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Triskell
Author of 90 Stories |
For my LJ friendslist:
As promised, I wrote drabbles (100 words) and some slightly longer pieces (though not above shortfic status) as Xmas pressies. I used, what I hope, are your favoured pairings and fandoms (I'm reasonably sure in case of those of you who told me ;D).
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters below. I just make good use of fandom ;D. No copyright infringement is intended.
PORTRAIT OF A STEWARD
© Triskell, Sept 2002 & Nov 2005
Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumber should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Sonnet 61, William Shakespeare
You are radiant, fascinating and dangerously charming. You're more than I can put into words.
I watch you when others have turned away, I listen when they have forgotten to. I'm your shadow; that's why you never notice me.
There are a thousand and one things I can do for you. Paying exorbitant sums for a lavish Latin name that I know to mean nothing more than a herb easily purchased in these parts. No one need know I see through your little schemes. I'm good with secrets. They come naturally in the dark.
You look at me and yet you never see me. You hold me captive though you'd never want a prisoner such as me.
I desire you. You're a dream and an anchor to reality – cruel in your flighty superficial kindness. You're sharp-edged, professional, and steadfast. You come first in your world and I'm glad for it. Those who bend are easily broken.
Everyone believes I hungered for the girl's attention, for her love. That only propriety and pride have kept me back. But the one unattainable desire I have is for you.
I won't save myself for you - I'm not that foolish. And yet, every night I will spend in her company, I wish it were yours. And it will be my cowardice that will end the story – my passion will fade with the morning and I'll teach myself the patient kindness that befits a man like me.
Your image won't be torture, but there'll be no more pleasure when we meet.
There was no brand on the Steward's skin. Yet his heart was tainted with a guiltily remembered touch.
Desire, need, restrained passion; flashes of gold and smooth, warm, tanned skin, the writhing shapes of shadows thrown against the wall of a cluttered room. Darkened amber eyes commanding him to look, sense, feel, shattering in utter surrender to the Alchemist's knowing touch.
The Steward loved his wife, but her kisses never had the tang of peppermint and sage that haunted his most restless dreams. And she never understood why he shivered when the Alchemist smiled at him across a crowded room.
Story and drabble sequel. Hope you like.
TEMPTATION
© Triskell, December 2005
Is it his fault or mine? The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?(x)
Tatsumi knew he had brought it upon himself. He really shouldn't have forgotten he had promised to take Watari out to dinner. Especially not over a budget report he could have finished the day after.
Although Watari wasn't usually easily offended, he certainly didn't take kindly to being forgotten like this. That was why he had been prancing about Tatsumi's office for the past hour, progressively losing his clothes.
Lab coat and pullover had gone, as had the jeans and the stretchy black top, shoes and socks. Currently, Watari only wore a tiny black thong. It was definitely not easy keeping one's mind focused on figures and papers.
"Guess what I'm wearing?"
"I'm working, Watari. I have to finish this tonight."
"As you had to finish the report yesterday? I know when it was due, namely tomorrow."
"I have apologized."
"By making breakfast and leaving a note for me when I woke up alone."
Tatsumi winced inwardly, a gesture of embarrassment totally lost on Watari, "I understand you are offended, but you don't need to rub it in."
"I'm not rubbing anything, Tatsumi. Not yet, at any rate, although the chair across from you looks tempting."
Tatsumi looked up in alarm, "You're not going to… here?"
"Why shouldn't I – it's long past office hours, the door's locked, and you're not going to take any interest if I wank in front of you."
"That's enough, Watari."
"Enough? Not even close. You owe me."
"I have work to do, don't tease me."
"Are those your priorities – work, work, work, and somewhere along the line there's Watari?"
The intimation of banter was gone from Watari's voice, instead his tone was calculating, cool, "I give you an ultimatum, then. Either you come home in the next half hour and spend the night with me – and take tomorrow off from work," at this Tatsumi did flinch visibly, "or you pack your things and our relationship's over."
When Tatsumi looked up, another apology on his lips, Watari had already teleported. Tatsumi's body was tensed for a fight, his trousers were a little too tight. It took him five minutes to get a grip of his wayward heart beat, but his decision was made more easily than he had thought possible.
(x) Shakespeare, of course, "Measure for Measure", one of Angelo's lines. It always sends shivers across my back, not only because I hear Liam Brennan say it.
