the look out for any odd behaviour." She held up her gun and cocked it. Toshiko winced at the sound."The tranquillizers work," the Doctor growled. "You don't need to kill them.""I won't aim for their heads, if that's what you're worried about," she replied."They're not human, they're invertebrates," he snapped. "A gunshot wound could be deadly no matter where your aim is.""He's right," Rose said. "We don't need to kill them.""If you had killed them instead of capturing them, we wouldn't be in this situation," Martha said coldly. Rose glared defiantly back at her. "Toshiko, can you get a read on distinct life signs?"Toshiko shook her head. "There are too many people. I'm sorry.""Owen, find Ianto, get that tranquillizer gun. I want minimal casualties."The Doctor appealed to Toshiko. "I think I can help you with the scan." He took out the sonic screwdriver and tried to adjust the perimeters of the readings.A scream rang out. All five of them froze on the spot, but only for a moment. Martha and Rose ran back towards the house, Owen right behind them. The Doctor took a few more seconds with the scanner before tossing it back to Toshiko. "Try that!" he cried and ran after the others.She scrambled to hold it upright again. "Wait! Doctor! What did you do?"Another scream. From this distance it sounded like Jackie. His heart thundered in his chest as he ran."It's the bloody tuxedo," he complained as he caught up with Rose in the foyer. "Every single time I wear one…!"Rose flashed him a smile before hurrying towards the large parlour. Most of the guests were out in the tent, but there were some who wanted a quieter atmosphere.Martha, the Doctor and Rose burst in on what appeared to be a quiet political conversation. Harriet Jones was seated across from a man who looked vaguely familiar, but not familiar enough that the Doctor bothered to figure out why."Miss Tyler!" Harriet Jones's bodyguards had their weapons raised and pointed at the three of them. "What on earth?""Are you all right, ma'am?" Rose looked President Jones up and down."Of course I am! What's going on, Miss Tyler? Ms. Jones?"Martha had her gun pointed back at the bodyguards. "We heard a scream, Madam President," she said. "My team and I have reason to believe that there is a group of hostile aliens on the premises.""I didn't hear any scream," President Jones said. "Oh, put those down, Harry, Daniel. These people are Torchwood." She turned to her companion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Green, you'll have to excuse me. These things happen all the time in my job." She brushed off the front of her simple black gown and let out a quick little sigh. "All right then, what do you need me to do, Ms. Jones?""Sit tight, ma'am. Tosh!"Toshiko came forward. "Yes.""Scan the room.""Clear."Martha lowered her weapon. "Okay. Rose, Doctor, Tosh, you keep looking. I'm going to secure this room and call for back up from Torchwood One." She put on a small earpod-like device and made the call. They left Martha with the President. A bewildered Mr. Green followed them."Aliens?" he asked weakly. "I thought Torchwood was an extension of Health and Safety?"Toshiko gave him a tiny smile. "I suppose that depends on your definition," she said.Mr. Green nodded distractedly. "Yes, I suppose it would.""Where did that scream come from?" Rose wondered, frustrated. "And where are Owen and Ianto?""We'll split up. Rose, you take Toshiko and go to the tent and double check that everyone is all right. Keep them calm."Rose nodded. Then, she opened her mouth to ask a question.The Doctor paused. "What is it?""Mum couldn't find Dad," she said."I'll find him. It'll be all right."She nodded and turned to go with Toshiko."Rose?"She turned back. "Yeah?"It only took two steps to close the distance. He held her face and lowered his to meet her.The kiss was too brief, but those four seconds seemed to stretch before him, growing and enveloping him completely. He could almost imagine the golden light of the Bad Wolf burning his lips.When they came apart, Rose was pink in the face. She cleared her throat and said, "Is that what you were wanting to ask me?"The smile that burst across his face was completely involuntary. "Yeah, I suppose it was."She kissed him. He barely had time to close his eyes before it had ended. (Why couldn't time expand around that one?)"There's your answer," she said.Even as she hurried away, the Doctor wanted to crow. Or shout, or sing, or something.Of course, there were pressing matters to attend to. He ran up the stairs two and three at a time.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Donna was in the tent dancing with a very nice and slightly handsome man named Lewis who worked at Vitex when she heard a scream. Her first thought was that it was high spirits, until she heard the second one."What was that?" she wondered aloud."What was what?" her partner asked absently as his hand drifted down.Donna gave him a good, hard glare. "A scream. Somebody just screamed.""I didn't hear anything.""No, apparently not. So what better time to cop a feel?"Lewis balked, then gave her a sheepish grin. "Er…"Donna pulled his hand off her arse and left him standing on the dance floor.The first person she thought to look for was the Doctor. If things were going to get dangerous, he was the person to see.Who she found was Dr. Harper."Dr. Harper?" He didn't look up from the silver briefcase he had spread open on a table. "Owen?"He glanced at her and frowned. "Donna? What are you doing here?"She folded her arms. "I was dancing. What is that stuff?" The case was filled with little vials of liquid packed in black foam."Antidote," he said, making a face. "Which is good, except, it was supposed to be tranquillizer. Other case must still be in the car." He sighed. "That's just great. Bloody fantastic."Donna glanced around to see if anyone was listening to them. She leaned close and whispered, "Are they here? Those biomorph things?"Owen made a slightly different face, this one darker and more annoyed, maybe at her, maybe still at the briefcase. "Yes.""Then why aren't you getting everyone out of here?" she asked him, worried."Because the fucking bugs are already here, and they could be anyone." He gave her an appraising look. "You've dealt with them. Have you seen any thing suspicious here?""No. But I thought I heard—""Have you seen Ianto Jones, then?""Not since this afternoon.""Bugger." Owen flipped the case shut. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun. As he checked to see if it was loaded, he asked her, "Do you know how to use one of these?""Of course I don't!" Donna hissed. What if someone saw the gun? People would freak out."Neither do I." Owen smirked. "But I'm pretty good at Halo.""Isn't that a video game?" Donna wondered, not quite sure.There was another scream. This one cut through the music and people were starting to mutter. Donna and Owen exchanged a glance before running towards the sound."What are you doing?" Owen demanded, stopping her with one arm. "You gonna stab 'em with your shoe?""Oi!" Donna held up a warning finger. "Don't start with me!"Owen threw up his hand. "Fine! Get yourself killed."People had moved, as they do, towards the entrance of the tent. They were packed together, craning their necks and chattering and completely blocking the way."Pardon me, excuse…" Owen swore under his breath.Donna took a deep breath. "Out of the way!"The crowd parted around her. Owen gave her a look of mingled disbelief and respect.She smiled politely at the staring people. "Thank you."They had reached the back door of the house when there was a crash. Shards of glass rained down on them and two bodies sailed out onto the grass. Donna gaped. The Doctor was on the ground wrestling with another man in a tux."What the hell is he doing?" Owen cried."Doctor!" Donna ran over to where the two men struggled.The Doctor took a punch to the jaw and fell back. The other man got on his knees and took the Doctor's throat in both hands. She hesitated a moment—the man the Doctor was fighting was Pete Tyler. You couldn't walk in London without seeing his face at least once on a billboard or something. Why would Pete Tyler try to kill the Doctor? (Unless Pete didn't want him dating his daughter. If so, this was a bit of an overreaction.)The Doctor's face was turning red; he struggled to pull Pete's hands away from his neck, but the other man was stronger.Donna ran back to the paved part of the garden and picked up one of the folding garden chairs."Oi! Let him go!"Pete did not let go, and when he looked at her, his eyes were bloodshot and mad with anger and hunger. The Doctor's lips were blue.Donna raised the chair and swung it as hard as she could against Pete's back.He fell away to one side, but he wasn't unconscious. He barely looked stunned. But he had lost his grip on the Doctor.Donna got between the Doctor gasping on the grass and Pete as he stood to menace them."That's not my husband!" Jackie's voice came from the broken window above. "Donna! He's one of them morpher things!""I know!" Donna bellowed.Not-Pete grinned at her like a hungry lion. "Hello there, Donna. How you been?""You leave him alone," Donna warned, gripping the chair tighter to combat the shaking of her hands. "Go home, why don't you? Leave all these people alone!"The whites of Pete's eyes turned red and glittering. "Make me."Owen had helped the Doctor to his feet. "Stop what you're doing right now, Zvee," the Doctor said in a hoarse voice."Or what?""Or I'll have to stop you."Donna wondered if his brain had suffered from the lack of oxygen.Zvee, or whatever his name was, bared black teeth."Back off!" Rose appeared by her side holding a gun."Oh, not you again," Zvee moaned, his face falling."Where is he?" she shouted. "If you killed him, I swear…""Rose!" Jackie leaned out the window. "He's with me! Is there a doctor down there? A regular doctor, I mean!"Rose nodded towards the window. "Owen!""Got it!" He pushed his way into the house.Donna marvelled that so many people could just stand around while all this was going on. She put down the chair. "Fat lot of good they are," she muttered.The Doctor rubbed his neck. "Some people just can't take it." He looked at Rose and said, softly, "You can put the gun down, Rose.""Put the gun down, Rose," Zvee mocked, in perfect imitation of the Doctor's voice.Rose's lips curled back. "Shut your mouth.""Are you going to shoot me, Rose?" The biomorph was using a woman's voice now. Rose's hands were shaking."Rose," the Doctor whispered, urgently. "Don't listen to him." He took a couple of steps closer to her, and slowly reached for the weapon. "Pete's all right.""Shut up!" she cried. There were tears running down her face. (She must have had a really good mascara, though.) "You shut your filthy mouth, you—"Suddenly, all the people who'd been standing and staring from the tent were running and screaming. Donna spun around."Gramps!" Forget Zvee. She ran back to the tent. She could dimly hear the Doctor calling after her and Rose swearing. Donna cursed her shoes and the grass and the skirt as she ran. If they hurt her grandfather, she'd kill them.People were streaming from the tent in a chaotic horde. There was no way she was getting in the there. Then, in a stroke of brilliance, she went to the side, pulled up the white fabric wall of the tent and stumbled inside.On the stage, there was a fight going on. The handsome bandleader punched a guest in the face. The guest, an unassuming middle-aged woman, took the punch like a 300-pound boxer. She swung her arm into the bandleader's solar plexus, sending him careening into the music stands.Right.Donna looked around to see if she could find her grandfather. Maybe he'd fled with the crowd. She ought to have checked.Then she heard his voice. He was waving one arm over his head. "Donna! Run, sweetheart!" A young man in a tuxedo was advancing on him and a few others who had gotten penned in a corner.She strode towards the biomorph. "Oi! Bug!"The young man-biomorph turned its head around like an owl on a nature documentary. Gramps paled and looked nauseated. Then it turned to look back at him. Gramps tried a smile while Donna mimed: pull up the tent; run away."Didn't you hear me, bug?" Donna said.The biomorph turned back and buzzed angrily."That's right," she said. Gramps helped the others outside. "You disgusting thing." Donna wished she had a cockroach or something to smash. (It had worked for Will Smith.) "Why don't you go and find a nice big pile of dung to play in?"The biomorph began to circle. Donna realised that she'd made a very big mistake coming alone.Gramps saw the last person outside and dropped the tent fabric. She jerked her head and mouthed, "Go!"He shook his head. Donna grimaced. Eighty-seven year old man with a weak heart versus a giant shape-shifting insect from space. Fantastic."I could drain you dry, little ape.""I doubt that," Donna said haughtily."Oh, I think he could." Donna spun and saw the middle-aged woman who'd beat up the bandleader walking up behind her."Bugger," she muttered."Donna, run!" Gramps shouted. He looked around helplessly for something to pick up or throw. "You leave 'er alone!"The biomorph woman smiled at him. "Oh, isn't that sweet, sister? The old one wants us to drink him first.""Don't you touch him!" Donna snarled."I'll take her, sister," said the one shaped like a man, "and you can have him."Human features melted away into dark exoskeletons. Gramps looked like he might faint. Donna took the opportunity to run over to him. The one on the right swiped an arm at her as she passed, but it was a weak move. Donna tried to think how that could be an advantage; if they couldn't do much while they were changing, maybe…The buzzing was growing to a deafening level. Gramps held her by the arms and tried to put himself between her and the biomorphs, but they were circling again, so the best they could do was stand back to back.That was when the screaming outside got louder, and they could hear more broken glass. People were coming back into the tent, some of them frightened, crying, angry, others stone-faced and sinister. Donna spotted the Doctor, Rose, Jackie, Owen, and a green-looking Pete Tyler among them."Donna!" The Doctor looked relieved to see her. "Are you all right?""We're fine," she called back. Then, because she couldn't resist pointing out the insanity of the situation, "Thinking of heading home, though. I don't think we really fit in with the other guests."The President stepped forward. She wore a cold smile, but even that faded away as she approached the two biomorphs who had Donna and her grandfather pinned in place on the dance floor."Who told you that you could reveal yourself?" the President demanded.The biomorph on the left ducked its head and let out a cockroach hiss. The President looked to the other one, who did the same in a lower pitch."I am very disappointed in you," the President scolded; she sounded like somebody's mother. Then she looked at Donna. "Hello again, Donna.""Do I know you?" Donna said sharply, not wanting to show how bloody terrified she was. The President was an alien. The bloody President. That was so not good."It's Zzfstaz," the President said, putting a hand over her… the place where a human heart would be. "We've spent quite a lot of time together, actually. I'm a bit offended that you don't recognize me."Donna lifted her chin. "Well," she said with all the bravado she could muster. "All you bugs look alike to me."The biomorph to Donna's left hissed and jabbed at her. She jumped back, squeaking unintentionally."Listen to me, Zzfstaz," the Doctor said. He glanced quickly at the crowd, taking in the frightened and the apparently injured. "You can let these people go. You don't have to kill them."Zzfstaz turned and looked at him. "What exactly do you presume to do? My children must feed. And with a body like this one," she gestured grandly at the facade of Harriet Jones, "I can orchestrate the feast with ease."Owen stepped forward, only to be pushed back by a snarling woman in Dior. He still had his silver briefcase. "At least let me treat the people you lot have bitten."Zzfstaz tilted her head too far to the right. "And why would I do that? It'd stop them curing.""Stop this," the Doctor pleaded, desperation straining his voice. "Please, just stop.""You are a puzzle, Doctor," Zzfstaz said with a rumbling sigh. "You're not even one of these apes. Besides, that Torchwood woman thought she could stop me." She held out her arms. "Obviously, she didn't. Amazing, really, how easy it was fooling you into thinking I was her." She laughed wheezingly. "And then you left me alone with your President. All I had to do was send a signal to my sisters. We'll take the faces of your most influential members of society, the faces of your Torchwood forces, and then we will take this city. The rest will be easy."The Doctor's expression was very dark. "Did you kill Martha?" he asked, voice dangerously quiet, like a thunderstorm on the horizon. "Answer me."Zzfstaz waved a hand. "She's dead by now, if that's what you mean. Too bad. She was rather succulent.""I suppose I should take that as a compliment."Donna stared. A dark-skinned woman in a green leather jacket had come through the tent side, accompanied by Ianto Jones. Both of them had handguns at the ready."Oh, really!" Zzfstaz groaned. "Why is it so hard to kill you?""Bit like cockroaches, the human race," the Doctor mused, a smile growing on his face. "Two of my favourite Joneses! Good to see you, Ianto! Martha Jones, you marvellous thing!""Good to see you, too, sir," Ianto said, lips quirking."I've got two words for you," Martha said to Zzfstaz. There was a fiery, defiant look in her eyes, and she was showing her teeth in a predatory grimace. "Bug spray. You and your kids get out of here, back to your ship, or I'm going to drop a bomb on this place that will turn you inside out."Zzfstaz sneered. "Oh, yes. Because dropping poison on a bunch of apes is such a good idea."Donna had to admit, Martha Jones had one hell of a poker face. She raised one eyebrow delicately and gave the tiniest of smiles and held up her mobile. "One button," she said. "I press it; you die."There was movement on the stage. Out of the corner of her eye, Donna could see the bandleader slinking behind the chairs. There were one or two others back there, too. She wondered if a trombone could double as a weapon.The Doctor stepped away from the crowd. He walked with his hands in his pockets as if he were out on a stroll. "You know, Zzfstaz," he said. "There are some factors I don't think you've considered.""Such as what?" she scoffed. "Indomitable ape spirit?"He smiled, but it was not a nice smile. Donna wondered if the Doctor wasn't a bit mad. Then it occurred to her that maybe he'd seen the people on the stage as well and he was trying to give them a chance to get away without being noticed."Well…" The Doctor pulled a slim