Hi here!:) My first fic for the comm.
Title: And when I lose you
Author: Trollwinter
Genre: Slash
Fandom: H.P. Lovecraft, “Pickman’s Model” and “The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath”
Pairing: Richard Upton Pickman/Randolph Carter
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Word count: 844
Disclaimer: Do not own anybody (but I wish I DID!)
Warning: Explicit slash, rough sex, mentions of horror themes and a little bit of angst.
A/N: Carter/Pickman. I was always drawn to this pairing. In my opinion, these two come together perfectly, completing one another. Look, Carter is rational, detached and rather awkward socially; his lifestyle is that of an anchorite. Pickman, on the contrary, is disorderly, hedonistic and prone to debauchery. Together, they make a unity of opposites of sorts, like Yin and Yang, order and chaos, mind and passion. Author H.P. Lovecraft says they were friends, but, as we well know, there are so much ambiguity and slashy potential in his stories. So I’ve dared write this fic - and I still have lots of ideas!
P.S. Sorry for possible mistakes, I have no beta-readers.(:
“You have interesting features, Carter. So delicate.”
The artist lifted his hand and reached out to caress his lover’s face. His thin fingers ran over Randolph’s cheek, chin and lips, as if he was drawing carefully the outlines of an imaginary portrait.
Randolph was on his knees before the decrepit ottoman sofa. Pickman didn’t light the carbide lamp which he usually used when working. There were only a few candles burning here and there, and their faint light could barely fight the dark that flooded the room. Shaky shades danced on easels and unfinished canvases.
The artist’s studio would look nightmarishly weird even at the daylight - if only the beam of daylight could ever reach that cellar lair. Inundated with the dull light and the dancing shadows, the room looked almost unreal, like a piece of a Boschian nightmare. The unholy creatures on the canvases grinned and gazed - it seemed they might at any moment come to life, descend from the canvases and start to dance all around them, mocking and teasing.
Richard rested on the ottoman leaning back on the shabby silk cushions - crimson was their color. His face and hands appeared white in the dark.
Randolph took him by the wrist and pressed a kiss to his pale, narrow palm. It didn’t escape his attention that Pickman had a few finger-nails broken, and there was the black underneath them.
Charcoal black oil paint, Carter told himself. Or cemetery grime. Or both.
Contemplating the slight man’s body spread out on the crimson silk, Randolph caught himself thinking that Richard looked especially doomed and exposed right then.
He suddenly felt the lump in his throat.
Everyone close to him was gone.
Carter remembered the dank night that the Darkness captured Harley Warren. He remained on the graveyard, bending over the abysmal tomb and calling Warren’s name desperately until the Voice from the deep told him Warren was dead. Gone.
And then Pickman.
He was here by his side, Randolph held him by the hand and kissed his fingers but, at the same time, he realized he was losing him too. Some day the Darkness would take him away, just like it took Warren. It was like damnation. The Darkness followed Randolph devouring everyone he loved.
“Come closer, Randolph!” Richard murmured seductively.
Willingly, Randolph wrapped his arms around Richard’s neck and shoulders, pulling him close. He gasped as their lips met; Richard’s teasing tongue invaded his mouth and swirled inside tickling him deliciously.
Then he withdrew licking his lips, with his eyes fixed on Randolph. A strange, almost bestial smirk curved his mouth. Randolph smiled back at him calmly. He knew what Richard wanted - it was not the first time they made love. He unhurriedly unbuttoned Richard’s shirt and placed a hand on his nipple feeling it harden under his fingers. Lowering his face, Randolph touched it with his lips, then bit it hard. Richard hissed and arched his back.
“Hurt me more, Carter! Or maybe you want me to hurt you?!”
He grasped Randolph’s arm and pulled him onto the ottoman. Holding him close, he slipped his hand beneath Randolph’s shirt and bit into his lips like a leech. Carter didn’t resist when Richard stripped off his clothes - he couldn’t deny that he found a weird delight in being so compliant and submissive to his lover. Motionless, with his eyes shut, he savored Richard’s rough kisses. The artist grinned as he felt Randolph’s hardness. Sliding down Carter’s body he dragged his tongue along his shaft before he took it deep into his throat. Randolph groaned, grabbing at Pickman’s hair, his body strained and arched violently.
Pickman pulled back and reached for emollient oil. His slicked fingers forced Randolph’s tight entrance, stretching and opening. Randolph cried out loud as Richard removed his fingers and entered him with one hard thrust. The heat, the throbbing, delightful ache and the passion, as crushing and powerful as the stroke of some huge wings overwhelmed him. He lay on his back, panting, moaning, while Richard rode him, kissing him avidly again and again, everywhere he could reach.
They came simultaneously - Carter with a long, almost pained groan, Richard with a low cry-snarl.
The candles died away.
They rested on the ottoman sofa staring into the empty dark, their bodies locked together in a warm embrace.
Now, Randolph felt as if he was holding the Darkness itself in his arms.
Once Pickman had told him that a human could occasionally fall for a ghoul. Randolph had only laughed, taking it for a cynical joke. Now, he realized that Pickman wasn’t joking at all.
The being which Carter held close in his arms wasn’t strictly human.
Some day, Richard Upton Pickman would disappear from the world.
Though the mere thought of their forthcoming farewell made Carter writhe internally, he didn’t abandon hope.
Randolph Carter was an expert dreamer, after all, so they might meet again. Not in the dull waking life, but somewhere in the Dreamlands, in the black impious chasms, on the very edge of the Waking World.
