7 people watching
Title: Performance
Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Summary: You can see there's something weird about about the puppet master.
You can see there’s something really quite weird about the puppet master.
Not that anybody who uses a puppet isn’t a bit weird. Puppets are kind of creepy, everybody knows that. But there’s something particular about this guy. Maybe it’s because his face is so smooth, so … unemotional. And the puppet’s so lively, so bouncy, so … open.
He waves at you, beckons you over and you go to get more of an idea of what’s so weird. The puppet is called Ukon, he’s flirting with all the ladies in the crowd. The puppet master quietly tells him off which you suppose is a ploy. It’s a classic thing, right? Pretending the puppet is alive and scolding it for doing things it shouldn’t.
Apparently, the puppeteer’s name is Sakon. He is clearly skilled, you can never see his lips move when Ukon talks. Ukon talks a lot too, whole, complicated sentences. But then, Sakon is apparently a master. When you ask, Ukon tells you the name of his school very proudly.
“Don’t boast, Ukon,” Sakon murmurs and Ukon rolls his wooden eyes and pats Sakon’s cheek.
“Too modest, Sakon!”
You’re not sure that he is too modest. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The more you watch, the more sure that you are that this is different. You wish you knew his secret but you don’t think that Sakon will tell you.
You wait around a bit, wondering if he’ll put Ukon away but he doesn’t. When he’s finished, he picks up his things, Ukon still on his arm. You can hear Ukon talking to him, except it’s not, is it, it’s Sakon talking to himself, not performing, just talking and you think that he might be quite, quite weird. Talented but … strange.
You won’t forget it.
Title: Cursed
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 290
Summary: Mordred's early years with the mercenaries are usually spent watching.
He quickly learned it was best to keep out of the way of the men.
They let him stay because he was quick on his feet, because he’d clearly survived a long time, because he was a good hunter. Because at that point, he was young enough to be a lure in robbery. Because he was young and pretty and that was always useful.
Mordred didn’t tell them about his magic. He didn’t want anybody to know, not any more. It wasn’t safe and sometimes … sometimes these days, he wished he wasn’t magic at all.
He watched the mercenaries. He had learned that watching people kept your safe. He learned their ticks, their likes, their dislikes. He learned how to tell when they were angry, when they needed to be avoided. Learning that saved him numerous pains. And avoiding them when they were angry meant they usually only remembered him when he was useful. It meant they were happy to keep him.
He wanted to be somewhere else. He wanted it often. But there was nowhere else, not any more. He wasn’t safe. Not himself. Not with other people.
Sometimes he thought about Morgana. There were stories about her, a lot of stories. He hoped that most of them weren’t true. People would be lying about her, wouldn’t they? After all, he remembered her. He remembered how kind she’d been to him, how generous …
And sometimes that made him wonder, was it him who had changed her? Was it his fault?
Sometimes Mordred thought that he was some sort of curse. That everywhere he went, terrible things would happen. People would die. And somehow, it would be his fault.
Sometimes, Mordred thought magic itself might be a curse.
Title: Interesting
Fandom: Getbackers
Rating: G
Word Count: 105
Summary: Akabane watches the Getbackers.
They are really such very interesting young men.
Ginji-kun, he could be so powerful, if he chose to be, yet he does not - in fact, he chooses not to be powerful, most of the time. The flashes of it that I see are so very, very wonderful. He could be the most amazing opponent … if he chose to be.
But he does not. He chooses to stay with Ban Midou, who does choose to exhibit his power - or at least, claims that he does. He throws his skills around, behaves as a brash man who hides nothing - and yet hides so much.
So interesting.
Title: Hero
Fandom: Death Note
Rating: PG
Word Count: 513
Summary: Mello has great attachment to Blkae's 7. Spoilers for the ending of Blake's 7 in here.
Mello generally hated television.
He had a tendency of being disparaging about all the characters, insulting their looks, life choices and general decisions. It could be quite difficult to enjoy any television when he was in the room.
There were two exceptions to this rule. One was Thunderbirds (although nobody was entirely sure why.) The other was Blake’s 7.
