Fic (Brainy-Smv/William-BtVS): Lost
Author: heavenlyxbodies (formerly Cobalt Mystic)
Title: Lost
Pairing: William/Professor Milton Fine (aka Brainiac)
Rating: PG13
Feedback: Mys has decided that she actually likes FB, so… constructive crit is fine, just be prepared for Mys to defend/explain her choices, and try not to do any permanent damage, k.
Disclaimer: Just playing with the pretties. Unfortunately, they are not mine, but I will gladly groom and bathe them before sending them back home to their Daddies- aka Joss/Mutant Enemy/et al, and ppl with fancy lawyers and more money than Croesus- namely Millar Gough Ink, Warner Bros. Television, DC Comics, Tollin/Robbins Productions, and the like.
Warnings/Squicks: Smv/BtVS x-over, obvious very AU {AHAU for Buffy character(s)}, No Shirt-No Shoes-No Service, Beware of Dog, Danger: Attack Aardvark, High Voltage, No Fruits or Vegetables Allowed
Summary: Losing oneself to a miracle
AN1: Mys got the feeling her Xandra needed a pick-me-up… this was written in just over an hour and a half, including the time it took to look up the quote, so forgive any awkwardness and the like.
AN2: The poem William quotes is Miracles by Walt Whitman
AN3: Mys knows Pratt is the accepted last name for our William, but she has never been one to just accept, lol. Anyway, Mys gives her William the surname of Huggins, yes there is a story behind that, no she is not going to bore the masses with it- anybody that curious can ask, lol.
*********
Milton leaned back in his chair and watched as students milled about in the courtyard outside his window. It never ceased to amaze him how simple it was for this species to turn a blind eye to the world around them- it was something that fascinated and horrified him in equal measure.
Turning away from the sunny view outside, Milton considered the enigma that was William Huggins, PhD, Professor of Pre-Victorian English Literature. William was nothing like the rest of these humans. He saw things; he looked, too deeply and acknowledged what he saw. It was a rare trait among humans. It was a trait he, himself, was coming to hold dear.
A fact he blamed on William.
The beautiful sandy-haired man occupied entirely too many of Milton’s thoughts, too much of his time. He was more machine than man, he was supposed to be above human entanglements. But when he heard William’s voice- lyrical and intense, full of passion and desire- something stirred in him. Perhaps it was the words the Literary Professor spoke, To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass-the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim-the rocks-the motion of the waves-the ships, with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
or perhaps it was the honesty and power in them or in his voice. Whatever the case, William’s words had planted a seed, his soulful eyes and loving nature had fed it, and now the weed of emotion was cracking and destroying Milton’s armour. And he wanted it, as much as he wanted William.
As if hearing Milton’s mind, William rapped at the door. Without awaiting an answer William’s elegant face, draped in golden waves and broken only by the presence of wire-framed lenses that made him look as if he belonged to the era he taught rather than the one in which he lived, appeared in the doorway. “You think too loudly.” William entered the room, locking the door behind him.
Milton’s features softened the moment the man appeared, “Do I?”
Kneeling next to his fellow academic, William ran a tentative finger over Milton’s arm, “Yes, and it‘s not good for you.” William nibbled his bottom lip, looking up at his lover through thick lashes, “You need a break.”
And suddenly, as it was every time William spoke to him or touched him, nothing mattered but being with this man. Smiling, accepting and welcoming that he was lost, Milton pulled the other man to him, “Yes, I believe I do.”
Title: Lost
Pairing: William/Professor Milton Fine (aka Brainiac)
Rating: PG13
Feedback: Mys has decided that she actually likes FB, so… constructive crit is fine, just be prepared for Mys to defend/explain her choices, and try not to do any permanent damage, k.
Disclaimer: Just playing with the pretties. Unfortunately, they are not mine, but I will gladly groom and bathe them before sending them back home to their Daddies- aka Joss/Mutant Enemy/et al, and ppl with fancy lawyers and more money than Croesus- namely Millar Gough Ink, Warner Bros. Television, DC Comics, Tollin/Robbins Productions, and the like.
Warnings/Squicks: Smv/BtVS x-over, obvious very AU {AHAU for Buffy character(s)}, No Shirt-No Shoes-No Service, Beware of Dog, Danger: Attack Aardvark, High Voltage, No Fruits or Vegetables Allowed
Summary: Losing oneself to a miracle
AN1: Mys got the feeling her Xandra needed a pick-me-up… this was written in just over an hour and a half, including the time it took to look up the quote, so forgive any awkwardness and the like.
AN2: The poem William quotes is Miracles by Walt Whitman
AN3: Mys knows Pratt is the accepted last name for our William, but she has never been one to just accept, lol. Anyway, Mys gives her William the surname of Huggins, yes there is a story behind that, no she is not going to bore the masses with it- anybody that curious can ask, lol.
*********
Milton leaned back in his chair and watched as students milled about in the courtyard outside his window. It never ceased to amaze him how simple it was for this species to turn a blind eye to the world around them- it was something that fascinated and horrified him in equal measure.
Turning away from the sunny view outside, Milton considered the enigma that was William Huggins, PhD, Professor of Pre-Victorian English Literature. William was nothing like the rest of these humans. He saw things; he looked, too deeply and acknowledged what he saw. It was a rare trait among humans. It was a trait he, himself, was coming to hold dear.
A fact he blamed on William.
The beautiful sandy-haired man occupied entirely too many of Milton’s thoughts, too much of his time. He was more machine than man, he was supposed to be above human entanglements. But when he heard William’s voice- lyrical and intense, full of passion and desire- something stirred in him. Perhaps it was the words the Literary Professor spoke, To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass-the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim-the rocks-the motion of the waves-the ships, with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
or perhaps it was the honesty and power in them or in his voice. Whatever the case, William’s words had planted a seed, his soulful eyes and loving nature had fed it, and now the weed of emotion was cracking and destroying Milton’s armour. And he wanted it, as much as he wanted William.
As if hearing Milton’s mind, William rapped at the door. Without awaiting an answer William’s elegant face, draped in golden waves and broken only by the presence of wire-framed lenses that made him look as if he belonged to the era he taught rather than the one in which he lived, appeared in the doorway. “You think too loudly.” William entered the room, locking the door behind him.
Milton’s features softened the moment the man appeared, “Do I?”
Kneeling next to his fellow academic, William ran a tentative finger over Milton’s arm, “Yes, and it‘s not good for you.” William nibbled his bottom lip, looking up at his lover through thick lashes, “You need a break.”
And suddenly, as it was every time William spoke to him or touched him, nothing mattered but being with this man. Smiling, accepting and welcoming that he was lost, Milton pulled the other man to him, “Yes, I believe I do.”