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Drabbles: Coldfire (G to soft R, slash)
I should have known better than to offer drabbles to a fic-starved fandom with so many plotbunniers on my f-list, really :) In order of appearance, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alighiera, alice_montrose, fuumasfrog and trobadora.
WORKAROUNDS
Ever since Mount Shaitan, Gerald had been learning to appreciate the simple pleasures in life. For example, at the moment he was lying sprawled across Damien’s broad chest, idly toying with the ex-priest’s shirt and watching the dazed look in Damien’s eyes. Even the cramped quarters only meant that he had an excuse to climb just that close, and Damien had to put an arm around his waist.
Presently, Damien blinked, his eyes turning clearer. “Are we on a ship-“
Gerald leaned in and kissed Damien again until the other man’s eyes were glazed over once more, the guarded question turning into a drawn-out moan before it could be fully phrased.
If he had known getting Damien to enjoy ship travel would be that easy, he would have tried this method ages ago.
-FIN-
SO THE WORLD WILL NEVER FIND YOU
Damien sighed as he pushed through the crowd, taking another drink from a flask of liquor someone had pressed into his hand. At least in the black mask and cloak, even if he did make a fool of himself at the Jaggonath carnival, no-one would be able to tell him apart from every other guy dressed up as a vampire. And a few real vampires, he had no doubt.
He wondered what Gerald would wear. The adept had been reticent about his plans, only setting the meeting place on the outskirts of the city-
Near Karril’s temple, he realised as a woman flung herself into his arms. She was wearing a version of a First Landing uniform, though he was sure the real colonists never had ones that tight.
She kissed him on the mouth. “Praise Karril,” she whispered. “A man is waiting for you, two alleys down. An... urgent matter.”
She laughed shrilly, and as she flung her neck back he saw the imprint of teeth. Not quite Gerald’s type, he thought, too strong, but then he wasn’t Gerald’s usual type either.
He stumbled through the throng of people, found the alley, leaned against a door that opened to rapidly for him to do anything but fall through it to the floor.
A chapel of the Church, he realised as he looked around blearily. Closed down temporarily, with a pagan festival roaring through the streets. Yet there were candles burning, and a fresh cloth on the altar.
Something – someone – moving, and he raised his head as he struggled to his feet.
Layers of silk obscuring limbs and body, so that he could no longer recall their past or present look. A broad collar of beaten gold with a pattern of flames. Dark hair instead of light brown, but oh, never mistaken, and now he remembered too clearly.
“I remember you felt particularly strongly about that dream.” Even the old mocking cadences were back in Tarrant’s voice. “You will enjoy this better than you would have the masquerade.”
Strong hands pushed Damien against the altar before he could think of fear, revulsion, desire, sacrilege.
“Don’t worry,” the man who had been the Hunter whispered in his ear as clothes were quickly, deftly pushed aside. “I won’t let you think.”
-FIN-
PETTY ANNOYANCES
Damien moved his wrists experimentally. The cuffs were far snugger than it should be possible for something lined with fur.
“Gerald, this is vulking ridiculous,” he muttered.
The former Hunter shook his head as he surveyed his handiwork. “You have a habit of tearing buttons off my shirts. I’m running out of outfits, and the shops here are not up to my standards. Therefore, you’ll be chained until I undress myself.”
“Only until then?” Damien asked hopefully.
Gerald’s smile was sweetness itself as he ran a hand down Damien’s bare chest. “Perhaps a few minutes longer than that.”
-FIN-
PROOF OF FAITH
The bracelet was tarnished silver, a streak of near-black on the red velvet lining the box set on the street stall. Gerald’s fingers closed in on it without hesitation. Damien raised his eyebrows, but remained silent as Gerald ruthlessly argued down the price.
He got his answer when they left the street fair and Gerald tenderly wiped the grime and tarnish off a fragile piece of glass. Underneath it was the face of a clock, too small to ever house the appropriate mechanism.