100 words without title
WILLING CAPTIVE
© Triskell, December 2005
Wearing only a golden silk yukata that enhanced his pale skin, Watari seemed ethereal, glowing in the darkened room, bound to a chair with black writhing shadows.
As the silk fell apart, it revealed flexing muscles in strong thighs that parted as Tatsumi's eyes roamed up the bulging black thong.
"Did you really think I could resist you?"
Watari grinned mischievously as two stick figures jumped onto his lap, undoing the thong, "That's good of you Tatsumi. Come here and I'll give you your reward."
Tatsumi smiled as he went to his knees, "I think I'd rather take it myself."Drabble: 100 words without title
I apologise for the cheesiness, but I couldn't resist. Think of it as a Tatari version of eggnog ;D.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei (Tatari)
PERFECT FIT
© Triskell, Nov 2005
Watari's like a jigsaw – millions of pieces to him that Tatsumi painstakingly puts together – but the puzzle's never complete.
'I care for you deeply' Tatsumi says in a long letter tied to a special present.
Watari runs his hands slowly across the rippling silk yutaka, brow furrowed as he contemplates the black fabric highlighted by glowing golden patterns.
Then Watari's smiling and his body leans subtly towards Tatsumi's, "Light and shadow complement each other. And so do we."
Another jigsaw reforms itself in Tatsumi's head. Watari hasn't even looked at the letter, but he whispers three words in Tatsumi's ear.
I liked the visual image of Cedric/Harry in film 4. I never thought I could write the pairing though. Guess what, it wrote itself ;D. 100 words without the title. I'm sorry that it's kinda sad, but then, that's canon…
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Harry Potter (Cedric/Harry)
MEMORIES
© Triskell, 30 Nov 2005
Harry often wakes at night. But it's been two years and the nightmares are less vivid. The blood on the battlefield has replaced the ghost of green fire that ripped across a silent graveyard.
The pain of loss keeps hanging around Harry, cocooning him. But sometimes, Harry sleeps and dreams. Of strawberry flavoured bubble baths and long, lean limbs; of slippery smooth skin rubbing together; of eyes that saw him as he came undone for the first time in someone's arms. These dreams end with laughter and a lingering kiss – but there are tears in Harry's eyes the morning after.
The idea was persistent – I hope you like. Drabble and a half: 150 words without title
Rating: light R
Fandom: Yami No Matsuei (Tatari)
PUNISHMENT
© Triskell, Nov 2005
"Don't, Watari, ..."
Tatsumi groaned, head falling back. Wet sucking echoed loudly in Tatsumi's ears and Watari's fingers were pushing into him, slippery, sure and there, too much sensation and Tatsumi's world shattered.
Watari gentled him through the aftershocks, as Tatsumi's fingers clenched and unclenched against Watari's scalp. Finally, Watari released Tatsumi's softening cock, meeting Tatsumi's slitted eyes, "You thought I wouldn't find out?"
An eyebrow shot up, "I only took a few hits from the demon. That's no reason to drug me, tie me up and molest me."
Watari's grin was sudden and … evil, "You never complained. I warned you last time you played lone ranger: You get hurt, I get you back up. Pleasure for pain."
Tatsumi found no words to reply.
There was a predatory glint in Watari's eyes, "Sooooo, there was that psycho abducting schoolgirls you took care of for Wakaba… your place or mine?"
It was meant to be a drabble, but ended up as a tad more. Nothing I felt I could cut, though, so I left it like this ;D.
Rating: PG-13 (character death)SALUTE
© Triskell, 30 Nov 2005
You can die only so many times. Once only, in fact. Therefore, you have to do it right – either heroically, or quickly, but always with style, a flourish. There won't be another chance, so your death should be memorable, at least in your eyes. It should give meaning to your life.
Facing off a man he'd known better than most and more intimately than anyone else, Snape was sure he wouldn't have the chance to go in style. He no longer had a wand and he was merely a bruised shell of flesh after hours of torture. More importantly, he was utterly alone, at his captors' mercy. At Igor's mercy.
Only mercy was a word unsuited to Igor. Death would be painful, but worse, it would be humiliating. The quick exit into oblivion would be closed.
Snape only had a moment for surprise, when the green flash came – unlooked for, but most welcome. So welcome that a half-smile formed and lingered even as the curse ended Snape's life.
Snape didn't see the brief flash of pain in the dark eyes that watched him fall. He would have been stunned had he known that his death was the last courtesy of the one person who understood him completely and loved him despite of it.
