Original: "Things That Go Bump in the Night." Slash
What is this I don't even.
Anyway, with finals looming, I've had to resort to simply finishing snuggles I've already started (never fear, more werewolves (most probably Raoul and Bari) will be forthcoming, just as soon as I have time :P
So, after a considerable amount of time, minty_fish I have finally managed to finish your catburgler though I'm not at all sure it's what you meant :P Anyway, I hope you enjoy. If I'm lucky, after finals I'll be able to write their poly fic :]
Also: has anyone else had problems with the comments? Every time I comment, it double posts and I can't figure out why or how to stop it.
Summary: Chance isn't sure, but he's almost positive this isn't the proper way to burgle someone's house.
Reggie couldn’t remember why he was on the stairs. He’d been happily ensconced in his study, working on a proof that he’d recently made a breakthrough on, when…something had pulled him from it, though he couldn’t quite recall what.
Had it been a noise, he wondered. The last time he’d looked it was half-past midnight - and that some time ago - so the world should be fairly quiet in the world. Perhaps he’d been thirsty and on his way to get a drink?
He shrugged. Whatever had roused him from his study, he was here now and suddenly feeling a bit puckish. A sandwich sounded rather lovely.
Reggie didn’t bother turning on a light, guided by the dim moonlight filtering in through a high window, mind already returning to the proof he’d left upstairs.
Quite suddenly, Reggie found himself at the bottom of the stairs, legs sprawled up behind him. There was a twinge in his back and knees, he wasn’t sure where his glasses had gotten to, and his chin felt suspiciously wet. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling above. He admitted ruefully that there might be something to his father’s suggestion that he get a LifeAlert; this was hardly the first time he’d tumbled down these stairs.
He tried to sit up and collapsed back, wheezing the wind thoroughly knocked out of him. The stairs were comfortable enough, he supposed. He’d just lay here for a little bit.
“Are you alright there?”
For a moment, every muscle in Reggie’s body seized in blind terror and he ceased to notice his wheezing because he was no longer breathing at all. Then, Reggie came to terms with the fact that he’d finally gone crazy, as he was now having visitations from pale ghosts with rather appealing voices.
With a slight gasp, he resumed breathing, lungs almost recovered from his fall. “Just fine, I s’pose,” he wheezed out lightly. “Took a bit of a tumble, though that’s hardly out of the ordinary.” Reggie peered at the pale face floating above him. “I hadn’t realized this house was being haunted by a ghost,” he remarked absently.
The pale face showed a look of undeniable confusion before it floated closer. As he approached, Reggie realized that the ghost had a dark, shadowy body attached to the pale face. He watched placidly as a dark arm reached out toward him, wondering what it would feel like as it passed through him.
He jerked back, causing himself to slide a little further down the stairs as the dark arm made very real, very solid contact. “You’re not a ghost!” he blurted out, and suddenly felt like smacking his head against a wall. Or perhaps he already had. What on earth had made him think a ghost was a reasonable conclusion to draw? The other mathematicians at the university would laugh themselves silly when he got over his embarrassment enough to tell them.
He could just see pale eyebrows draw together on his not-ghost’s face. “Of course I’m not,” said that lovely voice. “Why on earth would you think I was a ghost?” it asked.
“Well,” Reggie began reasonably. “You’re very pale. And I couldn’t think of any other reason anyone else might be in this house.”
For a moment, the face looked as though it wanted to say something, and then changed its mind about what it was about to say. “Perhaps we should move this discussion to the kitchen where we can check that you haven’t broken anything and aren’t bleeding anywhere else,” he suggested, eyeing Reggie’s chin pointedly.
When the dark arms reached for him again. Reggie was prepared for it. Wincing as he was slowly helped to his feet, he took stock and breathed a quiet sigh of relief - nothing felt broken. Body twinging slightly in protest, he allowed himself to be led to his kitchen, gladly collapsing into one of the chairs collected around his table.
