fanfic: Dollhouse/His Dark Materials crossover
flist, ignore me. I'm making official posts of my Porn Battle fics for cross-posting purposes.
Title: Shadows
Fandom: Dollhouse/His Dark Materials crossover
Prompt: Adelle/Asriel, familiar
Word count: 1900
Notes: written for the Porn Battle; original post here.
Asriel’s pilgrimage to a land fit to be called Republic took him past many worlds, many countries, many people. The rending of the sky had birthed an infinitely-pronged crossroads in the fabric of the countless universes, and Asriel looked upon them as a maze and let instinct guide him through first one and then another, seeking, waiting, soaking himself with newness and quietly preparing, Stelmaria a stern and steady presence at his side.
Stelmaria was, at times, glanced upon curiously, and Asriel became a master at sensing whether an imposing glare or an air of unobtrusiveness would be more to his benefit in a given world; the former had been second-nature since childhood, the latter less so, and he had to train himself to shrink, to camouflage, to deflect staring eyes from the regal creature beside him. He had not spent six months making love to a witch without gleaning what he could from her disciplines, and he was pleased to find his rudimentary skills enabled him to fade sufficiently into the background when necessary.
The overlapping placement of worlds had shifted dramatically in the upset from the blast, and thus not every land Asriel ventured into was cold as his workplace had been. He sweated and shivered by turns; he strode close to the stars and beneath great towering monoliths of granite, along shorelines and through wide avenues thronging with people.
On one particular day, one such avenue led him quite suddenly into the most brilliant sun he had ever seen. He spied water sparkling in the distance and strange trees unfamiliar to him. Metallic vehicles roared down the wide paved roads at dizzying speeds, and there was a warm, faint scent in the air, fruity and salty and chemical all at once. Asriel felt the back of his neck break into a sweat; he was not prepared for heat like this after the cool clamminess of the world he had just left behind. Across the avenue, a dim-windowed building on the corner caught his eye. He nodded to himself and headed for it, planning to take cover until nightfall, always assuming, of course, that this world had one.
The room he found himself in was dim and the air was heavy, but it offered relief from the sun, and Asriel sank into a chair and attempted to release the tension in his body as Stelmaria crouched and settled beneath the table. He had been walking for goodness knows how long, and however much he outpaced the average man in both stamina and determination, he was tired to the bone.
He eyed a disheveled man slumped in a booth in the corner, feeling himself begin to sneer before he reminded himself that he could hardly look much better, and listened as the man ordered a scotch, which turned out to be an amber liquid Asriel could only surmise was alcoholic. He raised a hand to summon the man behind the counter and asked for the same, and, heaving a deliberate sigh, straightened his back and extracted a stack of papers, now worn with familiarity, from within the slim case he carried with him.
In this way Asriel spent the day’s hours, staving off the desire to sleep. As darkness fell, the bar began to fill with people, most of whom thankfully ignored Asriel completely, leaving him free to play the silent observer, a role he had long ago come to value above all others. The establishment seemed to attract men and women of all ages, stations, and dispositions, and Asriel allowed his attention to alight on each in turn, wandering from table to stool to booth freely.
The night had been dark for several hours when Asriel noticed the woman.
He must have been distracted when she entered, for he felt certain that had his attention not been fixed elsewhere, she certainly would have drawn it. Asriel spotted the back of her head first, and had to shake himself; he was not one to be thrown, but the long, rich brown hair splayed over the woman’s shoulders triggered a zigzag of recognition in his gut. It wasn’t only her hair, it was the way she carried herself, or rather something indefinable that she carried with her. Even with her back slightly hunched, there was an elegance and an uprightness about her, coupled with something dark and mysterious that caused Asriel’s skin to prickle at the sight of her.
He approached. Stelmaria raised her head but remained in the shadows, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. The stool beside the woman was empty, and Asriel slid onto it easily, keeping his eyes forward, and ordered another scotch. He glanced sideways. The woman appeared not to notice him. Her hands were wrapped about the glass sitting in front of her, tipping it in a gentle circle that made the ice clink inside it. Asriel downed his drink and set it down with a satisfying clunk, and was pleased when the woman’s eyes flicked momentarily up from her hands. Asriel swiveled his body towards her and rested his palm on the counter, close enough to catch her peripheral vision.
"Pardon me," he said smoothly, keeping his voice low, "I could not help noticing that you don’t seem to have had a particularly easy time of things this evening."
She looked up, and Asriel had to force his face to remain neutral; his initial impression only intensified when he was treated to her full-on gaze, sharp and discerning. She took him in briefly. "Nor do you."
