Fanfiction: A Posse Ad Esse: Snippets From Fischer’s Point of View
Title: A Posse Ad Esse: From Possibility to Actuality: Snippets From Fischer’s Point of View
Writer: Sporadic_Writer
Status of work: Complete. Additional scenes for a previous work.
Characters and/or pairings: Fischer/Saito, Fischer/Other
Rating: Mature
Warnings, kinks & contents: Sexual activities described.
Length: Around 1,800 words.
A/N: This makes absolutely no sense without the original piece of fanfiction, so I'll put the link to it
below. I thought about writing a completely separate but related work that provided insights into what
Fischer was thinking during the events of A Posse Ad Esse, but I had more interest in starting other
stories and exploring other fandoms, so I fleshed out my ideas a bit, and I have some nice snippets.
Original Story:
A Posse Ad Esse: From Possibility to Actuality
The Missing Piece of Memory
Robert spoke insistently, cheeks heating up as he argued for his beliefs. “Fossil fuels are being depleted at an incredible rate. Wind power, solar power, hydroelectric power are all excellent sources of energy that will become common in the future.”
He looked around at all the other young men, waiting for support, acceptance.
Lukas Nikonov laughed heartily, and his response slapped Robert across the face. “Oh, is that what you mean? You need to be a little clearer, Robert. I had the depressing impression that you wanted to wave around palm fronds. Well, I suppose you could at least power those little pinwheels. I heard you’re rather, hmm, fond of them.”
Robert’s mouth dropped open in horror as he jerked his head to the side, looking into the crowd for his father, his father who had apparently felt no compunction at humiliating his son by sharing their old recriminations with near-strangers.
Aware that he was gaping but unable to come up with a scorching response against Lukas, Robert sank into himself, barely aware of the young Asian man sitting a little farther down who tapped his knife sharply against his wineglass.
Lukas’s attention drawn away, Robert looked up, wondering bitterly if yet another of the company heirs had something clever to add.
“Palm fronds? I expected to hear no less from someone with no eye for innovation and investment. I will give you some much-needed advice: go home and ask your secretary to give you a synopsis of alternative fuels and their expected impact on the energy market. You will find it enlightening. Perhaps.” The softly accented voice was imperious and commanded respect.
Robert’s hero had time to shrug patronizingly at Lukas before an older Asian man came to the dining table and gestured for him to come away.
Shortly Before Inception Takes Place
Robert watched the television screen intently as his chauffeur drove smoothly through the streets to their destination. The current program flashed the photographs and details of the world’s top fifty richest men. His father was mentioned, but Robert ignored that cameo for the one that came next.
The tall dark-haired man stood calmly at the podium, eyes level and unbothered by the constant flash of photographers’ cameras.
Robert listened as the man proclaimed his vision for Proclus Global until a phone rang, and Robert picked up to hear his godfather’s worried voice. His father. Coma.
His fingers tightened around the phone, but he resisted the urge to throw it; he slid it shut calmly, knocked on the glass, and directed his driver to change directions. Numbly, he told himself that his wishing for his father’s death after a seething argument didn’t make it so.
Blah. Blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah, bla-blah. Robert thought a bit hysterically that Pete really should have a lower estimation of him. Like his father did. Does.
Maurice Fischer’s hospitalization hadn’t made the rounds, thanks to stringent Fischer-Morrow privacy controls, but Robert thought he just might give it away.
He really should have just gone to visit his father with Pete instead of making a standard showing at this banal dinner party.
His glimpse of a familiar figure pulled him from the swirl of dark thoughts, and he made his way to the balcony, where the low hum of murmured voices and tinkling laughter began to subside.
Pushing open the glass doors, he breathed in the fresh night air and nearly stumbled into the man he’d been looking for.
Saito nodded in half-apology, half-acknowledgement of a potential accident before he briskly walked past Robert.
Phone at his ear, Japanese spilled from his mouth, as he maneuvered between two servers with hors d'oeuvres, leaving the dining room and disappearing into his waiting car before Robert could decide to call out.