silver thing from his pocket. "Guns and bombs aren't the only weapons in our arsenal.""What is that?" Zzfstaz wondered."It's a screwdriver," the Doctor replied with a gratified smile.Zzfstaz was unimpressed. "Are you making a joke? Ape humour doesn't translate very well, you should know.""Doctor," Rose said. Her eyes flickered between hope and uncertainty.Donna glanced at the stage again. The bandleader and another man where changing the wires on some of the speakers. When the bandleader caught her looking, he gave her a wink. She turned back at the Doctor. Suddenly, she remembered the fire alarm, and how the biomorphs had fallen around them."A screwdriver," Zzfstaz said. She narrowed her eyes. "You're insane, aren't you?"He bobbed his head. "It has been suggested. Lately. By me. But that's not the point. The point is, all I need to stop you…"—he waggled the tool between two fingers—"is this."Donna coughed into her hand. The Doctor glanced at her. Hoping he would understand what she was saying, she darted a meaningful look at the stage and the working men.His mouth curled ever so slightly."Though… It is nice to have a help from friends." He grinned hugely. "Absolutely brilliant, actually."Zzfstaz looked at her children. Most of them were watching the Doctor with expressions of confusion. The party guests didn't look very impressed either, mostly scared. However, Donna could see a grin working its way across Rose's face."Look, Doctor," Zzfstaz said, "I'm very sorry, I simply don't have time for this. It was fun playing, I suppose, but this is really getting tiresome."The Doctor shrugged. "Yeah, all right. I understand. Just one thing, though." He went to the stage and leapt onto it. He took the microphone in hand. "Testing? Ooh, that's a bit hot, don't you think? Oh well, so much the better." He held the screwdriver thing up to the boxy silver head of the mic.Realisation dawned on Zzfstaz's face. "What are you doing?""This." The Doctor pressed a button on the shaft of the screwdriver-thing. The top lit up like a pen torch, but a bright, stinging blue. Donna squeezed her eyes shut.The sound was a high-pitched whine loud enough to hurt her ears. Gramps ducked his head. All the humans winced, or made faces.The biomorphs, however, screeched. As the sound passed out of human hearing, the aliens shuddered and fell to the ground. Those still in human shape shifted rapidly back. The Doctor kept the screwdriver to the microphone, even after every biomorph had fallen twitching to the ground. There were about two dozen of them. Had they all been aliens the entire time, or only after Zzfstaz had called them? Donna wasn't sure she wanted to know.Rose ran up to the stage. "Doctor!"He looked down at her. She held her hand out to him in supplication. "Doctor.""I told you there were aliens," Gramps muttered, excited, looking in awe at the huge black insects writhing on the floor. He squeezed her arm. "Didn't I say?""Yeah, you said," Donna agreed. "You were right the whole time." She hugged him tightly.Owen was already moving around the crowd, handing out vials to anyone who was looking poorly. Jackie Tyler was supporting her husband. Martha and Ianto were next to Zzfstaz. Ianto checked his cartridge, checked Martha for approval and fired two shots.Donna let out a sigh of relief when she realised that they were only tranquillizers.Rose was on the stage now, standing next to the Doctor. He had lowered the screwdriver; it was dark in his hand. Rose kissed him briefly, and then wrapped her arms around him. The wretched look on his face softened just before he buried it in her hair.The bandleader got up off the ground and dusted off his suit."Last time I wear white," he complained.His companion, a tall good-looking bloke with dark hair, saw her looking at them and smiled lopsidedly at her. Donna blushed, but she managed to give them both a smile.Over the next few hours, Martha Jones organized a crew of people—mostly Torchwood people who showed up after she called, fat lot of good they were now—to get the biomorphs packed safely away in vans. Zzfstaz was kept by herself. The actual President was found, given the antidote to the venom, and sent home in the care of five or six agents, including Ianto.Donna mostly just helped the guests collect themselves and get home. It was easy enough to call for cabs for those who didn't have drivers, or whose drivers were missing. She tried not to think too hard about what that meant for some of them.Gramps refused to go home until she did. Resigning herself, she sat him down at a table with the still-recovering Pete Tyler.Jackie was running about, applying tea wherever it was wanted, and sometimes where it wasn't. She did most of this while carrying a bright-eyed two-year-old on one hip.Then, one moment, Donna turned around and everything was over. The guests had all gone, and it was just a few Torchwood people, the Tylers, the Doctor, and her and Gramps left, aside from a couple of people from the band packing up. They sat around a table closest to the stage."No more parties at the house, I think," Pete said as he took his son from his wife's arms. "Next time, I'm renting a building, and whatever shows up can trash it for a change.""Happy Birthday, Dad," Rose said with a smirk.Donna sat next to her grandfather and took off her shoes. "I hope nobody minds," she said."I took mine off an hour ago," Rose said, holding up a foot and wiggling her toes.One of the women from Torchwood, Donna thought she'd heard someone call her Toshiko, turned to Martha. "I'm sorry that—""Don't worry about it," Martha said quietly. She rubbed her eyes. "It's too bad, though. I really liked that dress.""If it makes you feel any better, it looked really good on her when she looked like you," Jackie said helpfully.Martha gave her a rueful smile. "Thanks.""What happened to it?" Toshiko wondered."Got ripped to shreds. Probably when Zzfstaz shifted.""Oh. That's too bad.""Yours is very nice, though," Martha said. "I love what they did with the strap across the back.""So," the Doctor said, cutting across the dress talk. "Music." He was looking at the bandleader who had wandered close by. "You've got a nice voice."The handsome man grinned back at the Doctor. "Thanks. I liked what you did with the sonic device. I was just going to cross wire everything to create feedback.""Not bad." The Doctor smirked. "My idea was better, of course. What do you call yourself? I'm the Doctor.""Name's Jack Harkness." He shook the Doctor's hand. Rose nudged the Doctor in the ribs. Jack turned to his remaining band mate, who was zipping up the case on a bass. "I kinda have a feeling we're not going to see the rest of the band again.""They'll s-show up," said his friend, stuttering a bit. "They'll w-w-want paying.""So, where you boys from?" Rose asked."Oh, here and there," Jack said with a charming smile. "We travel a lot."Rose was looking at her mother. "How interesting! Isn't that interesting, Mum?""I thought so," Jackie said lightly. "Toshiko, sweetheart, do you want any more tea?""No, thank you, Mrs. Tyler."The Doctor leaned back in his chair, a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin on his face. "Not a bad evening," he mused.Pete rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right." He rubbed his eyes. "I don't know about any of you, but I'm knackered." He shifted the sleeping toddler in his lap gently into one arm. "And I think Tony's had enough, eh?"Jackie took the little boy. "I'll put him back to bed. I'm just glad none of those things went into his room." She shuddered. "I was frantic!""He's all right, Mum," Rose said. She bumped the Doctor's leg with her own. "Everything's all right." The way the two of them were looking at each other, Donna supposed that that was supposed to be a hint in his direction and that he'd actually gotten it. Thank goodness."Well, I think we'll be off then. Right, Gramps? Gramps!"Her grandfather shook himself awake. "Sorry, what?""Past your bedtime," Donna said. She patted his hand. "I'll call us a cab." On the way to the door, Pete stopped her. "Can I have a word?"Donna's heart sank. "If this is about the chair… I was pretty sure it wasn't actually you trying to kill the Doctor. I mean… I hoped it wasn't. But I had to—"Pete gave her a funny look. "That's fine. Donna, I was wondering if you'd like a job.""But… But I already work for you. Technically. I think.""I meant at Torchwood."Donna stared at him. "Me? Torchwood? Fighting aliens?" She could almost feel herself go pale. "What, all the time?"He nodded. "You keep your head in a crisis, and I can see your organizational skills are pretty good. The Warehouse has been trying to get a handle on the Archive for some time now; I think Ianto would appreciate the help."She was surprised to realize that she was disappointed. "So… I'd be his assistant?"Pete frowned at her. "Is that a problem?"She swallowed. Worst he could do was fire her from the job she wasn't sure she even had anymore. "I've been someone's assistant my whole life. If I was going to be looking for a new job, it would have to be something more executive."He looked thoughtfully at her. "Fair enough. When can you start?"Donna gaped. "What, seriously?""We're going to have a lot more clean-up to deal with this Zvazveraz thing. We haven't got all of them. It's going to be a lot of work. Think you can handle it?"She grinned. "Absolutely.""See you Monday, then." He shook her hand and then headed up the staircase. Halfway up, he turned around and said, "Thanks for the whisky.""You're welcome," she said breathlessly. "Happy birthday."Donna had to work very hard to hold in the dance of excitement building in her feet. It helped, though, that the Doctor came over."Congratulations," he said.She stared at him. "You were listening to that?""Course I was," he said cheekily. He was smiling wider than a Terry Gilliam animation. "I'm proud of you."She waved a hand. "What for?""Oh, Donna," he sighed, shaking his head. "Because you're brilliant. I knew you'd be brilliant.""Stop it!" she cried, blushing and smiling despite herself. She added, shyly, "You weren't too bad yourself."Suddenly, the Doctor was hugging her tightly. "Donna Noble," he said, as if her name alone were something of great significance.She laughed and swatted him off after a moment. "You're going to make Rose jealous.""Nah," he said. "Rose knows, you and me, we're just mates.""Good." She poked his chest. "Because I'm not having any funny business."The Doctor nodded seriously. "Never," he agreed. "Never ever.""So, come over for tea then, you and Rose, once you get everything settled here."One might have thought he'd been invited to have tea with the Queen, the way his face lit up. "Really? That'd be brilliant!""Well, Granddad adores you. Daft old thing that he is."He grinned. "Absolutely mental."Rose appeared at the Doctor's side. Donna gave her a hug. "See you on Monday, then," she said brightly.Rose gave her a funny look. "Yeah? Why? What's going on?"With a smile and a little wave, Donna went outside to where the cab was waiting. § The Doctor pulled Rose close to his side. She leaned into him. Oh, he'd missed that."What was Donna talking about?""You'll see on Monday," he said mysteriously. He ran one hand down her arm and entwined his fingers with hers. "Right now, I have something very important that I need to say."Rose smiled up at him. "And what's that?""First off," he said. He leaned down and kissed her. "Second; I love you. Third; I love you." Her smiled widened. "I could go on," he said airily. "But really, that'd would get in the way of my plans for the rest of the evening.""Would these plans include any running?" she wondered. She had a glint in her eyes that meant… well… more than it had before. How had he ever missed that? That was a marvellous glint full of almost delicious intent. It was downright lascivious. Lascivious was good. "Because I'm a bit tired for that.""Not unless you want to," he promised. He held her tightly against him; one hand, that right hand, pressed between her shoulder blades before sliding down to her waist. He kissed her again, because he could. That was a good feeling. He could kiss Rose Tyler whenever he wanted.Then, because he could, he swept her up into his arms and lifted her clean off the ground. She shrieked and laughed and her hair brushed his cheek. "What are you doing?" she cried."Carrying you upstairs," he said as he began to walk. "I should think that was obvious."Her arms circled around his neck. "I have a few plans myself, actually," she said thoughtfully, and pressed her lips to the side of his neck. Oh. Why hadn't he thought of that? He returned the favour. "And I'm not too tired," she whispered.The Doctor's heart beat steadily away, filling him with blood. His lungs breathed in deep, taking in oxygen and the scent of Rose. His right hand was holding Rose, the left had her legs, and the fabric of that silky, sexy dress felt just as good as he'd thought it would.At the top of the stairs, he put her down and kissed her again. She smiled against his mouth. Her hand slipped into his and she said just one word before dragging him away."Run!"
|
177252
|
2 Brokedown Palace
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "John Sheppard, Rodney McKay",
"Fandom": "Stargate Atlantis",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Mollyamory (Molly)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-04-03T00:00:00",
"words": "2,352",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Interstitial Spaces",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"Okay," Rodney said into his mic, "light it up."
"Generator number three, back online."
Beneath Rodney's hands, the hum of Atlantis changed subtly. Readings flooded the screen in front of him -- good, good, output steady, reactions stable -- and the lights in the room kicked up a few watts nearer to normal, just the way they ought to. Rodney grinned smugly, and barely resisted the urge to pat the console. "Thanks, Doctor, um," he said, and glanced up to see Major Sheppard mouthing something at him. "Thanks, Doctor Simpson. All systems go from where I'm sitting."
"Shall we move on to generator five?"
"You and Peter handle it; you've taxed my brilliance enough for one day. I have better things to do than babysit minor repairs while the city falls apart around our ears. Good work." He clicked the mic off, and swiveled in his chair to look at Sheppard. "Thank you. I'm not good with names. At Area 51 we were encouraged not to use them, and in Siberia I usually couldn't pronounce them.""No problem." Sheppard leaned in to peer at Rodney's console. "What's wrong with generator five?""What's wrong with everything in this place?" Rodney waved his hand at the control room. Cables ran over and under chairs and consoles, laptops cluttered every flat surface, and somebody seemed to be using the DHD panel as a mousepad. "It's not supposed to work. Our equipment isn't supposed to interface with Ancient technology, and Ancient technology isn't supposed to run off naquadah generators. We have no idea what half this stuff does, and no way to maintain a power supply steady enough to risk turning it on and finding out. The generators are clocking in at 150% of capacity, just to keep the lights on and the water running. I'm amazed we haven't set the place on fire yet.""But on the bright side...""What? Oh." Rodney frowned, thinking. "Well...on the bright side, it takes far less energy to float the city than to submerge it.""Which means?""We're unlikely to sink," Rodney clarified.Inexplicably, Sheppard grinned. "See, that's the power of positive thinking. I feel better already.""Hm." Rodney tilted his head. "So do I."Sheppard clapped Rodney on the shoulder. "Then my work here is done. I have some empty hallways to patrol, and...shouldn't you be asleep or something? It's nearly three a.m.""Unfortunately, naquadah generators have even less respect for my circadian rhythms than my staff does." Rodney scrubbed his hands over his face. "Grodin called me out of bed two hours ago, and now I'm too awake to go back." He looked around the room -- at the red lights on too many panels, at the laptop screens spooling out information and error messages, at the weird alien screen streaming blue and green realtime systems feedback he could barely read -- and fought off a creeping sense of futility. For every thing he fixed, another ten things failed. "Anyway, there's always more to do."Sheppard did his own survey of the control room. "I can see that. Can I help?""You could use your souped-up ATA expression to tell the city we're sorry, and ask forgiveness and assistance.""You want me to pray to Atlantis?""It wouldn't be the dumbest thing we've tried." Rodney grinned. "What do you think would happen to us atheists, if it turned out there really is a God?""Point," Sheppard said, "but I don't think it works that way. I'm just a glorified button-pusher; what you need is a priest.""A pope, technically; but you're probably right." He sighed, pushed back from he control console, and stood up. "I also need coffee.""Now, see, coffee I can do." Sheppard gestured expansively at the door nearest the cafeteria. "I'll walk with you.""Oh." Rodney's eyebrows went up before he could stop them. "Um, okay. I thought you had to patrol.""So, I'll patrol the cafeteria," Sheppard said, shrugging. "For, you know. Malefactors.""Right." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Because our biggest concerns here are MRE bandits and coffee saboteurs.""Hey, it's my duty to protect our food supply.""Major Sheppard, I'm overworked, undercaffeinated, exhausted, and teetering at the brink of a hypoglycemic breakdown. At this moment, I am the greatest danger to our food supply.""In that case, I'm definitely coming along." Sheppard looked at Rodney through hooded eyes, and patted his P-90 with an alarming level of affection.Rodney shook his head tiredly. "In that case, maybe I should just stay here.""McKay." Sheppard's eyes had narrowed down to a glare, but as Rodney watched, he visibly reined himself in. His shoulders dropped, his spine relaxed back into a slouch, and when he spoke again, his voice was light and nonthreatening. "I need some chemical assistance if I'm going to stay on my feet till Bates relieves me at six, and you can barely stand up." When Rodney couldn't come up with anything to say in response, Sheppard added, "If it helps, I'm not authorized to shoot unless you go for a third cup.""I'll...okay," Rodney said. He nodded, and busied himself for a second, ordering some papers that didn't really need it. After a moment, he straightened and glanced up. Sheppard was waiting. "Okay," Rodney said, "Thanks.""You're welcome," Sheppard said. "Can we go get caffeinated now?""Well," Rodney said, drawing himself up. "If it's for the good of the mission...""Oh, it is," Sheppard said solemnly, with note-perfect sincerity. "Our people need us."
