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]

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.

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

*attempts to fan self while falling over from laughter*

*fails*

Herbert should really take care not to let his conquests have books at hand when he sets to molesting them. He doesn't have the best track record there :>

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

It just begged to be done :D Assault by Rimbaud :D

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

*groans* And I'm betting Herbert won't beg off with a poetry-induced headache either ;)

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Sitting on the hearth rug, a surprised look on his face, Herbert stared at him, then slowly started to grin. He rolled onto his feet, light as a cat, approaching the fallen and stumbling William. “Cheri, that was silly...”

Tottering to his feet, William tried to hold his trousers and his shirt closed with some of the human modesty that remained. “I-I... you shouldn’t do that!” he mumbled, backing away.

“Why not, cheri?” Prowling closer, Herbert’s smile was far from innocent. “I think you were enjoying it.”

William backed around the chaise, trying to put a little distance between them, his wide eyes on Herbert’s face. “It’s not natural!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flushing as he remembered just how pleasant that unnatural sensation was.

Abruptly, a firm body was against his back, an arm around his waist and lips at his throat. “Neither are we, my beautiful, cherubic darling,” Herbert’s voice was like silk and William felt his legs - already unsteady - trembling. The light kiss against his throat was innocent, chaste. The hand moving on him... wasn’t. “We are damned already, William... why not enjoy a little debauchery as well?”

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

*fangirls fallen-angel!Herbert* :D

You write him so... sweetly and wickedly at once.

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

He's so ridiculously naughty :D Alas that Dru has been brought up...

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

Has she? *wants to see*

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Still clutching convulsively at the front of his shirt, William pressed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip. When his hips jerked up against Herbert’s palm, he gasped aloud, “Dru! I-I...”

A cool fingertip turned William’s head and he found grey eyes gazing at him. “She has her playthings, William,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against the protesting lips. “Why should you not have the same?”

William tried to exclaim that it wasn’t true, that they were destined and that she did love him, in spite of it, in spite of Angelus, in spite of... in spite of the fact that he found himself returning Herbert’s kiss, tentatively, uncertainly, as if expecting to be struck by a bolt of lightning from above.

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

Oh, evil Herbert :D Bringing up how inferior William feels, and how Herbert perceives him as a (sort-of) equal, not as a pet the way his own family treat him? Evil.

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Cunning as well :D How ironic that William is the one to tame the wicked wretch :D

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

For some values of tame, anyway ;) I've a feeling that once Herbert gets out of those chains, he'll be careful about getting into them again without means of escape...

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*grins* Revenge is being plotted ;)

I do, however, have a rather adorable scene planned wherein the boys are flopped on the bed just talking. Spike's lying on his back, with his legs up against the headboard and Herbert's sitting with his back to the board, petting Spike's belly :)

(There was upside-down!shackled!Spike as well, but that... in progress...)

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

Careful there. Too many Word files open at once might hang up your computer ;)

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Only one now. And bah! Trust William to get poetic when he's getting head :P

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

Oi! *pokes*

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

Drawn around to face Herbert, William felt his shirt pushed from his shoulders, felt hands roaming him, found his own hands moving. He was pushed back, gently, with kisses and caresses, onto the chaise, breeches lost somewhere in the half-dozen paces, and this time, when lips touched him, he allowed himself to succumb, shivering and twining his hands into Herbert’s golden hair.

Herbert played his body as a master musician would their instrument, making him tremble, making him gasp, drawing the most rare and illusive notes from him, until he was drawn as tight as a bow-string, plucked until his body resonated with pleasure and he collapsed back with a half-cry, half-moan.

Those wicked, sinful lips pressed to his bare thigh and he uttered a moan at the pleasant sting of a bite.

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

*pats graphomaniac William* He's really terribly amusing when flustered :D

(BTW, one note - not sure about "their instrument". Someone of William's period and upbringing might be un-PC enough to say "his instrument" ^_~)

Re: *is evil*

[fyrie.livejournal.com]

*pokes at him* Herbie was just meant to tackle him and shag him silly, but merf! They never do what they're told.

Re: *is evil*

[winter]

Oh dear. That does sound terribly interesting. *does some poking of her own*