Post by wordy on Oct 29, 2012 19:27:17 GMT 10
Title: Treat
Rating: R
Word Count: 818
Summary: Shenanigans?
The moon is full and white above the Palace Grounds; the wind is howling through the trees in rather an agreeable and spooky manner; the Riders are out in force, ghoulish and not a little inebriated.
All in all, Evin decides, not a bad show.
Of course, his mood is somewhat dampened by the fact that he’s been trudging through the Royal Forest for the last half an hour in search of a page he’d unwittingly scared into there. He hadn’t imagined his costume would be so effective. And naturally the little blighter fell and did his ankle, so now he’s forced to carry him to the infirmary.
Duke Baird takes the page off his hands as soon as they stumble through the door, which puts Evin in mind to kiss the old fellow, but he manages to restrain himself. Instead, he throws himself into a chair and breathes a long, deep sigh of relief. Pages aren’t as light as they used to be.
“Hullo, what’s this?” comes a voice, and Evin cracks open an eyelid. The disturber of his peace is that gnat Domitan of Masbolle, and he seems to be—
Evin opens both eyes as far as they’ll go and straightens in his chair. “Now I’ve seen everything. Are you wearing a dress?”
Wearing is an understatement. The thing is blue and silky, and exposes rather a lot of chest hair, not to mention muscles, and the fake wounds aren’t nearly as distracting as the rest of it. Dom blinks and gives him a wry sort of smile, and Evin will be damned if the blue silky monstrosity doesn’t match the sergeant’s eyes.
“Like you can talk,” says Dom. He has an axe in hand and a blonde wig tucked under his arm. Who knows what that’s about. “What exactly are you supposed to do, Larse, glitter me to death?”
Evin crosses his arms. “I’m a vampire. A specific one, actually—the Duke of Conté.”
Dom only looks puzzled at this.
“He came back from the dead,” explains Evin, defensively.
Much to Evin’s displeasure, Dom takes a seat beside him, looking for all the world as if he has no intention of moving. The blonde wig is dropped unceremoniously on the floor; the axe he leans against a chair leg. From this angle, the dress is alarmingly...no, it’s just alarming.
“Those wounds aren’t real,” says Evin. “So what are you doing in here?”
Dom shrugs and leans back, fingers linked behind his head. “Looking for my meathead cousin. Thought Baird might have seen him.”
“A likely story. I’ll wager the Own are getting their hides handed to them out there by my Riders.”
“I think the majority of the Own are too drunk to know their arses from their elbows at the moment, so you’re probably right.” Dom glances at him. “Are those vampire teeth?”
“When I commit to a costume, I commit fully.”
“How do you eat or drink?”
“Like this,” and before Evin’s brain can send the signal to his body to stop, stop right now! he’s leaning over and attaching his teeth to Dom’s bare shoulder.
Dom jumps in his seat. Evin draws back and grins, feeling mighty pleased with himself, before he registers just how close he is to the other man’s face, the stubbled jaw and bare neck, a thin layer of silk and lace across his hard chest. An exhaled breath flutters Evin’s hair, and he knows he shouldn’t look up and meet Dom’s eyes, but by the time he’s thought that it’s already too late.
“You still make a very poor vampire,” says Dom. Evin’s close enough to hear the way his voice scratches, close enough to count every ridiculous eyelash if he wanted to, and close enough to still be completely surprised when Dom lowers his head and kisses him.
Dom makes a low sound in his throat when Evin kisses him back, when he slips his tongue along the seam of their lips, his hand finding its way to Dom’s bicep and squeezing, the blood rushing from his head. It’s dizzying, it feels like his skin is on fire; Dom pulls him closer, half across his silk-clad lap, and even that feels like too much, blue silk sliding between them, and some blurred corner of Evin’s mind wonders how they managed to get so inappropriate so quickly.
“I think—” Evin begins, but Dom’s mouth is distracting and soft and hot, plus the hand that’s somehow found a way underneath his shirt is travelling down his back far, far too slowly for him to string a coherent sentence together. He tries again.
“I think,” says Evin, panting close to Dom’s mouth, “that Baird would not appreciate this.”
“I hate it when you’re right.”
“The barracks are too far.”
“Right again.”
“I don’t hear you making any suggestions,” Evin says.
Dom kisses him. He’s quite convincing.