Rodney was spared the awkwardness of polite conversation on the way to the cafeteria by three separate calls from Grodin and Simpson regarding generator five's output readings, -- characterized by Grodin as "grossly inaccurate" and by Simpson as "distinctly wonky". He could have used any one of them to get out of Sheppard's... invitation, insistence, whatever it was... but, well, he just didn't. Instead, he glanced over apologetically, keyed his headset, and worked through the problems remotely.Sheppard didn't interrupt, and when they got to the cafeteria, he waved Rodney to a table and came back with two mugs of black coffee and packets of sugar and powdered non-dairy creamer. He pushed one mug over to Rodney, and started dumping packets into the other. Rodney snaked a few sugars while he wrapped things up with Simpson, and clicked off his mic while Sheppard was hunting down spoons. Except for a pair of technicians (ignoring each other behind laptops at a table near the exit) and the marine on midnight KP (half-asleep behind a stack of metal trays in the corner), they had the place to themselves."Thanks," Rodney said awkwardly when Sheppard got back to the table. He'd said thanks more times in the past hour than he usually did in a week. Sheppard was incredibly polite for an American, and unbelievably polite for a base commander in Rodney's experience. It made Rodney more polite, in self-defense. He hunched over his mug, feeling a little twitchy, and tried to think of something neutral to say. His eyes fell on Sheppard's mug. "You actually drink it like that?""I like a good sugar buzz with my caffeine high.""We could probably cook you up some LSD in one of the labs, if you're that opposed to reality.""Nah. When you've got life-sucking vampire aliens running around, a bad acid trip just seems sort of redundant.""Hm." Rodney nodded consideringly. "I concede your point.""I don't know about your people, but mine are pretty freaked out. It's kind of like Salem's Lot meets The Tommyknockers out here. And these are mostly guys who've spent the last few years fighting the Goa'uld--""Which are strangely reminiscent of The Puppet Masters, if you ask me--""Exactly." Sheppard leaned back in his chair and eyed Rodney speculatively. His fingers toyed with the handle of his mug on the table between them. "Heinlein was a man ahead of his time.""As is Stephen King, apparently."Sheppard smiled, and Rodney surprised himself by smiling back. Some of the tension at the base of his skull started to fade; he twisted his neck until it popped, and slumped more comfortably into his chair. He drained his mug -- the coffee was vile, but hot and sweet enough that Rodney didn't care -- and set it down wistfully. Without asking, Sheppard collected it with his own and went for refills. Rodney shook his head as Sheppard walked away; what was this guy, a waiter?"So," Sheppard when he got back. "Do you think maybe our vampire legends evolved from stories the Ancients brought to Earth when they fled this galaxy?""Folklore isn't really my area, but I wouldn't be surprised. Did you work at a Starbucks in college or something?""What...oh." Sheppard looked down at their mugs, and passed Rodney's across to him. "No, I'm just.""Ha!" Rodney said. He grabbed a few more packets of sugar and reclaimed his spoon.Sheppard blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?""Nothing at all." Rodney smiled crookedly. "You're just surprisingly decent, for a, a." He waved his hand at the uniform. "You know. What's the proper terminology? Grunt, jarhead, flyboy...I'm not up on the jargon. And you also seem fairly well-read.""For a flyboy," Sheppard clarified, his voice taking on a dangerous tone."Yes, thank you. For a flyboy." Rodney sipped at his coffee carefully; it was still about a billion degrees. When Sheppard didn't say anything, Rodney looked up at him and frowned. "Oh, please, there's no need to get offended; I meant it as a compliment!"For a moment, Sheppard just stared at him, his face frozen somewhere just shy of a glare. When he started laughing instead, he looked about as surprised as Rodney was. It was kind of a rough and creaky noise, like he hadn't oiled the mechanism recently; Rodney shook his head, grinning so hard his face hurt. After a second, he started laughing, too.The technicians in the corner looked up from their laptops briefly, but the marine in the corner didn't even twitch.
Seventy-two hours later, Rodney's voice was hoarse, his throat hurt, and he was approximately four minutes away from just blowing the city up himself. "Okay, I'm ready topside," he said, propping an elbow on the console and resting his chin on his hand. "Peter, you have a go. Light it up.""Generator number two, back online," Peter said in Rodney's ear. "You know, Doctor McKay, we don't actually need you for this. Doctor Simpson and I--""You're talking while I'm reading," Rodney said. His eyes scanned the readouts coming in from generator two and the systems it supported, then skated over to the laptop monitoring three and four. "Okay, it looks like everything's holding steady for the moment. We'll need continuous monitoring--""Peter and I will monitor for now, Doctor McKay." Simpson's voice came through sharp and stern. "On behalf of the morning shift, we must insist that you go to sleep right away.""Roger that."Rodney's head whipped around. Sheppard's voice sounded in his left ear a split second before it registered in his right. He was leaning in the doorway, his P-90 slung over his shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. "Doctor Simpson, I'll make sure Doctor McKay shuts down for the night; you guys...do whatever it is you guys do.""Thank you, Major Sheppard," Peter said, echoed with unflattering speed by Simpson a second later. Two clicks followed as they closed down their side of the channel.Rodney leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, consciously mirroring Sheppard. "I was going to turn it over to them anyway, you know. I have better things to do with my time than--""Babysit minor repairs. I know.""Look, I've told you, I can't sleep when things are disintegrating all around me. My brain doesn't work like that.""So don't sleep," Sheppard said irritably. He shoved off the door frame; upright, his posture seemed less smug and more defensive. "I was just...checking in. I was on my way to patrol the cafeteria some more, so...""Oh." Rodney sat up a little straighter, frowning. "And?""And...like I said, I was just checking in." Sheppard dropped his arms to his sides, and shoved his hands into his pockets. One corner of his mouth quirked up, then fell again so fast Rodney wasn't sure he'd seen it. "Good luck with the generators, Doctor McKay. I'll see you around." He raised one hand to give a little wave, and started to turn away."Sheppard, wait."Sheppard paused, and turned back to Rodney, waiting. His face was professionally neutral, which Rodney hadn't seen before and which he found he didn't like."I'm sorry," Rodney said quickly. "I'm not usually in the position to -- that is to say, not professionally, anyway. Or really any other -- but that's beside the point. I didn't mean to..." Rodney stopped talking, suddenly aware that he was rambling. He raised his hands helplessly. "I'm sorry. It was kind of you to offer. That was an offer of coffee, right?"Sheppard nodded slowly, his eyebrows climbing to a patently ridiculous height. "Yes," he said, drawing the word out to an insulting length. "It was."Rodney nodded sharply. "I thought it was."Sheppard looked at Rodney expectantly. Rodney looked back, eyes widening. "Um, was there...""For God's sake, McKay," Sheppard said. "Are you coming, or what?""Yes. Um, yes, I am. Thank you for asking me." Rodney smiled, because it felt like the right thing to do, and after a second Sheppard smiled back, so it probably was. He dragged himself out of his chair. He'd barely moved in over three hours; every muscle in his body ached, but it felt good to unfold and stand up straight. He twisted his shoulders to loosen them up a bit, and arched his back until it cracked.Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Are you coming today?"Rodney felt his smile getting wider, and turned his head to hide it. "Today I can do," he said firmly. "Give me a minute to shut things down, and I'll walk with you."
.end
|
109649
|
demon interlude
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Dean Winchester, Azazel (Supernatural), John Winchester",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by phantomas (sil)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-08-27T00:00:00",
"words": "1,824",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Azazel (Possessed!John)/Dean Winchester",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It was a simple gesture. Orange and darkness striped eyes flickered, and Sam felt his throat constricting, little less that a thin strand of oxygen being pushed through his lungs by his own sheer will to live. Because he could not die. Not as long as he was stuck to that wall, not as long as the Colt was out of reach, not as that monster in his father's body was as close as he was to Dean.Sam could not die, so he kept breathing, all his senses stretched, twisted, pulled, to bring in that one more minuscule molecule of oxygen…and everything else was a confused mass of colors and shapes and Dad's voice, a stranger's voice, growling in the background behind the loud buzzing in his ear. Deafening.The Demon chuckled. Flickered his fingers, a flare of bright fire in his eyes. "So, Dean. As you see. Daddy is not dead. Not yet, anyway."Dean didn't answer. His eyes tightened, briefly, slit with pain and worry and defiance. "He's inside you. He'll kick your ass. You'll see. My dad never gives up.""I know," the demon's breath dad's warm breath, coppery, tired-scented, how many times, how many days, dawns, nights, the smell of them, hunt-sweat, fear-sweat… "He's a tough guy, John Winchester, isn't he?" and his breath, humid on Dean's cheek. The brush of lips against the side of his nose. "You like that, Dean? You think your father is some sort of hero, don't ya?"Dean's eyes wavered to Sam's trembling body, taking in the slow lifting of his chest. "He tracked you down, didn't he?" Make him talk, take time…look for an escape route, there's always one, and if there isn't, you're in trouble, son, you didn't plan like you should've…"Maybe I let him," the demon sidestepped, one thigh pressing against Dean's own. "Do you want to know something, Dean? Sam was always Daddy's favorite. But you always knew that, don't you? You always knew, and you tried to win his love by doing everything he wanted."A deep swallow, Dean looking for something to ease the dryness in his throat. Eyes unerringly fixed in dad, dad please the demon's. Trying not to look at his father's flaky dry blood on his cheek, trying to not let his senses be fooled. Trying to stare the Demon down, because fuck you, fuck you, you damn monster, you mom-killer, life-destroyer, evil fucking sonofabitch I'll kill you kill you kill you God help me Dean wasn't one to give up. He was John's son."Oh," and it was necessary to close his eyes, now, because the Demon was pressed against him, solid as death, bulky, father-sweat smelling. "You want to kill Daddy, Dean? How banal." There was a tilt to the Demon's head, like an animal predator would, John-alien. "You know what Daddy really wants? What he always wanted?" Rough finger-tips, scars on the back of the knuckles, scars that Dean could have told you Idaho, 1992, summer, knives-happy poltergeist…Texas, 1999, winter, the house shook and crashed upon us and Dad put his hands over me… where and when and how, and now they were touching him, those callused fingers, caressing and brushing his jaw, o' so tenderly.It was too dark, in this little hole they hoped to be safe in. Dean wanted to move his feet, but his boots just scraped the dust on the wooden planks under them. There was no space left, between his heart and the wall behind him. Between his life and this monster with his father's face. "All Dad always wanted was to kill you dead, you bastard."A curl of lips, another side-tilt, and stubble rasping and oh god dad please.. and another hand, settling on Dean's hip. Heavy. So heavy. "That too. But also…" flaring orange settling on Dean's features. Hips pressing, in all the right places, in all the wrong ways. "You always smelled like Mary, boy."A pause. For the demon to enjoy. For Dean to give in to the invisible strength slamming him into the wall and try to disappear in it, to melt with the wood behind, make an armor of it. Father-lips curling in a smile. Demon-voice taunting him."You did. And John always wanted it to lick it off you," and there it was, wet and thick, father-tongue and demon-poison, licking across Dean's lips is Sammy's breathing still, can I move my hands, don't don't don't, down to Dean's jaw, turning into a whisper in the shell of his ear. "I know John wants you. This meat-suit of his, is full of wants and needs, but not Sammy, no, Sammy has to be protected, but you, you're his to use as he pleases, and this is just one more use, son, just one more sin in the back of John's mind…if you knew, how many times he's been lying in bed and thinking of doing this to you."John Winchester was as tall his eldest son, same robust inches and broad shoulders. Chest to chest, hips to hips, there was an erection in John's jeans, hard and warm through the layers of fabric, Dean with no place to go, and that thing, that thing rubbing rubbing and pressing and pushing like you would, like you've done to a hundred girls before, pushing your thigh between theirs, and rubbing and rutting on them on him."Dad, please…" was that his voice, that whimper? Sammy Sammy help me god please Sammy help…"Daddy's here, my boy, Daddy's got you," and it was John's voice, and John's hands on him, sliding between the waist of Dean's jeans and skin, cold, goosebumps, sucking in air to push himself away from the touch and nowhere nowhere nowhere no no no nowhere to go. "C'mon, Dean, show a little affection for your old man," there was tongue, then, thrust between Dean's lips, father-lips and father-mouth and devil-soul and Dean's blood curling, head banging against the wall behind, and John's body and hands and mouth on him, touching taking stroking lapping, each inch of skin a piece of heart tore apart, thrown away. "Daddy loves you so much, Dean…he loves you like this, always has…" spit and saliva and stickiness and sickness pouring out of him and inside of him, and Dean just no no no, please dad, please dad no no closed his eyes, because he didn't want to see, not his father's face, not those eyes flaring, flames in the back of his mind, ashes on the back of his throat.The zip on Dean's jeans undid itself, bit by bit. Dean focused on the gurgling coming from Sam's direction, eyes shut closed. "You can't make me. You're not my dad." It didn't matter that it sounded as if the words were pulled out of him, extracted slowly and painfully, it didn't matter that it barely reached his own ears, it didn't matter that the words got twisted with the wetness on his face.Flesh on flesh, solid-bulky-turgid, father-cock, blood hot, precome slick, and hope I'm gonna get sick on the sonofabitch hope it's gonna die slowly oh my god daddy help me daddy don't do this to me don't please daddy no no "I can make you do anything I want, son," was whispered on Dean's lips. Rub and stroke and slide, father-hands on Dean's cock, skin, body, soul, landscape marred, scarred, burned. Burned. "Say 'daddy' Dean. Say it. That's an order, son.""No, no," whispering back, Dean hoped Sam wasn't seeing this, wasn't hearing this, wasn't guessing any of this, Sammy shouldn't know any of this. Sudden pain between his legs made him ram his head back against the wall, once, twice, stop it, stop it.The Demon smiled, with John's teeth and lips, in the face of his son's attempt to escape the fingers that were steadily breaking his body, thrusting up his ass. "Yes, son, yes. Say 'daddy', call your Dad, and I'm gonna give you all his love, any time you want. Like this," a deeper, harsher thrust of his fingers, and Dean's scream was swallowed whole by John's mouth. "Ah, that's so good. Your dad will be so proud of you, finally." It was all about pushing, blood and sweat-soaked clothes stinging and sticking, the rapid jerking of wrist, fingers-wrapped tight, fingers pushing deep. "John wants to fuck you so badly, son, he always wanted to, fuck you over, fuck you up, fuck you against a wall, and you'd let him, wouldn't you? A little love, that's all you want, and you'd roll over and spread your legs for your dad without saying a word."Bright flames flickering against the ceiling in the back of his mind, Dean opened his eyes, the sound of his teeth rattling as foreign as the vibrations of the glass windows. Dean opened his eyes, eyelashes sticky, heavy, and looked - looked - stared at his father's face so close to his, felt his father's hands on him, in him, ass-blood-cock-full-sick-come-drip. "Please, Dad…please daddy," he murmured with bloodied lips and broken whispers. "Please, dad, don't let him do this to me, please dad, please, please."Dean opened his eyes and kept them open as his come spurted on John's t-shirt, army-green and days-dirt, as John's come splashed against Dean's groin, as gasps-growls-pants and fire licked his skin, and he kept his eyes open to see the orange bright of the pupils and the stripes of darkness and the dancing fire in his father's eyes - in the Demon's eyes -and he ignored the side-tilt of the head, and the curl of lips, and the sweat-scent.Dean opened his eyes and as he came, he spat in the Demon's face, and shoved everything else deep down, deep, deep.Sam couldn't see what was happening on the other side of the room. Too long hair was in his eyes; one side of his face was swollen and throbbing, his muscles strained and on the verge of breaking by the efforts made for movement. "Don't touch him," he said, vowels and consonants dragged along his throat, dying on his lips.It was a simple gesture. Orange and darkness striped eyes flickered, and the back of John's hand cleaned the spit off Johns' face. The palm of his other hand smeared Dean's own come over Dean's lips, his neck. Another side-tilt, a shoulder itching, and lips curling, orange-flamed eyes mocking, all-knowing, and the Demon made John's body step back, step off Dean's body…and for a moment, a single shard of fragmented time, a slice in the darkness outside, inside, John's eyes, and Dean's eyes, and hell between them.It was a simple gesture.Dean's body slid up along the wall, a few inches more, and the Demon turned, indifferently and automatically adjusting himself, enjoying the feel of the body he currently owned and the stretching and howling of the soul inside.
