Fic: Marked (Blade: Trinity, Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King, R)
Title: Marked
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: R
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 650
Status: Complete, one shot
Disclaimer: Blade: Trinity, the motion picture, is owned by New Line Cinema. This is a not for profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for mmom/
mmom. Thanks to
aithine for the beta read through.
Summary: It's surprising that it takes her so long to realise exactly why King's tattoo is situated where it is, just above the dark, curling hair of his groin.
-o-
Most kids' parents teach them all about stranger danger at some point in their lives, and Abigail's were no exception. But in Abigail's case, her father didn't teach her how to spot human predators, or at least he didn't teach her about the normal, run-of-the-mill kind. He left that to her mother, and Abigail found it difficult to take those dangers seriously. The ones her mother told her about were the bogeymen, the things that lurked in closets and dark alleyways to gobble up unwary little girls who strayed where they shouldn't. They were the ones that were fairytales and fiction.
Her father taught her how to spot familiars and vampires, and those were the monsters that seemed the most real.
She knew how to recognise a vampire clan tattoo before she knew how to read and write. She knew where to look: on the wrist of someone she's never met before, when they reach out to shake her mother's hand; and on the back of the neck of someone who looks like they wouldn't understand the concept of a handshake, not when their knuckles drag along the ground.
Those are the two types of tattoo her father taught her about, the only ones she knew existed - on the wrist for flunkies, and on back of the neck for muscle. It made sense to her, in the way that most of the things her father told her make sense. They all fit, slotting neatly into Abigail's world view, a view her mother cannot understand and doesn't want to share.
It's surprising, then, that it takes her so long to realise exactly why King's tattoo is situated where it is, just above the dark, curling hair of his groin.
She doesn't know much about Danica Talos, but she's figured out that the bitch isn't subtle.
Sometimes she traces the lines of dark ink in the early morning light, her fingernails pressing into King's skin, lightly at first and then harder and harder as he sleeps on, little scritches and scratches that slowly wake him up. He blinks blearily up at her, the weight of a night fighting vamps clear in the shadows underneath his eyes, and she slides her thumb over his skin, pressing down with the pad and not her nail this time, as though she can brand the swirls and whorls of her flesh into him, obliterate the mark that Talos left.
She waits until he's most of the way awake, and his eyes are focused on her, before she lets her hand drift further, down to tug gently on the dark, wiry hairs that grow generously around his soft dick. His skin twitches underneath her touch, and his cock slowly thickens as she lets her fingers wander and explore.
She takes her time, long, slow strokes as she watches him, propped up on her elbow with her face only inches from his. She likes to watch him while she jerks him off, likes to take in the way that he bites at his lip as her fingers twist, his face still puffy with sleep and creased from the pillow. Likes to watch his dick, slick and wet at the end with pre-come, slide between her busy fingers.
Even sleepy, he's usually horny, and it doesn't take her long until he's gasping, his breath hot against her face and his eyes lost. And when he comes, it's in thick, white streams that splatter onto his iron hard stomach, matting the soft, downy hairs that grow there as well.
She lets go of his dick while he's still twitching and panting, and drags her fingers across his skin, drawing swirling patterns in the wetness.
It's not an accident when she smears his come across the tattoo that Talos carved into his flesh, dark ink hidden momentarily by drops of white. Talos doesn't own Hannibal King anymore.
He's Abigail Whistler's now.
The end
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: R
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 650
Status: Complete, one shot
Disclaimer: Blade: Trinity, the motion picture, is owned by New Line Cinema. This is a not for profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for mmom/
mmom. Thanks to
aithine for the beta read through.
Summary: It's surprising that it takes her so long to realise exactly why King's tattoo is situated where it is, just above the dark, curling hair of his groin.
-o-
Most kids' parents teach them all about stranger danger at some point in their lives, and Abigail's were no exception. But in Abigail's case, her father didn't teach her how to spot human predators, or at least he didn't teach her about the normal, run-of-the-mill kind. He left that to her mother, and Abigail found it difficult to take those dangers seriously. The ones her mother told her about were the bogeymen, the things that lurked in closets and dark alleyways to gobble up unwary little girls who strayed where they shouldn't. They were the ones that were fairytales and fiction.
Her father taught her how to spot familiars and vampires, and those were the monsters that seemed the most real.
She knew how to recognise a vampire clan tattoo before she knew how to read and write. She knew where to look: on the wrist of someone she's never met before, when they reach out to shake her mother's hand; and on the back of the neck of someone who looks like they wouldn't understand the concept of a handshake, not when their knuckles drag along the ground.
Those are the two types of tattoo her father taught her about, the only ones she knew existed - on the wrist for flunkies, and on back of the neck for muscle. It made sense to her, in the way that most of the things her father told her make sense. They all fit, slotting neatly into Abigail's world view, a view her mother cannot understand and doesn't want to share.
It's surprising, then, that it takes her so long to realise exactly why King's tattoo is situated where it is, just above the dark, curling hair of his groin.
She doesn't know much about Danica Talos, but she's figured out that the bitch isn't subtle.
Sometimes she traces the lines of dark ink in the early morning light, her fingernails pressing into King's skin, lightly at first and then harder and harder as he sleeps on, little scritches and scratches that slowly wake him up. He blinks blearily up at her, the weight of a night fighting vamps clear in the shadows underneath his eyes, and she slides her thumb over his skin, pressing down with the pad and not her nail this time, as though she can brand the swirls and whorls of her flesh into him, obliterate the mark that Talos left.
She waits until he's most of the way awake, and his eyes are focused on her, before she lets her hand drift further, down to tug gently on the dark, wiry hairs that grow generously around his soft dick. His skin twitches underneath her touch, and his cock slowly thickens as she lets her fingers wander and explore.
She takes her time, long, slow strokes as she watches him, propped up on her elbow with her face only inches from his. She likes to watch him while she jerks him off, likes to take in the way that he bites at his lip as her fingers twist, his face still puffy with sleep and creased from the pillow. Likes to watch his dick, slick and wet at the end with pre-come, slide between her busy fingers.
Even sleepy, he's usually horny, and it doesn't take her long until he's gasping, his breath hot against her face and his eyes lost. And when he comes, it's in thick, white streams that splatter onto his iron hard stomach, matting the soft, downy hairs that grow there as well.
She lets go of his dick while he's still twitching and panting, and drags her fingers across his skin, drawing swirling patterns in the wetness.
It's not an accident when she smears his come across the tattoo that Talos carved into his flesh, dark ink hidden momentarily by drops of white. Talos doesn't own Hannibal King anymore.
He's Abigail Whistler's now.
The end