Technically, Mello was not supposed to be watching Blake’s 7. Nobody was quite sure how he’d managed to sneak into the room with the older ones to watch it - Mello was hardly inconspicuous. But by the time everybody realised that he’d been sneaking in and watching it, they were half way through season 2 and Mello had found a new hero.
“I’m going to be Avon when I grow up,” he informed Roger proudly when he was called in to account for himself.
“Mello, that isn’t quite the role model that I was hoping you to pick … ” Roger said sadly.
“Avon,” Mello said haughtily. “Wouldn’t care what you think. Therefore I don’t either.”
Roger gave up in despair.
Mello remained glued to Blake’s 7. He was rather good at quoting Avon. He was also rather good at making up his own idea of things that Avon would say. Roger thought there wasn’t much point trying to put him off. He hoped that the few vaguely decent qualities Avon displayed throughout the show might actually rub off on Mello and that Mello wouldn’t just adopt the tendency of being rude to everyone.
Not that Mello wasn’t already rude to everyone.
Sadly, Mello showed very little sign of this. Avon might be his hero but he clearly wasn’t exempt from criticism.
“I’d have dumped Vila by now. Vila’s an idiot. I want them to blow more things up.”
“You’re obsessed with fire,” Matt said, blowing something up on his computer. “It’s very unhealthy.”
“You’re an idiot,” Mello said. “I wonder when he’s going to shag Servalan?”
Matt chose to ignore the comment. As he wasn’t actually allowed to watch the show, he wasn’t really able to say anything in any case but everybody was learning not to argue with Mello about matters Avon.
A few weeks later, Mello stalked into their room, sat down with a thump and announced “He was fine.”
“Okay,” Matt said peaceably.
“It might have looked bad but he was fine. Takes more than that to kill Avon. It was clearly a brilliant plan. That he carried off. Brilliantly.”
“… okay,” Matt said after a pause. “Um, what exactly was going to kill him?”
“He was surrounded by soldiers,” Mello said. “With guns at his head. And everybody else was already shot.”
“Right,” Matt said. “Are you … sure he wasn’t dead?”
“Yes. He was absolutely fine, he ducked, he defeated everyone and now he’s very happy. Somewhere.”
“Not missing his friends at all?” Matt asked.
Mello made a grumpy noise and vanished under the duvet. Matt raised his eyebrow and searched the ending of Blake’s 7 on his computer.
“Mello.”
“What?”
“He’s definitely dead.”
“Shut the fuck up, Matt.”
Title: First Night
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 549
Summary: Avon lying awake on the first night on the London.
Avon had chosen the very top bunk of one of the stacks. He didn’t like the idea of being below anybody, for all sorts of reasons. He made sure to tuck himself in securely in case of turbulence and then lay there, glaring hatefully at the ceiling.
This wasn’t how it should have been! He wasn’t supposed to be in this place, he was supposed to be safe and rich and free! Not lying on a hard bed, surrounded by idiots who had got themselves caught.
He turned a disparaging eye on the bunks below him. Some people were lying very still, either asleep or pretending to be so. Avon could hear the faint sounds of muffled sobs from some of the bunks. He felt his lip curl with scorn. Pathetic. What good did crying do now? What good had crying ever done anybody? The last time he’d cried had been when Anna -
No. No, he wouldn’t think of that. He would not think of her, not here, not in this place.
He searched out the woman in the group - Stannis, that was her name. She was in a middle bunk, eyes closed, apparently asleep already. Avon doubted it, he doubted anybody was asleep yet. Nobody slept that easily on a first night, not unless they were supremely confident. Although Stannis did seem stronger than some of the others here. Not that he planned to get to know anybody here if he could help it. Attachments were an unnecessary problem that could easily be avoided.
He continued looking at the figures in the bunks. The little idiot - Vila, that was is - was on one of the lower bunks. He was leaning up to whisper something to the big man above him. Avon was not at all surprised to see that Vila had found himself someone larger to cling onto. Vila was that type. He would always find somebody bigger to hide behind, no matter what he had to do to keep them protective.