THAT DEAR PERFECTION (y)
Legolas just couldn't understand it. There he had spent so much time bent over, patient, sweet smelling concoctions in his hand and Gimli refused to even look at him. But if a dwarf was stubborn, so was an elf, and therefore Legolas continued staring at Gimli, waiting for his lover to look at him again.
It took twenty-two hours and forty-five minutes. "Why would you do such a thing, Legolas?"
"I had hoped you would like it, mellon nîn."
"It's garish, attention-seeking and looks horrible."
"I have been told that blondes have more fun."
Gimli snorted, "By Haldir, no doubt."
"Actually, no. He did mention something along those lines, but it was really Galadriel who," Legolas coughed discreetly, "showed me the way."
The look of utter, horrified confusion on Gimli's face was priceless. Legolas laughed.
"But …"
"Does it really matter so much? I can still do this…" Legolas wrapped a tendril of silken hair around Gimli's half-hard cock, brushing the end of another strand teasingly against the tip of Gimli's cock. There was a low growl, more a grunt than a moan.
Gimli sighed, "Will it come off?"
"In a few moons, mellon nîn. It washes out gradually."
"Then we will bath daily from now on." As someone who believed that frequent bathing was the surest way to catch his death, Gimli had to, indeed, take this very seriously.
"But, till then, I'll make do." Gimli wrapped his arms around his – now blonde – lover and pulled him on top of him. Golden tresses spilled across them and Gimli managed to growl only a little when a few of them got into his eyes.
Love him or leave him.
Whether brown-haired or blonde, Legolas was still his elf.
(y) So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes, without that title. (I thought it was fitting ;D. "Romeo & Juliet", balcony scene.)
OLD AND NEW
© Triskell, December 2005
Roger had lost two loves. Each Christmas, he brought two white roses to the dilapidated church in the East Village for them.
Draughty and eerily silent, there was a tinge of magic in the light streaming through multi-coloured fractured glass windows. He hadn't seen the beauty when he hid there one late night, running from his pain.
But Mark had seen it when he found him, wrapped a scarf round his neck, took his hand. He said as much, body wrapping around Roger's to keep him warm. And Roger had found the will to live deep again, to survive.
Cold fingers stole into his hand and a firm body pressed against his, driving out the chill. He turned with one last glance at the roses lying side by side – precious but untouchable. Mark's warm, firm kiss was real.
I'm sorry this is rather darkish; I just couldn't make it light and fluffy, no matter how I tried.
100 words without title.
Fandom: LotR (Boromir/Faramir)
Rating: light R
FORBIDDEN
© Triskell, December 2005
Desires are best suited to darkness, especially those seen as improper, tainted.
"Did you care for her?" Faramir whispers as Boromir rubs their cocks together.
"No," a firm denial, because there is no one like Faramir, no man more Boromir's equal, no companion better suited, no lover more desirable to him than his little brother.
Shadows keep them safe as does Boromir's laddish sporting with young girls. He's quick to flirt, to tease, and to seduce. But he knows there's only one heart that he breaks - the one he seeks most to protect.
A bitter, worthless bargain – enforced secrecy.
NEST-BUILDING
© Triskell, December 2005
Their little abode is bare; sometimes the wind blows in through the curtains that keep out snow and rain. They will get cushions and blankets sometime.
When they come home, they smile at each other and suddenly their darkish little place lights up and fills with warmth. They snuggle together to keep out the chill and the closer they get, the nicer it feels to hear the wind howling around them.
The outside noises ebb away until all they can hear is each other's breath and heartbeats as they slowly drift to sleep, safe as missel thrushes(z) in their nests.
(z) "If tha' was a missel thrush an' showed me where thy nest was, does tha' think I'd tell anyone? Not me", he said, "Tha' art as safe as a missel thrush."
Dickon to Mary, "Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett – still one of my favourite books and this is a line that always makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
BLOOD BROTHERS
© Triskell, December 2005
They have known each other for a while now. Not a long time, but long enough to have a feeling for the other's presence and emotions.
Perhaps it is only because they both are men – human, fragile, fallible – but as they walk in silence or in conversation side by side through glens and over mountains, bracing wind and rain and cold, they form an understanding that no words or actions ever fully break.
A happy few, the band of brothers in this fellowship; but they are the two most closely linked – by flesh and blood, and oaths and silent tears.
Notes
