FIC: Not My Bloody Valentine, NC-17
Not My Bloody Valentine
By Emerald Embers
Louise_cmi_vc@hotmail.com
Rated NC-17 for yaoi and bad language.
Fandom: Black Cat
Pairing: Creed/Train
Non-profit fanfiction, please don’t sue.
Warning: Somewhat dubious consent
Spoilers: Probably up to the end of volume 2 of the manga. As long as you know Eve and Creed you’re probably okay.
A very long, very loud yawn resounded in the room of one Train Heartnet as the young man in question splayed his limbs until they popped before curling up into a ball, his head buried deep in his pillow. “If there’s anything better than a good stretch in the morning, I don’t wanna know about it.”
Getting up, pulling on a pair of trousers with some reluctance, and moseying on to the kitchen were normal events in almost any day of Train’s life, even if the kitchen was unusually empty. Still, a little note of daily activities stuck to the fridge made Eve’s absence understandable, and Train stopped consciously caring the moment he opened the fried. “Oh, this is my day,” exclaimed the young man with joy as he retrieved the slender-necked, gold capped bottle from the fridge and proceeded to glug down the super-creamy, extra-rich Guernsey milk. He’d always promised himself a cattle farm in Guernsey if he could ever afford to settle down. It was delicious.
So why had he gone to sleep feeling apprehensive? Notes and junk mail covered the table, along with several horrific monstrosities of pink card and fluff. Ah. That would be why. He hadn’t expected the girls to have time to attract this much attention from the locals yet, but it wasn’t too shocking. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Sven had gone through Eve’s cards to censor them first.
That brought him back to his earlier train of thought as he picked through the cards, scanning them with amusement and occasional disgust. Where had the others gone to? If a kid... machine... really small person like Eve had the decency to leave a note, the others could have followed suit.
Ah, one for himself. Big surprise as to who that was from.
... Oh shit. Milk spilt down his chin as he choked. It was a bigger surprise than he’d thought.
A hand on his shoulder and finger to his lips shocked the breath out of him before he could shout, a familiar voice purring against his ear, “Eve is away and the rest are asleep. I’ve rigged their bedroom doors - and windows, I’m not an idiot - with explosives. We can do this peacefully, or there will be injuries. It would just spoil my day if I had to hurt you.” Train sat still as the finger on his lips reached down to wipe the milk from his chin before pulling away, then looked over his shoulder past Creed at the empty, open floor cupboard. No wonder the dishes in the sink didn’t smell bad. He should have noticed. “Why are the others still asleep?” He asked, watching Creed carefully as the blond man moved to sit opposite him.
“Pills in last night’s soup. The cook here has owed me a favour for a long time.”
“It should have affected me then.”
“You’re special,” Creed replied, smiling and resting his head on the arm he propped up on the table. “And you always drink a glass of water before bed.”
“Antidote, huh.” Train supposed he should be impressed by the attention to detail, eyed the milk he had been chugging back earlier warily as Creed reached for the bottle.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Today is too beautiful to spoil with underhand tactics.” He licked his lips before curving them over the elongated neck of the bottle and taking a drink. Train was somewhat uncomfortably aware of noticing the very tip of Creed’s tongue leaving the inside of the bottle as the blond man put it back down on the table. Perhaps more concerning was the fact he had to catch himself from just taking the bottle back for another drink. It was Guernsey, after all. He hadn’t been interested in sharing something with Creed’s mouth.
He hadn’t.
Back to the conversation at hand. “Rigging my friends’ bedrooms with explosives isn’t an underhand tactic?”
“Strictly speaking I rigged the corridor and outer building, but I’ll let that pass. And I wouldn’t call it underhanded, more taking advantage of your blissful ignorance. “Enjoy the milk?”
“What did you put in it?” Train asked, his recent suspicion confirmed.
“See if you can guess.” Creed took his elbow off the table, resting both arms on his legs as he leant forward.
“It’s not poison.”