Robert stood there silently.
After Inception Takes Place
Waking up blurry-eyed from the airplane ride, Robert slumped against the seats of a company car and fell into a light doze. His head felt heavy, but his chest seemed a bit lighter than it had been for days. Prevalent as his father was in his thoughts, Robert once against morosely considered the old man’s final words.
Was he such a disappointment? Had his father truly believed that Robert was enacting a pipe dream by pursuing ethanol as an alternative fuel? But Robert had succeeded with his venture; he’d shown his father the diagrams, the letters of interest.
Then a barely formed idea occurred to him. Maybe his father believed that Robert was limiting himself. Maurice Fischer always felt nothing but contempt for men stuck in ruts and had participated in company events until the point of his sudden seizure and subsequent coma. Maybe Robert needed to step out from his father’s shadow.
That idea comforted Robert for weeks after his father died. Then he had begun to have doubts, and he had begun searching for information, and even though he had found an intimate source, Robert still hesitated even now.
Finally, Robert slit open the heavy envelope to find the sheets of information that he’d been looking for, and he briefly wondered at the savvy businessman who would be foolish enough to retain an alcoholic in the upper echelons of his company.
After reading the last document, he sat back, eyes blinded with tears and anger. He pressed his fists against his temples and told himself that he knew his father. And it had been too good to be true.
Maurice Fischer said what he meant. Robert was a disappointment.
Pete came back into room, apparently having decided that ten minutes alone was long enough, and engulfed him in a hug, patting him gingerly on the back.
“Oh, Robert,” he murmured. “Robert. You’ve made me proud. And I hope that you’ve made yourself proud. You did what you set out to do. MEA is a success! And if Maurice were still here, I’m sure that you would have proven it to him eventually, stubborn and contrary as he was.”
Robert supposed that was as much fatherly acceptance as he’d ever get.
Before They Get Together
Robert didn’t bother with too many details when he sent his request. The coloring and build was close enough, so he stepped back from the door and led the way to his bedroom. He gripped the dark hair with one hand and devoured the escort’s mouth, desire welling up as his memory replaced his thoughts.
The smirking curves of the man’s lips as he incisively tore down his opponents. The utter self-assurance that marked his firm steps across a room. The smooth voice that Robert had carefully memorized.
Robert hungered for the real thing, and his touch became gentle on the body against him, and his kiss coaxed a surprised moan. He pushed his companion onto the bed, which had been stripped of its covers.
The caresses on his skin felt good but were too cautious, Robert thought hazily. He would be demanding, and no doubt his fingers would leave bruises, his mouth and teeth, their mark.
Robert bit at the arch of collarbone, the salt-slick chest, and he expected a grip in his hair that didn’t come.
Further into their activities, when another moan rose up, Robert stopped it with his fingers.
A pity, but the voice wasn’t close enough.
Fischer’s New Plan
Throwing his tie at the general direction of the armoire, Robert sat down at his desk and leaned back with a sigh. He gulped down the scotch from his snifter and contemplated pouring himself another from the decanter.
He was dismantling his father’s company, and the thought of what he was doing hurt, but the sting lessened as he focused on the inevitable fact that he never had his father’s complete approval, and he would just have to live with it.
He was thirty-four, and he was a grown man. He didn’t need his father to clap him on the shoulder and beam with approval at his actions.
Anyway, if he was honest with himself, his dad was really quite a dick for most of his life, and Robert actually felt ashamed that he was naïve enough to believe for days that his dad could have a clichéd change of heart just before his death.
His mom had tried to soften his father’s verbal blows and emotional distance while she was alive, before the cancer took her, but for the most part, all she could do was stroke his hair and helplessly explain that Maurice Fischer was a man who had a lot of expectations.
Understatement.
Robert swirled the golden liquid, and it curled around his glass in an oily wave. It didn’t look enticing anymore, but he emptied the snifter again and refilled it. Two things. He was going to get drunk, and then he was going to decide what the hell he was going to do with his life.