“A watch used to be an important theological analogy, Vryce. As the watch with its complexity proves the existence of a watchmaker, so the world proves the existence of its creator.”
Under Gerald’s touch, a tiny screw turned without resistance.
Tick.
-FIN-
alighiera, alice_montrose, fuumasfrog and trobadora.WORKAROUNDS
Ever since Mount Shaitan, Gerald had been learning to appreciate the simple pleasures in life. For example, at the moment he was lying sprawled across Damien’s broad chest, idly toying with the ex-priest’s shirt and watching the dazed look in Damien’s eyes. Even the cramped quarters only meant that he had an excuse to climb just that close, and Damien had to put an arm around his waist.
Presently, Damien blinked, his eyes turning clearer. “Are we on a ship-“
Gerald leaned in and kissed Damien again until the other man’s eyes were glazed over once more, the guarded question turning into a drawn-out moan before it could be fully phrased.
If he had known getting Damien to enjoy ship travel would be that easy, he would have tried this method ages ago.
-FIN-
SO THE WORLD WILL NEVER FIND YOU
Damien sighed as he pushed through the crowd, taking another drink from a flask of liquor someone had pressed into his hand. At least in the black mask and cloak, even if he did make a fool of himself at the Jaggonath carnival, no-one would be able to tell him apart from every other guy dressed up as a vampire. And a few real vampires, he had no doubt.
He wondered what Gerald would wear. The adept had been reticent about his plans, only setting the meeting place on the outskirts of the city-
Near Karril’s temple, he realised as a woman flung herself into his arms. She was wearing a version of a First Landing uniform, though he was sure the real colonists never had ones that tight.
She kissed him on the mouth. “Praise Karril,” she whispered. “A man is waiting for you, two alleys down. An... urgent matter.”
She laughed shrilly, and as she flung her neck back he saw the imprint of teeth. Not quite Gerald’s type, he thought, too strong, but then he wasn’t Gerald’s usual type either.
He stumbled through the throng of people, found the alley, leaned against a door that opened to rapidly for him to do anything but fall through it to the floor.
A chapel of the Church, he realised as he looked around blearily. Closed down temporarily, with a pagan festival roaring through the streets. Yet there were candles burning, and a fresh cloth on the altar.
Something – someone – moving, and he raised his head as he struggled to his feet.
Layers of silk obscuring limbs and body, so that he could no longer recall their past or present look. A broad collar of beaten gold with a pattern of flames. Dark hair instead of light brown, but oh, never mistaken, and now he remembered too clearly.
“I remember you felt particularly strongly about that dream.” Even the old mocking cadences were back in Tarrant’s voice. “You will enjoy this better than you would have the masquerade.”
Strong hands pushed Damien against the altar before he could think of fear, revulsion, desire, sacrilege.
“Don’t worry,” the man who had been the Hunter whispered in his ear as clothes were quickly, deftly pushed aside. “I won’t let you think.”
-FIN-
PETTY ANNOYANCES
Damien moved his wrists experimentally. The cuffs were far snugger than it should be possible for something lined with fur.
“Gerald, this is vulking ridiculous,” he muttered.
The former Hunter shook his head as he surveyed his handiwork. “You have a habit of tearing buttons off my shirts. I’m running out of outfits, and the shops here are not up to my standards. Therefore, you’ll be chained until I undress myself.”
“Only until then?” Damien asked hopefully.
Gerald’s smile was sweetness itself as he ran a hand down Damien’s bare chest. “Perhaps a few minutes longer than that.”
-FIN-
PROOF OF FAITH
The bracelet was tarnished silver, a streak of near-black on the red velvet lining the box set on the street stall. Gerald’s fingers closed in on it without hesitation. Damien raised his eyebrows, but remained silent as Gerald ruthlessly argued down the price.
He got his answer when they left the street fair and Gerald tenderly wiped the grime and tarnish off a fragile piece of glass. Underneath it was the face of a clock, too small to ever house the appropriate mechanism.