“Correct. I did say no poison.”
“You never said that, you suggested it.”
“Such attention to detail!” Creed exclaimed, sounding enthralled. “Keep guessing.”
Train closed his eyes and concentrated, cursing himself for finding Creed’s voice distracting. His pulse was steady but fast, heartbeat the same. Shallow breaths. A slight flush he was forcing his skin to keep at bay.
Creed laughed softly, the sound distracting him all over, and Train switched from cursing himself to cursing the blond for being insane and gorgeous.
... Oh.
“You didn’t.”
“Say it,” Insisted the blond, tone darked than Train remembered him capable of, and taunting at that, which was more familiar.
“Aphrodisiac. High dosage. That’s why it was safe for you to drink.”
“Not as high as you’d think,” Creed replied, eyes widening with a wicked grin as he moved to kneel in front of Train. The actions were stiffening something in the dark-haired man, and it sure as hell wasn’t his resolve.
“Don’t do this, Creed.”
“Why not?” Asked the blond, pouting slightly.
“Because I hate you, for one thing!”
“I’m not much better the rest of the day,” Creed replied as he lifted one of Train’s legs onto the table, leaving his legs splayed and the straining material around his crotch on obscene display. Whichever part of Train’s brain had been preaching common sense and reminding him this was all a very, very bad idea had long been given its marching orders by the aphrodisiac. Not to mention that he’d neglected to get himself laid for months now, which wasn’t helping much. Hell, none of this was helping matters much, especially Creed’s self-satisfied smirk as he opened his mouth on the crotch of Train’s pants, and shit, shit, teeth shouldn’t feel that good through material, and as much as it frustrated him to do it, there was no way he could keep at this without covering his mouth. Not if he wanted to stop the others from waking.
Why, oh why, was the prospect of his friends being blown to bits if he didn’t keep quiet turning him on more?
Oh, right. Aphrodisiac.
Creed sat back and pulled down the zipper on Train’s pants before freeing the dark-haired boy’s erection, affording him enough time to announce, “This isn’t going to make me like you,” before being forced to cover his mouth again as Creed’s lips closed over his bared length. He couldn’t help jerking up, that perfect combination of hot and slick he’d been missing for months driving him to distraction, although in all fairness he did have goodness knows what settled happily in his stomach and moving into his blood courtesy of the doctored milk. It didn’t seem much of an excuse.
Creed’s mouth was too clever and too fast, Train losing what coherency his mind had retained during the whole bizarre exercise in barely minutes even despite - or maybe because - he still had his pants on most of the way. It was goddamn typical of the blond man, everything reeking of practise, and even more of practise done solely for his benefit. Hell, that would be all the more typical of Creed, to find some poor sod to practise on until he had it off to a tee and - oh, oh god, he was humming, and those vibrations were evil.
Creed looked appallingly smug when Train came, swallowed with distinct pride before licking up the trickle at the side of his mouth and smiling. “You can clean yourself up the rest of the way. I’ll see you soon.”
“You can’t seriously be going?” Asked the dark-haired boy, disbelieving as Creed stood up and started walking out of the kitchen.
“You want me to stay around? Besides, you have defusing work ahead of you.” He waved over his shoulder as he walked off. “Don’t forget my white day present. I’ll leave you the address later!”
Train could almost hear the hearts in Creed’s last statement, sat still in near-shock for a moment after the door closed, before the slow realisation set in that he had enough to explain to his comrades as things stood without adding their rooms exploding and him wandering around with his fly open to the equation. After sorting out the lattermost problem Train stood up, nearly collapsed on newly shaky legs, then headed off upstairs before the aftermath of his actions could get much worse.
The strange thing was, when Eve returned and found him kneeling in front of Sven’s room with a pair of pliers hovered over an open bomb case, she didn’t bat an eyelid. She did, however, mention that he probably ought to dispose of the card he’d left on the kitchen table properly before anyone else saw, and opted against mentioning that there had been the imprint of an ankle on its surface.