Asriel inclined his head in agreement. "I seek… something which perhaps cannot be found. I have come far." He waited expectantly.
"Oh, everything is turning to shit." She waved a hand vaguely, and Asriel was able to tell for the first time that she was intoxicated. "But that is hardly out of the ordinary. These days."
The familiar cadences of her accent in a sea of foreign voices only drew Asriel further in. His decision was made. He would relinquish work for the time being and allow himself the luxury of company, just for this evening.
He held out his hand. "Asriel Belacqua."
She regarded it shrewdly for a moment before placing her cool palm in his. It was slightly damp from the condensation on the glass. "Adelle Dewitt."
They talked. Both in roundabout circles that revealed nothing vital, each recognizing the undercurrent of caution in the other’s tone, the unwillingness to truly confide, and rather than breeding suspicion between them, it bred confidence. Here, Asriel thought, was a woman as eager to shroud her intentions and demons as he was. It was reassuring and intriguing, and Asriel found that discoursing with her did more to awaken his mind than anything had over the course of his journey. This, it was familiar, this sensation of being kept on his toes, of rising to the challenge twanging in her voice.
He placed his hand on her thigh.
Her words petered out and she looked at him. Slowly, she laid her hand over his and slotted her fingers between his. She squeezed, pressing his hand firmly against her. Warmth seemed to flood to the surface of her skin, seeping through her skirt and directly up his fingers like an electric shock. Their eyes locked; she removed her hand from his and leaned forward subtly until he felt her fingernails just above his knee. They sat symmetrical for a moment, staring. Then Adelle blinked. She pulled away from him, stood up, swayed, steadied herself. Without a word, she wrapped her fingers tightly about his wrist and pulled him to his feet. He followed her around the corner, to where a dingy bathroom and a payphone lined a narrow, dark passage. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Stelmaria slinking after him, hugging the wall. Adelle stopped when they reached the darkest recess of the passage, the noise of the bar muted behind them. In the darkness, her eyes gleamed like those of his daemon. "I don’t do this," she told him. Then she pressed him into the wall and kissed him.
Asriel kissed back, immediately. Adelle was insistent; her tongue vied with his, and he grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, hard, pushing his knee between her thighs. He moved his hands to her neck and cupped the back of her head, twining his fingers through her hair. She strained back, in need of air, and Asriel exhaled harshly at the intensity of their embrace. Their bodies fit like puzzle pieces; she hit him in all the right places, barely having to move. It was their stillness that overwhelmed him, a simple and steady press of two bodies, only their lips and tongues in action. It was like being at the eye of a storm.
He sought her kiss once more, mapped the inside of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. She shook and he held her close, close, binding their bodies. Pressure rose in his chest, and he fought the urge to shout just to relieve it. He kissed her and held her, kissed her and held her, until her hips quaked and she ground against him, involuntarily. Then he thrust her sharply away, gripped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. He fought for breath. Her chest heaved and she stared at him, her eyes wide and bleary at the same time.
"I don’t do this, either," he rumbled between breaths. "And I won’t. We will find a place where we can be alone, and I will make love to you."
Her nostrils flared. She seemed to be fighting the instinct to be outraged. Finally, she bowed her head in acquiescence. "I suggest we make haste."
Asriel agreed.
In their room (clean, neat, not over-the-top, because this occasion was neither meaningless nor momentous; neither cheap nor extravagant would suit them), Asriel made love to her. Sex hadn’t been this much like sparring for twelve years; even his witch did not compare to his memory, but Adelle - she came close. Nails dug into flesh and teeth got tangled up with tongues, yet none of the focused, taut precision of their earlier encounter was lost. They watched each other, more time than not, eyes boring and burning into one another. He watched her climax, then forced his own eyes to remain open when he followed, gasping, seconds after. Later, he watched her again.
She was curvy and jagged; her soul ran with streaks of manipulation and weakness, thrill and despair, all the contradictions he loved best and missed more deeply than he would ever be persuaded to admit. She was softer, in some ways, but there was an iciness that outweighed her passion, and in this way she was harder. She was different, but she was close, and she didn’t ask questions. She was a reprieve, and he would be able to move on now, relieved of the unsatisfied, phantom throb he had been experiencing since he left the ice and entered the sky. He no longer felt weary.
Before, just as she was coming down from the second time he’d made her scream (an almost frighteningly uninhibited sound of release he frankly had not been anticipating), he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "What are you looking for?"
She had drawn a few shaky breaths, considering, before she quietly told him, "A girl." She paused. "What are you looking for?"