Author: Trollwinter
Genre: Slash
Fandom: H.P. Lovecraft, “Pickman’s Model” and “The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath”
Pairing: Richard Upton Pickman/Randolph Carter
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Word count: 844
Disclaimer: Do not own anybody (but I wish I DID!)
Warning: Explicit slash, rough sex, mentions of horror themes and a little bit of angst.
A/N: Carter/Pickman. I was always drawn to this pairing. In my opinion, these two come together perfectly, completing one another. Look, Carter is rational, detached and rather awkward socially; his lifestyle is that of an anchorite. Pickman, on the contrary, is disorderly, hedonistic and prone to debauchery. Together, they make a unity of opposites of sorts, like Yin and Yang, order and chaos, mind and passion. Author H.P. Lovecraft says they were friends, but, as we well know, there are so much ambiguity and slashy potential in his stories. So I’ve dared write this fic - and I still have lots of ideas!
P.S. Sorry for possible mistakes, I have no beta-readers.(:
“You have interesting features, Carter. So delicate.”
The artist lifted his hand and reached out to caress his lover’s face. His thin fingers ran over Randolph’s cheek, chin and lips, as if he was drawing carefully the outlines of an imaginary portrait.
Randolph was on his knees before the decrepit ottoman sofa. Pickman didn’t light the carbide lamp which he usually used when working. There were only a few candles burning here and there, and their faint light could barely fight the dark that flooded the room. Shaky shades danced on easels and unfinished canvases.
The artist’s studio would look nightmarishly weird even at the daylight - if only the beam of daylight could ever reach that cellar lair. Inundated with the dull light and the dancing shadows, the room looked almost unreal, like a piece of a Boschian nightmare. The unholy creatures on the canvases grinned and gazed - it seemed they might at any moment come to life, descend from the canvases and start to dance all around them, mocking and teasing.
Richard rested on the ottoman leaning back on the shabby silk cushions - crimson was their color. His face and hands appeared white in the dark.
Randolph took him by the wrist and pressed a kiss to his pale, narrow palm. It didn’t escape his attention that Pickman had a few finger-nails broken, and there was the black underneath them.
Charcoal black oil paint, Carter told himself. Or cemetery grime. Or both.
Contemplating the slight man’s body spread out on the crimson silk, Randolph caught himself thinking that Richard looked especially doomed and exposed right then.
He suddenly felt the lump in his throat.
Everyone close to him was gone.
Carter remembered the dank night that the Darkness captured Harley Warren. He remained on the graveyard, bending over the abysmal tomb and calling Warren’s name desperately until the Voice from the deep told him Warren was dead. Gone.
And then Pickman.
He was here by his side, Randolph held him by the hand and kissed his fingers but, at the same time, he realized he was losing him too. Some day the Darkness would take him away, just like it took Warren. It was like damnation. The Darkness followed Randolph devouring everyone he loved.
“Come closer, Randolph!” Richard murmured seductively.
Willingly, Randolph wrapped his arms around Richard’s neck and shoulders, pulling him close. He gasped as their lips met; Richard’s teasing tongue invaded his mouth and swirled inside tickling him deliciously.
Then he withdrew licking his lips, with his eyes fixed on Randolph. A strange, almost bestial smirk curved his mouth. Randolph smiled back at him calmly. He knew what Richard wanted - it was not the first time they made love. He unhurriedly unbuttoned Richard’s shirt and placed a hand on his nipple feeling it harden under his fingers. Lowering his face, Randolph touched it with his lips, then bit it hard. Richard hissed and arched his back.
“Hurt me more, Carter! Or maybe you want me to hurt you?!”
He grasped Randolph’s arm and pulled him onto the ottoman. Holding him close, he slipped his hand beneath Randolph’s shirt and bit into his lips like a leech. Carter didn’t resist when Richard stripped off his clothes - he couldn’t deny that he found a weird delight in being so compliant and submissive to his lover. Motionless, with his eyes shut, he savored Richard’s rough kisses. The artist grinned as he felt Randolph’s hardness. Sliding down Carter’s body he dragged his tongue along his shaft before he took it deep into his throat. Randolph groaned, grabbing at Pickman’s hair, his body strained and arched violently.
Pickman pulled back and reached for emollient oil. His slicked fingers forced Randolph’s tight entrance, stretching and opening. Randolph cried out loud as Richard removed his fingers and entered him with one hard thrust. The heat, the throbbing, delightful ache and the passion, as crushing and powerful as the stroke of some huge wings overwhelmed him. He lay on his back, panting, moaning, while Richard rode him, kissing him avidly again and again, everywhere he could reach.
They came simultaneously - Carter with a long, almost pained groan, Richard with a low cry-snarl.
The candles died away.
They rested on the ottoman sofa staring into the empty dark, their bodies locked together in a warm embrace.
Now, Randolph felt as if he was holding the Darkness itself in his arms.
Once Pickman had told him that a human could occasionally fall for a ghoul. Randolph had only laughed, taking it for a cynical joke. Now, he realized that Pickman wasn’t joking at all.
The being which Carter held close in his arms wasn’t strictly human.
Some day, Richard Upton Pickman would disappear from the world.
Though the mere thought of their forthcoming farewell made Carter writhe internally, he didn’t abandon hope.
Randolph Carter was an expert dreamer, after all, so they might meet again. Not in the dull waking life, but somewhere in the Dreamlands, in the black impious chasms, on the very edge of the Waking World.