Drabbles: Coldfire (PG-13, slash)

Jul 02, 2006 15:46

From the requests I took a few days ago:

For trobadora: Ocean waves

STRANGE AEONS

They had gone farther along the coast than Damien would like, down a strip of sand that separated the ocean from a salty marsh. They were following one of Gerald's maps, an account of a settlement from the early days that had been lost for over a millennium. The settlers had been the children of scientists from the Landing, and Gerald was hoping that there would be more Earth-lore preserved in the ruins of their town.

When a pulpy, tentacled head surmounting a grotesque and scaly body with rudimentary wings rose from the deep, Damien remembered scientists had vivid imaginations.

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For alice_montrose: Gerald's sword

UP TO PAR

It was better than the best puppet-show, Damien thought. First one finger touched the pommel as if it were a dead fish. Then a tentative prod sent the weapon skittering several centimetres along the table. Finally the hand seized the handle and hefted the blade, swinging it nonchalantly, a curl of lip expressing just how much disdain its owner had for the inferior piece of metal he was being forced to consider.

Then the sword whistled through the air, stopping a hair's breadth from Damien's throat.

Gerald's new dark eyes flashed with their old fire. "Good balance. It will do."

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For mariem_1: the coronet of Merentha

LEGACY

It was such a simple thing. Silver and filigree, molded by her own hands, not three years before. It was her work, with no magic to it but the first touches of her waking love for Andrys, the last trails of her long fascination with the Hunter. For a moment she had an urge to break off one of the mythological creatures and replace him with a figure of the first Neocount, in armour and coronet. A nightmare within a nightmare, she whispered.

Finally her hands rose to her temples. The coronet was no heavier than when she’d made it.

The last Neocountess of Merentha had a funeral to attend.

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For fuumasfrog: bathtub

HEAT

Damien's fingers drummed against the door to the bath chamber. He glared at them to still them, but apparently they shared his stubbornness as well as his irritation at the fact that mortal or undead, Gerald Tarrant's first priority was keeping himself thoroughly cleaned. He knew that length of hair probably required a long time to wash, but two hours was pushing it.

Then he realised the door had been swinging slightly inwards with each tap of a finger. The gap was wide enough to see inside the steamy bath chamber. See right to the bathtub, in fact.

Gerald was resting half in, half outside the water, his arms hanging over the sides of the tub, his damp hair falling in a wide dark curtain to the floor. His neck was arched, his lips curled in a blissful smile. Droplets of water glistened on his chest and shoulders, sliding down along the lines of muscles, outlining the graceful arms with shimmers.

Damien's eyes snapped back to Gerald's face and he realised the dark eyes were open. He felt an annoying blush on his own cheeks.

"You're letting the heat out," Gerald murmured. "Either close the door or come in already."

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fanfiction, prompts, coldfire

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