To occupy himself, he shifted idly through the newspapers, pausing for a few minutes on the article entitled, “Senatorial Candidate Caught in Denial.”
Pathetic, Robert scoffed to himself. Politicians lately seemed to fall from pedestals more often and easily than meteors.
He could do better.
And he liked that idea. Even more so when he realized that his father had only been a businessman and hadn’t much to do with the politics arena.
He didn’t have to be his father’s son.
The Night Before Fischer Returns the Favor
Robert pushed the other man onto the bed, covers disarranging beneath their thrashing limbs, as they sought to undress each other at the same time. His fingers slowed a bit as he reached for Saito’s buttoned shirt. He wouldn’t take the chance that some unwarranted button tearing would cool the lust that currently darkened Saito’s eyes.
Sweat trickled down his forehead as he moved, and Saito’s tongue followed a path down his cheekbone and over his lip. He shuddered with a spike in arousal and leaned down to return the favor, reveling in the lips that parted for him, accepting his kiss and returning it with a light bite to his tongue.
He ran his hand appreciatively over the well-muscled arm lying over his shoulder and felt a disturbing roughness a few inches in length. He pulled back to examine it more carefully, and Saito made an irritated noise deep in his throat.
“That’s a really bad scar,” Robert said unthinkingly before realizing that such a tactless comment could work as unfortunately as a bucket of cold water.
Saito did tense up, the muscles in his arm cording, his lips tight with unhappiness. Not about to apologize but regretful, Robert reached a hand down past his stomach to distract him.
“Childhood accident,” Saito said abruptly, voice attractively hoarse from their activities, and he laid his hand on Robert’s to encourage a quicker pace below.
Somehow that slight show of vulnerability softened the corners of Robert’s heart, and he pressed closer, bending his head to kiss Saito deeply before gently caressing the scarred arm and laying kisses from the tip of the index finger all the way up to the elbow, where the scar ended in a thin line.
A tug on his hair pulled him back up, and they stared at each other for a long moment; Saito’s eyes were for once readable, and a thoughtful gaze resided in their depths.
Writer: Sporadic_Writer
Status of work: Complete. Additional scenes for a previous work.
Characters and/or pairings: Fischer/Saito, Fischer/Other
Rating: Mature
Warnings, kinks & contents: Sexual activities described.
Length: Around 1,800 words.
A/N: This makes absolutely no sense without the original piece of fanfiction, so I'll put the link to it
below. I thought about writing a completely separate but related work that provided insights into what
Fischer was thinking during the events of A Posse Ad Esse, but I had more interest in starting other
stories and exploring other fandoms, so I fleshed out my ideas a bit, and I have some nice snippets.
Original Story:
A Posse Ad Esse: From Possibility to Actuality
The Missing Piece of Memory
Robert spoke insistently, cheeks heating up as he argued for his beliefs. “Fossil fuels are being depleted at an incredible rate. Wind power, solar power, hydroelectric power are all excellent sources of energy that will become common in the future.”
He looked around at all the other young men, waiting for support, acceptance.
Lukas Nikonov laughed heartily, and his response slapped Robert across the face. “Oh, is that what you mean? You need to be a little clearer, Robert. I had the depressing impression that you wanted to wave around palm fronds. Well, I suppose you could at least power those little pinwheels. I heard you’re rather, hmm, fond of them.”
Robert’s mouth dropped open in horror as he jerked his head to the side, looking into the crowd for his father, his father who had apparently felt no compunction at humiliating his son by sharing their old recriminations with near-strangers.
Aware that he was gaping but unable to come up with a scorching response against Lukas, Robert sank into himself, barely aware of the young Asian man sitting a little farther down who tapped his knife sharply against his wineglass.
Lukas’s attention drawn away, Robert looked up, wondering bitterly if yet another of the company heirs had something clever to add.