Asriel said, "Freedom."
Title: Shadows
Fandom: Dollhouse/His Dark Materials crossover
Prompt: Adelle/Asriel, familiar
Word count: 1900
Notes: written for the Porn Battle; original post here.
Asriel’s pilgrimage to a land fit to be called Republic took him past many worlds, many countries, many people. The rending of the sky had birthed an infinitely-pronged crossroads in the fabric of the countless universes, and Asriel looked upon them as a maze and let instinct guide him through first one and then another, seeking, waiting, soaking himself with newness and quietly preparing, Stelmaria a stern and steady presence at his side.
Stelmaria was, at times, glanced upon curiously, and Asriel became a master at sensing whether an imposing glare or an air of unobtrusiveness would be more to his benefit in a given world; the former had been second-nature since childhood, the latter less so, and he had to train himself to shrink, to camouflage, to deflect staring eyes from the regal creature beside him. He had not spent six months making love to a witch without gleaning what he could from her disciplines, and he was pleased to find his rudimentary skills enabled him to fade sufficiently into the background when necessary.
The overlapping placement of worlds had shifted dramatically in the upset from the blast, and thus not every land Asriel ventured into was cold as his workplace had been. He sweated and shivered by turns; he strode close to the stars and beneath great towering monoliths of granite, along shorelines and through wide avenues thronging with people.
On one particular day, one such avenue led him quite suddenly into the most brilliant sun he had ever seen. He spied water sparkling in the distance and strange trees unfamiliar to him. Metallic vehicles roared down the wide paved roads at dizzying speeds, and there was a warm, faint scent in the air, fruity and salty and chemical all at once. Asriel felt the back of his neck break into a sweat; he was not prepared for heat like this after the cool clamminess of the world he had just left behind. Across the avenue, a dim-windowed building on the corner caught his eye. He nodded to himself and headed for it, planning to take cover until nightfall, always assuming, of course, that this world had one.
The room he found himself in was dim and the air was heavy, but it offered relief from the sun, and Asriel sank into a chair and attempted to release the tension in his body as Stelmaria crouched and settled beneath the table. He had been walking for goodness knows how long, and however much he outpaced the average man in both stamina and determination, he was tired to the bone.
He eyed a disheveled man slumped in a booth in the corner, feeling himself begin to sneer before he reminded himself that he could hardly look much better, and listened as the man ordered a scotch, which turned out to be an amber liquid Asriel could only surmise was alcoholic. He raised a hand to summon the man behind the counter and asked for the same, and, heaving a deliberate sigh, straightened his back and extracted a stack of papers, now worn with familiarity, from within the slim case he carried with him.
In this way Asriel spent the day’s hours, staving off the desire to sleep. As darkness fell, the bar began to fill with people, most of whom thankfully ignored Asriel completely, leaving him free to play the silent observer, a role he had long ago come to value above all others. The establishment seemed to attract men and women of all ages, stations, and dispositions, and Asriel allowed his attention to alight on each in turn, wandering from table to stool to booth freely.
The night had been dark for several hours when Asriel noticed the woman.
He must have been distracted when she entered, for he felt certain that had his attention not been fixed elsewhere, she certainly would have drawn it. Asriel spotted the back of her head first, and had to shake himself; he was not one to be thrown, but the long, rich brown hair splayed over the woman’s shoulders triggered a zigzag of recognition in his gut. It wasn’t only her hair, it was the way she carried herself, or rather something indefinable that she carried with her. Even with her back slightly hunched, there was an elegance and an uprightness about her, coupled with something dark and mysterious that caused Asriel’s skin to prickle at the sight of her.
He approached. Stelmaria raised her head but remained in the shadows, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. The stool beside the woman was empty, and Asriel slid onto it easily, keeping his eyes forward, and ordered another scotch. He glanced sideways. The woman appeared not to notice him. Her hands were wrapped about the glass sitting in front of her, tipping it in a gentle circle that made the ice clink inside it. Asriel downed his drink and set it down with a satisfying clunk, and was pleased when the woman’s eyes flicked momentarily up from her hands. Asriel swiveled his body towards her and rested his palm on the counter, close enough to catch her peripheral vision.
"Pardon me," he said smoothly, keeping his voice low, "I could not help noticing that you don’t seem to have had a particularly easy time of things this evening."
She looked up, and Asriel had to force his face to remain neutral; his initial impression only intensified when he was treated to her full-on gaze, sharp and discerning. She took him in briefly. "Nor do you."
