Drabbles: Coldfire (G to soft R, slash)

[winter]

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 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-

Comments

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Sometimes I am amazed at the range of personalities in your head ;)

But yeah, it's perfect. And Spike's just going to stare speechless for an hour, if not longer.

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Seriously, me too! Damien moved in and immediately was dragged for a beer at the table with Ardeth from the Mummy, Boromir, Faramir, Hector and Jayne from Firefly. VK has recently taken up residence on the couch, forcing my semi-Lestat creature away, while Spike's sitting on a beanbag at his feet (and I have a soulless Spike hovering around too).

Seriously :D It has forced me to retreat Herbert's smit-at-first-sight incident with William ;)

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Glad to hear I'm not the only one :D My Warsaw!VK's mostly too busy chasing the tiny!Herbert around to play chess with Gerald any longer, so Gerald's switched to plotting with teenage!Herbert in a corner. Results... well, I think you've read the last few stories of mine featuring those two ;)

Finally. I was waiting for when you'd finish that one, because puppy!William = one of the cutest things on Earth.

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*snickers* Doubles of characters do get a bit... odd at times. Soulless Spike is claiming he'd never be so undignified but souled Spike is smirking knowingly :D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Oh dear. Now I really want to see that story finished :)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Herbert falls for him across a crowded ballroom ;) Dad's watching the guests, then hears Herbert go "OMGWTFSQUEE!" and groans quietly, seeking paracetemol :D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Oi! *pokes, carefully navigating around your homework to do so*

Also, aspirin, I think. I just googled and paracetamol was only invented in the 1950s :P

(And when VK sees it's someone that guy dragged along...)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*snickers*

VK's mentally bitching about the guests he wish would actually get over themselves and the whole undead cliche and stop trailing dust on his floors and then, Angelus rolls in and he's like "well, this just keeps getting better and..." and then Herbert goes "Ooooh!" :D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

This all in writing, or still just in your head? :P

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Combination thereof - am typing around homework :D

In the meantime, here - have Illyria/Vitto:


Half-closed blue eyes gazed at him as if he were less than an insect to be studied under a microscope. “You were a lover,” she said. “He was your Master.”

He wanted to protest that she was wrong, wanted to argue against her, wanted to say that they had been equals in an era where his experience still surpassed the young vampire’s by nearly two and a half centuries.

The lie would not take shape on his lips.

Even then, every step of their interaction had been governed by the Graf’s will and his decisions, as unbending as steel, as hard as diamond.

“Your desire is futile,” the demon noted without expression. “Yet, you still cling to him as if he might change his mind and allow you to approach him once more. Such mindless worship is commendable.”

“It is not worship,” he protested softly. “I loved him.”

“What is worship but the hopeless devotion of one creature to one who does not truly care for it?” the demon asked. “I was worshipped for millennia, but never did I profess to love those who gave me their devotion.”

Re: P.S.

[winter]

You're a fanboy, Vitto, might as well face it ;)

Loving Illyria so very much. She's so refreshingly blunt, really.

(BTW, no need to hurry with the homework too much. Will disappear for an hour or so - after a morning of napping with Lestat, shopping needs to actually be accomplished...)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

I prefer vampires to homework all the way ;D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Don't blame you. I'm hoping they'll pipe down a bit when I get seriously down with the thesis thing...

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

I think I wrote more fic during my dissertation period than any other... not that it'll be comforting...



Despite the early hour, the ball appeared to be a success.

Hundreds of guests from half a dozen generations were gathered in the grandiose ballroom of the Graf von Krolock’s castle, dancing and laughing.

Admittedly, some of the guests were more rustic, their funereal garb dispersing dust across the polished floors, but for one’s reputation, one had to tolerate those who had lesser manners but great esteem nonetheless.

And, how delightful, the embodiment of those characteristics had just swaggered into the ballroom.

Of course, he had his lady with him and the second was accompanied by...

“Who is that?” He felt his son move closer behind him. Ah, Herbert would be the first to notice the new arrivals and their unexpected addition.

“I trust you do not mean Angelus,” he replied, smiling slightly at the expression that crossed his son’s face. He gazed at the newest visitor, unfamiliar and drinking in the surroundings with wide-eyes. “My, this is... interesting.”

“Oh? You can see who he is, then?” Sometimes, Herbert could be so refreshingly excitable and predictable. “So...?”

Dark eyes gleamed. “More than simply a pretty face, Herbert,” he murmured, then descended the staircase with a measured tread, his cloak whispering behind him.

At once, there was a reverential silence, the crowd parting before him to allow him to greet these newest arrivals. It was not done out of a mutual liking, but as a sign of respect towards the Clan of Aurelius.

In truth, he had never met any vampires with an exaggerated sense of self-worth as grand as those of that bloodline, but it seemed fitting to be... associated with them, mutually beneficial, although he would rather shear off his own hand than spend time readily with Angelus.

Re: P.S.

[winter]

I adore VK when he's being catty :D I have this image of him spending most of every ball on that staircase, watching over people until someone interesting catches his eye...

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

And when he moves, the whole place goes completely motionless, waiting to see who got lucky ;D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Wouldn't be surprised to hear there were bets getting struck on the sidelines ;)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

That wouldn't surprise me in the least. Probably instigated by Herbert's band of bitches :D

And hee! VK is being politely rude ;D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Oi! Lemme see?

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Gimme a second. Tweaking :)

Re: P.S.

[winter]

*waits (im)patiently* ;)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Sorry about that - mum was hovering around with a hoover.


Loosing her arm from her pet’s the eldest of the quartet moved forward with a broad smile, extending her hands to him. “Your Excellency,” she murmured, sinking into a well-practised curtsey, her deep purple gown spreading around her.

“Darla,” he acknowledged, clasping her fingertips lightly and inclining his head. “It has been some time since you have graced our halls.”

And of the reason, there was no doubt. He could see Angelus scowling already. Such a charming creature. It seemed, however, that his previous lesson in manners had taken, because this time, he had restraint enough to stay behind his Sire and hold his tongue until spoken to.

“Had to show a fallen angel the best places to dance and play,” the dreamy voice drifted from Darla’s right and von Krolock turned his most charming smile to the third - and until now - the youngest member of the group.

“You flatter, Drusilla,” he said, claiming her slender hands and lifting to kiss her knuckles softly. “It is a mere trifle, this ball.”

Grey-blue eyes gazed at him, deep red lips curling in a knowing smile. “Bad boy, telling such fibs,” she cooed.

“As always,” von Krolock gazed at her fondly. “You see to the truth of the matter.”

“Hide and seek and there it will be,” Drusilla tilted her head back with a quiet, contented sigh.

“And I see you have brought a new guest, my dear.”

Re: P.S.

[winter]

I think that sound might be Angelus gritting his teeth ;)

It's terribly hard to pick favourites, but even feral!VK and good-father!VK are hard put to compete with catty!VK in my esteem :D

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

It's one thing to receive a smackdown, but a whole other immortal humiliation to be overlooked completely :D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Especially as Drusilla basically throws herself at VK :D

I've a feeling dear William may be gaping...