The thought made his lip curl. All that tediousness would likely begin soon too. If the Federation just had to keep everyone drugged, couldn’t they add something to suppress sex drive too? Apparently not. Perhaps they found it amusing. Perhaps some drives were too strong to be suppressed.
He suddenly realised that as he had been watching the others, someone had been watching him. Roj Blake. He had chosen a bunk at the top too, probably for similar reasons and he was staring at Avon in a thoughtful way. Avon glared back for a moment, then deliberately looked away, staring at the ceiling again.
He wasn’t sure what to make of Blake, not quite. The man acted like a leader, which could be dangerous. Did he actually have a plan that would benefit them all or was it just for the sake of Blake? Usually, Avon would have assumed the second without question but Blake seemed … different. Blake might actually mean it, which was dangerous. Avon would have to watch him.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes. Well, at least he wouldn’t be totally bored out of his mind, not for a while. And one way or another, he would get out of this.
No matter what he had to do to manage it.
Title: On The Flight Deck
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG=13
Pairing: Blake/Avon, one-sided Vila/Avon.
Word Count: 633
Summary: Vila shouldn't watch Blake and Avon but he does.
Vila knows he shouldn’t watch.
People, on the whole, don’t like to be watched. At any time. They certainly don’t like to be watched while kissing. It’s bad manners, that.
On the other hand, if they really don’t want to be watched while kissing, they probably shouldn’t be doing it on the flight deck. So it’s actually a bit Blake and Avon’s fault that he’s currently staring at them. Because they’re kissing on the flight deck.
And it’s really quite interesting. Not because it’s arousing or anything (though it is a bit, Vila quite likes to watch, always has) but because it’s Blake and it’s Avon and if Vila had been asked, he’d have imagined that coupling would have been all teeth and clawing and fighting.
Its not. It’s really slow and gentle looking. They’ve both got their eyes closed and it looks like they’ve been at it a while, just sitting there and kissing each other. Blake has an arm around Avon’s shoulders, Avon has a hand on Blake’s jaw and cheek, cradling his face. Vila wonders if they’ve been possessed by sexy aliens. Or just gone mad. He always thought they would all go mad, cooped up on here, except when Blake takes them on deadly missions. Perhaps Blake and Avon have already gone insane.
So really, he’s only watching them to try and find out, right? He is attempting to save the crew from sexy aliens or insanity.
Avon sighs and slides against Blake in a wonderfully loose-limbed way that makes Vila ache just to see it. Blake shivers and pulls back. It’s not what Vila would have done. Vila would have grabbed and hung on for dear life. Madness then. Only explanation.
“Avon … I can’t.”
Avon makes a sound that’s clearly one of frustration and sits up. Oh, Blake has to be mad, Avon’s all rumpled and confused looking and Vila would take him in a heartbeat if it were him that Avon was trying to press against.
(on the other hand, it probably rules out sexy aliens)
“I’m sorry,” Blake says it quietly and Vila believes it. “If I could … ”
“If you could, you wouldn’t,” Avon says it with stinging bitterness. “If you could, you wouldn’t let me anywhere near you, would you?”
Blake looks away, clearly not planning on answering. Probably, they’ve had the conversation - whatever it is - before and he doesn’t see it going anywhere different. Vila wishes they would though, he’d quite like to hear it. Avon stands up, probably searching for insults but when he sees Blake isn’t looking at him, Vila sees his face change into something … a bit lost. Just for a moment, it’s like Avon isn’t the machine Vila always sees. He’s not sure what he sees instead, mind. He’s not sure if he likes it either. Now they are no longer kissing and the chance of sexy aliens is gone, he probably ought to slip back to his room and pretend he never left it. But he lingers, just a little longer, just in time to see Avon’s hand reach out to touch the very top of Blake’s curls, just one more moment of tenderness that he’s never seen the two of them share at any other time.
Vila doesn’t get it. He suspects, like most things Blake and Avon, it’s probably not actually anything that a normal, simple man like him can understand. Just another thing on The Liberator that doesn’t quite make sense.
