OOC post: 28 flavours drabbles for Donovan
As requested by i_open_doors and alchemistseraph
Warning: This is the Anita Blake-verse. Nuff said. Consider yourself warned for really squicky stuff!
Masha
She was painfully thin, her eyes large and glowing; and when she was introduced to Donovan at the reception after the ballet performance, he was instantly captivated.
It wasn't even by her beauty: while she was ethereal on stage, in real life, she was too thin. You'd have thought her anorexic, meeting her on the street.
She smiled at Donovan with entirely too may teeth, and said, in her charming Russian accent, "Call me Masha! I am one of the swans!"
"So am I!" Donovan said, but she only laughed at it, a bell-like sound that filled Donovan with instant desire. "Don't you believe me?" he said.
Later that night, when he'd realised her tolerance for kink was as high as her jumps on stage, he proved it to her.
Walk home
The air outside the club hit Donovan like a wall of ice, and he shook, regretting he had no wings that he could open and flap in displeasure at the weather.
Oh what a night!
The last two gin-and-tonics might have been a bit too much, but he hadn't had that much fun in ages. Just pure, simple fun, chatting to friendly strangers, dancing with cheerful women, and having a few drinks. Well, yes, perhaps a few drinks too many.
"Hey, want to share a taxi?" the blonde said, looking up at him; she was short, buxom, and could dance like a young goddess. Lisa. Yep, that had been her name: Lisa!
"Sorry, Lisa, I can walk home from here," Donovan said, briefly considering that her offer might mean more, but dismissing it.
But he did find a taxi for her, and put her in it, before walking into an alley and shifting.
The first few wing-beats were slow and wobbly, and he grazed a lamp-post in passing; but then, the power of the shift cleared the alcohol from his bloodstream, and he flew away, straight back to the roof of the hotel where he was staying.
Salad
Martha had her salad with shrimps, Steve had crispy bacon bits on his, and Malcolm had posh Italian smoked beef with arugula.
Donovan had tofu.
"You're not a vegan, are you?" Steve said, apologetically, when he sat down at the table they shared in the little corner café across the street from their office. They were all contractors, here just for a few weeks, and the regular personnel didn't mix with them much.
That is, the others were contractors. Donovan was here to have access to an office with regular phones and a computer and all the other trappings while in the city, courtesy of the swanmane who ran the HR department.
"No, no, just vegetarian," Donovan said, "it's all fine."
Swanmanes weren't vegetarian by default; swans were herbivorous by nature, but werewolves weren't purely carnivorous, either. But there had been that memorable Christmas season cooking show on TV, when Donovan was 13, and somebody had prepared an organic free-range goose roast from scratch. It was at a friend's house, and the last time Donovan was ever invited -- they didn't want him any more, after he'd puked all over their living room carpet without reasonable explanation.
Today, Donovan was really glad, actually, that his colleagues had just taken bacon and beef, respectively. The smell of roast pultry made him queasy.
"Cool," Malcolm said. "I like it when people are not dogmatic about things."
Escape
Robert was taking him for nothing but a travelling consultant, a high-paid white-collar grunt, and Donovan didn't disabuse him of the idea; Robert thought he was impressing a pretty, even striking, young man who hadn't yet fully tasted of the fine things in life, and Donovan let him -- he liked being seduced slowly this way, for a change. Most of the time, it was women for him -- but the occasional man made life spicy.
And Robert was quite spicy, Donovan found when their picnic lunch in a hidden spot by the lake turned into even more than a make-out session.
Afterwards, they just jumped into the lake buff-naked, to frolic and revive themselves, as much as washing off each other. They were racing through the thigh-high water, splashing and laughing, pinching and poking each other, when suddenly, there was a miniature steamboat full of screeching grade school kids chugging around the headland.
"Dive!" Donovan hissed, and did so as well, bursting from the water again in magnificent swan-shape, to the oohs and ahhs of the kids. "Swans dive for plants that grow underwater," the teacher said, completely willing to believe what she herself was saying. Amazing what people were ready to ignore.
