FIC: Pursuant (Conrad Veidt/Basil Rathbone RPS, NC-17)
Title: Pursuant
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: Actor RPS, Old Hollywood RPF
Pairing: Conrad Veidt/Basil Rathbone
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Prose poetry, Erotica
Warnings: Bondage, period attitudes towards sexuality and gender, including Baz being a self-closeted sod in contrast to Connie "have I mentioned I am bisexual today" Veidt
Length: ~3500 words
A/N: Sequel to Pursuivant. Will not make sense if you haven't read that one. Like its predecessor, this one is full of your usual Romantic and poetic prose to pretty much count as prose poetry more than straightforward boring, sparse, macho, emotionally dead prose, yet it's still slightly lighter in tone. And with a happy ending, at that.
Summary: Baz wakes up from his wet fever-dream; Connie arrives to claim what's his.
("Mr. Veidt is at the door, sir."
The smell of the dying forest, the taste of lye upon his tongue, the woodsmoke--Basil shivers as they wash over him a tidal wave, as if he had never left them behind at all.
"Shall we tell him you are not in, sir?"
He but groans and drags himself out of bed, pulls on a dressing gown and begins to stagger towards the bathroom. "No. Make him wait a few minutes, and when you hear the toilet flushing, ask him to come upsta--"
But Connie is already through the bedroom door, Keiko stuttering apologies; Connie with his big, dazzling, crooked-toothed smile, slipping Keiko a note of a very large denomination. Keiko looks as if she is about to die of embarrassment, but Basil is only thankful for that as he tells her it's all right and sends her on her way; he hopes her shame has prevented her from noticing his state, from seeing or smelling the stains on his pyjamas.
Connie, however, but grins.
In one reality, Basil dashes into the bathroom, washes, shaves; he and Connie go off to the golf course just as intended, as old friends.
In another, Basil does not dash for the bathroom, but keeps on standing there: standing before a Connie still grinning with his hands in his pockets, his nostrils fluttering, his eyelashes sharp as he takes in Basil's state with his piercing, all-too-knowing gaze.
Connie slinks his weight from one foot to another, cocking his head outrageously, his lips pursed out in a devilish, merciless little croon. "Dreaming of me?"
Two realities, two possible courses of action flicker before Basil, splitting, branching, both fleeing from him before his eyes: it's like one of those nightmares of trying to catch a train, except now there are two, and he has to choose.)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: Actor RPS, Old Hollywood RPF
Pairing: Conrad Veidt/Basil Rathbone
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Prose poetry, Erotica
Warnings: Bondage, period attitudes towards sexuality and gender, including Baz being a self-closeted sod in contrast to Connie "have I mentioned I am bisexual today" Veidt
Length: ~3500 words
A/N: Sequel to Pursuivant. Will not make sense if you haven't read that one. Like its predecessor, this one is full of your usual Romantic and poetic prose to pretty much count as prose poetry more than straightforward boring, sparse, macho, emotionally dead prose, yet it's still slightly lighter in tone. And with a happy ending, at that.
Summary: Baz wakes up from his wet fever-dream; Connie arrives to claim what's his.
("Mr. Veidt is at the door, sir."
The smell of the dying forest, the taste of lye upon his tongue, the woodsmoke--Basil shivers as they wash over him a tidal wave, as if he had never left them behind at all.
"Shall we tell him you are not in, sir?"
He but groans and drags himself out of bed, pulls on a dressing gown and begins to stagger towards the bathroom. "No. Make him wait a few minutes, and when you hear the toilet flushing, ask him to come upsta--"
But Connie is already through the bedroom door, Keiko stuttering apologies; Connie with his big, dazzling, crooked-toothed smile, slipping Keiko a note of a very large denomination. Keiko looks as if she is about to die of embarrassment, but Basil is only thankful for that as he tells her it's all right and sends her on her way; he hopes her shame has prevented her from noticing his state, from seeing or smelling the stains on his pyjamas.
Connie, however, but grins.
In one reality, Basil dashes into the bathroom, washes, shaves; he and Connie go off to the golf course just as intended, as old friends.
In another, Basil does not dash for the bathroom, but keeps on standing there: standing before a Connie still grinning with his hands in his pockets, his nostrils fluttering, his eyelashes sharp as he takes in Basil's state with his piercing, all-too-knowing gaze.
Connie slinks his weight from one foot to another, cocking his head outrageously, his lips pursed out in a devilish, merciless little croon. "Dreaming of me?"
Two realities, two possible courses of action flicker before Basil, splitting, branching, both fleeing from him before his eyes: it's like one of those nightmares of trying to catch a train, except now there are two, and he has to choose.)