He goes to bed and has pleasant, half-awake dreams about Avon, that slow kissing and those gorgeous, sliding limbs. Well, if Blake doesn’t want, maybe one day, Vila can have instead. It’s not impossible. People get desperate, don’t they? And if Blake won’t give, well …
Well. Vila’s a good thief.
Title: Hiding
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG
Pairing: Avon/Vila
Word Count: 741
Summary: Spoilers for Season 4 episode Orbit. Vila doesn't want to see Avon.
After locking the door, Vila piled as much furniture in front of it as possible. He didn’t trust the door locks. They were electronic and even if Avon couldn’t open it himself - which he probably could - Orac would do it. That horrible little monster. Yeah, he’d open the door for Avon, he pretty much did everything Avon asked these days. Vila didn’t want that door opened.
He glared at the door uneasily, still not sure it was enough. He didn’t want Avon to come in. And Avon would, he’d come because he would probably think that he could talk Vila round, stupid, stupid Vila would just forget that only hours ago, Avon was calling his name all silky-soft, planning to … planning to …
Vila dug under his bed for a bottle of wine and gulped some down. It didn’t really help but hopefully if he kept drinking, he could eventually pass out and that would be better. Except then if Avon somehow sneaked in, he’d be all helpless … not that he wasn’t helpless in front of Avon anyway, Avon was stronger than him, he could hold Vila down if he wanted, even if he didn’t have a gun, he could …
Of course, Avon wouldn’t. He was being stupid, like he always was, only about different things. Avon didn’t have any reason to kill him, not now. Now they were safe, Vila’s occasional usefulness would matter more and he’d be left alone or insulted until Avon needed him. It was fine. Just fine.
Except it wasn’t. And it never, ever would be.
He kept thinking about how Avon had sounded. Soft. Coaxing. He’d thought Vila wouldn’t see through that? Avon, who barked and snapped and yelled? Did he really think Vila was that stupid?
Well. He probably was. He’d heard Avon sound like that before, but only in private, only when it was dark and hot and Avon was pressed tight against him, whispering in his ear: Vila, Vila, just like that, yes, that’s good, Vila …
That had probably been a lie too. Avon just wanting stuff from him so pouring on the sweetness. Stupid Vila, falling for that. He betted Dayna wouldn’t have done. Or Cally or any of the others. They’d have remembered that Avon was poisonous, in and out. They wouldn’t have let him in bed - or if they had, they’d have remembered it was meaningless, that Avon was just playing his own game, like he always did. Vila had thought he’d known it, thought he’d remembered but he clearly hadn’t, he’d clearly let himself forget, let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, what they did together meant something sometimes, that it was something that made them both feel good, that it was something - well.
He’d thought they were friends.
There was a faint sound at his door and Vila jerked, spilling some of the wine over his hand. He stared at the door, gulping at the air, praying it wouldn’t open. There was another sound, as though someone was trying to operate the lock. Then nothing.
Vila huddled, staring at the door for a long, long time. Had Avon gone? Had he ever been there? Maybe it had been one of the others … although they would have called out, wouldn’t they? They’d have wanted to know why the door was locked, why Vila was hiding. They didn’t understand …
Maybe Vila had imagined it. That was more likely. Why would Avon come? Why would Avon even care? He was being stupid, thinking that Avon would bother, now. He was being an idiot. Again. Avon wouldn’t come. He wouldn’t come again. Vila ought to be happy about that. He was happy about that.
He just didn’t feel safe, that was all. He hadn’t felt safe for a long time but he felt less safe now. The Avon he’d believed in, the Avon he’d let himself trust was gone and he was stuck with Tarrant who didn’t like him, Dayna who tolerated him and Soolin who … well. He wasn’t sure what Soolin thought. But probably not much.
With a miserable sigh, he crept into bed, cuddling the mostly empty bottle to him. He didn’t want to think any more. It might seem better in the morning. He’d have to make it work somehow. After all, he had nowhere else to go.
Outside, Avon stood staring silently at the door for a long, long time.
Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Summary: You can see there's something weird about about the puppet master.
You can see there’s something really quite weird about the puppet master.
Not that anybody who uses a puppet isn’t a bit weird. Puppets are kind of creepy, everybody knows that. But there’s something particular about this guy. Maybe it’s because his face is so smooth, so … unemotional. And the puppet’s so lively, so bouncy, so … open.
He waves at you, beckons you over and you go to get more of an idea of what’s so weird. The puppet is called Ukon, he’s flirting with all the ladies in the crowd. The puppet master quietly tells him off which you suppose is a ploy. It’s a classic thing, right? Pretending the puppet is alive and scolding it for doing things it shouldn’t.
Apparently, the puppeteer’s name is Sakon. He is clearly skilled, you can never see his lips move when Ukon talks. Ukon talks a lot too, whole, complicated sentences. But then, Sakon is apparently a master. When you ask, Ukon tells you the name of his school very proudly.
“Don’t boast, Ukon,” Sakon murmurs and Ukon rolls his wooden eyes and pats Sakon’s cheek.
“Too modest, Sakon!”
You’re not sure that he is too modest. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The more you watch, the more sure that you are that this is different. You wish you knew his secret but you don’t think that Sakon will tell you.
You wait around a bit, wondering if he’ll put Ukon away but he doesn’t. When he’s finished, he picks up his things, Ukon still on his arm. You can hear Ukon talking to him, except it’s not, is it, it’s Sakon talking to himself, not performing, just talking and you think that he might be quite, quite weird. Talented but … strange.
You won’t forget it.
Title: Cursed
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 290
Summary: Mordred's early years with the mercenaries are usually spent watching.
He quickly learned it was best to keep out of the way of the men.
They let him stay because he was quick on his feet, because he’d clearly survived a long time, because he was a good hunter. Because at that point, he was young enough to be a lure in robbery. Because he was young and pretty and that was always useful.
Mordred didn’t tell them about his magic. He didn’t want anybody to know, not any more. It wasn’t safe and sometimes … sometimes these days, he wished he wasn’t magic at all.
He watched the mercenaries. He had learned that watching people kept your safe. He learned their ticks, their likes, their dislikes. He learned how to tell when they were angry, when they needed to be avoided. Learning that saved him numerous pains. And avoiding them when they were angry meant they usually only remembered him when he was useful. It meant they were happy to keep him.
He wanted to be somewhere else. He wanted it often. But there was nowhere else, not any more. He wasn’t safe. Not himself. Not with other people.
Sometimes he thought about Morgana. There were stories about her, a lot of stories. He hoped that most of them weren’t true. People would be lying about her, wouldn’t they? After all, he remembered her. He remembered how kind she’d been to him, how generous …
And sometimes that made him wonder, was it him who had changed her? Was it his fault?
Sometimes Mordred thought that he was some sort of curse. That everywhere he went, terrible things would happen. People would die. And somehow, it would be his fault.
Sometimes, Mordred thought magic itself might be a curse.
Title: Interesting
Fandom: Getbackers
Rating: G
Word Count: 105
Summary: Akabane watches the Getbackers.
They are really such very interesting young men.
Ginji-kun, he could be so powerful, if he chose to be, yet he does not - in fact, he chooses not to be powerful, most of the time. The flashes of it that I see are so very, very wonderful. He could be the most amazing opponent … if he chose to be.
But he does not. He chooses to stay with Ban Midou, who does choose to exhibit his power - or at least, claims that he does. He throws his skills around, behaves as a brash man who hides nothing - and yet hides so much.
So interesting.
Title: Hero
Fandom: Death Note
Rating: PG
Word Count: 513
Summary: Mello has great attachment to Blkae's 7. Spoilers for the ending of Blake's 7 in here.
Mello generally hated television.
He had a tendency of being disparaging about all the characters, insulting their looks, life choices and general decisions. It could be quite difficult to enjoy any television when he was in the room.
There were two exceptions to this rule. One was Thunderbirds (although nobody was entirely sure why.) The other was Blake’s 7.