“That’ll do.”
Rating: R
Word Count: 818
Summary: Shenanigans?
The moon is full and white above the Palace Grounds; the wind is howling through the trees in rather an agreeable and spooky manner; the Riders are out in force, ghoulish and not a little inebriated.
All in all, Evin decides, not a bad show.
Of course, his mood is somewhat dampened by the fact that he’s been trudging through the Royal Forest for the last half an hour in search of a page he’d unwittingly scared into there. He hadn’t imagined his costume would be so effective. And naturally the little blighter fell and did his ankle, so now he’s forced to carry him to the infirmary.
Duke Baird takes the page off his hands as soon as they stumble through the door, which puts Evin in mind to kiss the old fellow, but he manages to restrain himself. Instead, he throws himself into a chair and breathes a long, deep sigh of relief. Pages aren’t as light as they used to be.
“Hullo, what’s this?” comes a voice, and Evin cracks open an eyelid. The disturber of his peace is that gnat Domitan of Masbolle, and he seems to be—
Evin opens both eyes as far as they’ll go and straightens in his chair. “Now I’ve seen everything. Are you wearing a dress?”
Wearing is an understatement. The thing is blue and silky, and exposes rather a lot of chest hair, not to mention muscles, and the fake wounds aren’t nearly as distracting as the rest of it. Dom blinks and gives him a wry sort of smile, and Evin will be damned if the blue silky monstrosity doesn’t match the sergeant’s eyes.
“Like you can talk,” says Dom. He has an axe in hand and a blonde wig tucked under his arm. Who knows what that’s about. “What exactly are you supposed to do, Larse, glitter me to death?”
Evin crosses his arms. “I’m a vampire. A specific one, actually—the Duke of Conté.”
Dom only looks puzzled at this.
“He came back from the dead,” explains Evin, defensively.
Much to Evin’s displeasure, Dom takes a seat beside him, looking for all the world as if he has no intention of moving. The blonde wig is dropped unceremoniously on the floor; the axe he leans against a chair leg. From this angle, the dress is alarmingly...no, it’s just alarming.
“Those wounds aren’t real,” says Evin. “So what are you doing in here?”
Dom shrugs and leans back, fingers linked behind his head. “Looking for my meathead cousin. Thought Baird might have seen him.”
“A likely story. I’ll wager the Own are getting their hides handed to them out there by my Riders.”
“I think the majority of the Own are too drunk to know their arses from their elbows at the moment, so you’re probably right.” Dom glances at him. “Are those vampire teeth?”
“When I commit to a costume, I commit fully.”
“How do you eat or drink?”
“Like this,” and before Evin’s brain can send the signal to his body to stop, stop right now! he’s leaning over and attaching his teeth to Dom’s bare shoulder.
Dom jumps in his seat. Evin draws back and grins, feeling mighty pleased with himself, before he registers just how close he is to the other man’s face, the stubbled jaw and bare neck, a thin layer of silk and lace across his hard chest. An exhaled breath flutters Evin’s hair, and he knows he shouldn’t look up and meet Dom’s eyes, but by the time he’s thought that it’s already too late.
“You still make a very poor vampire,” says Dom. Evin’s close enough to hear the way his voice scratches, close enough to count every ridiculous eyelash if he wanted to, and close enough to still be completely surprised when Dom lowers his head and kisses him.
Dom makes a low sound in his throat when Evin kisses him back, when he slips his tongue along the seam of their lips, his hand finding its way to Dom’s bicep and squeezing, the blood rushing from his head. It’s dizzying, it feels like his skin is on fire; Dom pulls him closer, half across his silk-clad lap, and even that feels like too much, blue silk sliding between them, and some blurred corner of Evin’s mind wonders how they managed to get so inappropriate so quickly.
“I think—” Evin begins, but Dom’s mouth is distracting and soft and hot, plus the hand that’s somehow found a way underneath his shirt is travelling down his back far, far too slowly for him to string a coherent sentence together. He tries again.
“I think,” says Evin, panting close to Dom’s mouth, “that Baird would not appreciate this.”
“I hate it when you’re right.”
“The barracks are too far.”
“Right again.”
“I don’t hear you making any suggestions,” Evin says.
Dom kisses him. He’s quite convincing.
“That’ll do.”
And Team Underpants! It's wonderful, so sweet and hot and fun! 