“Palm fronds? I expected to hear no less from someone with no eye for innovation and investment. I will give you some much-needed advice: go home and ask your secretary to give you a synopsis of alternative fuels and their expected impact on the energy market. You will find it enlightening. Perhaps.” The softly accented voice was imperious and commanded respect.
Robert’s hero had time to shrug patronizingly at Lukas before an older Asian man came to the dining table and gestured for him to come away.
Shortly Before Inception Takes Place
Robert watched the television screen intently as his chauffeur drove smoothly through the streets to their destination. The current program flashed the photographs and details of the world’s top fifty richest men. His father was mentioned, but Robert ignored that cameo for the one that came next.
The tall dark-haired man stood calmly at the podium, eyes level and unbothered by the constant flash of photographers’ cameras.
Robert listened as the man proclaimed his vision for Proclus Global until a phone rang, and Robert picked up to hear his godfather’s worried voice. His father. Coma.
His fingers tightened around the phone, but he resisted the urge to throw it; he slid it shut calmly, knocked on the glass, and directed his driver to change directions. Numbly, he told himself that his wishing for his father’s death after a seething argument didn’t make it so.
Blah. Blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah, bla-blah. Robert thought a bit hysterically that Pete really should have a lower estimation of him. Like his father did. Does.
Maurice Fischer’s hospitalization hadn’t made the rounds, thanks to stringent Fischer-Morrow privacy controls, but Robert thought he just might give it away.
He really should have just gone to visit his father with Pete instead of making a standard showing at this banal dinner party.
His glimpse of a familiar figure pulled him from the swirl of dark thoughts, and he made his way to the balcony, where the low hum of murmured voices and tinkling laughter began to subside.
Pushing open the glass doors, he breathed in the fresh night air and nearly stumbled into the man he’d been looking for.
Saito nodded in half-apology, half-acknowledgement of a potential accident before he briskly walked past Robert.
Phone at his ear, Japanese spilled from his mouth, as he maneuvered between two servers with hors d'oeuvres, leaving the dining room and disappearing into his waiting car before Robert could decide to call out.
Robert stood there silently.
After Inception Takes Place
Waking up blurry-eyed from the airplane ride, Robert slumped against the seats of a company car and fell into a light doze. His head felt heavy, but his chest seemed a bit lighter than it had been for days. Prevalent as his father was in his thoughts, Robert once against morosely considered the old man’s final words.
Was he such a disappointment? Had his father truly believed that Robert was enacting a pipe dream by pursuing ethanol as an alternative fuel? But Robert had succeeded with his venture; he’d shown his father the diagrams, the letters of interest.
Then a barely formed idea occurred to him. Maybe his father believed that Robert was limiting himself. Maurice Fischer always felt nothing but contempt for men stuck in ruts and had participated in company events until the point of his sudden seizure and subsequent coma. Maybe Robert needed to step out from his father’s shadow.
That idea comforted Robert for weeks after his father died. Then he had begun to have doubts, and he had begun searching for information, and even though he had found an intimate source, Robert still hesitated even now.
Finally, Robert slit open the heavy envelope to find the sheets of information that he’d been looking for, and he briefly wondered at the savvy businessman who would be foolish enough to retain an alcoholic in the upper echelons of his company.
After reading the last document, he sat back, eyes blinded with tears and anger. He pressed his fists against his temples and told himself that he knew his father. And it had been too good to be true.
Maurice Fischer said what he meant. Robert was a disappointment.
Pete came back into room, apparently having decided that ten minutes alone was long enough, and engulfed him in a hug, patting him gingerly on the back.
“Oh, Robert,” he murmured. “Robert. You’ve made me proud. And I hope that you’ve made yourself proud. You did what you set out to do. MEA is a success! And if Maurice were still here, I’m sure that you would have proven it to him eventually, stubborn and contrary as he was.”
Robert supposed that was as much fatherly acceptance as he’d ever get.
Before They Get Together
Robert didn’t bother with too many details when he sent his request. The coloring and build was close enough, so he stepped back from the door and led the way to his bedroom. He gripped the dark hair with one hand and devoured the escort’s mouth, desire welling up as his memory replaced his thoughts.