|
130163
|
Some Guys Have All the
|
{
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Allison Cameron, Greg House, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by Highlander_II",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2010-10-29T00:00:00",
"words": "3,476",
"Additional Tags": "Community: spook_me, Costumes, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Closet Sex, Demons, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon, Halloween, Crossover",
"Relationship": "Allison Cameron/Greg House",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Spook Me Ficathon, Spook Me Ficathon 2010",
"Fandoms": "House M.D., Dresden Files - Jim Butcher",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"That old thing?" House sneered when he saw Cameron come down the hall dressed in white fur.She glanced down at herself, then back at him nervously. "What?" She blinked quickly. "But I thought you liked this costume?" He didn't think she was going to cry, but she really looked disappointed that he hadn't commented kindly about her outfit.In response, he said nothing. He let one corner of his mouth twitch up in a hint of a smirk. He liked the costume. It turned him on, in fact. A lot. Costume parties, on the other hand, did very little for his libido, but the annual Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital Halloween party was happening and, as usual, he had been all but ordered to attend. With a grumble and a series of complaints about such ridiculous frivolities, he caved. Mostly because he found out Cameron was planning to wear that damned cat outfit.He had spent part of an afternoon trying to explain to Wilson what this costume did to him, but trying to explain 'fur turns me on' wasn't as easy as he'd thought. Even talking to Wilson. So, he'd changed the subject to what Wilson would be wearing to the costume party.House had decided, slightly to Cameron's displeasure (at least that's what he thought she was expressing), to attend dressed as a pirate. It was as good a reason as any to procure himself a sword cane like he'd been wanting for a couple years now. Wilson gave him a similar look of disdain when he watched House carefully choose the sleek cane that concealed a finely honed blade of steel. House could see it in his friend's face: 'You are going to kill yourself.' House's face had ignored Wilson's and he'd bought the cane anyway.Besides, what else would a limping pirate have at his side? Okay - and a parrot. Though House had opted against the use of a real parrot. That idea was far too messy.He spent half of their first hour at the party trying to figure out if Cameron was wearing a delicious nothing-at-all beneath her costume and she spent the same amount of time not letting him find out. Talk about frustrating! So, he'd consumed a fair amount of vaguely alcoholically tinged punch to bide his time. What was the world coming to that the Halloween party couldn't even have real liquor in the punch?When Cameron had finished making her rounds - or whatever it was she'd been doing - she brushed against him and asked if he was engaging dirty thoughts about what he'd like to do to her. He thought for a moment about ignoring her and pretending he hadn't heard her, but some of that wispy fur touched his skin and her velvety voice slid over his ears and he was stuck in the only headspace he could hang on to - sex soon.He leaned into her ear - her actual one, not that cat one on top of her head - and whispered, "Meet me in the janitor's closet on the third floor in ten minutes."She rumbled something that could've been a growl or a purr, but either way, sounded a lot like she was not turning him down.On his way to the front door - he needed some air after all that punch - he brushed past the over-tall wizard-guy that he'd met while dealing with Stacy's ghost (her literal ghost, not just the ones in his head), gave him a polite nod of acknowledgment and continued on his way. He was two steps from the door when an amazingly large creature ducked its head beneath the doorframe to step into the party. The thing seemed horribly dis-proportioned - tall body with a large, elongated head with a snarling snout full of sharp teeth. It was ugly. Then again, so were most of the other costumes at the party. This one was just more elaborately ugly. When it moved from the door, House stepped outside for the air he was seeking.He waited the full ten minutes before lumbering his way to the third floor to meet Cameron in the janitor's closet. He stepped in, pulled the door closed and tugged the chain to switch on the light. Why was this the only closet in the entire hospital that still had a pull-chain for the overhead light?Sitting primly on her haunches in the pool of yellow light was a pretty little princess kitty all in white. House stretched his hand down to brush over the kitty's ears. His other hand slipped over her throat, brushing the leather collar situated there. Cameron tilted her head and stretched forward to brush her furry self against his legs, mimicking the actions of a real cat.He never figured himself as having any sort of kink involving animals, but something about Cameron, in this costume, acting the way she was acting, turned him on in ways he couldn't begin to understand. On one level he wanted to understand where it was all coming from, but on another, he liked the little bit of mystery. For the moment, he settled on the mystery and what Cameron was doing with that long lean body of hers against his legs.
So, I just passed House and he didn't try to kill me or insult me, so either he's got something else on his mind or I don't rate on his snark meter anymore. If I think about it just a little, the latter is more upsetting. What can I say? I love matching snarky-wits with a well-armed opponent.I do not, however, find some of these costumes 'pretty'. In fact, some of them are downright repulsive. Really repulsive. Realistically repulsive... well damn.I won't be winning the costume competition this year.Not that that was much of an issue to begin with, since I didn't do much to dress up. I'm dressed a lot like me, but with a more fantasy-based look to it. Most people here don't really seem to care. Though that may have something to do with the fact that I haven't brushed my hair in the last couple days and there are a few dirt stains on my shirt. Of course, if I close the robe and fasten it, they won't see the dirt so much. Except on my boots.I can't say this is actually a planned costume. I was coming to the hospital to see if House or one of his colleagues could give me a once-over for broken bones or bad cuts, but I'd run into a party instead (thus the sudden inclusion of a robe and hat). And the cut that I knew about had stopped bleeding and I haven't gotten progressively worse over the last hour or so, thus convincing me it must not have been anything too bad.One of the nurses - I don't know if she's a real nurse or a dressed-up nurse - keeps giving me the eye. How do you let someone know, politely, that you're not interested? At least, not when you're stained and sweaty and smelly. That seems to be unattractive most of the time. And that's about me, not her. She looks bathed and made-up and... a lot like House's boss, I think. Don't think I'm going there even if she is. I tend not to spend time hooking up with people in positions of that much power. Despite the fact that my last relationship was with someone from the White Council. Leave me alone. My love life's been flagging a bit lately.But this isn't about my love life, it's about a Halloween party and the sudden scream I heard coming from down the hallway.
House stood firm. He would not let her beat him at this game. Not again. Not in this furry cat outfit. She had gotten him once and he would not let her do it again. That first time had been a surprise. He knows what it does now and he can sure as hell prevent it if he wants to. Right? Right?Fuck, he grumbled to himself, already losing the mental battle as his fingers found the fuzzy softness of her ears again (the cat ones this time). With a growl, he reached down to clip the leash he had conveniently stowed in one of his pockets when she wasn't looking to the ring on the front of her white leather collar.Curious eyes peered up at him and he could see the glint of a self-satisfied smirk trying to hide in the blue and green specks. Damn her, his internal voice muttered again. She knew this would happen. Hell, no reason to stop now, he was already gone.He gave the leash a tug and drew her closer to him, his long fingers taking up the slack in the leather. He nearly lost his footing when she brushed the side of her head against his crotch. Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed to get his bearings, then growled for her to unfasten his pants.She tilted those sparkling curious eyes at him again and pawed at his waist, then untied the cinch of his pants with a 'claw'. Loosened so swiftly, the pants dropped to the floor in a heap at his ankles. Cool air brushed his skin, but he only had a second to notice because Cameron's warm, wet mouth made contact with his cock and he nearly forgot his own name.By the time his brain caught up with the rest of him, he was rocking his hips forward and tangling his fingers in her hair and the leash, using both to draw her further down the length of his cock. He should have been paying more attention to what he was doing. As soon as the soft fur tickled the skin of his thighs, he nearly exploded in her throat. How had he forgotten that sensation?Hearing her gagging coughs woke him from his near sensory overload stupor enough to draw his hips back and let her breathe. He asked if she was okay to keep going and her response almost knocked him on his ass. It had him releasing her hair to steady himself on a nearby shelf at least.The contents of the shelf rattled vigorously, then stood still.
The large snarling almost-a-werewolf thing just scared the beejeezus out of that woman dressed like Bo Peep. Though, I can honestly say, that is the shortest Bo Peep skirt I have ever seen. I didn't realize it was possible for a skirt to be that short and still have room for crinkled crinolines under it. That's almost impressive.And Murphy would call me a 'pig' for a comment like that. Though I'm not sure why. It's something that seemed a physical impossibility until I actually saw it.I'm going to get off the topic of the short skirt before I get myself into trouble. There are other costumes not nearly as risque as that one. There are ghosts and zombies and action heroes and medical professionals - though, at a hospital costume party, isn't that cheating?That werewolf thing is drooling an awful lot. I don't know how normal that is for a costume.Well, damn. I'm glad I came dressed as a wizard, because it looks like I may need to actually be one tonight. The werewolf thing just tried to eat Bo Peep. Shit.
House gave the shelf an annoyed sneer, then refocused his attention on the white, furry form of Cameron's head bobbing up and down on his cock. It's delicious and good and he suddenly had the urge to press her against the wall.He tugged the leash, pulling her to her feet smoothly. With a soft rumble, he turned her to face the wall of the closet. His hand reached between her legs to unfasten the crotch of her costume. The moan that echoed off the wall almost made his ears sweat.By the time he entered her, all hot and slick, he was sure he wouldn't last long at all. Damn, he needed this. And maybe he would have one Halloween Party in his memory that didn't suck. How did Cameron keep influencing his thoughts on holidays?When that moan rippled from her throat and her hips pushed back against him, he gave up on thinking and focused much more on moving. Thrusting into her, trying to break her apart, feeling that fur against his chest and legs were suddenly the most important tasks on his mental To-Do list.She threw her head back against his shoulder. That made him thrust harder. The sensation of the fur on his skin intensified everything.Lips pressed close to her ear, he rumbled, "I fucking love this stupid costume."Cameron moaned and could feel herself tightening around him. The costume, until recently had been hanging in her closet, unworn. She knew it wouldn't hang idly in her closet anymore.House thrust deeply into her. His leg was starting to cramp, but he needed to finish. 'Needed this to make his Halloween.
No, dressing as a wizard isn't cheating, because I don't normally wear midnight robes with silver stars and moons stitched to it. (Though I've actually had nightmares about showing up at Council meetings dressed this way - trust me, showing up naked is better.) Molly picked this out for me. (I just hadn't planned on wearing it.) My apprentice, the fashion guru.Anyway, I didn't have time to focus on my outfit just then. There was a snarling demon trying to eat the party-goers.Strike that, there were TWO snarling demon beasts trying to eat people. The werewolf-looking thing and some hairless, lizard-like beast. Two monsters to deal with? And in the middle of a party full of humans who had no clue.I had to both take down the demons and not kill anyone. Dammit.Even worse, I didn't have Bob and his wealth of knowledge to help me figure out what would work best to get these guys out of here, dead or back to their own dimensions.The wolf-thing was charging at random people and making beeline for the stairs. I headed him off by aiming a focused stream of fire across the bridge of its nose. It stopped, but turned it's focus to me. That's not really a problem, except that I needed to also get the lizard-thing away from the elevators.Trying to fight two demons alone is bad enough. Trying to do it while standing in a room filled with innocent bystanders without harming or killing any of them is about four-hundred times that. Sure, I can do it. I've done it before, but not usually when both of the monsters are coming after me at the same time and I have no idea what they are.However, I had discovered fire did hurt them. This was good to know, because it's easier to kill with fire than wind and I'm not good at earth magics. Not enough to take down demons the size of NFL linebackers for sure.I needed to get those people out of there. Pulling the fire alarm would work as long as it didn't also activate the emergency sprinkler system. Aside from the water putting out the fire, it would seriously decrease my ability to do anything useful with magic.Another lash of flame unleashed at the lizard-thing as some spittle or venom from it landed on my wrist. Damn! That burns! I hope, it doesn't eat my flesh. Worry with that later. Lizard-thing was charging me head-on.This would take some finesse. I needed to hit the thing and shield myself at the same time. I readied the blasting rod and my shield bracelet, then let loose the bolt of flame. As the flame left the blasting rod, I willed the shield into place and a lizard beast with serious heart burn flew over my head and into one of the solid exterior walls of the building. It landed with an ugly wet squish on the floor.This gave me a few seconds to gather my thoughts. Containment. What could I contain the wolf-thing with? My left hand reached into my pocket and extracted a block of chalk. (It didn't do it on it's own. I put my hand in my pocket, I just had forgotten the chalk was in there until my hand brushed it.) I had no idea if this would work, but hell, it was worth a shot.I took a good couple running steps, then slid along the floor on my hip and felt my hat sail off my head. The blasting rod got jammed against the tile as a pivot point and I dragged the chalk along the tile as I spun around the wolf-thing before it realized what was going on. I closed the circle, then pushed a bit of my will into it with a touch of my finger and the wolf-thing was locked behind a mystical barrier. He didn't seem too happy about it either.I'd have exerted more effort to kill them, but I couldn't be sure there weren't people darting into the field of battle.For the moment, I need to secure lizard-thing, so I grabbed a ruffled-looking blond man and asked him to make sure nothing or no one crossed the chalk circle on the floor. He gave me an odd look and muttered something at me I couldn't catch through his accent, but did what I'd asked.I drew a similar circle around the prone figure of a vaguely lizard-shaped thing and locked him in too. I then requested assistance from a black man who was walking through just then and asked him if he would help get the people out of the buildingAnd here I was thinking my birthday would be boring.
House felt Cameron stiffen and shudder. The cry from her throat reverberated around the small closet and he was sure someone had heard her. A moment later, he wasn't sure of anything as his climax steamrolled every bit of conscious thought he had left.Cameron's kitty claws scratched at the door; she was trying to keep herself upright as her legs began to give out. Her head fell forward to thunk against the door. Her breathing came in labored pants while she waited for the little aftershocks in her core to settle."You okay?" House whispered, his mouth against her neck, his chin on her shoulder.She nodded. "Excellent. Meow," she rumbled.He chuckled and kissed her jaw. His large hands smoothed around her waist, rubbing the furry belly of the costume over her own taught abs. "I want to take you for a walk in the jogging park, Princess."Cameron closed her eyes as a shiver zipped down her spine. She tingled in anticipation. "Mmm, let's go," she purred, pressing herself back against him.It took them several minutes to disengage, then readjust their clothing so they were presentable to the outside world. House pressed Cameron against the door for a fierce kiss and a grope of her furry ass. She moaned against him, then repainted her nose and whiskers before stepping out of the closet. House stepped out behind her and tapped her ass with his cane.
******
The scene in the lobby as they stepped off the elevator was graphic. Broken tables and dishes and glass and blood on surfaces one wouldn't expect to find blood - even at a Halloween party in a hospital. Then there were the two non-human lumps."What the hell happened in here?" Cameron asked with a gasp. "Oh my God."
I stepped around a few Council Wizards to meet Drs. House and Cameron at the elevators. Oh yeah, there was quite a bit of Council interest in a demon-crashed Halloween Party in Jersey. No idea why. Maybe they were bored. Or wanting to know why I was in Jersey. Paranoid-much?"Dresden. What's going on with the parade of Hogwarts types?" House asked full of that amazing tact of his.I looked over my shoulder at the mess. "'Couple demons stopped in for some tasty Halloween snacks." I turned back to them. "I talked them out of it," I explained with a light shrug."Was anyone hurt?" Cameron asked, she was leaning on House's arm a little heavier than casually acceptable."Not badly. A few scrapes and bruises. They're all out in front.""You took these things out by yourself?" House sounded incredulous. Gotta love his lack of faith in me. It's almost comforting.I shrugged again, "Yeah. All by myself."House looked defeated. "Damn. And I didn't even get a chance to use my sword cane," he grumbled."Sorry. Maybe next time," I told him. Though, I hope there isn't a next time. One time was plenty.