Technically, Mello was not supposed to be watching Blake’s 7. Nobody was quite sure how he’d managed to sneak into the room with the older ones to watch it - Mello was hardly inconspicuous. But by the time everybody realised that he’d been sneaking in and watching it, they were half way through season 2 and Mello had found a new hero.
“I’m going to be Avon when I grow up,” he informed Roger proudly when he was called in to account for himself.
“Mello, that isn’t quite the role model that I was hoping you to pick … ” Roger said sadly.
“Avon,” Mello said haughtily. “Wouldn’t care what you think. Therefore I don’t either.”
Roger gave up in despair.
Mello remained glued to Blake’s 7. He was rather good at quoting Avon. He was also rather good at making up his own idea of things that Avon would say. Roger thought there wasn’t much point trying to put him off. He hoped that the few vaguely decent qualities Avon displayed throughout the show might actually rub off on Mello and that Mello wouldn’t just adopt the tendency of being rude to everyone.
Not that Mello wasn’t already rude to everyone.
Sadly, Mello showed very little sign of this. Avon might be his hero but he clearly wasn’t exempt from criticism.
“I’d have dumped Vila by now. Vila’s an idiot. I want them to blow more things up.”
“You’re obsessed with fire,” Matt said, blowing something up on his computer. “It’s very unhealthy.”
“You’re an idiot,” Mello said. “I wonder when he’s going to shag Servalan?”
Matt chose to ignore the comment. As he wasn’t actually allowed to watch the show, he wasn’t really able to say anything in any case but everybody was learning not to argue with Mello about matters Avon.
A few weeks later, Mello stalked into their room, sat down with a thump and announced “He was fine.”
“Okay,” Matt said peaceably.
“It might have looked bad but he was fine. Takes more than that to kill Avon. It was clearly a brilliant plan. That he carried off. Brilliantly.”
“… okay,” Matt said after a pause. “Um, what exactly was going to kill him?”
“He was surrounded by soldiers,” Mello said. “With guns at his head. And everybody else was already shot.”
“Right,” Matt said. “Are you … sure he wasn’t dead?”
“Yes. He was absolutely fine, he ducked, he defeated everyone and now he’s very happy. Somewhere.”
“Not missing his friends at all?” Matt asked.
Mello made a grumpy noise and vanished under the duvet. Matt raised his eyebrow and searched the ending of Blake’s 7 on his computer.
“Mello.”
“What?”
“He’s definitely dead.”
“Shut the fuck up, Matt.”
Title: First Night
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 549
Summary: Avon lying awake on the first night on the London.
Avon had chosen the very top bunk of one of the stacks. He didn’t like the idea of being below anybody, for all sorts of reasons. He made sure to tuck himself in securely in case of turbulence and then lay there, glaring hatefully at the ceiling.
This wasn’t how it should have been! He wasn’t supposed to be in this place, he was supposed to be safe and rich and free! Not lying on a hard bed, surrounded by idiots who had got themselves caught.
He turned a disparaging eye on the bunks below him. Some people were lying very still, either asleep or pretending to be so. Avon could hear the faint sounds of muffled sobs from some of the bunks. He felt his lip curl with scorn. Pathetic. What good did crying do now? What good had crying ever done anybody? The last time he’d cried had been when Anna -
No. No, he wouldn’t think of that. He would not think of her, not here, not in this place.
He searched out the woman in the group - Stannis, that was her name. She was in a middle bunk, eyes closed, apparently asleep already. Avon doubted it, he doubted anybody was asleep yet. Nobody slept that easily on a first night, not unless they were supremely confident. Although Stannis did seem stronger than some of the others here. Not that he planned to get to know anybody here if he could help it. Attachments were an unnecessary problem that could easily be avoided.
He continued looking at the figures in the bunks. The little idiot - Vila, that was is - was on one of the lower bunks. He was leaning up to whisper something to the big man above him. Avon was not at all surprised to see that Vila had found himself someone larger to cling onto. Vila was that type. He would always find somebody bigger to hide behind, no matter what he had to do to keep them protective.