“A watch used to be an important theological analogy, Vryce. As the watch with its complexity proves the existence of a watchmaker, so the world proves the existence of its creator.”
Under Gerald’s touch, a tiny screw turned without resistance.
Tick.
-FIN-
Re: *is evil*
BTW, am thinking about Dawn and VK - would it be plausible for her to hear of an impending local apocalypse for Buffy & co and go to him with a plan for him to help the gang? At which point he goes all haughty and reminds her he's evil and carefully maintains general neutrality unless poked, cue fight?
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:D
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Speaking of Spike, you might want to get him out of the house for this, especially if she does go to Herbert for comfort and advice. He'd go all brotherly on her and probably get swatted into the wall for his pains...
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I've just got this image of her, pale from loss of blood, bruised up, gashed and shivering, but forcing herself from the bed and shouting "SPIKE!" when he goes to yell at VK. She's standing, swaying on her feet, but practically growling and saying this is her problem and she will deal with it.
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BTW, I posted my vignette (left untweaked after all) and recced your newest. Meanwhile, how are Dawn and Herbert and the chains?
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“And look how well they worked,” Dawn countered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Finally, modesty prevailed and she reached behind her and tossed the edge of a blanket over his hips, drawing a weak chuckle from him.
“I thought you would be used to naked boy-parts by now,” he teased lightly, crossing his hands over his chest to massage his wrists.
“Not my kinda-sorta-step-son’s, thanks,” she retorted, grinning at the horrified look that crossed his face. “What? You didn’t think about it that way?”
“Not in the least...” Herbert’s nose wrinkled. “Why does my father keep you? You are without doubt one of the most annoying females I have ever had the misfortune of coming upon.”
“Hey! Don’t you even dare!” She pointed a threatening finger at him and he stared at her in confusion. “You do any of that ‘coming upon’ me and your dad would tear me a new one!”
Grey eyes blinked, then he let forth a great snort of laughter, followed by a groan of pain. “You stupid child!” he exclaimed with a wince, as he braced his hands against his ribs. “No lecherous jokes until I am healed!”
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The sudden switch in her tone made him stare at her warily. “Ah... you do recall that I am the more severely wounded party, do you not?” She nodded, raising an imperious eyebrow. “Ah...”
“Spill it, Herbie, or the cuffs are back on and I lock the door and hide the key, so even Spike can’t come and help you.”
Despite himself, he was impressed by her quiet, calm anger. “You recall William’s life within you sister’s circle?” he said tentatively. The girl nodded. “I... disapproved of the way he was treated.”
“I guess that’s fair,” she said, pulling her legs up under her. “Especially with him being your boyfriend, you’re gonna be kinda twitchy.”
Grey eyes met gleaming blue. “You’ve just been dying to bring that up, haven’t you, cherie?” he murmured.
Dawn’s smile returned as quickly as it had gone. “Oh, you bet I have,” she replied, the grin spreading across her face. “So... when did he go from moppet to object of wild lustiness?”
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Rolling his eyes, Herbert laid his hands on the bandages around his chest. “Cherie, he has been mine since the first day he stepped into our halls,” he said. “It just took us some time to become aware of it.”
Dawn snorted. “Took me all of two days with you to figure it out,” she noted. “For smart guys, you are really dumb.” She leaned closer to him. “And I figured that was why you went for Buffy, but seriously, you touch her again, you are toast.”
Herbert gazed at her, one side of his mouth curling up. “She might be the Slayer, cherie, but I think I am more afraid of you, than of her,” he said, turning one hand over and offering it to her.
The girl squeezed his fingers. “That’s because she’s the good guy,” she replied, the smirk on her face expressing more than she knew. “I’m the in-betweener. I could destroy the world, y’know.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Herbert murmured, dragging her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “You will stay, won’t you?”
“Duh!”
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Scene!
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