|
169718
|
Life and Art
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Montague John Druitt (Sanctuary), Helen Magnus",
"Fandom": "Sanctuary (TV)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by Penknife",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-03-12T00:00:00",
"words": "943",
"Additional Tags": "History Battle, Crossdressing, Shakespeare",
"Relationship": "Montague John Druitt (Sanctuary)/Helen Magnus",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Sanctuary History Battle",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
"What did you think of the play, anyway?" John asked, sprawling across Helen's bed lazily with her nestled in the curve of his arm, her hair falling in untidy curls over her shoulders, her chemise baring the better part of her breasts. Somehow their conversation after returning from the theater had failed to address anything actually transpiring on stage at all."I enjoyed it," Helen said. "But I'm not sure it was very realistic.""Well, it's Shakespeare,” John said. “It isn't particularly meant to be.""I'm not sure anyone would really have mistaken Viola for a man.""Not that Viola, certainly." She'd been costumed to make her femininity extremely clear, despite her pinned-up hair and hose that clearly showed the shape of her legs. Helen slipped out of his grasp, sitting up on her heels with a speculative expression. "But you think it could work?""It would depend on the woman, I should think," John said carefully. "And the clothes." He looked Helen up and down. There was very little masculine about her, and yet he did wonder. He could see by the light in her eyes that she did as well, and she stripped out of her chemise impulsively."Your shirt, John," she prompted when he found himself distracted by the sight."Of course," he said, handing it over. It was too big for her, but not as much so as it would have been on a more delicate woman. She rolled up the sleeves and buttoned it, shaking back her hair. He shook his head. "You look remarkably provocative, but not particularly like a man.""A page-boy," Helen said. "If I were a schoolboy--""Not with such hair," John said, weighing it in his hand. He wasn't sure he wanted to imagine her as a boy dressed up in his clothes. He also wasn't entirely sure that he didn't, which he found unsettling.Helen tossed her head impatiently. "Pin it up, then.""Am I to learn hair-dressing now?""It's a useful field of human knowledge," Helen said. She handed him a porcelain box of hairpins. "Try not to stab me with them, please.""I'll endeavor not to," John said. He coiled her hair behind her head and pinned it experimentally, but it kept making efforts to escape. "I think a hat might be more to the point.""I'd better have the rest of your clothes, then," Helen said. "Wearing a hat while undressed is simply absurd.”"You'll look absurd enough in my clothes.""Well, I expect Mr. Tesla's clothes would fit me better, but I can hardly ask to borrow them," Helen said. "I feel he might get the wrong idea.""I see that," John said, and handed over his waistcoat. It hung too loosely on her, but that helped to disguise the shape of her breasts somewhat. The coat was too large as well, and with the sleeves rolled up, she looked like a boy trying on an older brother's clothes."I'm afraid the trousers are going to be much too long," she said, but she slipped on the trousers over her bare legs, bending down to roll up the cuffs. She brought one foot up to the bed to make that easier, her knees sprawling apart, not at all a woman's posture, or at least not that of any woman he'd ever seen. His breath caught, a single betraying intake of breath, and her eyes flickered to his face, and then further down. "Your hat," she said evenly.He handed it over, and she seated the top hat on her head, tucking her wayward hair under it. She stretched out on the bed, leaning on one elbow in a posture that wasn't either hers or his own; he realized that she was imitating Tesla's cocky sprawl, and wasn't at all sure how he felt about that.Helen raised her chin. "Will I do as a page-boy?""If your goal is inciting men to vice," John said."That's interesting," Helen said. "What kind of vice are we talking about, here?" She wrapped her hands around her knees and pulled them up to her chest, and for a moment it was all too easy to imagine her as a schoolboy. It was all illusion, of course, and yet …He struck out towards a distraction. "In Shakespeare's time, Viola would have been played by a boy, you know.""A boy pretending to be a girl pretending to be a boy?" Helen raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit confusing?""Apparently it wasn't. It was probably less confusing when it was just boys pretending to be girls." He felt that might be less disconcerting than Helen pretending to be a boy, although when he thought about it, the idea of James the way he'd looked in their boyhood, his hair still cropped short but wearing an Elizabethan gown and looking up at him through long eyelashes, wasn't much more comfortable to contemplate.She considered him with an assessing look."It wouldn't suit me," he said discouragingly."I suppose you're too tall," Helen said, but she still sounded interested. "You could just try the corset and stockings.""I think not.""Or you could show me what vices you had in mind," Helen said."Or you could give me back my clothes," John said, his voice a bit strained."I could," Helen said, rather gently. "Does it truly bother you?"He traced the line of her chin with his fingers. "It's disconcerting,” he said. “You don't look at all like yourself.""I think that's the idea," Helen said, and it was only when she smiled that he was sure that he knew her after all.
|
129438
|
Altruistic
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Mystique, Logan (X-Men), Rogue (X-Men)",
"Fandom": "X-Men (Movieverse)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by seperis",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2001-09-24T00:00:00",
"words": "3,708",
"Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Altrustic",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
It wasn't that he sympathized with her, because he didn't, even if she was pretty and a hell of a lot younger than he'd expected when he was sent out to find her. He was still pissed with Erik for forgetting that vital, she's seventeen and really fucking young for her age bit of information, because when he'd first seen her, he hadn't believe that the power Erik had described could possibly inhabit that half-starved body.Almost left her there in the bar--or maybe he wouldn't have, even if she hadn't been the one he was looking for. Something about her appealed to him and that made it hard for him to be around her, made his mood that much nastier than usual. Which might have seriously been saying something, considering he'd never been famous for good temper at the best of times. Which this most fuck-assuredly was *not*.And how the old was she? Seventeen. *Seventeen*. Shit. Mystique had started out younger here and he'd worked with her before she was past her eighteenth birthday, but he'd never been able to see her as a kid, even then, certainly not now."Damn," Mystique murmured, teeth set tight together, and Logan threw her a glance as she stretched out on Erik's desk like a cat. She'd been watching the girl since she'd come in with a strange mix of curiosity and casual interest. Not quite enough to do much for the kid, but more than he would've expected she was capable of. He's almost call it pity if he'd seen that look on anyone else's face.This was the third trial run with the third failure and Logan was seriously beginning to suspect that piece of crap machine wasn't going to work at all. Which considering how much time he'd spent working on it personally, and with that son of a bitch Creed, was facing annoying any way he looked at it.But as the platform came down for the third time, he watched her pull her own manacled hands away with the sound of ripping paper--he wondered how the hell her palms were standing up to the abuse. While Creed dragged away the third guinea pig--third failure, Logan already knew it, saw the signs as quickly as Erik did--she slumped against the poles briefly, fighting for consciousness. Third time in two weeks, and the first time, she'd cried, but not since. Trying to force herself erect, head coming up faster than it had the time before, and the dark eyes studied the room warily. The first time, she'd passed out and Creed had carried her out. Hadn't done anything but scare her pretty badly in her cell, though. Erik wanted her healthy and Creed, being Creed, would never be able to restrain himself. But scare her, yes. Mark her, yes, and that just pissed Logan off too. Territorial crap, he admitted it to himself--he brought her in, therefore he had first right to her. Not that the sort of thing Creed was into was Logan's style at all, but it was the thought that counted. And he knew part of the reason Creed was sniffing around her was just to piss him off.It was working.He'd been turning over those thoughts in his mind ever since he picked her up, and it wasn't too logical, but again, Logan rarely gave a good fuck about logic. Watching her sleep and making sure she ate and sending Mystique in with medical supplies wasn't terribly in character either, and he'd seen Erik's speculating look more than once. The man hadn't said anything, though, and Logan liked it that way."Logan."He turned his head slightly, seeing Erik walking up, looking a little grim, mouth a thin slash of disappointed anger."It ain't gonna work." Erik frowned, but didn't contradict the statement, turning slightly as the girl blinked, staring down at the manacles. Briefly, they rose, lifting her wrists, and Logan watched in interest as her body went completely still, brow furrowed in concentration. The distinct sounds of the locks breaking cut through the silence of the room, and both fell away, clattering against the beams. She hit the floor, dead unconscious, but her lips were curved upward. A little smile, the smile Logan had seen on her face three days ago when Creed made the mistake of coming too close when the manacles were off and she darted out with both bare hands, grabbing him.Creed had been lucky his reflexes were so good, because all she got was hair that time. Almost broke her neck until Logan slid an adamantium claw against the man's throat to remind him exactly who was in charge of this little venture. Thing that stuck with him later, was the expression on her face when Creed dangled her a good foot from the floor, hands restrained behind her.She hadn't looked scared at all. And that interested him.Some people broke under the pressure of pure fear. Some people didn't--you could split the world pretty much into those two categories and be relatively accurate about the characteristics of each one. The girl didn't break. Watching her stare into Creed's eyes, it was a lot easier to believe that she'd been on her own for awhile. When Creed dropped her, she landed on the balls of her feet, stumbling back against the wall, her fingers tracing the line of her throat like she was marking a memory. Breathing in gasps, she stared up at him with too-big eyes and in her head, he knew Creed was tagged and bagged, so to speak, just give her five minutes alone without the manacles, at full strength and with a weapon.He'd seen that look before, and since he didn't like Creed anyway, it was almost a tempting thought, to wait until she recovered and then lock Creed in there. Pure strength the man had--but he was just stupid enough for her to get the job done, if she was willing to go any distance to get revenge.Logan rather thought she very well might. She had that look--that kind of hate lasted forever and time only made it colder and harder. That kind of hate never burned out."Get her out of here. She's of no use to me." A pause, grey-blue eyes looking at Victor speculatively, and Logan straightened from his position against the cold stone wall in alarm. Girl was disposable; therefore, Victor was allowed to play."Gotcha." Creed was already moving and the girl was regaining consciousness--eyes opening, startled to see Creed coming at her--and while she could control metal for hours after one of these little charges, she had to be relatively recovered from the strain of being in the damn machine in the first place. She'd be dead long before she was able to do anything to defend herself. He knew what Creed was like--there was a good reason Mystique didn't share Victor's bed anymore."No."The word was out of his mouth before he knew he was going to say it, and the girl's head snapped up, looking straight at him with naked shock. From the edge of the desk, Mystique looked up in interest. She flickered a look at him, eyes going briefly to Creed and narrowing before letting them fall back down and away, hiding the expression in them.So she wouldn't interfere either way. Good. Erik probably didn't give a shit. Even better.And the girl--what the hell was her name anyway? She'd told him. He shook his head to see her slowly sitting up, eyes going from Creed to Logan and back, focusing on him for a moment. Pushing her bloodied palms to the floor, she struggled into a full sitting position, trying to move into something vaguely defensive. Cute."Logan?" Erik asked. Erik tended to let things take their course around Logan and Creed--they didn't get along, never would, but they would fight together if they were allowed certain amounts of latitude in behavior. Probably pissed Creed off he had to answer to Logan, but that's how it went. Creed hesitated, looking between him and the girl, and Logan found himself taking the five steps that put him directly between Victor and the machine where--Marie--was still sitting.Marie. Got it."She's valuable, Erik," Mystique purred, and Logan had to smile. He heard the girl standing up, stumbling against one of the metal posts her pieces of her torn flesh still clung to, before finding her balance somehow. Turning slightly, she looked between them all for a second. "She could be of use.""You think so, Mystique?" Though Erik wasn't paying attention to her at all--he was watching Creed and Logan with an amused expression. "I think the boys want to play with her. Logan--""I found her." Logan interrupted, never taking his eyes from Creed. "I can train her.""And I'm sure your reasons are that altruistic," Erik said with another smile."Nope. Purely personal."He could feel her behind him. She was edging backward, bracing herself against a post, trying to get her strength back."Logan--""First choice, Creed." A pause. "You wanna do this now?"They'd faced off before, but not since the second time had Logan lost. Four draws and four almost wins, and Logan had learned a few things since he'd spent extended time working with Mystique, who was perfectly willing to play the part of Sabretooth for a price. Which he had no problems paying. Creed wasn't going to win--Logan had found her, had brought her in, and had no intention of turning her over like that.Victor wasn't moving."I want some time off, Erik," he said over his shoulder. No good reason to turn his back on Creed quite yet. "You need me around for the next coupla months or so?" He kept Victor's gaze, daring him to try. Shit, maybe he wanted him to try. He'd had shit to do but work on that machine for two weeks and he needed to get rid of some serious energy.Erik laughed."Go play with your new toy, Logan." A pause, and Erik's voice dropped. "But if you bring her back, you had better be sure she's on the right side.""No problem." He turned his back deliberately on Creed, looking at the dark eyes staring up at him with blank shock."I want him dead," she whispered."Then do it yourself," he answered, just as softly. "I won't kill him for you." Reaching, he caught her elbow, and she stumbled for a second, then followed, and Creed didn't move for a moment, just waiting.And while he might not kill for her, he'd kill Creed for fun, no problem. He waited the other man out, knowing Erik really wouldn't give a shit if they beat the crap out of each other--having healing factor made it close to impossible for either of them to really kill the other without some serious weaponry, and anyway, Erik had issues with his people going down because of each other. And for a second, Logan actually thought Creed might give him the fight and he liked the idea, liked it *a lot*--but really, he had time off and he'd been itching for a reason to get out for awhile.Creed moved. A significant thing, and he felt Marie's surprise, before getting her out of the room and the door closed behind them. Her scent changed, and he got both her wrists in one gloved hand before she could do more than reach out a hand and had her pressed against the wall. Her feet kicked against the rough stone and he pressed a knee between, effectively trapping her.God, she was quick, though. He hadn't even realized how much of her strength had returned. And he really had to admire her for trying. That was a hell of a lot more than he'd expected."If you're gonna try to get away, shoulda had the sense to wait until we were outside."The big eyes stared back at him, dark, angry, confused, scared to death. He wondered what on earth she thought he was going to do to her. Well, obvious. Even with her skin, there were ways around that."And trust me, Marie, you sure as fuck don't want me in your head.""Why?"He paused, knowing the question she was asking. And he didn't feel like answering it, because he didn't know himself. Except he knew what Creed did to his lovers. And this kid was his, period. He made it simple."You wanna live?"Interest, he saw it flare bright-hot in her eyes."Yes.""You want him dead?""Yes."He wondered what Creed had done to her, in that cell, when Logan was out. Nothing too damaging, though--there was the scarring imprint of teeth just below her ear, which annoyed him, but he didn't have the time or interest to do a full body check yet."Then you'll learn." He let her down, watched her regain her feet--she was survivor, no question. "Look, kiddo, you don't exactly have anyplace else to go. No money, no people, you're on your own. Get the idea? You think you're gonna get a better offer?"She blinked, taking a step back."What are you offering?" Wary. Curious, definitely."You get to live."P>"What'll it cost me?"He looked her over, slowly, knowing she felt it, and knowing she understood."Nothing except maybe you don't try to kill me. Nothing you won't do willingly. Come on."She breathed out sharply, and he took her elbow again, pulling her down the twisted halls toward his room, pushing her gently toward the wall while he decided what to take. He didn't have that much, so there wasn't a huge decision going on here. He'd chosen this room specifically for its distance from the other inhabitants of Erik's little fortress--he liked his privacy, thank you very much."Strip. Your clothes are filthy." Turning, he saw her standing perfectly still at the doorway, looking around her, and her hands dropped automatically to the edge of her sweater, then hesitated. "Kid, if I had other intentions, those clothes would stay on."She knew he had a point and he got a jerky nod as her hands lifted limply from her sides to her top, smoothing the dirty wool."Where we goin'?" She slowly took the edge of her sweater in her hand, wincing a little, and he realized her hands had to be killing her. Turning, he surveyed her for a second, then made it simple--unleashing a claw, he cut through the cloth, almost but not quite brushing her skin. Smart girl, she didn't move, didn't even breath, and after he was done, he turned away and kept packing. Behind him, he heard her let out a breath."A place I know." Behind him, he heard her carefully dropping the slashed clothing and then the slow slide of her jeans. She needed a shower, but this just wasn't the time--he could feel the itch to go and Creed just might get his balls back--win or lose, probably win, though, he'd be out of it for days. And shit, he didn't want a delay. So no, no reason to wait."I don't have any clothes."Logan almost sighed."I wasn't gonna send you out there naked. Just a second." He turned, taking in the expanse of bare flesh--she didn't recoil at all, though she began to flush the longer he looked, and he took his time, marking the injuries more than anything else, planning what he'd need to buy to get her back in decent shape. God, she was thin, bones protruding, not a single ounce of fat left on her body. Nodding to himself, he went to the closet, ruffling through the random items Mystique had left, finding something that approximated her size. He threw it on the bed and she picked it up, running curious fingers over the sweater and leather pants before beginning to pull them on with painful slowness."I'll buy you more clothes later.""I wasn't asking." He heard her pull on the shirt, then sit on the bed, struggling with the pants. She was so thin they slipped on with minimal effort, and considering they clung to Mystique like a second skin, it was sort of amusing, like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes. "But, thanks. That'd be nice.""Magneto's money anyway." Hmmm...shirts, jeans, cash, some sundry weaponry because he didn't go anywhere without it."You get paid to do this?"God, did she think he was in this for the philosophical crap? Zipping up the pack, he grabbed his jacket."Don't think I do this for free, do you?""How much was I worth to Lensherr?" she asked softly, and Logan frowned, trying to remember."Twenty-five grand on delivery," he answered, and caught her wince from the corner of his eye. "Business, darlin'. Don't take it personal.""Wouldn't you?" She sounded angry. Well, she made a good point, he had to admit."Probably." He thought about that briefly, then turned around, sitting down on the edge of the bed to look at her. "You can be pissed about it or get over it. I really don't give a damn as long as you don't try to stick a knife in me when my back is turned."She just stared at him--he had to remind himself at seventeen, practicality probably didn't really play a big part in her thinking."I wouldn't do that."No, she probably wouldn't. He was pretty good at reading people and she just wasn't the cold-blooded type. It occurred to him that this could be a definite downside. What he did, what the Brotherhood did--she might not be able to learn that. Leaning back on one arm, he tried to arrange his thoughts. He couldn't just drop her off outside Anchorage and tell her to have a nice life--if she didn't end up dead in some asshole's truck when she picked the wrong person to hitch a ride with, he could almost rest assured that the government would find her highly interesting for that skin of hers.He had a pretty good idea that was *not* something he could hand her over to. She had all the self-preservation instincts of a puppy and even fewer defenses. Letting her go off on her own was just not an option."I'm worth twenty-five thousand dollars?"She'd probably never assigned a value to herself before. Probably never realized that people could be worth hard cash."Yeah.""You--you do this for money. I just figured," she waved her hand a little and he felt his bones shift, the itch of the metal claws under his skin move with her. Just for a second, and her eyes widened, face draining of color at what she'd done, letting go instantly, and he gave her a long look."Yea, but the bastard can't sleep and hold me back at the same time." A pause. "Never do that again, baby. Ever."She nodded slowly."Okay. Good point.""Isn't it though?" He gave her a long look and then pulled his jacket on. She was slipping back into her worn boots and he made a mental note to get her some decent footwear."You made your point in the hall. I get it. No choices." Lightly, she wrapped her arms around herself, eyes fixing on the floor. Young and small and helpless again. A puppy was a good analogy. He remembered her smile in his camper, before she knew what he was and what he was going to do with her, and had no idea why it occurred to him this instant that he wouldn't mind seeing it again."Just makin' sure, darlin'. Stay here a sec." Ducking into the closet, he found one of Mystique's jackets and pulled it out, automatically checking the pockets for anything interesting. She tended to drop dangerous objects in and forget. Walking back out, he handed it over to her. "Here.""Who did this belong to?" She pulled it on, obviously a little surprised by how well it fit."'Stique."A little smile turned up her mouth."Fits nice.""I'm sure she'll be happy to here that. Come on. We're going."She nodded, then hesitated, staring at him again."Why are you doing this?"He still didn't have an answer, wasn't sure that even if he did, he wanted to give her one. Answers were power, he knew that. But--"Because I want to."She blinked, but accepted it, and then glanced down at her bare hands for a minute. He shook himself in remembrance, going back to the bed, finding a pair of gloves that would cover her well enough until he could get her some more. She slid them on, wincing, and he stopped her, running a finger along the edge of her palm, blood smearing.He lifted her hand to study the wound carefully. Too bad he couldn't get Creed in here and let her do a little absorbing before they left. Logan lingered on the thought, but decided against it--hunting down the bastard and holding him still would take too long, and in any case, little Marie didn't seem like she'd be interested in getting Creed in her head. Logan was pretty sure himself that spending close quarters with a girl with a piece of Victor in her wouldn't do him much good either."I'll get something for this the second we get out of here." Without really thinking about it, he licked the blood away from his finger, turning back to the door, feeling her follow this time."Why'd you do that?" Her voice was low now, and he had to think what she was talking about, until he tasted it again, sharp-iron now fixed in memory like her scent. Permanently."Because you're mine."Which may be the only real reason for this entire thing he'd ever need. And that he could live with.
