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]

Clearly, it's in his best self-interest to back off and allow you to get back to a certain more dangerous blond prettyboy ;)

(Honestly - whatever you write is fine with me. Though I'm rooting for Herbert at the moment, just a little bit.)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

I don't even know the world well enough to write it and yet, here he is, adamant that I give him attention. *spanks on him* If I ignore him, he'll go back to his room.




In days such as these, it was unusual to find vampires as unique as those harvested by Angelus. Drusilla on her own was quite the find, but young William, clearly so much more than he appeared, was a charming addition to the little family and one von Krolock intended to observe and - if possible - preserve.

“Of course, sir.” There was a boyish grin that was utterly charming and full of mischief. “I would rather avoid a welcome like Angelus.”

“Oh, of that, you are quite assured,” von Krolock said lightly, returning the beaming smile of the young vampire with a quieter one of his own. Truly, this boy was far too charming for his own good. “Alas, I must tend to my other guests. Will your own company suffice for the moment?”

Nodding eagerly, William bowed slightly at the waist, with just enough respect but not as fawning as some of the others had been. “Thank you for your time, Sir,” he said earnestly.

In spite of his best intention to leave the boy entirely for his son, von Krolock brushed his knuckles lightly down the curve of William’s cheek. “It has been my pleasure, William,” he murmured, admiring the colour rising in the boy’s cheeks, a mingling of confusion and delight.

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Oh dear, VK with a new pet project :D I'm sure Herbert's quietly facepalming in a dark corner and recalling the Vittorio debacle, while restraining himself from yelling "I saw him first!"

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

He's behaving for now, fortuitously. He's just going "ooh! One with manners. I like!" :D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Not blaming him ;) And I gather putting William a little off-kilter will only aid Herbert's dastardly plans...

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

PLus, Herbie finds out that William is short sighted on this first night :D More than anyone in William's family notice :D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

That's Herbert for you. Attentive enough, if you put a pretty face in front of him ;)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*pokes muses* Merf. I seem to be running dry here. Post-project malaise, perhaps.

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Switch chapters, perhaps? Or feel free to take the night off if you need one, really. No need to put yourself through purgatory on my regard, though the vampires may have other opinions ;)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

If I don't do something with them, they'll be talking all night in my noggin, which is bad.

Re: P.S.

[winter]

*nods sagely* A truly regrettable situation.

(Chained Herbert this time, perhaps?)

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*pokes William* I think he's gone bashful on me because I switched to his POV and he doesn't want to admit to like being given a blow job while trying to read poetry.

Starts as a handjob, then Herbert ups the ante to see if William'll crack, which he does and tries to flee, only to be tackled to the floor on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, hands pinned over his head to allow for more teasing, then getting screwed in a leisurely manner by the purring Herbert... um... yeah. Whole scene played out in my head last night. No wonder I couldn't sleep.

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Gaaah. Write this, woman! ~_~

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

William won't let me, the silly arse! I want it out of my head, so I can sleep without porn tonight. Seems that's not going to be the case...

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Brilliant. Now I'll be one trying to sleep with that playing in my head, too? :P

*thwaps William* Stupid vampires.

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

I could detail more - William sitting on the chaise longue in front of the fire, holding the book close to his face, trying to squint at the letters, while Herbert leans over the back of the chaise to 'read with him'.

One hand undoes his hair. Distraction one. William wins. Fingers combing through hair. Distraction two. Little inhalation, but William keeps reading. Lips brushing his ear. Distraction 3. Gasp and jump, but manages to keep his place, although there's a hesitation. Tongue teasing his ear. Distraction 4 - almost drops the book, but forces himself to keep going. Notable squirming happening, though. Arm drapes over opposite shoulder and no more distractions seem pending. William relaxes a bit, trying to ignore Herbert murmuring the words back in his ear (because Mm. Purry accent). Suddenly, realises his buttons are undone and a hand is touching his chest. Distraction 5 is in motion. Bit more squirming, but he continues. Good boy. Hand moves down. Distraction 6. Lip-biting occurs. And somehow, with speed that startles William, Herbert is on his knees in front of him and his mouth has replaced his hand. William squeals and bonks Herbert on the head with the book, squirms free and tries to leggit.

MISTAKE :D

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Wstfgl.

You evil, evil, evil wench.

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*twitches* Blame the vampires in my head. I had nothing to do with this. Herbert wanted to show off.

Re: P.S.

[winter]

You'd think having Herbert around would be more useful. As in, for talking William into narrating the above events?

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Herbert's grinning. He would like to remind you that he is, above all things, evil ;)

Re: P.S.

[winter]

*growl* I am currently in the middle of reading a story where Spike gets his hair messed up with chocolate peanut butter. I'm starting to think this particular condiment would fit Herbert's golden tresses even better :/

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

He's helping. Not much, but he's being a bibliophile and Herbert'll be around any moment ;)

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Goodie. Snipplet?

Re: P.S.

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Left to his own devices, Wiliam had hesitated for a moment, before rushing over to one of the bookshelves, running his fingertips along the heavy spines, caressing the indented golden names reverently.

It had been weeks, months, since he had touched a book and this place, the smell, the atmosphere, everything about it made him giddy.

As much as he wished he could deny it, as much as he wished he could be dominant enough to stand against Angelus, he knew he would always and ever be drawn in by the familiarity of the art of words. Still, it didn’t mean he was about to let the elder vampire know it.

Bad enough to be mocked for his smaller stature and lesser build, but if Angelus discovered his poetry, his secret passion that still remained, he would be even fresher meat than he already was.

Re: P.S.

[winter]

Awww, poor ickle Spikey! He's being so adorable here, it's probably a good thing for all involved that VK isn't around to poke in his head anymore :)