To Robert, though, he would have to explain the entire 'swan-king of the whole country' thing, and then, things would most likely be right over again. Pity.-
Warning: This is the Anita Blake-verse. Nuff said. Consider yourself warned for really squicky stuff!
Masha
She was painfully thin, her eyes large and glowing; and when she was introduced to Donovan at the reception after the ballet performance, he was instantly captivated.
It wasn't even by her beauty: while she was ethereal on stage, in real life, she was too thin. You'd have thought her anorexic, meeting her on the street.
She smiled at Donovan with entirely too may teeth, and said, in her charming Russian accent, "Call me Masha! I am one of the swans!"
"So am I!" Donovan said, but she only laughed at it, a bell-like sound that filled Donovan with instant desire. "Don't you believe me?" he said.
Later that night, when he'd realised her tolerance for kink was as high as her jumps on stage, he proved it to her.
Walk home
The air outside the club hit Donovan like a wall of ice, and he shook, regretting he had no wings that he could open and flap in displeasure at the weather.
Oh what a night!
The last two gin-and-tonics might have been a bit too much, but he hadn't had that much fun in ages. Just pure, simple fun, chatting to friendly strangers, dancing with cheerful women, and having a few drinks. Well, yes, perhaps a few drinks too many.
"Hey, want to share a taxi?" the blonde said, looking up at him; she was short, buxom, and could dance like a young goddess. Lisa. Yep, that had been her name: Lisa!
"Sorry, Lisa, I can walk home from here," Donovan said, briefly considering that her offer might mean more, but dismissing it.
But he did find a taxi for her, and put her in it, before walking into an alley and shifting.
The first few wing-beats were slow and wobbly, and he grazed a lamp-post in passing; but then, the power of the shift cleared the alcohol from his bloodstream, and he flew away, straight back to the roof of the hotel where he was staying.
Salad
Martha had her salad with shrimps, Steve had crispy bacon bits on his, and Malcolm had posh Italian smoked beef with arugula.
Donovan had tofu.
"You're not a vegan, are you?" Steve said, apologetically, when he sat down at the table they shared in the little corner café across the street from their office. They were all contractors, here just for a few weeks, and the regular personnel didn't mix with them much.
That is, the others were contractors. Donovan was here to have access to an office with regular phones and a computer and all the other trappings while in the city, courtesy of the swanmane who ran the HR department.
"No, no, just vegetarian," Donovan said, "it's all fine."
Swanmanes weren't vegetarian by default; swans were herbivorous by nature, but werewolves weren't purely carnivorous, either. But there had been that memorable Christmas season cooking show on TV, when Donovan was 13, and somebody had prepared an organic free-range goose roast from scratch. It was at a friend's house, and the last time Donovan was ever invited -- they didn't want him any more, after he'd puked all over their living room carpet without reasonable explanation.
Today, Donovan was really glad, actually, that his colleagues had just taken bacon and beef, respectively. The smell of roast pultry made him queasy.
"Cool," Malcolm said. "I like it when people are not dogmatic about things."
Escape
Robert was taking him for nothing but a travelling consultant, a high-paid white-collar grunt, and Donovan didn't disabuse him of the idea; Robert thought he was impressing a pretty, even striking, young man who hadn't yet fully tasted of the fine things in life, and Donovan let him -- he liked being seduced slowly this way, for a change. Most of the time, it was women for him -- but the occasional man made life spicy.
And Robert was quite spicy, Donovan found when their picnic lunch in a hidden spot by the lake turned into even more than a make-out session.
Afterwards, they just jumped into the lake buff-naked, to frolic and revive themselves, as much as washing off each other. They were racing through the thigh-high water, splashing and laughing, pinching and poking each other, when suddenly, there was a miniature steamboat full of screeching grade school kids chugging around the headland.
"Dive!" Donovan hissed, and did so as well, bursting from the water again in magnificent swan-shape, to the oohs and ahhs of the kids. "Swans dive for plants that grow underwater," the teacher said, completely willing to believe what she herself was saying. Amazing what people were ready to ignore.
To Robert, though, he would have to explain the entire 'swan-king of the whole country' thing, and then, things would most likely be right over again. Pity.-