Six Glittering Erections

By Kryss LaBryn

A/N: Of course, I own nothing.

There's a story behind this one: This was written as a response to a challenge on vendetta-fic and f-for-fanfiction (see my profile for the links, if you like) to write about V's 'six glittering erections', i.e. his knives.

See, the very talented vveritasv wrote a highly erotic (and award-winning!) fic about V using one of his daggers in a highly unusual manner. And, in one of our regular Sunday night chats, it was suggested that, since V in fact has six daggers, as well as his own equipment, and, heck, Guy's nose, he could actually handle quite a few fangirls at once, should he wish to do so.

And thus, a challenge was born…

Evey truly had no idea just why her mind was so firmly in the gutter that morning, although she rather suspected that falling asleep the night before while musing on Cyrano, his beaver cocked fiercely, his moustache bristling, his nose terrible to see-- might have had something to do with it. In any case, this particular morning, her mind was well and truly gutter-bound.

It was just as well, she mused as she sleepily wandered into the kitchen, eyes blurry, hair mussed, and pyjama-clad, that V didn't seem to be about. She was quite sure that if she saw Guy's rather large nose just then that she would utterly dissolve into helpless giggles, and she truly did not want to have to explain why. He would just stand there, stiff and polite, Stiff, she giggled to herself, And erect, with his head cocked cocked! to one side, politely wondering if anything was the matter.

She giggled slightly as she poured herself a cup of tea from the teapot keeping warm beneath a considerate cosy, and peered under the lid covering the bowl keeping warm upon the stove. Porridge, she thought as she carried it to the table and sat down; How does he manage to make even porridge taste so good? She rather suspected the lovely dark sugar and real cream were a big part of his secret.

Mmmmm… Cream… she thought, enjoying the sensation of the thick, rich cream sliding over her tongue, and instantly had a major struggle to swallow before she spewed her mouthful across the table. What's the difference between like and love? She quipped to herself, before finally giving in to the giggles.

"All right, Evey, that's enough," she finally muttered sternly to herself, drying her eyes on her sleeve. "Get hold of yourself; look, your porridge is congealing and your tea's gone cold. Straighten up!"

Taking a deep breath, she held it as long as she could, then did it twice more, until she felt she had the giggles firmly under control. "Fine, then," she muttered; "Can we eat now, please?"

She had actually managed to finish at least three bites when V swept into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Evey!" He swept his hat off into a low bow. "You look very… nice today. I trust you found everything to your taste?"

"Thank you, V; yes, I did. You seem remarkably… chipper."

"Do I?" He replaced his hat. "I suppose I do. Well, I have reason! Things are going well, Evey, my dear; very well indeed." He hefted the teapot. "Still some left; do you mind if I..?"

"No, no; by all means help yourself," said Evey, beginning to feel the giggles return. He was just so… dramatic when he was like this! Honestly, it was half like living with Cyrano himself. "Er, V…"

"Yes, Evey?" V gathered up a teacup from the cupboard and returned to the table, cocking cocking! his head as quizzically as she had expected.

"Er… Were you ever an actor, V? I mean, before?"

"I have no idea! Why do you ask?"

"Oh! Um… oh, no particular reason… I just thought that, you know, with the quotes and all…"

"Ahh!" He paused from doctoring his cup. "No, not so far as I am aware; although I might actually be Sir Lawrence Olivier." He paused. "That actually makes quite a lot of sense, actually…"

"I suppose," Evey eyed him slightly. Was V slightly more… manic than usual? "Except, of course, that he's dead…"

"Ah, yes; well, that would put a considerable crimp in that conceit. Pity, though…" He raised the cup to Guy's lips.

"Er, V… Er, you haven't had any… you haven't partaken of any interesting substances lately, have you?"

"No," he seemed honestly baffled by her question. "What makes you ask that?"

"Well, you seem a bit… off this morning."

"Do I? In what way?"

"Well, there's the way you keep saying 'actually'."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Plus, well, you're trying to drink your tea…"

"That was quite on purpose, I assure you. What else did you think I was going to do with it?"

"Well, yes, of course. But with your mask on?"

"My mask..?" He felt the rigid surface. "My mask! Of course! Dear me, whatever was I thinking?" He started rummaging through one of the drawers while Evey stared at him, trying to decide if it was odder that he might forget he had it on, or that he might have thought he was appearing before her without it.

V, sans mask… The thought felt disturbingly like picturing him fleshless; she was surprised at how queasy the image made her.

"Aha!" He swirled around, his cape billowing around him like a matador's, and brandished a funny green twisty-tube thing. "Perfect! One must always use the correct tool for the job, you know."

Evey stared in astonishment as he dropped one end in his tea, and deftly manoeuvred the other past Guy's slightly diabolical lips. A slowly rising current of tea traced its way around a large circle, and then through two slightly smaller ones, before disappearing behind the mask.

Odd, thought Evey, slightly stunned by the bizarre sight of the rather overly-dramatic masked terrorist calmly sucking his tea through a Mickey Mouse straw. Oh, dear; 'odd' doesn't even begin to cover V…

Cover V. Hehhh… Evey began to think she was losing her mind. Or at least her grasp on her sense of decency… Get out of the gutter, Evey; you're stepping on my head…

"Ah, excuse me, V," she managed to choke out, turning to flee.

"Of course, Evey," said V, somehow managing, even with the mask, to seem to be staring at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads. "Is anything the matter?"

"No, no; I just… A bit of porridge…" She gestured at her throat.

"Ah, of course."

She had almost made it out of the room when that wonderful, velvet voice added, "Of course, you haven't actually eaten any of it since I came in… Are you sure nothing's the matter?"

Damn him and his powers of observation! "Thanks, V; I'm fine. I just feel a bit… odd this morning. Nothing serious," she hastened to add as he began to rise. "Just… a girl thing. Finish your tea; I'll be fine." I just need to go soak my head in a bucket… or perhaps yours…

"Very well." With a last refined sluuurp he finished and rose. "If you're sure. I intend to go Above shortly; can I fetch you anything?"

"No thank you V I'm sure I'll be fine have fun bye!" Once again, she turned to flee before she completely lost control…

…Only to find her eyes, to her horror, irresistibly drawn back to him as, with a flourish, he threw back his cloak, his chest swelling slightly, his six daggers arcing slightly forward-- the sword-point sticking up 'neath his mantle like an insolent cocktail— pointing at her like six glittering erections, as he said, "Evey, Mahomet found in the first heaven a cock of such enormous size that its crest touched the second heaven. The crowing of this celestial bird arouses every living creature from sleep except Man." He paused, then added, "And women who live underground. Perhaps I can fetch you an alarm clock…"

She didn't fall to the ground, in a helpless giggling puddle of insanity. She managed to simply, somehow, mumble, "Excuse me," and walk very quickly to her room, get the door firmly shut behind her, and her face firmly buried in her pillow before she whooped with such gales of laughter that she finally felt quite dizzy.

Six glittering erections.

Plus his own, of course; even ideas must have them occasionally…

It was quite some time before she could look him in the eye without having to smother the giggles, much to the poor man's polite confusion. And for the rest of her life, whenever she pictured him and his knives, she had to smile.
A/N: Did I make you laugh? D you hate it? Then review and tell me so! It's that little blue button just down there, on the left...

"The sword-point sticking up 'neath his mantle like an insolent cocktail", and "his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see" are, of course, from the excellent Cyrano de Bergerac, by Edmond Rostand. V's "Mahomet's cock" lines (giggle!) are from E. Cobham Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1898.