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: bit

[winter]

Those two are just made for each other, aren't they? ;)

*commences ritual nailchewing as she waits for snippets*

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

“I couldn’t do it justice,” William stammered, shaking his head.

His arm draped along the back of the chaise behind William, Herbert’s chest was almost touching William’s arm. “Do not doubt yourself, William,” he whispered. “I would hear you say it... even if you must close your eyes... please?”

Even if it had been any other poem, he knew he would never have been able to resist that softly-spoken request.

Looking down at the book, as if feigning reading, he cleared his throat.

“And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth;” he heard his voice tremble and cursed himself inwardly, drawing a breath and forcing himself to speak all the clearer. “And form so soft, and charms so rare, too soon return'd to Earth!”

“To earth...” Herbert’s voice echoed in a breathless whisper and he felt the other vampire’s cheek close to his, the Graf’s son reading over his shoulder. He felt the hand on his shoulder toying with his drawn-back hair, forced his memory to action.

“Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed, and o'er the spot the crowd may tread in carelessness or mirth,” His fingers depressed against the page as he felt the ribbon tugged from his hair, felt curls spill against his shoulders and cheeks. “Th-there is an eye which could not brook a-a moment on that grave to look.”

Re: bit

[winter]

Hee! :D

Herbie's being all tender and non-threatening, isn't he?

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

I think thenon-threatening is because he's caught onto the fact that that's probably what will work best ;) William gets threats a-plenty from Angelus, so this is polar opposition and just what he likes :D

Herbie likes the interesting ones and this one? He can recite Byron and bitchsmack Angelus - Herbie has smit :D

Re: bit

[winter]

Now I'm really curious about what Herbert's first reaction to tough!Spike was :)

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

And I quote directly from my boy: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH!

Spike just growled ;)

Re: bit

[winter]

Lemme guess: "Very impressive, darling, now, I've got a new set of chains that would suit you perfectly..." ;)

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

"Cheri, I took you on the floor of the library, while reciting poetry. Now, remove that ugly dead cow and come and see my new bed!"

Re: bit

[winter]

Must have been such a crush for Spike's newfound ego ;)

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

I think he didn't mind so much, because of who it was. Herbert is an exception to his rule, though he feigns otherwise ;)




Cool fingers were stroking through his hair, brushing the nape of his neck and he swallowed hard, the blur of the page dancing even more before his blinking eyes.

The poem.

Focus on the poem.

What could be done as long as he was reciting the words?

What would happen when he ran out?

His tongue darted against his lower lip.

“I-I-I will not ask where thou liest low,” he heard the stammer in his voice, but could not find the nerve to quell it. “N-nor gaze upon the spot; there flowers or weeds at will may grow, so I behold them not...”

“Beautiful,” Herbert’s whisper was soft against his cheek. “More, William...”

It took a moment for him to forget the pleasant sensation of the elder vampire’s breath on his cheek, his unseeing eyes staring at the page.

“It... er... it...” He had to squint at the text, forcing his mind to action. “It is enough for me to prove that what I lov'd, and long must love, like common earth can rot;” He placed a finger against the text, his hand shaking when the lips that had been so close to his cheek touched the corner of his jaw, sending a peculiar flutter through him. “T-t-to me there needs no stone to tell, tis nothing that I lov'd so well!”

Those lips withdrew with a chuckle. “Is the squeal necessary?” he murmured.

Blushing furiously, William stared down at the page. Those same long fingers were smoothing through his hair, drawing it back from his cheeks.

The poem. The poem. Safer to focus on that.

Re: bit

[winter]

Dear William's so well-mannered even when he's being molested :> Much love.

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

He's trying to get it over with, thinking that Herbert won't be too bad ;) More fool him :D

Re: bit

[winter]

Poor thing's expecting the blue-blood to be as well-mannered as he is? Someone should clue him in to the differences in sexual mores over the ages ;)

(Honestly. I've been doing research, and if anything, the mid-seventeenth-century dating scene was pretty close to the current one...)

