(no subject)
Title: Hating Fabres
Genre: General, pr0n
Rating: Probably NC-17. At least R.
Characters/Pairing: VanxAsch
Summary: Asch is totally up for the next promotion.
Van hated the Fabres; he hated the Duke, he hated the Duchess, he hated their only son, small and innocent as he was. Fabre had destroyed his life, destroyed the life and home of dear Master Gailardia as well, and then had the audacity to send him, send Vandesdelca a letter requesting his services in training his child for battle. The mere notion of ever doing that beast a favor boiled his blood whenever the request returned to mind.
Not that his own country was much better. They'd used him to kill thousands, including his own mother. He was a monster, because of them. Because of the Score.
With that in mind, it was more accurate to say that Van hated everyone. Nearly everyone; Mystearica and Gailardia, he loved. They were victims, just as he, of the Score and its disgusting injustices. He would save them from the fates already laid out before them.
By destroying the Score.
Naturally, Luke fon Fabre hadn't been included in the astonishingly short list of people Van would save from destruction; he was a child, but he was a Fabre, and one of those already entangled by the Score.
At least, he had thought so, until he had discovered the Closed Score. Then, abruptly, it became clear to him that the child, regardless of his birth, was also a victim of the Score, or one of impending death. Duke Fabre's apathy only strengthened his resolve; he would also save this child.
This child would not be satisfied in dying for the Score. He was but seven years old, and already held his chin high with the pride and regality of a king, met Van's gaze unwaveringly when full-grown men would cower before him. When he was dashed to the ground during training, he would right himself immediately, attack Van, though he did not stand a chance.
It was the most inspiring thing Van had ever seen. The boy's fire, his resolve, his determination was everything Van wanted by his side while he saved the world from itself, and he was going to have it. When the boy turned ten, Van did him the greatest favor he would ever receive; he kidnapped the child, hid him away, made a replacement and removed him from the Score.
He'd freed someone from the shackles. The feeling that accompanied that realization was so overwhelming he'd nearly trembled, Luke ill from the replication process cradled limply in his arms. Van held the boy close, protecting him, praying that one day he would understand the pain he would feel by being abandoned by his family.
After all, if they could not even tell the difference between their own son and a replica, they did not deserve such a treasure.
Watching Luke -or Asch, as he now preferred to be called- grow only affirmed Van's decision to remove him as correct; he flourished in the position Van bestowed upon him. After only five years of training, he was already on par in terms of skill and intelligence with the god generals. In a display of arrogance, Van instated Asch as a god general, Asch the Bloody, and gave him the Special Operations unit for him to command. Despite his youth, Asch quickly won the respect of his soldiers, and not only met but exceeded any and all expectations.
His unwavering loyalty to Van was an added bonus.
Once he knew the truth, Asch seems as devoted to Van as even Legretta; sincerely grateful that he had been saved from a death to be ordered by loved ones, and eager to please Van in any way possible.
Apparently this extended past professional matters. It hadn't been so much as a shock as it was a nice surprise when Asch approached him in his office, locked the door behind himself, knelt between his legs and proceeded to pleasure him in ways he'd only experienced on occasion. Idle thought drifted in and out of his mind as he entangled his fingers in Asch's long, blood-red hair; Asch wasn't unattractive, not by any stretch of the imagination, and he was rather good at what he was doing.
Spectacular, even.
So when Asch rose from his lap to kiss him fiercely, Van didn't think it was very out of the ordinary for him to bend Asch over his desk and take him then and there. Luckily, he'd had a nearly empty tin of sword-polish in a desk drawer -he didn't want to hurt the boy- and overall the experience was rather nice. Asch moaning, panting, writhing beneath him, even growling at times -Van had laughed, and Asch had snapped at him in humiliation- was a welcome sight compared to the paperwork he was lying atop of, and when Van flipped him over to lay on his back, he couldn't help a smirk. Despite the situation, there wasn't even a flicker of fragility, of weakness on Asch's face, in his eyes.
He was beautiful.
Although Van knew that if he ever said anything similar to Asch himself, the boy wouldn't hesitate in punching him as hard as he possibly could. Any lingering amusement at the mental imagery of his expression fled when Asch gasped, grasping Van's forearms and tightening around him, and Van lost himself for a moment. When he returned, it was to feverish kisses being placed at the corner of his mouth, his neck, his jaw. Asch nosed his ear before standing without even a wince, cleaning himself off with a sweat towel discovered in the corner -thankfully, it was clean- and straightening his clothes. He snapped off a smart salute and turned, leaving Van's office.