Reggie had to blink away spots as the kitchen was flooded with light, just able to see his dark stranger as he squinted his eyes, trying to adjust. He started as a damp cloth was pressed to his chin, and really, what was he doing zoning out like that? He didn’t know who this stranger was.
“Are you here to kill me?” he heard himself ask, before he’d had a chance to think about it. Subtlety, thy absence is sharply felt.
The cloth disappeared from his chin and Reggie suddenly realized he could see normally again. His stranger turned out to be a young male, clad from head to toe in black. He was impossibly fair, his hair where it poked from beneath his cap the lightest blonde Reggie had ever seen. He also had green eyes that were currently staring at Reggie with slightly shocked surprise.
“Kill you? Why on earth would someone want to kill you?” he asked incredulously, brows high on his forehead.
Reggie shrugged, gingerly prodding his chin. “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest,” he replied absently. “But I figured I ought to ask, for the sake of thoroughness. If you aren’t here to kill me, will you kindly tell me why you are in my house, uninvited, at -” He squinted at the clock, wondering what he’d done with his glasses, and frowned. “At nearly three in the morning.”
The man rubbed the back of his head, the washcloth apparently forgotten in his other hand. “I was just supposed to take some papers of a Reginald Vanderwald,” he admitted slowly, shifting from foot to foot.
Reggie looked at him sharply, all of his attention concentrated on something other than his research for once. “What papers? Who hired you?” he demanded, brows knit as he turned over this new piece of information. A thief? This was probably a case of professional sabotage.
“Math papers,” the man supplied cautiously. “I was told they would all be kept in a bright green binder on a desk.” He studied Reggie for a moment before continuing. “He didn’t tell me not to, but I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you who hired me.”
Reggie snorted. Only one person would know he had always kept his current projects in his binder, and Eustace was exactly the kind of person who would send a thief to retrieve it, if only so Reggie himself would no longer have it. “Alright,” he acquiesced. “And I prefer Reggie. Why don’t you give me your name now?”
The man looked at him warily, before answering with a shrug, “Chance.” He grimaced slightly before continuing, “Chance Darling.”
Diplomatically, Reggie hid his smile. “Well, Mr. Darling, why don’t you have a seat? We may converse over tea until Eustace realizes you have not returned with the papers. I believe I have biscuits around here somewhere as well.”
Chance’s brows shot up and he took one of the open seats bemusedly. “So you already know who I work for, then.”
Reggie smiled slightly, inclining his head in acknowledgement. “Eustace is the only one who would know where my work is stored. It hasn’t changed since we were roommates in college.” Chance started slightly and Reggie grinned. “I suppose he didn’t bother mentioning that.”
Shaking his head, Chance cocked his head, studying Reggie. “So what do you plan to do about Mr. Hinter? Surely he will not take this failure gracefully; he seemed like a rather driven man. I don’t think he’ll give up so easily.”
Reggie propped his ankle on the opposite knee, resting his head in one fine-boned hand, smiling faintly. “I doubt he will. Eustace was always much too competitive to let things be. He will almost certainly come up with some new scheme to disadvantage me; it is a scenario that has played out many times over the years of our acquaintance. In the meantime, however, I see no reason not to enjoy to the fullest that which he has dropped into my lap.” There was something thoroughly pleased behind his smile. “I’ve always loved making new friends.”
Chance’s eyes widened at the slightly predatory tone. Mathematicians were turning out to be a class widely different than he had imagined. He was hardly complaining though; for a man known for his recluse-like tendencies - and even with the sluggishly bleeding gash on his chin - Reginald Vanderwald cut a strikingly elegant figure. “So we just sit here and wait until Mr. Hinter shows up?”
Reggie’s eyes gleamed as he smirked at his late-night guest. “I believe I can think up something more enjoyable than simply sitting here until morning.” His gaze took Chance in from tip to toe, meeting the thief’s gaze with one that said Chance’s own interest was clear. “If you are amenable?” he teased.
