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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*
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“Duh!” She uncurled one finger and poked his nose. “You think I’m gonna leave you with no one to bug the crap out of you about you and your boyfriend? What kind of sadist would I be, if I left now?”
Herbert grinned. “If you were not such an evil little hoyden, I fear we might be friends, you know,” he said, then sighed lamentably. “Alas, that you are and I am forced to despise you.”
“Same backatcha,” Dawn retorted. “And you know what’s worse? You’re a blond.”
“Cherie! You sink too low!”
Dawn laughed, lifting his hand and returning the kiss to his knuckles. “And now, I give you girl-cooties,” she said gravely, then looked up at the opposite side of the bed, a warm smile crossing her lips. “Don’t look now, baby, but our wicked monkey-spanking sex session is being watched.”
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“At least not while dad is watching,” she said, smiling as his father materialised out of thin air beside the bed. “You found us, then?”
“I simply followed the tracks of Herbert’s despair,” von Krolock murmured, his dark eyes gleaming fondly at the mortal. “I thought I told you that torturing him was forbidden, my dear.”
“But it’s so much fun!” She pouted at him.
“As fun as it may be,” von Krolock said softly. “I am afraid I must intrude and I expect your sister might like to speak with you.” Dawn expression closed slightly and she nodded, slipping from the bed. “I left her in the lounge.”
“You didn’t make her brain explode, did you?” Approaching her lover, she gazed up at him. “You’re way too good at making people confused.”
Von Krolock lifted his hand and let a long lock of her beautiful hair slip between his fingers. “I believe I may have enlightened her somewhat,” he said, dragging the back of his forefinger along the curve of her jaw.
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One note though - since it's all Herbert's POV, would he be honest enough with himself to admit Dawn's hair is beautiful?
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“Naturally, liebling.”
Watching her depart, the softness in von Krolock’s features made his son smile.
“Charming girl,” he observed, after the door closed. “Vicious little harlot as well.”
“I suspect that if she were pacified and gentle, she would not be half as charming as she is,” von Krolock replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “And to have found a woman who can rival your temperament? A miracle indeed.”
Making a face, Herbert winced as his ribs strained against their confines. “You can see that the crasser side of William’s nature has rubbed off on her.”
His father seemed to ignore his words. Instead, he spread his hand an inch above Herbert’s chest, fingers splayed, a frown furrowing his brow. “Are you in a great deal of pain?” he asked.
“It could have been worse,” Herbert replied honestly, sighing as a familiar, cooling ripple seemed to spread beneath his skin. “William is a remarkably adept physician, although his bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”
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And hello, catty VK. Missed him :D
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“And more than a little annoyed with him,” Herbert admitted.
Von Krolock gazed at him fondly. “I have often wondered...” he murmured, then waved a hand before him, as if brushing aside an image in the air. “He cares a great deal for you.”
“Looking beyond the surface again, father?” Herbert closed his eyes lightly.
“Not at all,” the reply was quiet. “I have never seen him look so happy.”
One eye slowly opened and Herbert felt that wretchedly silly smile escaping again. “I know,” he said softly.
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(Though I'm betting Herbert would usually rather do the killing himself.)
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“You are cruel to me,” Herbert pouted, though without conviction. “Anyway, you can hardly talk. Look at you with your little un-real mortal.” He saw his father incline his head slightly. “And I have been wondering...”
“Bitten, yet alive?”
Both eyes open now, Herbert nodded. “I cannot recall one...”
“You said yourself that she is an un-real mortal,” von Krolock said quietly. “Did William explain to you what that means?”
“In... part...” Herbert hesitated. “She was... made from some manner of energy?”
Von Krolock laced his hands together before him, looking down at them. “Think, then, what her blood must be, containing the traces of this energy,” he said softly. “It was more powerful, more potent than anything I have touched in any way.”
The sheer thought of someone’s blood being powerful enough to dissuade his father from feeding made Herbert shiver slightly.
“It’s that strong?”
“I cannot take much,” von Krolock turned to look down at him. “I fear I would have, when first she offered, had it not startled me so.”
Herbert bit his lower lip. “Does she know?”
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(BTW, will have to start heading bedwards soon-ish. And might not be around too much over the next two days - Auntie's coming over, so tomorrow is shopping and Cats, and on Saturday more shopping, and then
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Scene!
“One of a kind,” Herbert murmured, reaching out to cover his father’s hands with one of his own. “Of that, I am sure.”
Von Krolock laughed briefly. “We both have been blessed with the rarest of gems,” he said softly. “You, in your William and I, with Dawn.”
“As long as they do not find out how lucky we consider ourselves,” Herbert said, one side of his mouth curling. “I think they will be tolerable.”
Re: Scene!
I think the situation calls out for a hug...
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Re: Scene!