The thought made his lip curl. All that tediousness would likely begin soon too. If the Federation just had to keep everyone drugged, couldn’t they add something to suppress sex drive too? Apparently not. Perhaps they found it amusing. Perhaps some drives were too strong to be suppressed.
He suddenly realised that as he had been watching the others, someone had been watching him. Roj Blake. He had chosen a bunk at the top too, probably for similar reasons and he was staring at Avon in a thoughtful way. Avon glared back for a moment, then deliberately looked away, staring at the ceiling again.
He wasn’t sure what to make of Blake, not quite. The man acted like a leader, which could be dangerous. Did he actually have a plan that would benefit them all or was it just for the sake of Blake? Usually, Avon would have assumed the second without question but Blake seemed … different. Blake might actually mean it, which was dangerous. Avon would have to watch him.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes. Well, at least he wouldn’t be totally bored out of his mind, not for a while. And one way or another, he would get out of this.
No matter what he had to do to manage it.
Title: On The Flight Deck
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG=13
Pairing: Blake/Avon, one-sided Vila/Avon.
Word Count: 633
Summary: Vila shouldn't watch Blake and Avon but he does.
Vila knows he shouldn’t watch.
People, on the whole, don’t like to be watched. At any time. They certainly don’t like to be watched while kissing. It’s bad manners, that.
On the other hand, if they really don’t want to be watched while kissing, they probably shouldn’t be doing it on the flight deck. So it’s actually a bit Blake and Avon’s fault that he’s currently staring at them. Because they’re kissing on the flight deck.
And it’s really quite interesting. Not because it’s arousing or anything (though it is a bit, Vila quite likes to watch, always has) but because it’s Blake and it’s Avon and if Vila had been asked, he’d have imagined that coupling would have been all teeth and clawing and fighting.
Its not. It’s really slow and gentle looking. They’ve both got their eyes closed and it looks like they’ve been at it a while, just sitting there and kissing each other. Blake has an arm around Avon’s shoulders, Avon has a hand on Blake’s jaw and cheek, cradling his face. Vila wonders if they’ve been possessed by sexy aliens. Or just gone mad. He always thought they would all go mad, cooped up on here, except when Blake takes them on deadly missions. Perhaps Blake and Avon have already gone insane.
So really, he’s only watching them to try and find out, right? He is attempting to save the crew from sexy aliens or insanity.
Avon sighs and slides against Blake in a wonderfully loose-limbed way that makes Vila ache just to see it. Blake shivers and pulls back. It’s not what Vila would have done. Vila would have grabbed and hung on for dear life. Madness then. Only explanation.
“Avon … I can’t.”
Avon makes a sound that’s clearly one of frustration and sits up. Oh, Blake has to be mad, Avon’s all rumpled and confused looking and Vila would take him in a heartbeat if it were him that Avon was trying to press against.
(on the other hand, it probably rules out sexy aliens)
“I’m sorry,” Blake says it quietly and Vila believes it. “If I could … ”
“If you could, you wouldn’t,” Avon says it with stinging bitterness. “If you could, you wouldn’t let me anywhere near you, would you?”
Blake looks away, clearly not planning on answering. Probably, they’ve had the conversation - whatever it is - before and he doesn’t see it going anywhere different. Vila wishes they would though, he’d quite like to hear it. Avon stands up, probably searching for insults but when he sees Blake isn’t looking at him, Vila sees his face change into something … a bit lost. Just for a moment, it’s like Avon isn’t the machine Vila always sees. He’s not sure what he sees instead, mind. He’s not sure if he likes it either. Now they are no longer kissing and the chance of sexy aliens is gone, he probably ought to slip back to his room and pretend he never left it. But he lingers, just a little longer, just in time to see Avon’s hand reach out to touch the very top of Blake’s curls, just one more moment of tenderness that he’s never seen the two of them share at any other time.
Vila doesn’t get it. He suspects, like most things Blake and Avon, it’s probably not actually anything that a normal, simple man like him can understand. Just another thing on The Liberator that doesn’t quite make sense.