The End
By Emerald Embers
Louise_cmi_vc@hotmail.com
Rated NC-17 for yaoi and bad language.
Fandom: Black Cat
Pairing: Creed/Train
Non-profit fanfiction, please don’t sue.
Warning: Somewhat dubious consent
Spoilers: Probably up to the end of volume 2 of the manga. As long as you know Eve and Creed you’re probably okay.
A very long, very loud yawn resounded in the room of one Train Heartnet as the young man in question splayed his limbs until they popped before curling up into a ball, his head buried deep in his pillow. “If there’s anything better than a good stretch in the morning, I don’t wanna know about it.”
Getting up, pulling on a pair of trousers with some reluctance, and moseying on to the kitchen were normal events in almost any day of Train’s life, even if the kitchen was unusually empty. Still, a little note of daily activities stuck to the fridge made Eve’s absence understandable, and Train stopped consciously caring the moment he opened the fried. “Oh, this is my day,” exclaimed the young man with joy as he retrieved the slender-necked, gold capped bottle from the fridge and proceeded to glug down the super-creamy, extra-rich Guernsey milk. He’d always promised himself a cattle farm in Guernsey if he could ever afford to settle down. It was delicious.
So why had he gone to sleep feeling apprehensive? Notes and junk mail covered the table, along with several horrific monstrosities of pink card and fluff. Ah. That would be why. He hadn’t expected the girls to have time to attract this much attention from the locals yet, but it wasn’t too shocking. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Sven had gone through Eve’s cards to censor them first.
That brought him back to his earlier train of thought as he picked through the cards, scanning them with amusement and occasional disgust. Where had the others gone to? If a kid... machine... really small person like Eve had the decency to leave a note, the others could have followed suit.
Ah, one for himself. Big surprise as to who that was from.
... Oh shit. Milk spilt down his chin as he choked. It was a bigger surprise than he’d thought.
A hand on his shoulder and finger to his lips shocked the breath out of him before he could shout, a familiar voice purring against his ear, “Eve is away and the rest are asleep. I’ve rigged their bedroom doors - and windows, I’m not an idiot - with explosives. We can do this peacefully, or there will be injuries. It would just spoil my day if I had to hurt you.” Train sat still as the finger on his lips reached down to wipe the milk from his chin before pulling away, then looked over his shoulder past Creed at the empty, open floor cupboard. No wonder the dishes in the sink didn’t smell bad. He should have noticed. “Why are the others still asleep?” He asked, watching Creed carefully as the blond man moved to sit opposite him.
“Pills in last night’s soup. The cook here has owed me a favour for a long time.”
“It should have affected me then.”
“You’re special,” Creed replied, smiling and resting his head on the arm he propped up on the table. “And you always drink a glass of water before bed.”
“Antidote, huh.” Train supposed he should be impressed by the attention to detail, eyed the milk he had been chugging back earlier warily as Creed reached for the bottle.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Today is too beautiful to spoil with underhand tactics.” He licked his lips before curving them over the elongated neck of the bottle and taking a drink. Train was somewhat uncomfortably aware of noticing the very tip of Creed’s tongue leaving the inside of the bottle as the blond man put it back down on the table. Perhaps more concerning was the fact he had to catch himself from just taking the bottle back for another drink. It was Guernsey, after all. He hadn’t been interested in sharing something with Creed’s mouth.
He hadn’t.
Back to the conversation at hand. “Rigging my friends’ bedrooms with explosives isn’t an underhand tactic?”
“Strictly speaking I rigged the corridor and outer building, but I’ll let that pass. And I wouldn’t call it underhanded, more taking advantage of your blissful ignorance. “Enjoy the milk?”
“What did you put in it?” Train asked, his recent suspicion confirmed.
“See if you can guess.” Creed took his elbow off the table, resting both arms on his legs as he leant forward.
“It’s not poison.”
“Correct. I did say no poison.”