|
180438
|
Lack of Recognition
|
{
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, Gwaine",
"Fandom": "Merlin (TV)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by sorgbarn",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2011-04-09T00:00:00",
"words": "10,498",
"Additional Tags": "Canon, Angst",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin/Gwaine",
"Series": "For Destiny, For Destiny",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null,
"Bookmarks": null,
"Chapters": null,
"Comments": null,
"Completed": null,
"Hits": null,
"Kudos": null,
"Published": null,
"Words": null,
"Updated": null
}
|
Lack of Recognition
Everyone: knights, royal councillors, courtiers and their ladies, even the servants: in the great hall was in high spirits tonight. There were no limits to the celebration of the rescue of Camelot and the reinstating of its rightful King. Everyone still in good health had helped to make this a memorable feast. The kitchens had mastered both venison and boar with different gravies, and the new crop from the harvest season, which had begun filling the vegetable store rooms with carrots, parsnips, cabbage and turnips, as well as several different beans, had been almost emptied as they were all baked and cooked with fresh herbs and served from well filled trays by smiling maids and footmen.Merlin didn´t have to fetch any heavy trays from the kitchens, or walk from one guest to another, waiting tables. He was positioned by the wall, supposedly ready to serve his Prince with wine or ale or water, whatever his royalty required. So far, Merlin had filled his glass once at the start of dinner. Now the idleness was making him fidgety. He shifted his weight on his feet, he leaned slightly on the wall, he shifted the decanter from one hand to the other. Every one of his friends was seated at one of the tables. Letting his eyes wander, he could see Lance - oh, Sir Lancelot now - and Sir Gwaine, sitting next to each other, heads bent together, talking and laughing while eating from the full plates in front of them. At another table Sir Elyan sat next to Gwen, or maybe it should be Lady Guinevere now, Merlin wasn´t sure about anything anymore. Leon and Percival were there as well, although, he couldn´t see them at the moment. He tried to catch Arthur´s eye instead, but with no luck what so ever. Merlin was beginning to think he was deliberately avoiding his services, a suspicion only strengthened when he saw a wide smiling, high busted maid filling the Prince´s glass to the brink. The sight had him scowling.The main courses were coming to an end, speeches were over and dinner participants had begun to move from the tables when he was startled by a soft touch to his elbow.“Almost like the old days.”Gwen stood next to him, with beaming eyes and a wide smile as her gaze wandered over the great hall and then on to him. He looked back at her, face blank, and her happy expression faded away.“Of course, I didn´t mean it like that.” The old insecurity was back in her voice, as she tried to rephrase, to get it right again. “Not after everything that’s happened, of course, what with Morgana, and Morgause and …” She shook her head and glanced sideways at him. “But still, you must agree on it being a great celebration. Arthur looking more like a king than ever”, her eyes had turned to the Prince at the high table, beaming, her happy expression back. “He has shown himself worthy too, all honorable and brave. It was a marvellous act he performed. Unexpected of course, but admirable no less.” Merlin must have looked uncomprehending, because she added with great emphasis: “The knighting! Finally, skill meaning more than birthright. It means so much to Lancelot, and Elyan of course, but for Lance especially. You can´t possibly understand.” She had turned her gaze towards the table where Lance and Gwaine still sat, but averted it quickly.“I think I do understand what it means for Lancelot, Gwen.”“Oh, I had completely forgotten it was you, who …” She blushed ferociously.Had it been in the old days as Gwen put it, Merlin would have done anything possible to make her feel more at ease. As it was anything she said seemed to gall him to the extreme. She was his oldest friend in Camelot, the first person, with the exception of Gaius, to show him any genuine kindness when he had first arrived, and he did like her, he did still like her. What was there not to like? Kind, warmhearted, caring. Still he could barely stand her company or endure her amiable chatter, especially about Arthur. It was sickening. He clenched his grip around the decanter and kept silent, wishing with all his heart that she would go away. When she remained by his side, the situation all awkward and uncomfortable, he added:“I´m still on duty, Gwen, if you hadn´t noticed.” His voice sounded unnecessarily harsh even to him, but at least she got the message and couldn´t excuse herself fast enough. When she was gone he deflated, leaning against the wall, not bothering if anyone saw his less than respectful posture.It had been an awful couple of days since that moment he had seen Gwen and the knights riding in to the courtyard. Silly, really, he tried to tell himself, when nothing actually had changed. And that was Merlin´s problem. He no longer wanted everything to be work as usual. He had been as big a part as the others in the rescue of Camelot, hell, even bigger on occasion. All feelings of resentment suppressed during four years serving Prince Arthur had come to the surface with Arthur kissing and holding Gwen for everyone to see. The very thought still made his eyes burn with tears.You´re such a girl, Merlin! He could hear Arthur mocking him in his head. Since then he had resumed his daily chores, but not once spoken to Arthur. He had been up and out by the time Merlin had arrived in his chambers with his breakfast no matter how early he was there. This morning a tray with bread crumbs and some other leftovers stood deserted on the table, and when he had gone to clear it away, a young maid had hurried in to the chamber excusing herself for having been delayed before gathering everything up and rushing back to where she had come from. The same pattern had repeated itself over the past few days. Someone else helped Arthur with his armour, though Merlin was still trusted enough to clean it, as well as muck out the stables and cleans his chambers. In the evenings Arthur ate with Uther or his knights in the common hall making sure never to return to his own chambers before Merlin had left. All in all this celebration was the most Merlin had seen of Arthur since the day in the courtyard, and still they had not talked.King Uther bid those gathered good night and left for his own chambers shortly after the last of the main courses were taken back to the kitchens. As a result the good mood among the guests increased even more, and most people rearranged themselves into less formal groups.“You´re doing just fine, Merlin.” Lance clapped Merlin´s shoulder. “You and I both know you were the one he should have knighted. But he´ll come around, you just wait and see. “Merlin forced an unwilling smile, but did not get a chance to respond before Lance was summoned by a load holler from Percival, now seated at the main table. Lance twisted his mouth and Merlin shrugged. He understood.The rest of the knights had gathered at the main table as well. Merlin saw how Gwen accompanying Elyan was seated next to Arthur in Uther´s empty seat, Arthur himself holding out her chair. They sat like a king and a queen and the realization hit Merlin hard. He had helped Arthur woo Gwen, he was the one who had talked about love as the only logical reason for marriage. He had been so utterly stupid. Now it was torture watching Arthur´s hand slip behind her back resting around her waist, see him pay attention to her every word and gesture. Sweet, friendly, kind-hearted Gwen, her beaming, happy, loving face focused on Arthur, her eyes wide open, mouth smiling, body leaning in, hands holding his in her lap. Merlin pulled back from the wall he was leant against. With all the main courses finished, only sweets and drinks remaining for present guests, the servants were allowed to participate in the celebrations. His services were no longer required, not that they had been required before for that matter. He could join the other servants celebrating in the furthermost corners of the great hall, and not in the servants´ quarters as was customary. He could see most of the waiters gather around the plainer tables and other castle staff actually joining in, which was unusual too, but this clearly wasn´t an ordinary celebration. Everyone had reason to celebrate.Merlin grabbed a cup of ale from the closest table, and emptied its strong, bitter contents in a few gulps, then reached for another. His arms shook slightly, jaw clenched, posture rigid as he tried to catch the prince´s eye again. Every time all he caught was Arthur´s head turning in another direction. He ought to leave before he got too inebriated, but couldn´t make himself leave the hall. Instead, he downed the second cup of ale. Immediately searching for and finding a third one, which contained burgundy wine, he then leant against the tapestry-covered wall, letting his gaze slip back to the main table.Instead of Arthur´s blue eyes, he met Gwaine´s warm and smiling face across the hall. Gwaine stood behind the high table, an arm improperly swung around the shoulders of a not quite so young lady. He wiggled an eyebrow insinuatingly at Merlin, who shook his head. For the first time this evening he almost felt like smiling.Leon and Percival were drinking, talking and gesticulating, wilder and merrier with the increasing number of drinks. Their conversation was probably anecdotes about personal heroic achievements and perilous hardship, the ordinary drunken bragging, Merlin assumed. Lancelot sat in their company looking pretty much how Merlin felt: crestfallen, listless, despairing. He looked glumly at Gwen and Arthur between absent nods every now and then at something Percival said and then drank his cup of something, probably wine, in silence. Leon leant forward, mouth moving and hand clapping his shoulder. Lance force a laugh in response.Elyan sat next to Gwen when one of the kitchen girls, a curvaceous redhead, put her hand on his upper arm offering him a refill of wine which he accepted willingly. Next thing Merlin saw, the maid was in his lap, laughing and flirting, but it did not last for long. Soon enough the girl had grabbed Elyan by his wrist and pulled him over the stone floor to the corner of the hall where a man played a flute, another sang some popular ballads, and younger men and women, servants and nobles alike, danced. The elders stamped their feet and everybody joined in loudly for the well-known refrains. Elyan and the maid were swept up in the fast growing circle of dancers.Merlin downed some more wine and tore his eyes from the happy dancers. During his first year in Camelot, he had tried to participate in the servants´ social life: after all he had been part of Ealdor´s. A couple of serving girls, as well as a laundry girl, had flirted with him, and he really had made an effort of flirting back, it just never worked out. Kissing felt awkward and when a girl´s hand sneaked under his tunic he went stiff all over except for the one body part that remained soft and uncooperative. When the girls realized he wasn´t worth the effort they left him alone and rumor must have spread because the other girls ceased their attempts to seduce him. Castle boys and men were too risky, in his opinion. He didn´t dare jeopardize a new position in the royal household when that was why he had come to Camelot in the first place, that and his mother´s constant worry about his magic. And boy prostitutes were too expensive for his meager wages. And then of course there was Arthur! Once he had set eyes on him no one else seemed to suffice.The cup in his hand was empty again, and he searched around for something, anything to drink. Most cups still standing on the tables were empty, most pitchers and decanters as well. While passing the tables in search of more alcoholic drinks he lifted his gaze to the high table. Arthur still had one arm wrapped around Gwen, with the other he played with a dark curl of hair resting on her bare collar-bone. Even from this distance Merlin saw the lingering touch, fingers stroking not only hair but warm, soft skin. His vision blurred and he had to force himself to look away. His breath came in jerks and the lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him. “You are two sides of the same coin.” The dragon had had him fooled. But he had wanted to believe, had wanted to think Arthur would change, would see that Merlin was good for him and loved him like no one else ever would. Why didn´t Arthur know they were destined for each other? He was willing to die for Arthur - no, he corrected himself, he had been willing to do that, while he still had believed there eventually would be some kind of recognition for him. He felt nauseated and flushed with anger. If he unleashed his powers … would Arthur see him then? Talk to him and treat him as a friend like he did the others? The magic buzzed under his skin. He bent his neck and glared at the stone floor, now covered with the sticky residue of spilled ale and wine, discarded food, spit and … worse. If he didn´t stop drinking, he wouldn´t be able to control it soon. He needed an outlet or he´d be a danger to himself and others.When he looked back up he found Gwaine looking right back at him, now in the company of two ladies, of which both had probably been married for a decade or more, and flirting with the proficiency only experienced women would. Still the look Merlin got was overflown with innuendo obviously directed at him. Merlin´s jaw dropped and his tongue darted out over his dry lips. Magic fell obediently back into core and Merlin rested his gaze in those cheeky, brown eyes. Gwaine´s crooked smile provoked something deep down and for the first time since his very first months in Camelot Merlin felt he didn´t have to wait for Arthur, when Arthur didn´t wait for him, did not even have the feeling he should be waiting. He cast one quick glare towards the high seat, and noticed again how Arthur quickly turned away from Merlin´s direction to focus on Gwen.He locked eyes with Gwaine again, raised his eyebrow purposely and nodded towards one of the hall doors, and without waiting for the answer he headed for the nearest exit.The hallway lay semi-silent, no people to be seen and only the festive sounds seeped through thick oak doors. Wall torches provided only dim light. He steadied himself with one hand on the wall, while he staggered further away to the almost compact darkness he knew held an alcove. It wasn´t as dark as he had estimated though, and he leant with his back against the wall outside the alcove when he heard smooth steps coming his direction and soon enough Gwaine, impressive and broad-shouldered, approached.“Oi, there you are! Thought I lost you for a moment …” Gwaine reached out to ruffle Merlin´s short hair a bit before steadying himself with one hand against the wall next to Merlin´s head and he chuckled low. “What do you want, Merlin?” He licked his lips mischievously.” I´m at your service, my friend. But as you could see for yourself, I left two, more than willing, ladies for your sake.” There was a clear hint of amusement in his voice, accompanied by a lewd smile. The complaints weren´t really complaints and it was not the first time Gwaine had made attempts to seduce him, this was however the first time Merlin had accepted.He grabbed Gwaine´s arm and pulled them inside the alcove, away from casual passers-by, not that anyone would care anymore. This late in the evening no one was sober enough to take notice of who did what with whom, and Merlin was determined to use that to his advantage. He stroked a hand along Gwaine´s cheek and beard. “I´m tired of waiting.” The words came out thick. “I want … I want … something … now. I deserve more than being his dogsbody. I want to feel special, recognized for what I do. He never sees me! ”“Shush, Merlin, not so loud, we don´t want anyone hear you, … shush.” Gwaine put a finger to Merlin´s lips.With the other hand Gwaine stroked his crown, and his fingers played with straggly hair, then continued down to lightly stubbled cheeks, thumb caressing a high cheekbone and sharp chin and found their way under the neckerchief to the soft skin of Merlin´s neck.“You´re my friend, Merlin, I like you, I´ve always have and I think you are beautiful, strong and brave and … desirable. You don´t need him now.”Merlin shook his head and grabbed hold of Gwaine´s shoulders with both hands. It felt nice holding on to something steady and he pulled their chests together and rested his head against the base of the other man´s throat. The somewhat unfamiliar smell of Gwaine´s sweat mixed with lavender soap and something darker and undefined increased the intoxication he was already feeling from too much ale and wine. He closed his eyes and let his lips gently touch the little hollow at the end of the neck. It wasn’t a kiss, just a feather-light touch, it felt and smelled so good. The darkness and Gwaine hid him from the world, all disturbing thoughts of Arthur or Gwen together, which had tormented him the last couple of days, were dispatched for the moment to some inaccessible place in the back of his mind. He separated his lips and let the tip of tongue sweep over that hollow. He heard Gwaine mumble some assurances and felt hands move over his thin frame, pressing against his chest, sliding along the side of his body and stopping at his hips, where the grip hardened, waiting. “Are you sure … about this?” Gwaine´s voice was low and hoarse.He was as sure as he ever could be, although somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he wouldn´t even consider doing anything at all without alcohol in his body. With the good help of the inebriation, self-pity, the silent roaring anger and, above all, plain old lust, old logic had disappeared completely. Right now he wanted Gwaine all over him. He groped Gwaine wherever he could reach and what never worked with kitchen girls and laundry maids definitely worked now. He pressed his hips and crotch against a hard well-defined thigh, head swimming with want. The pressure felt good, so good, and he let out a brief groan, that almost instantly was matched by Gwaine lifting his thigh up and rubbing it against Merlin´s crotch and he could feel Gwaine´s hard length pressing against his hipbone, and what little sense he had still possessed up till this moment left. It was so long, too long, since he had been with another man. For more than three years it had been only him, his right hand and lonely, pathetic fantasies about Arthur in the narrow bunk in his room. This wasn´t Arthur, it wasn´t his dream, but that dream wasn´t ever attainable, and Gwaine was right here in his arms. Merlin was still young, he had needs and lust, he wasn´t doing anything wrong. What he and Gwaine were about to do wouldn´t harm anyone. Besides, Gwaine was wonderful, all brawn, with strong legs, firm stomach and chest muscles that made Merlin short of breath. He was male beauty personified, and very eager if judged by the way he was touching Merlin. The smell of fresh sweat filled his nostrils as he first nibbled an earlobe and then sucked at it lightly. He hooked his leg around a calf and rubbed back and forth. Everything he did was reflected by Gwaine without one single word uttered between them. That was a relief: had he been forced to express in words what he desired, he wasn´t sure he could have. Now he worked on instincts, and maybe Gwaine did the same. Gwaine had always liked him, and always shown it willingly no matter who saw. He had the reputation as quite a ladies‘ man but if his behaviour now was anything to go by he had had his fair share of men as well, not that it came as a surprise to Merlin.Hands tugged at tunic hemlines and sneaked under linen fabric. God, the man´s smooth chest felt incredible to the palms of his hands. He wanted more naked skin. Why had he never allowed himself to do this before? Surely some courtship would not have lost him his position in the royal household? After all it was buggery, not magic. The thought made him smother a sob into soft, sweat damp skin. He had denied himself all carnal pleasures, for what? For Arthur? But no more, no more! Suddenly Gwaine was untying the drawstring holding his braies up and giving room for fingers trailing along the coarse hair from navel and down, forcing out an unwilling pant from him at the contact between the other man´s fingers and the top of his cock. He trembled with anticipation and moaned when the same hand shifted its grip and grabbed his full length and started moving back and forth. “Oh, gods, yes!” he cried out and his mouth was instantly covered by Gwaine´s to shut him up, tongue willing his lips open and he kissed back, tasting ale and onions and saliva. Oh, it was lovely like this. He licked and lapped and sucked, and thrust his hips forward into that tight grip. And then Gwaine let go and got down on his knees.He pushed down Merlin´s braies and buried the face between his thighs, slow breath brushing against the delicate skin of his inner thighs and sac. Merlin squirmed and panted loudly. A pleasure filled shriek escaped him when Gwaine licked along the underside of his length a couple of times, before finally closing those smiling lips around him. It was impossible to stand still but he was held against the wall by strong hands on his hips. He buried his hands in long brown hair and when the pressure against the hips loosened he started fucking that warm, sucking, wet mouth. It felt fabulous, hot and sexy, and he was so close, so very close it was impossible to keep silent.