No, Chance thought. He was not complaining at all.
Anyway, with finals looming, I've had to resort to simply finishing snuggles I've already started (never fear, more werewolves (most probably Raoul and Bari) will be forthcoming, just as soon as I have time :P
So, after a considerable amount of time, minty_fish I have finally managed to finish your catburgler though I'm not at all sure it's what you meant :P Anyway, I hope you enjoy. If I'm lucky, after finals I'll be able to write their poly fic :]
Also: has anyone else had problems with the comments? Every time I comment, it double posts and I can't figure out why or how to stop it.
Summary: Chance isn't sure, but he's almost positive this isn't the proper way to burgle someone's house.
Reggie couldn’t remember why he was on the stairs. He’d been happily ensconced in his study, working on a proof that he’d recently made a breakthrough on, when…something had pulled him from it, though he couldn’t quite recall what.
Had it been a noise, he wondered. The last time he’d looked it was half-past midnight - and that some time ago - so the world should be fairly quiet in the world. Perhaps he’d been thirsty and on his way to get a drink?
He shrugged. Whatever had roused him from his study, he was here now and suddenly feeling a bit puckish. A sandwich sounded rather lovely.
Reggie didn’t bother turning on a light, guided by the dim moonlight filtering in through a high window, mind already returning to the proof he’d left upstairs.
Quite suddenly, Reggie found himself at the bottom of the stairs, legs sprawled up behind him. There was a twinge in his back and knees, he wasn’t sure where his glasses had gotten to, and his chin felt suspiciously wet. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling above. He admitted ruefully that there might be something to his father’s suggestion that he get a LifeAlert; this was hardly the first time he’d tumbled down these stairs.
He tried to sit up and collapsed back, wheezing the wind thoroughly knocked out of him. The stairs were comfortable enough, he supposed. He’d just lay here for a little bit.
“Are you alright there?”
For a moment, every muscle in Reggie’s body seized in blind terror and he ceased to notice his wheezing because he was no longer breathing at all. Then, Reggie came to terms with the fact that he’d finally gone crazy, as he was now having visitations from pale ghosts with rather appealing voices.
With a slight gasp, he resumed breathing, lungs almost recovered from his fall. “Just fine, I s’pose,” he wheezed out lightly. “Took a bit of a tumble, though that’s hardly out of the ordinary.” Reggie peered at the pale face floating above him. “I hadn’t realized this house was being haunted by a ghost,” he remarked absently.
The pale face showed a look of undeniable confusion before it floated closer. As he approached, Reggie realized that the ghost had a dark, shadowy body attached to the pale face. He watched placidly as a dark arm reached out toward him, wondering what it would feel like as it passed through him.
He jerked back, causing himself to slide a little further down the stairs as the dark arm made very real, very solid contact. “You’re not a ghost!” he blurted out, and suddenly felt like smacking his head against a wall. Or perhaps he already had. What on earth had made him think a ghost was a reasonable conclusion to draw? The other mathematicians at the university would laugh themselves silly when he got over his embarrassment enough to tell them.
He could just see pale eyebrows draw together on his not-ghost’s face. “Of course I’m not,” said that lovely voice. “Why on earth would you think I was a ghost?” it asked.
“Well,” Reggie began reasonably. “You’re very pale. And I couldn’t think of any other reason anyone else might be in this house.”
For a moment, the face looked as though it wanted to say something, and then changed its mind about what it was about to say. “Perhaps we should move this discussion to the kitchen where we can check that you haven’t broken anything and aren’t bleeding anywhere else,” he suggested, eyeing Reggie’s chin pointedly.
When the dark arms reached for him again. Reggie was prepared for it. Wincing as he was slowly helped to his feet, he took stock and breathed a quiet sigh of relief - nothing felt broken. Body twinging slightly in protest, he allowed himself to be led to his kitchen, gladly collapsing into one of the chairs collected around his table.