“You never said that, you suggested it.”
“Such attention to detail!” Creed exclaimed, sounding enthralled. “Keep guessing.”
Train closed his eyes and concentrated, cursing himself for finding Creed’s voice distracting. His pulse was steady but fast, heartbeat the same. Shallow breaths. A slight flush he was forcing his skin to keep at bay.
Creed laughed softly, the sound distracting him all over, and Train switched from cursing himself to cursing the blond for being insane and gorgeous.
... Oh.
“You didn’t.”
“Say it,” Insisted the blond, tone darked than Train remembered him capable of, and taunting at that, which was more familiar.
“Aphrodisiac. High dosage. That’s why it was safe for you to drink.”
“Not as high as you’d think,” Creed replied, eyes widening with a wicked grin as he moved to kneel in front of Train. The actions were stiffening something in the dark-haired man, and it sure as hell wasn’t his resolve.
“Don’t do this, Creed.”
“Why not?” Asked the blond, pouting slightly.
“Because I hate you, for one thing!”
“I’m not much better the rest of the day,” Creed replied as he lifted one of Train’s legs onto the table, leaving his legs splayed and the straining material around his crotch on obscene display. Whichever part of Train’s brain had been preaching common sense and reminding him this was all a very, very bad idea had long been given its marching orders by the aphrodisiac. Not to mention that he’d neglected to get himself laid for months now, which wasn’t helping much. Hell, none of this was helping matters much, especially Creed’s self-satisfied smirk as he opened his mouth on the crotch of Train’s pants, and shit, shit, teeth shouldn’t feel that good through material, and as much as it frustrated him to do it, there was no way he could keep at this without covering his mouth. Not if he wanted to stop the others from waking.
Why, oh why, was the prospect of his friends being blown to bits if he didn’t keep quiet turning him on more?
Oh, right. Aphrodisiac.
Creed sat back and pulled down the zipper on Train’s pants before freeing the dark-haired boy’s erection, affording him enough time to announce, “This isn’t going to make me like you,” before being forced to cover his mouth again as Creed’s lips closed over his bared length. He couldn’t help jerking up, that perfect combination of hot and slick he’d been missing for months driving him to distraction, although in all fairness he did have goodness knows what settled happily in his stomach and moving into his blood courtesy of the doctored milk. It didn’t seem much of an excuse.
Creed’s mouth was too clever and too fast, Train losing what coherency his mind had retained during the whole bizarre exercise in barely minutes even despite - or maybe because - he still had his pants on most of the way. It was goddamn typical of the blond man, everything reeking of practise, and even more of practise done solely for his benefit. Hell, that would be all the more typical of Creed, to find some poor sod to practise on until he had it off to a tee and - oh, oh god, he was humming, and those vibrations were evil.
Creed looked appallingly smug when Train came, swallowed with distinct pride before licking up the trickle at the side of his mouth and smiling. “You can clean yourself up the rest of the way. I’ll see you soon.”
“You can’t seriously be going?” Asked the dark-haired boy, disbelieving as Creed stood up and started walking out of the kitchen.
“You want me to stay around? Besides, you have defusing work ahead of you.” He waved over his shoulder as he walked off. “Don’t forget my white day present. I’ll leave you the address later!”
Train could almost hear the hearts in Creed’s last statement, sat still in near-shock for a moment after the door closed, before the slow realisation set in that he had enough to explain to his comrades as things stood without adding their rooms exploding and him wandering around with his fly open to the equation. After sorting out the lattermost problem Train stood up, nearly collapsed on newly shaky legs, then headed off upstairs before the aftermath of his actions could get much worse.
The strange thing was, when Eve returned and found him kneeling in front of Sven’s room with a pair of pliers hovered over an open bomb case, she didn’t bat an eyelid. She did, however, mention that he probably ought to dispose of the card he’d left on the kitchen table properly before anyone else saw, and opted against mentioning that there had been the imprint of an ankle on its surface.
The End