“Oh, yes, like that, yes,… good, feels so good, …” He closed his eyes and moaned, letting himself enjoy the moment fully. He had waited too long for this: hot, slick, keen mouth so obviously appreciative and slowly driving him crazy. A hand cupped his balls and squeezed gently. He wished it could go on forever, but felt the tension building rapidly, heat pooling in the lower parts of his abdomen and crotch. What was the proper thing to do here? Come in his mouth as he usually had with Will? But then Will and he had been friends since they were barely toddlers, and it wasn´t like they had started sucking each other off, they had done other things first, so when it had come to this … Well, probably the right thing to do was pulling out. He jerked one, two, three more times and tightened his grip in Gwaine´s hair with the intension to pull out.“Merlin? Merlin, is that you?”Oh, no. No. Not now. He opened his eyes abruptly and turned in the direction of the unmistakable voice. It was hard to see much else in the faint light but the dark contours of an immobile shape less than two yards away. And instead of pulling out, he pushed further in, Gwaine´s tongue swirling along his rock hard length, cockhead hitting the back of the throat and the hand around his balls slipped further back, one finger nudging his hole, and it was all it took to pull him over the edge.“Mmhm…, yeah, …” he groaned through clenched jaws. Oh, dear gods, was he actually trying to answer that? With braies half way down his thighs? Before he could gather himself the dark contour turned and footsteps echoed down the hallway, then fading away completely. When he looked down, Gwaine had turned his attention to his own cock, wrapped his hand around it, pulling purposefully back and forth in a hurried pace. Merlin knew he should contribute somehow, after all he had gotten more than he had bargained for, it would only be fair, but he couldn´t make an effort for it and settled for a supportive hand on Gwaine´s shoulder, wishing for it to soon be over.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXHe was wrong in assuming Arthur would lie-in the next morning, nor had there been a maid attaining to morning chores as there had been the previous mornings, so he was late when he showed up with the breakfast tray in the Prince´s chambers.“You´re late.”Merlin startled at the abrupt non greeting, fell clumsily back against the door, and for a few moments the water jug rattled ominously but he managed to prevent it from falling to the floor. He kept his head carefully lowered, meeting Arthur´s scrutinizing gaze was his last wish after last night´s events.“Hung over, Merlin?” Arthur asked, voice taunting. “Had quite a few drinks, and found yourself a paramour, did you?” Merlin proceeded with his morning chores; put the tray on the table, laid out a plate accompanied by a knife and a cup. He remained silent, though the taunting continued more viciously with every comment.“You´re a lightweight, you shouldn´t drink! You lose even the poor judgment you´ve got to start with.”Arthur loomed over him. Merlin could feel his breath against his neck and tried to steady his nerves. This prat behind him was the Arthur he had met when he first came to Camelot, and now had thought long gone.“Must have been some totally sloshed bloke you got on his knees,” he sneered.This was nothing like their normal banter, which Merlin liked and wanted because it made him feel comfortably warm and at ease, as if they actually were two sides of the same coin. But this made him want to cringe.“Oh, come on! Tell me, who was it on his knees for you? I´m your Prince, damn it, Merlin, now tell me!”Maybe the gods and goddesses hadn´t abandoned him. If Arthur did not know it had been Gwaine with him last night, Merlin would never tell. Handsome, selfless, caring Gwaine, a true friend who hadn´t even commented on his lack of participation at the end of their tête-à-tête. After one gentle stroke to Merlin´s cheek, he had tucked them both in and fastened their drawstrings properly before accompanying him to Gaius ´quarters, assuring him Merlin was the best friend a man could have, commoner, knight or royal alike.He straightened.“Breakfast served … Sire.”“Now, you sire me? When I´ve seen you with your braies down and your private parts down another man´s throat?”Arthur didn´t bother hiding his contempt, as if he aimed to hurt and the heat of shame moved rapidly over Merlin´s chest and neck and before spreading to his face and ears. It had only been Merlin taking what was rightfully any man´s to take, companionship and pleasure between two willing people, right? So why drag it in the filth, rubbing his face with it? Preventing himself from talking back, he bit his lip and moved away from the table. The bed was to be made, the old bed linen taken to the laundry maids, yesterday’s garments needed cleaning, maybe mending and folding before they were put away in the cupboard. Thankfully the man was already dressed. Maybe he would never require Merlin to do it again, and maybe he would get himself a whole new manservant, if what Merlin had done was so loathsome.Arthur finally sat down in the high seat at the head of the table and slowly tore the bread into smaller pieces before carefully putting them in his mouth one at a time, never letting his accusatory gloat abandon Merlin, now standing next to the bed gathering the obviously more than sweat sticky bed linen. The distinct smell of half dried cum rose from the fabric as he pulled it from the bed. Had Arthur had Gwen coming to him after the celebrations last night? Had she maybe even been with him and seen Merlin in that alcove? Was there no end to his humiliation? Or had it been one of the maids? No maid would ever turn down the prince; he could have whoever he wished and all he had to do was hint. Merlin had actually never caught Arthur in the act nor heard any rumours about such escapades or even seen traces of any castle maids visiting his bed. He let his fingers drift over the damp spots before tossing the linen to the floor. When he turned to the linen cupboard for clean sheets, he had to fight the sudden urge to raise his hand and smell Arthur´s cum, now smeared across his fingers. The heavy sent made something swirl in his lower abdomen and left a tightening feeling to his crotch. It was pathetic, he was pathetic and now in daylight with his back to Arthur, it was all there for the Prince to see, to mock. Quickly, he wiped his hand off on his thigh.“So, how´s your knee walking coming along? Like giving as much as you like getting?” After the awkward silence the sudden outburst seemed to rumble dangerously through the chamber. After all they´d been through the last couple of months, even though Lancelot, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan and Percival had been knighted and he was still a servant, even though it was Gwen whom Arthur had chosen, and even though it had been a mistake last night – this was not how Arthur treated his subjects, not anymore. He used to be as fair as his position allowed him, hence Merlin still a servant, and as friendly to his subjects as he possibly could. This was scheming, mean, and incomprehensible. Even Arthur wasn´t so dense he couldn´t see Merlin´s shame or sense his discomfort by now. Ordinarily he would quit or change tactics long before it came to this.“Why would you care, Arthur? Looked like you had a good time yourself last night!” He gathered the bed linen from the floor and moved it to the laundry basket, finding himself much closer to the table and Arthur than felt comfortable. He shifted his gaze from the laundry to Arthur´s reddened face and strained features. “No. No, I didn´t mean … you can of course …. I only meant the feast. You had a good time, with the knights and … Gwen … and Gwen …” His gaze slipped to the laundry basket and back to Arthur.The chair fell over with a deafening crash when Arthur rose faster than was possible and before Merlin blinked he was pinned to the table surface, a wooden plate poked his back and the almost full water jug fell to the floor as he accidentally jerked his arms in startled surprise. Pain repeatedly flashed his skull as Arthur pounded him to the wooden table with an unfaltering grip to his neckerchief. Was Arthur going to kill him? The beating seemed serious enough to frighten Merlin out of his wits. In pure self-preservation he reached out, unconsciously forming a spell which flung Arthur away and into the bed frame, half sitting, half sprawled on the floor.Merlin straightened, adjusted his neckerchief and tunic with trembling hands and rubbed his back head, where a bump was already forming.“You can choose to ignore me like you have the last couple of days, you can treat me like the no-good manservant I am, you can use me to let off steam when you need to, but this … this.” He looked straight at Arthur. “ How and with whom I spend my spare time is none of your concern. And I choose to spend it with someone who cares about me and who isn´t afraid to let it show.” Arthur could see the fading gold in his eyes, but he no longer cared. If he was arrested now, if he was burned at the stake it no longer mattered. Uther was a broken man, it would have to be Arthur giving those orders, and if that was all the recognition he would get for everything he had done over the years, then so be it. At least it would be recognition. After all not even Arthur could ignore a sentenced man. He would have to witness the execution as customary.“Clean up this mess.” Arthur waved his hand towards the table and the floor, rose and strode over to the window, deliberately avoiding any eye contact. “When you´re done here, I need you to muck out the stables, polish my armour and fetch me hot water for my bath before tonight´s dinner. You´re serving, wear your livery.”The avoidance, the insidious calm, ticked Merlin off. What was Arthur playing at? He wanted to walk up to Arthur and shake some sense into him, force him to see Merlin as he was: the sorcerer, the friend and the possible lover. But Arthur stubbornly refused time after time. Merlin would have it no longer! A slightly raised hand and a half whisper and the room cleaned itself; breakfast belongings on the tray, water on floor wiped up, bed neatly made, yesterday´s clothes in the cupboard. Merlin lifted the tray and headed for the door.“Anything else, sire?” He raised his chin defiantly, but Arthur kept his gaze focused on the courtyard beneath the window.“No, that was all.”The short dismissal could have been a death sentence for all Merlin cared. All anger he had felt moments earlier deflated in that single moment. All hope he had carried was lost. He meant absolutely nothing to Arthur, and the thought of that hurt, it hurt more than any flames on a pyre would. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself, then let his gaze slowly sweep over the chamber, over every floor tile, piece of furniture and tapestry.“I can´t do this anymore, Arthur. You tear me apart, and I can´t take it anymore … I´m sorry, but I can´t …” The words were a barely audible whisper. He crouched over the tray, facing the door, waited in vain for any reply at all and left the chambers. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXBy the time Merlin reached Gaius´s quarters he was shaking as well as freezing. He rushed through the main room and slammed the narrow door to his room open without as much as an eye towards Gaius. The elder man lifted the ladle, which he had used to stir some medical concoction, in the air, an eyebrow raised.“What is it this time, Merlin?”He ignored the question and shoved his few spare tunics and the extra pair of braies in the very same knapsack he had brought with him when he first arrived in Camelot. Over the past years, he had acquired no more possessions than he had had then, with the exception of the little wooden dragon and the book of magic.“Is Arthur taking you hunting?”“No!” It was hard fitting the book in the knapsack with shaking hands. When he managed he strode back out to the main room and halted by the clattered workbench. Gaius had reverted his attention to the concoction. “I´m going home, Gaius.”The old man met his eyes and stopped stirring at once.“Oh, that´s nice. So Arthur permitted your leave. How long will you be gone?” Gaius turned and eyed the full shelves behind the workbench. “I have some medicines here, particularly hard to come by … I´m sure Hunith would be pleased if you …”“Arthur doesn´t know I´m leaving.”The announcement pulled Gaius´ attention back to Merlin, and the old man carefully eyed him. It made Merlin want to writhe with discomfort and he felt an immediate need to justify himself.“Arthur is soon to be king, Uther being too weak to actually rule. Everybody has gained something, some recognition these last months, but me.” He sounded like a spoilt, whining child, he knew and still he couldn´t stop himself. “Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan and Percival have been knighted. They will be good knights for him, brave, skilled and loyal.” And Gwen has his affection, he wanted to say, she´s going to be his queen. “But I am just old, stupid, no-good Merlin, the manservant! That will never change. ”Gaius had come up close and put his hands on Merlin´s shoulders. “Arthur needs you, Merlin. It´s your destiny to keep him safe. That doesn´t stop just because some knights have proved their loyalty. You are the only one who can provide magic protection.”“He doesn´t care about the magic.”“What do you mean, Merlin? What have you done?” Gaius´ grip on his shoulders hardened. “No one must know about your magic. Uther may be a weak king, but he is still King of Camelot, and he will sentence you to death if he finds out you´re a sorcerer.”“Arthur knows and he couldn´t care less. Anyway, I´m leaving. And Ealdor isn´t within Uther´s jurisdiction.” He hugged Gaius, knowing he would miss the only father figure he had ever had. “I´m picking up bread and cheese in the kitchens. Have the medicines ready when I get back, and I´ll be happy to bring them back to mum.”Gaius, features already worried, nodded and patted Merlin´s back soothingly.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThe stables smelt of horse droppings and fresh straw, and even though it was only the beginning of fall it felt warmer inside than outside. Merlin moved quietly once the stable doors closed. It was past noon, stables mucked out, horses fed and the knights practicing in the fields behind the castle. He should be alone, but just as he put his hand on the door to the saddle room he froze. Something, someone, was moving around in the fodder room, stifled sounds escaping the ajar door less than two yards away. People, they were at least two, based on the whispers, and the sounds of dulled footsteps. It was impossible to decipher words. Merlin flattened himself against the saddle room door, with his now sweat damp hand on the bolt, too worried it would creak to push it open. A soft giggle, followed by a wet smacking sound made him unintentionally smile and his whole body relax. So it was one of the stable boys and a maid. Well, the deserted stables in the afternoon made an excellent place for a tryst and considering their pursuit he wouldn´t have to worry much about detection. He slowly lifted the bolt and started pushing the door open.“… but I do. I do love you!” The female voice still low, but now clearly interpretable, and Merlin froze. He knew that voice, not a maid´s anymore. Gwen´s! Gwen and Arthur, it must be, in a tryst behind the fodder room door. It felt as if his heart dropped to the hard earthen floor, and nausea billowed through his entire body.“No, we …” some of the words no longer audible, others drowned in subdued giggles and Arthur´s deep whisper. “He thinks highly of you, not that you don´t think highly of him of course, but it makes it harder all the same.”He could only grasp Gwen´s part of the conversation, her higher pitched voice wasn´t muffled by clay walls and wooden doors. Where they talking about him?“We will hurt him so much, I don´t know …”They must be. Gwen always cared for him, well, all people’s wellbeing concerned her. Maybe she had realized how he really felt for Arthur and now she worried their love and future union would upset him. Had it not pained him so much, it would have been almost touching.“I care for him … love him like a dear, sweet brother.” The words were interrupted by new sounds of kissing and small sighs of what sounded like pleasure to Merlin. “I hate to see him sad.” Boots scraped the earthen floor and the hinges creaked loudly as Gwen or Arthur opened the door.Without thinking Merlin threw himself inside the saddle room, closing the door behind him. He leaned on the wall next to the door, eyes closed, tears burning the inside of his eyelids, and heart pounding violently in his chest as he waited for the sounds of footsteps to die away and the stable door to slam.