DVD Commentary: Fickle touch of recollection
Title: Fickle touch of recollection
That title alone really should have been a warning for the types of things I'd be doing in this story. Memory, and its vagaries, and Savant trying to piece things together.
Summary: "Hey, Creote. Does Savant know you're in love with him?"
Sometimes canon makes me *very happy*.
Author's Notes: For sockich, in thanks for comics she uploaded for me.
*waves to Sockich*
He doesn't remember when he and Creote first met. Truthfully, he does not remember a time without Creote -- he remembers seeing his bruised face reflected in a mirror, Creote carefully cleaning blood from his temple. He thinks he looked younger then, that his hair was somewhat shorter.
He remembers eating Greek food with Creote, but he cannot recall whether the air smelled like Athens or like Florida, and so he does not know when it was.
I think, actually, that I cheated wrt Savant's Memory Issues here; he remembers what's happened to him, just not *when*. But I like this story anyway.
Boys so in love.
He recalls that the meal was not particularly good.
Never let it be said that Savant lacks priorities.
He thinks perhaps he remembers feeling as though he would die, and he had tried to tell Creote to tell his father. And that Creote had told him - harsh, almost angry, as he has rarely heard - not to be foolish. He would live.
Because Creote will *make* him.
Creote's hands cool on his skin, icewater drenching his tongue, and a dry mouth brushed over his sweaty forehead.
That was probably only the fever, making him remember wrongly.
*twists the knife*
I'm not sure whether Creote wants him to remember that kinda-sorta kiss or doesn't. I *do* know that Creote could not stop himself from flicking his tongue out to taste Savant's skin, and then backed off *instantly*.
It's not a very good plan. But the wine is good, let to breathe and matching the sauce well. The dessert wine is a trifle sweet for his tastes, but the face Creote makes upon tasting makes him laugh hard enough that he almost falls from his chair.
*pets them*
He's only *mostly* sure that alcohol will not aid his memory, but he doesn't have any duties for the evening. He can afford to waste the time.
Creote brings him whiskey and they put aside the wine. It burns and Savant coughs, and Creote smirks. And gulps his own, as if to show off, and since it is Creote Savant forgives the impudence.
Looking back on this story now, I wish I hadn't emphasized mostly. It's a tad too clumsy for the Savant in my head.
Savant is in love.
The plan did not succeed. He doesn't recollect everything they drank, but he vaguely remembers Creote's callused hands in his hair, petting.
Creote knows it was a shameful indulgence. He tells himself Savant had slept better because of it. (His hands tingled with the feel of Savant's hair slipping through his fingers.)
"He's caved, boss. Says he'll tell us everything he knows."
He had intended to resist. To show that he was no less strong than Ms. Lance, than Oracle.
But it was Creote, after all, and Savant will give up his information long before he will give up Creote.
No, really, Savant is in *love*.
Which is why it doesn't occur to him to have sex with Creote. Creote is a friend, Creote is important, Creote is for what *matters*.
And sex isn't.
Sometimes I wonder just how much Creote and, say, Dinah might have to discuss.
-- Finis
That title alone really should have been a warning for the types of things I'd be doing in this story. Memory, and its vagaries, and Savant trying to piece things together.
Summary: "Hey, Creote. Does Savant know you're in love with him?"
Sometimes canon makes me *very happy*.
Author's Notes: For sockich, in thanks for comics she uploaded for me.
*waves to Sockich*
He doesn't remember when he and Creote first met. Truthfully, he does not remember a time without Creote -- he remembers seeing his bruised face reflected in a mirror, Creote carefully cleaning blood from his temple. He thinks he looked younger then, that his hair was somewhat shorter.
He remembers eating Greek food with Creote, but he cannot recall whether the air smelled like Athens or like Florida, and so he does not know when it was.
I think, actually, that I cheated wrt Savant's Memory Issues here; he remembers what's happened to him, just not *when*. But I like this story anyway.
Boys so in love.
He recalls that the meal was not particularly good.
Never let it be said that Savant lacks priorities.
He thinks perhaps he remembers feeling as though he would die, and he had tried to tell Creote to tell his father. And that Creote had told him - harsh, almost angry, as he has rarely heard - not to be foolish. He would live.
Because Creote will *make* him.
Creote's hands cool on his skin, icewater drenching his tongue, and a dry mouth brushed over his sweaty forehead.
That was probably only the fever, making him remember wrongly.
*twists the knife*
I'm not sure whether Creote wants him to remember that kinda-sorta kiss or doesn't. I *do* know that Creote could not stop himself from flicking his tongue out to taste Savant's skin, and then backed off *instantly*.
It's not a very good plan. But the wine is good, let to breathe and matching the sauce well. The dessert wine is a trifle sweet for his tastes, but the face Creote makes upon tasting makes him laugh hard enough that he almost falls from his chair.
*pets them*
He's only *mostly* sure that alcohol will not aid his memory, but he doesn't have any duties for the evening. He can afford to waste the time.
Creote brings him whiskey and they put aside the wine. It burns and Savant coughs, and Creote smirks. And gulps his own, as if to show off, and since it is Creote Savant forgives the impudence.
Looking back on this story now, I wish I hadn't emphasized mostly. It's a tad too clumsy for the Savant in my head.
Savant is in love.
The plan did not succeed. He doesn't recollect everything they drank, but he vaguely remembers Creote's callused hands in his hair, petting.
Creote knows it was a shameful indulgence. He tells himself Savant had slept better because of it. (His hands tingled with the feel of Savant's hair slipping through his fingers.)
"He's caved, boss. Says he'll tell us everything he knows."
He had intended to resist. To show that he was no less strong than Ms. Lance, than Oracle.
But it was Creote, after all, and Savant will give up his information long before he will give up Creote.
No, really, Savant is in *love*.
Which is why it doesn't occur to him to have sex with Creote. Creote is a friend, Creote is important, Creote is for what *matters*.
And sex isn't.
Sometimes I wonder just how much Creote and, say, Dinah might have to discuss.
-- Finis