He goes to bed and has pleasant, half-awake dreams about Avon, that slow kissing and those gorgeous, sliding limbs. Well, if Blake doesn’t want, maybe one day, Vila can have instead. It’s not impossible. People get desperate, don’t they? And if Blake won’t give, well …
Well. Vila’s a good thief.
Title: Hiding
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG
Pairing: Avon/Vila
Word Count: 741
Summary: Spoilers for Season 4 episode Orbit. Vila doesn't want to see Avon.
After locking the door, Vila piled as much furniture in front of it as possible. He didn’t trust the door locks. They were electronic and even if Avon couldn’t open it himself - which he probably could - Orac would do it. That horrible little monster. Yeah, he’d open the door for Avon, he pretty much did everything Avon asked these days. Vila didn’t want that door opened.
He glared at the door uneasily, still not sure it was enough. He didn’t want Avon to come in. And Avon would, he’d come because he would probably think that he could talk Vila round, stupid, stupid Vila would just forget that only hours ago, Avon was calling his name all silky-soft, planning to … planning to …
Vila dug under his bed for a bottle of wine and gulped some down. It didn’t really help but hopefully if he kept drinking, he could eventually pass out and that would be better. Except then if Avon somehow sneaked in, he’d be all helpless … not that he wasn’t helpless in front of Avon anyway, Avon was stronger than him, he could hold Vila down if he wanted, even if he didn’t have a gun, he could …
Of course, Avon wouldn’t. He was being stupid, like he always was, only about different things. Avon didn’t have any reason to kill him, not now. Now they were safe, Vila’s occasional usefulness would matter more and he’d be left alone or insulted until Avon needed him. It was fine. Just fine.
Except it wasn’t. And it never, ever would be.
He kept thinking about how Avon had sounded. Soft. Coaxing. He’d thought Vila wouldn’t see through that? Avon, who barked and snapped and yelled? Did he really think Vila was that stupid?
Well. He probably was. He’d heard Avon sound like that before, but only in private, only when it was dark and hot and Avon was pressed tight against him, whispering in his ear: Vila, Vila, just like that, yes, that’s good, Vila …
That had probably been a lie too. Avon just wanting stuff from him so pouring on the sweetness. Stupid Vila, falling for that. He betted Dayna wouldn’t have done. Or Cally or any of the others. They’d have remembered that Avon was poisonous, in and out. They wouldn’t have let him in bed - or if they had, they’d have remembered it was meaningless, that Avon was just playing his own game, like he always did. Vila had thought he’d known it, thought he’d remembered but he clearly hadn’t, he’d clearly let himself forget, let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, what they did together meant something sometimes, that it was something that made them both feel good, that it was something - well.
He’d thought they were friends.
There was a faint sound at his door and Vila jerked, spilling some of the wine over his hand. He stared at the door, gulping at the air, praying it wouldn’t open. There was another sound, as though someone was trying to operate the lock. Then nothing.
Vila huddled, staring at the door for a long, long time. Had Avon gone? Had he ever been there? Maybe it had been one of the others … although they would have called out, wouldn’t they? They’d have wanted to know why the door was locked, why Vila was hiding. They didn’t understand …
Maybe Vila had imagined it. That was more likely. Why would Avon come? Why would Avon even care? He was being stupid, thinking that Avon would bother, now. He was being an idiot. Again. Avon wouldn’t come. He wouldn’t come again. Vila ought to be happy about that. He was happy about that.
He just didn’t feel safe, that was all. He hadn’t felt safe for a long time but he felt less safe now. The Avon he’d believed in, the Avon he’d let himself trust was gone and he was stuck with Tarrant who didn’t like him, Dayna who tolerated him and Soolin who … well. He wasn’t sure what Soolin thought. But probably not much.
With a miserable sigh, he crept into bed, cuddling the mostly empty bottle to him. He didn’t want to think any more. It might seem better in the morning. He’d have to make it work somehow. After all, he had nowhere else to go.
Outside, Avon stood staring silently at the door for a long, long time.