Reggie had to blink away spots as the kitchen was flooded with light, just able to see his dark stranger as he squinted his eyes, trying to adjust. He started as a damp cloth was pressed to his chin, and really, what was he doing zoning out like that? He didn’t know who this stranger was.
“Are you here to kill me?” he heard himself ask, before he’d had a chance to think about it. Subtlety, thy absence is sharply felt.
The cloth disappeared from his chin and Reggie suddenly realized he could see normally again. His stranger turned out to be a young male, clad from head to toe in black. He was impossibly fair, his hair where it poked from beneath his cap the lightest blonde Reggie had ever seen. He also had green eyes that were currently staring at Reggie with slightly shocked surprise.
“Kill you? Why on earth would someone want to kill you?” he asked incredulously, brows high on his forehead.
Reggie shrugged, gingerly prodding his chin. “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest,” he replied absently. “But I figured I ought to ask, for the sake of thoroughness. If you aren’t here to kill me, will you kindly tell me why you are in my house, uninvited, at -” He squinted at the clock, wondering what he’d done with his glasses, and frowned. “At nearly three in the morning.”
The man rubbed the back of his head, the washcloth apparently forgotten in his other hand. “I was just supposed to take some papers of a Reginald Vanderwald,” he admitted slowly, shifting from foot to foot.
Reggie looked at him sharply, all of his attention concentrated on something other than his research for once. “What papers? Who hired you?” he demanded, brows knit as he turned over this new piece of information. A thief? This was probably a case of professional sabotage.
“Math papers,” the man supplied cautiously. “I was told they would all be kept in a bright green binder on a desk.” He studied Reggie for a moment before continuing. “He didn’t tell me not to, but I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you who hired me.”
Reggie snorted. Only one person would know he had always kept his current projects in his binder, and Eustace was exactly the kind of person who would send a thief to retrieve it, if only so Reggie himself would no longer have it. “Alright,” he acquiesced. “And I prefer Reggie. Why don’t you give me your name now?”
The man looked at him warily, before answering with a shrug, “Chance.” He grimaced slightly before continuing, “Chance Darling.”
Diplomatically, Reggie hid his smile. “Well, Mr. Darling, why don’t you have a seat? We may converse over tea until Eustace realizes you have not returned with the papers. I believe I have biscuits around here somewhere as well.”
Chance’s brows shot up and he took one of the open seats bemusedly. “So you already know who I work for, then.”
Reggie smiled slightly, inclining his head in acknowledgement. “Eustace is the only one who would know where my work is stored. It hasn’t changed since we were roommates in college.” Chance started slightly and Reggie grinned. “I suppose he didn’t bother mentioning that.”
Shaking his head, Chance cocked his head, studying Reggie. “So what do you plan to do about Mr. Hinter? Surely he will not take this failure gracefully; he seemed like a rather driven man. I don’t think he’ll give up so easily.”
Reggie propped his ankle on the opposite knee, resting his head in one fine-boned hand, smiling faintly. “I doubt he will. Eustace was always much too competitive to let things be. He will almost certainly come up with some new scheme to disadvantage me; it is a scenario that has played out many times over the years of our acquaintance. In the meantime, however, I see no reason not to enjoy to the fullest that which he has dropped into my lap.” There was something thoroughly pleased behind his smile. “I’ve always loved making new friends.”
Chance’s eyes widened at the slightly predatory tone. Mathematicians were turning out to be a class widely different than he had imagined. He was hardly complaining though; for a man known for his recluse-like tendencies - and even with the sluggishly bleeding gash on his chin - Reginald Vanderwald cut a strikingly elegant figure. “So we just sit here and wait until Mr. Hinter shows up?”
Reggie’s eyes gleamed as he smirked at his late-night guest. “I believe I can think up something more enjoyable than simply sitting here until morning.” His gaze took Chance in from tip to toe, meeting the thief’s gaze with one that said Chance’s own interest was clear. “If you are amenable?” he teased.
No, Chance thought. He was not complaining at all.