...the little tease. How he hated Fabres.
Genre: General, pr0n
Rating: Probably NC-17. At least R.
Characters/Pairing: VanxAsch
Summary: Asch is totally up for the next promotion.
Van hated the Fabres; he hated the Duke, he hated the Duchess, he hated their only son, small and innocent as he was. Fabre had destroyed his life, destroyed the life and home of dear Master Gailardia as well, and then had the audacity to send him, send Vandesdelca a letter requesting his services in training his child for battle. The mere notion of ever doing that beast a favor boiled his blood whenever the request returned to mind.
Not that his own country was much better. They'd used him to kill thousands, including his own mother. He was a monster, because of them. Because of the Score.
With that in mind, it was more accurate to say that Van hated everyone. Nearly everyone; Mystearica and Gailardia, he loved. They were victims, just as he, of the Score and its disgusting injustices. He would save them from the fates already laid out before them.
By destroying the Score.
Naturally, Luke fon Fabre hadn't been included in the astonishingly short list of people Van would save from destruction; he was a child, but he was a Fabre, and one of those already entangled by the Score.
At least, he had thought so, until he had discovered the Closed Score. Then, abruptly, it became clear to him that the child, regardless of his birth, was also a victim of the Score, or one of impending death. Duke Fabre's apathy only strengthened his resolve; he would also save this child.
This child would not be satisfied in dying for the Score. He was but seven years old, and already held his chin high with the pride and regality of a king, met Van's gaze unwaveringly when full-grown men would cower before him. When he was dashed to the ground during training, he would right himself immediately, attack Van, though he did not stand a chance.
It was the most inspiring thing Van had ever seen. The boy's fire, his resolve, his determination was everything Van wanted by his side while he saved the world from itself, and he was going to have it. When the boy turned ten, Van did him the greatest favor he would ever receive; he kidnapped the child, hid him away, made a replacement and removed him from the Score.
He'd freed someone from the shackles. The feeling that accompanied that realization was so overwhelming he'd nearly trembled, Luke ill from the replication process cradled limply in his arms. Van held the boy close, protecting him, praying that one day he would understand the pain he would feel by being abandoned by his family.
After all, if they could not even tell the difference between their own son and a replica, they did not deserve such a treasure.
Watching Luke -or Asch, as he now preferred to be called- grow only affirmed Van's decision to remove him as correct; he flourished in the position Van bestowed upon him. After only five years of training, he was already on par in terms of skill and intelligence with the god generals. In a display of arrogance, Van instated Asch as a god general, Asch the Bloody, and gave him the Special Operations unit for him to command. Despite his youth, Asch quickly won the respect of his soldiers, and not only met but exceeded any and all expectations.
His unwavering loyalty to Van was an added bonus.
Once he knew the truth, Asch seems as devoted to Van as even Legretta; sincerely grateful that he had been saved from a death to be ordered by loved ones, and eager to please Van in any way possible.
Apparently this extended past professional matters. It hadn't been so much as a shock as it was a nice surprise when Asch approached him in his office, locked the door behind himself, knelt between his legs and proceeded to pleasure him in ways he'd only experienced on occasion. Idle thought drifted in and out of his mind as he entangled his fingers in Asch's long, blood-red hair; Asch wasn't unattractive, not by any stretch of the imagination, and he was rather good at what he was doing.
Spectacular, even.
So when Asch rose from his lap to kiss him fiercely, Van didn't think it was very out of the ordinary for him to bend Asch over his desk and take him then and there. Luckily, he'd had a nearly empty tin of sword-polish in a desk drawer -he didn't want to hurt the boy- and overall the experience was rather nice. Asch moaning, panting, writhing beneath him, even growling at times -Van had laughed, and Asch had snapped at him in humiliation- was a welcome sight compared to the paperwork he was lying atop of, and when Van flipped him over to lay on his back, he couldn't help a smirk. Despite the situation, there wasn't even a flicker of fragility, of weakness on Asch's face, in his eyes.
He was beautiful.
Although Van knew that if he ever said anything similar to Asch himself, the boy wouldn't hesitate in punching him as hard as he possibly could. Any lingering amusement at the mental imagery of his expression fled when Asch gasped, grasping Van's forearms and tightening around him, and Van lost himself for a moment. When he returned, it was to feverish kisses being placed at the corner of his mouth, his neck, his jaw. Asch nosed his ear before standing without even a wince, cleaning himself off with a sweat towel discovered in the corner -thankfully, it was clean- and straightening his clothes. He snapped off a smart salute and turned, leaving Van's office.
...the little tease. How he hated Fabres.