Asriel inclined his head in agreement. "I seek… something which perhaps cannot be found. I have come far." He waited expectantly.
"Oh, everything is turning to shit." She waved a hand vaguely, and Asriel was able to tell for the first time that she was intoxicated. "But that is hardly out of the ordinary. These days."
The familiar cadences of her accent in a sea of foreign voices only drew Asriel further in. His decision was made. He would relinquish work for the time being and allow himself the luxury of company, just for this evening.
He held out his hand. "Asriel Belacqua."
She regarded it shrewdly for a moment before placing her cool palm in his. It was slightly damp from the condensation on the glass. "Adelle Dewitt."
They talked. Both in roundabout circles that revealed nothing vital, each recognizing the undercurrent of caution in the other’s tone, the unwillingness to truly confide, and rather than breeding suspicion between them, it bred confidence. Here, Asriel thought, was a woman as eager to shroud her intentions and demons as he was. It was reassuring and intriguing, and Asriel found that discoursing with her did more to awaken his mind than anything had over the course of his journey. This, it was familiar, this sensation of being kept on his toes, of rising to the challenge twanging in her voice.
He placed his hand on her thigh.
Her words petered out and she looked at him. Slowly, she laid her hand over his and slotted her fingers between his. She squeezed, pressing his hand firmly against her. Warmth seemed to flood to the surface of her skin, seeping through her skirt and directly up his fingers like an electric shock. Their eyes locked; she removed her hand from his and leaned forward subtly until he felt her fingernails just above his knee. They sat symmetrical for a moment, staring. Then Adelle blinked. She pulled away from him, stood up, swayed, steadied herself. Without a word, she wrapped her fingers tightly about his wrist and pulled him to his feet. He followed her around the corner, to where a dingy bathroom and a payphone lined a narrow, dark passage. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Stelmaria slinking after him, hugging the wall. Adelle stopped when they reached the darkest recess of the passage, the noise of the bar muted behind them. In the darkness, her eyes gleamed like those of his daemon. "I don’t do this," she told him. Then she pressed him into the wall and kissed him.
Asriel kissed back, immediately. Adelle was insistent; her tongue vied with his, and he grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, hard, pushing his knee between her thighs. He moved his hands to her neck and cupped the back of her head, twining his fingers through her hair. She strained back, in need of air, and Asriel exhaled harshly at the intensity of their embrace. Their bodies fit like puzzle pieces; she hit him in all the right places, barely having to move. It was their stillness that overwhelmed him, a simple and steady press of two bodies, only their lips and tongues in action. It was like being at the eye of a storm.
He sought her kiss once more, mapped the inside of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. She shook and he held her close, close, binding their bodies. Pressure rose in his chest, and he fought the urge to shout just to relieve it. He kissed her and held her, kissed her and held her, until her hips quaked and she ground against him, involuntarily. Then he thrust her sharply away, gripped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. He fought for breath. Her chest heaved and she stared at him, her eyes wide and bleary at the same time.
"I don’t do this, either," he rumbled between breaths. "And I won’t. We will find a place where we can be alone, and I will make love to you."
Her nostrils flared. She seemed to be fighting the instinct to be outraged. Finally, she bowed her head in acquiescence. "I suggest we make haste."
Asriel agreed.
In their room (clean, neat, not over-the-top, because this occasion was neither meaningless nor momentous; neither cheap nor extravagant would suit them), Asriel made love to her. Sex hadn’t been this much like sparring for twelve years; even his witch did not compare to his memory, but Adelle - she came close. Nails dug into flesh and teeth got tangled up with tongues, yet none of the focused, taut precision of their earlier encounter was lost. They watched each other, more time than not, eyes boring and burning into one another. He watched her climax, then forced his own eyes to remain open when he followed, gasping, seconds after. Later, he watched her again.
She was curvy and jagged; her soul ran with streaks of manipulation and weakness, thrill and despair, all the contradictions he loved best and missed more deeply than he would ever be persuaded to admit. She was softer, in some ways, but there was an iciness that outweighed her passion, and in this way she was harder. She was different, but she was close, and she didn’t ask questions. She was a reprieve, and he would be able to move on now, relieved of the unsatisfied, phantom throb he had been experiencing since he left the ice and entered the sky. He no longer felt weary.
Before, just as she was coming down from the second time he’d made her scream (an almost frighteningly uninhibited sound of release he frankly had not been anticipating), he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "What are you looking for?"
She had drawn a few shaky breaths, considering, before she quietly told him, "A girl." She paused. "What are you looking for?"
Asriel said, "Freedom."