The smirking curves of the man’s lips as he incisively tore down his opponents. The utter self-assurance that marked his firm steps across a room. The smooth voice that Robert had carefully memorized.
Robert hungered for the real thing, and his touch became gentle on the body against him, and his kiss coaxed a surprised moan. He pushed his companion onto the bed, which had been stripped of its covers.
The caresses on his skin felt good but were too cautious, Robert thought hazily. He would be demanding, and no doubt his fingers would leave bruises, his mouth and teeth, their mark.
Robert bit at the arch of collarbone, the salt-slick chest, and he expected a grip in his hair that didn’t come.
Further into their activities, when another moan rose up, Robert stopped it with his fingers.
A pity, but the voice wasn’t close enough.
Fischer’s New Plan
Throwing his tie at the general direction of the armoire, Robert sat down at his desk and leaned back with a sigh. He gulped down the scotch from his snifter and contemplated pouring himself another from the decanter.
He was dismantling his father’s company, and the thought of what he was doing hurt, but the sting lessened as he focused on the inevitable fact that he never had his father’s complete approval, and he would just have to live with it.
He was thirty-four, and he was a grown man. He didn’t need his father to clap him on the shoulder and beam with approval at his actions.
Anyway, if he was honest with himself, his dad was really quite a dick for most of his life, and Robert actually felt ashamed that he was naïve enough to believe for days that his dad could have a clichéd change of heart just before his death.
His mom had tried to soften his father’s verbal blows and emotional distance while she was alive, before the cancer took her, but for the most part, all she could do was stroke his hair and helplessly explain that Maurice Fischer was a man who had a lot of expectations.
Understatement.
Robert swirled the golden liquid, and it curled around his glass in an oily wave. It didn’t look enticing anymore, but he emptied the snifter again and refilled it. Two things. He was going to get drunk, and then he was going to decide what the hell he was going to do with his life.
To occupy himself, he shifted idly through the newspapers, pausing for a few minutes on the article entitled, “Senatorial Candidate Caught in Denial.”
Pathetic, Robert scoffed to himself. Politicians lately seemed to fall from pedestals more often and easily than meteors.
He could do better.
And he liked that idea. Even more so when he realized that his father had only been a businessman and hadn’t much to do with the politics arena.
He didn’t have to be his father’s son.
The Night Before Fischer Returns the Favor
Robert pushed the other man onto the bed, covers disarranging beneath their thrashing limbs, as they sought to undress each other at the same time. His fingers slowed a bit as he reached for Saito’s buttoned shirt. He wouldn’t take the chance that some unwarranted button tearing would cool the lust that currently darkened Saito’s eyes.
Sweat trickled down his forehead as he moved, and Saito’s tongue followed a path down his cheekbone and over his lip. He shuddered with a spike in arousal and leaned down to return the favor, reveling in the lips that parted for him, accepting his kiss and returning it with a light bite to his tongue.
He ran his hand appreciatively over the well-muscled arm lying over his shoulder and felt a disturbing roughness a few inches in length. He pulled back to examine it more carefully, and Saito made an irritated noise deep in his throat.
“That’s a really bad scar,” Robert said unthinkingly before realizing that such a tactless comment could work as unfortunately as a bucket of cold water.
Saito did tense up, the muscles in his arm cording, his lips tight with unhappiness. Not about to apologize but regretful, Robert reached a hand down past his stomach to distract him.
“Childhood accident,” Saito said abruptly, voice attractively hoarse from their activities, and he laid his hand on Robert’s to encourage a quicker pace below.
Somehow that slight show of vulnerability softened the corners of Robert’s heart, and he pressed closer, bending his head to kiss Saito deeply before gently caressing the scarred arm and laying kisses from the tip of the index finger all the way up to the elbow, where the scar ended in a thin line.
A tug on his hair pulled him back up, and they stared at each other for a long moment; Saito’s eyes were for once readable, and a thoughtful gaze resided in their depths.