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThe tall trees surrounding the circular glade glowed in red and yellow, colours intensified by the setting sun. No leaves rustled and the only sounds came from forest birds preparing for nightfall and a murmuring stream running through the wood only a hundred or so yards away.It had felt wrong taking the sorrel mare. After all he was no thief, not that it mattered after his magic display. If Arthur really wanted to punish him, he could easily do so for sorcery and not bother with common horse theft. But the magic book weighed more than the rest of his few belongings together, and with bread and cheese and two wool blankets he had decided it would slow him down too much if he was to walk the entire way to Ealdor. The mare was an easy decision, it was the horse he normally rode, Arthur had even proclaimed it his horse, and she was of no real value to the kingdom, too old to foal.After he tied her to a low hanging branch and removed the saddle, he groomed her with a huge handful of dry grass, carefully stroking every inch of her dusty body. Later he repeated the movements with his bare hands, searching for scratches or invisible injuries. He finished by resting his head to her soft neck, drawing in her earthy smell and steamy warmth, burying his face in the rough mane. Every thought, every vivid vision of Arthur and Gwen together, kissing, fondling, in the fodder room tormented him. At least the mare´s close proximity calmed the ache in his chest, and he concentrated on keeping his breath steady. Finally he wiped his cheeks dry with the back of his hand, and went to set up camp.Later something woke him. The dark sky above was studded with stars and he lay facing the small fire, wrapped in one of the wool blankets, and stared into dancing flames, listening. Was it wild animals, a boar or a deer, or maybe something smaller like a rodent of some kind? Or was it highwaymen or bandits, or even worse, a search squad from Camelot? He could discern the soft sounds of hooves and sticks braking, one single horse and it´s rider approaching, and the mare snorted. By now he was fully awake and ready to cast a protective spell if necessary. The approaching horse whinnied, the rider halted and dismounted, then led the horse closer.Merlin rose a little, supported his body´s weight on his right elbow, then rose some more. A man, light hair reflecting the glow from fire, and he got on his feet.“Arthur!” Because it was Arthur who tied his dark stallion next to the mare and turned to Merlin, mouth resolute, gaze stern and eyebrows contracted.“Are you hiding from me? Because if you are …” His intonation was accusatory and his eyes flashed with anger. He moved closer to the fire and Merlin. “If you are, Merlin!” He still didn´t finish the sentence.“Why have you come? To bring me back to Camelot? For trial? Are you going to let me burn, Arthur? Is that what you´ve come for? Or is it the mare?” He shouted and glared, took a step forward so they were standing at an arm’s length from each other. It was like a dam finally breaking. “All I ever asked was some sort of recognition. I put my life at stake, every day, for years, and for what? You´ve treated me like muck under your boots since the knights´ return. No, worse, I´ve been like thin air to you, nothing!”Arthur swallowed and turned his gaze to the dark woods. “How can I recognize you for what you are to me? My sorcerer! My friend! My …” He shook his head. “How can I recognize even to myself, that I care more about you than what will ever be appropriate? How can I recognize you have magic when I don´t know what I´ll do if any harm came to you?”“You care about me?”“Yes! Yes, I do. I care about you more than anything. But it can never happen. I am the future King of Camelot, I have an example to set. I need a queen and an heir.” The last words were only a whisper. He took a moment to collect himself, and then walked off in direction of the stream. “I need to freshen up,” he declared, voice flat, facing the dark.Merlin stared after Arthur´s back, engulfed by the dark, still stunned by his little speech. What had he said? What did it mean? What did he want? He followed him at a distance to the stream, watched him take of the jacket, then the tunic and the under tunic. From where Merlin stood he could see Arthur´s broad back, muscles moving under firm skin when he crouched over running water. Merlin´s mouth went dry. Arthur splashed water in his face, over his throat and chest, and rubbed his armpits. When he rose and turned, his eyes locked with Merlin´s. Stream water pearled in Arthur´s chest hair, rivulets passing down over solid muscles, wetting the waistband of his braies and hose. Merlin blushed and suppressed a whimper. He wanted to turn his gaze away, but couldn´t. It was an everyday sight, Arthur bare and wet, and yet, so different. “I don´t understand. What about … Gwen?” he mumbled and finally averted his gaze. Arthur picked up his clothes, walked back to the camp fire and settled on the blanket. Merlin followed, careful to avoid all body contact, but looked back at his prince.“What about her?”“You have feelings for her, and she has feelings for you.” Merlin wanted to tell him he knew about their tryst in the stables, that he had been there, had overheard them. Gwen had pitied him, was that why Arthur had come after him? Did they look at him like some child in need of special care?“Well, yes … I do. She´s a wonderful girl, warm and kind and fun. Any man should be happy to have her.” Arthur kept his gaze to the fire.“She will be your queen,” Merlin sighed.“That´s my intension, yes. A king must have a queen, Merlin, I told you earlier. And she´s the only girl I´ve ever even cared for with no enchantments being involved. It´s a huge sacrifice to ask of her though.” Arthur slipped a quick glance at Merlin. “Marrying someone like me …”“Of course she will marry you, and happily so!!” Arthur spoke in riddles; it felt as if Merlin lacked a vital piece of information.“But I´ll ask her to sacrifice her chance of true happiness.”“No, you´re wrong, Arthur! I heard the two of you in the fodder room today. There´s no doubt she loves you, she said so …”“I haven´t seen her today,” Arthur stated and turned a pained face towards Merlin.“But I heard her, and yo…” His voice trailed off, as the missing piece of information fell into place, and he gaped from cold surprise.“I must marry, Merlin. I have no choice.” Their faces were close. Merlin could feel Arthur´s hot breath on his mouth and chin, and the blue gaze swam in his. His heart raced, blood pounding so hard in his ears and he licked his lips. First their shoulders touched, then knees and thighs. Moments and longer they rested in that gentle touch, eyes locked. Only a couple of inches apart, all it would take was a tiny motion forward and they would kiss. Would Arthur approve if he carried out the idea? Was that how he should interpret Arthur´s speech earlier? Damn it all, why was it so difficult? Kissing Arthur, and more there to, had been a recurrent fantasy of his. One he had indulged in on lonely nights and while doing tedious tasks that demanded no qualified thought. Still he hesitated, lump in his throat threatening to suffocate him. The closeness suddenly became unbearable.Impossible to think straight and anxious to put a modest distance between them, he rose abruptly and hurried over to the horses. “What about me, Arthur?” He had to know. “Are we friends? Even with my magic?”“Yes, I want that. I thought we were … before last night, that is.”Merlin blushed with shame, of course the alcove incident would come up and he felt an urge to justify his actions. “You have a hell of a way of showing it then! Could have fooled me.”“What did you expect? Recognizing your magic would have forced me to send you away from Camelot, or it could have you killed. I didn´t want that!” Arthur had joined him with the horses, staring aggravated. “I´m protecting you, idiot.”“I don´t need protection.” As Arthur had come closer Merlin had backed up against the tree trunk. Whatever calm the horses had provided it vanished with Arthur´s hands gripping his shoulders, shaking moderately.“I´m protecting you from you.” The grip slid down Merlin´s upper arms and remained there, thumbs rubbing the tunic fabric in an unceasing stroke, and Arthur leaned in, connecting their chests.Merlin heard Arthur breathe a little too fast and heavy, matching his own strained breathes, and felt hot damp air brush his mouth, chin and throat. Gaze narrowed down to spread pink lips, and his whole body flushed with anticipation, blood rushed from head to crotch. When their lips finally touched it was a light brushing, an exchange of breaths only instants before drawing back for mutual evaluation. What Merlin saw of Arthur in the faint light from the fire and an almost full moon was wide, dark eyes and flushed cheeks, and he could feel a pounding heart against his. He leaned in to taste those pink lips again, better this time, taking the lower lip between his, licking exploratory with his tongue, then sucking lightly, lapping the corner of the lips before pushing into that hot, wet mouth, meeting Arthur´s eager response. It went on and on and on. Once they´d risked it neither backed down. It was demanding, wet and filthy, little finesse, all frantic sucking and teeth clashing. Merlin, dizzy with lack of breath, broke off panting only to latch back on as fast as possible. He didn´t know if he wanted to swallow Arthur or if he wanted Arthur to swallow him, only he was taking whatever he could for as long as possible. It was all he had dreamt of, and better.Meanwhile his hands wandered, exploring Arthur´s broad, sturdy chest. The warmth emanated from the extra fine linen tunic and almost burnt Merlin´s palms. He stroked and rubbed his way over chest and upper arms, wanting to strip Arthur of his tunic, but settled with the soft, smooth skin of neck and nape. He trailed his kisses from mouth, to jaw, to collarbone leaving a wet trace behind. He wanted to taste every part of that bright skin, he wanted to crawl under and remain a part of Arthur. Desire simmered low in his belly, building steadily, threatening to overcast everything. He desperately wanted to grind his hips to Arthur´s and it took all restraint he could muster to prevent him from doing so. There was no telling how Arthur would respond to such an obvious sign of raw lust, and Merlin wouldn´t risk rejection. Then he didn´t have to.Arthur pushed closer and straddled Merlin´s right thigh, slanting his hips up and pressing the unmistakable sign of a hard cock to his groin. Instinctively he pressed back, withdrew an inch and repeated, his motions mirrored by Arthur. They moaned and grunted and humped each other like pubescent boys. Merlin nuzzled an earlobe and clawed the small of Arthur´s back, so as to increase the pressure. It felt fantastic, want and lust accumulating, lower abdomen tense, cock lacking sufficient, proper stimulation, but the situation itself providing all the stimuli he needed to get off. Hearing Arthur´s hoarse cries of uncontrolled arousal, feeling his cock fat and hot rutting wildly against Merlin and smelling the familiar scent of day old and fresh sweat was all it would take. He bit down on the curve connecting neck and shoulder, burying his nose in the hair folding behind the ear, and pushed his hips, letting his cock drag along hip bone and muscled thigh, once, twice, letting out a whimper, thrice. Oh, oh, oh, so good! Holding on to that fantastic pressure while coming: hot, sweet, messy relief. Arthur followed almost simultaneously, all chafing movements, strained panting and deep groans before collapsing heavy against Merlin. For an eternity they held on to each other as if their lives depended on it, hard breaths the only audible sound.When morning came Merlin lay under the blanket on his side facing the withered fire. Over the treetops in the east the sky was brightening with the promise of another sunny but probably chilly autumn day. For a moment he was disoriented. Why was he laying on the cold hard ground in the woods? And he had a big calloused hand slipped under his tunic, resting on his stomach, and the owner of the hand was curled up close behind him, and yesterday´s events came back to him. Of course, it was Arthur behind his back, although it was hard to believe, and a little unsettling as Arthur´s hand was dangerously close to his morning erection. Determined to sneak away he wiggled lightly putting a couple of inches between their bodies, only to be yanked back by that strong hand and arm.“Don´t run away,” Arthur whispered low in Merlin´s ear, the air tickling and teasing. The whisper followed by a light bite to the earlobe and tongue licking below the jaw. Merlin involuntarily arched back and froze at the realization of Arthur´s hard length pressed to his buttocks.“Are you …? Do you …?”“Yes, please, … let me.” Arthur caressed the soft skin above the waistband of the braies in small circular motions, pulling out a low moan from Merlin. He fumbled for the drawstring, then found the right string to pull and eased the braies down over Merlin´s hips, taking advantage by stroking the bare skin of his hipbone and buttocks while doing so.Then Arthur shifted, removed himself from Merlin´s warm back and wriggled for a few moments. When he closed in again Merlin let out a surprised pant at the feeling of naked skin against his, from the waist down.“Arthur!” The name came out more like a suppressed groan than an actual word. The pure thought of what these actions meant was enough to make him tremble with want. He rolled his hips, letting the hard length under silk soft skin rub against the crevice of his arse. Arthur was already panting heavily, the air ghosting Merlin´s nape at every breath.“I´ve dreamt of this, Merlin … for so long.”Merlin felt Arthur´s fingers trail along the line of hair from navel to crotch. A firm, muscled leg pushed in between his own more wiry ones, followed by a stroke from the inside of his knee all the way to the hot place where thigh met torso. It wasn´t enough, he wanted to turn to face Arthur, to hold him in his arms, to kiss him breathless, but Arthur held him firmly in place while dragging his cock back and forth, the rubbing eased by pre-come slicking Merlin´s crevice. Instead of turning he looked down, indulged in the sight of shining blonde hairs on Arthur´s arm moving over his hip as the strong sword hand kept fondling the soft inner thigh skin, and thumb reaching up to nudge his sweat damp sack. Trembling he turned his face to see a glimpse of Arthur. This time the request was met. Merlin sucked Arthur´s lower lip before opening wider and licking inside his mouth, gliding his tongue over hard teeth, enjoying the moaning response he got.“More … I want … more,” he panted when they broke apart and Arthur hummed in response, and pressed his open mouth to Merlin´s neck and shoulder instead. “Touch me, please, touch me.”In response to his plea, Arthur took Merlin´s achingly hard cock in his hand. The contact almost too much to bear, Merlin jerked back unwillingly, surprised. The motion only increased the sensation of Arthur´s hand holding on firmly, pulling the foreskin over the ridge and head, letting a thumb smear the pre-come pearled at the slit. The motion reversed as Merlin rocked back.Humming together in mutual pleasure, they rocked back and forth in an easily found rhythm. Slow and steady at first, then increasing the pace. Merlin twisted his arm and held on to Arthur´s arse urging him closer, faster. Forward drove him into that strong warm hand, backward let him feel Arthur’s length rubbing his crevice and lower back. Every breath came hard fought for. His heart raced uncontrollably, his movements more and more jerky. Merlin´s vision narrowed down and blurred. Arthur cried out, low and guttural, his mouth next to Merlin´s ear, then stilled and hot cum spurted over his arse and back. Merlin kept grinding, feeling the still hot cum smear all over his crevice. Oh, gods, Arthur´s actually come apart with him, with Merlin! Even though it seemed impossible the thought of that enhanced his arousal further. His breath was shaky now. He glanced down and watched Arthur´s hand on him.“Come on, Merlin, come for me.” Arthur´s voice, dark and husky, urged him on from behind and above, his hand still milking his length with great enthusiasm.“Arthur!” His breath hitched and he spilled thick white liquid over that hand and his own stomach. And when he turned to look over his shoulder Arthur was already there watching, awe in gaze.Merlin attempted to roll over.“Wait!” Arthur stopped him with a hand to his back, sat up and swept a piece of cloth over his sticky lower back, used gentle fingers to spread his arse cheeks and continued wiping. When he was done he pulled Merlin around and they lay thigh to thigh, hip to hip and chest to chest, resting in each other’s gaze.“I can never recognize you, Merlin. As long as my father lives, magic will be banned. And this!” He tightened his grip on Merlin and buried his face to his neck. “This can never happen.”Merlin inched back and forced Arthur to meet his eyes once again, let his magic tingle under his fingertips, eyes burned gold and he stroked Arthur´s back over and over. He wanted to say; I´m here, when you want me to be, I´m here for you always; but remained silent.They ate some of the bread and cheese, and drank cold water from the stream. The silence lay heavy, both stubbornly avoiding eye contact. Afterwards Merlin folded the blankets and went to see to the horses. If this was it, Merlin was happy he had at least had it, although knowing that this had been their only opportunity made his heart as well as his body physically ache for more of Arthur. Yesterday´s decision was long gone. He must have been crazy to even think it possible to ignore destiny. All he could think of now was how he should be there for Arthur, in any position, to help him become the king he was meant to be.“You are coming back with me to Camelot.” Arthur had come up behind him without Merlin noticing, putting a hand on his hip.Merlin shook his head. “I haven´t seen mum in almost three years. I miss her. And Gaius sent some hard to come by medicines for her.”“So you are actually leaving.” It was both a question and a statement, the way he said it, and underneath hidden sorrow.It was the closest to a confession that Arthur would miss him, already missed him, Merlin would ever get, and it twisted something in his heart. He lifted his hands, cradled Arthur´s face and kissed him, at first chaste, closed lips to closed lips, and then deepened, never making it filthy but slow, lingering, and bitter sweet. When they broke apart, Merlin stroked Arthur´s cheek.“I´m not leaving. I´m never leaving you,” he whispered, untied the mare, sat up and rode off in direction of Ealdor. Not once did he look back to see if Arthur watched him leave or if the Prince was already on his way back to Camelot.
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.