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

And with the vampire-ness, it's only made all the worse :D

Oh, btw, have you seen Plunkett and Macleane? I made the mistake of watching it the other day with Herbert about and now, he thinks being a nocturnal highwayman would be the height of entertainment :D

Re: bit

[winter]

Alas, I haven't seen that one - I think it must have been straight to video if that over here. But Herbert would make an absolutely dashing highwayman :D

(Oh dear. Now mine's muttering that'd be even cooler than being a nocturnal duelist assassin for Draculea's cause...)

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

What region DVD players do you have? I could drag my DVD along, because omg it is teh love :D Plus, Alan Cumming as the bisexual playboy earl rocks :D

Re: bit

[winter]

That'd be brilliant :D UK and Poland are the same region, but I've a multiregion player anyway for my US stuff.

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Whee! I love contagionifying the world with it :D I was surprised by how much I liked it and it has a double-act like a more human and silly Gerald/Damien :D

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

The words...

Oh God, what were the words?

He desperately peered down at the page, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to make out the letters. “Yet...” Oh yes! “Yet did I love thee to the last...” His breath caught when lips touched his earlobe, his whole body jolting as if shocked. “A-a-a-as fervently as thou,” He drew a panting gasp when the tip of a wicked tongue traced the shell of his ear. “Oh!”

He felt more than heard the warm chuckle. “So easily distracted?” the whisper was accompanied by the teasing lap, an intimate invasion which made his thighs tense to still his wanton hips.

Not without defiance, William drew a steadying breath, his voice quivering as he made himself continue, “Wh-who didst not change through all the past and canst not alter no...oh...” The nip of fangs on his lobe made him jump.

Re: bit

[winter]

Muahaha :D Honestly, this scene has no business being this funny and this good at the same time ;)

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Herbert is a bad, bad boy :D

Re: bit

[winter]

VK must be wondering where he went wrong. Or right.

Re: bit

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*pokes Herbert* He's enjoying this oh so much :D

Re: bit

[winter]

*pokes YOU* Another snipplet? :D

*is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

“Oh?”

His lower lip trembling as he tried to force down the ridiculous, wicked desire that was running through him, William’s fingers gripped the book like a shield, his eyes squeezing closed.

It did, however, take all his effort and concentration to continue to recite; “The love where Death has set his seal,” He was stammering, but no longer cared, adamant to finish the poem, despite the hand on his chest, caressing him through his shirt. “Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see or wrong, or change, or fault in me.”

A muffled whimper escaped him when he felt bare skin against his own, a splayed hand roaming, teasing, smoothing his skin as if it were a fabric of quality, luxuriating in the texture.

“Oh, William,” Herbert’s weight had shifted, one of his legs pressed flush against William’s and the younger vampire trembled in spite of himself. “You have no idea how lovely you are...”

Averting his face, ashamed and delighted at once by such a compliment, William whispered, “The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine:” He inhaled as his throat was raked by fangs. “Th-th-the sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, shall never more be thine.”

He felt the lips on his throat, felt that wandering hand drift lower and lower still, knew he should shy away, knew he should return to the ballroom, to find Drusilla, to find anyone who would not touch him just like that, who would not touch him there...

“Oh God...” He was shivering, so hard, so desperately, forcing his mind away from the physical desire, forcing himself to... to remember, to behave properly, to...

“Th-the silence of that dreamless sleep,” he gasped out as his hips twitched towards that unfamiliar touch. “I-I-I-I envy now too much to weep...”

Suddenly, the book was gone from his hands and the touches vanished.

His eyes snapped open wide, hands hovering over empty air, and he stared down at Herbert, his mind fogged with the most carnal of thoughts. Grey eyes gazed up at him with such powerful captivation that he half-sighed, half-whimpered in longing.

Then the son of the Graf lowered his head, his golden head, his mouth...

“OH!” Grabbing the Rimbaud book, William remorselessly struck the other vampire on the head with the small tome, startling Herbert so much that he pulled back. With a panicked yelp, William scrambled back and along the chaise, falling off the end.