Warning: Bad Pick-Up Lines Dead Ahead!
Wasn't going to post this, seeing as how there has never been a Swordspoint fic for the sake of humor before, but then it made people chuckle, and I promised to dedicate it to wordsofastory. (No matter how badly it may be received, all flames will probably be pirated by Alec to heat his and Richard's rooms. XD!)
It's a Swordspoint and Beauty and the Beast crossover!
Yes, you read that right. (D
*sends a little prayer up to the LJ gods to please please please let this format correctly*
It was a Friday night, spirits were high, and the Disney lyricists were a little drunk.
So the villagers were singing.
“My, what a guy…GAAA~STOOOOOON!!” the tavern echoed with the cheers of its occupants. Several of them clamored around Gaston to pat him on the back, shake his hand, and otherwise wish him luck with the inventor’s beautiful daughter. He reveled in the praise, as he always did…it was good to be king in this village, admired and saluted by all. Belle had almost made him forget that, taking his confidence down to a staggering low. But she’d eat her words soon enough. And a good, long, song number always fed his ego nicely.
Still laughing and on top of the world, he tossed a loaded purse to LaFou. “Run to the Insane Asylum-tell the warden to get here as soon as possible! We’ll set this in motion tonight!” LaFou fumbled with the purse a little, and dashed off eagerly.
The crowd around him had not dispersed, but Gaston pushed his way out of his throng of admirers, using his biceps as a nonverbal command to move out of his way. He’d just spotted a tight little ass alone at the bar, and planned to take full advantage of the opportunity. His spirits were high, and since Belle was as non-receptive to his advances as an old maid, he needed to burn off some extra energy-now.
He thumped down onto the stool next to his prey, and leaned on the bar, flashing what he had been told was a roguish grin. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you new in these parts?”
The figure turned to analyze him with a decidedly unimpressed gaze. “Oh, hello. You must be the overly-muscled nitwit everyone was wailing about just now. Are you here to proposition me or to pick a fight?” The bartender brought the strange man-it was a man, Gaston realized with dismay, but oh, well, he was only after an hour of relief anyway-a beer. He decided not to bother picking his way through the string of complicated words thrown at him, and stroked a hand up the person’s arm lightly. “Are you acquainted with the upstairs rooms above the tavern? Because I’d love to give you a tour.”
The man choked on his drink a little, and jerked the black-robed arm away, staring at him in an impossibly green wave of contempt. “You can leave now,” he growled, still shrinking back. Gaston grinned, going on the offensive. “Look,” he purred, “you and me are going to be fucking upstairs in ten minutes, so you might as well be there.” He slid his hand back around the pretty man’s thigh, pulling him closer. The person yelped and almost fell off of the stool in his haste to get up and away.
The last thing Gaston was aware of was the whistle of steel in motion before something collided heavily with the back of his head and he blacked out.
*****
Gaston woke up staring at the ceiling of the tavern, gagging on some smelling salts one of the local hussies was waving under his nose. He was surrounded by concerned-looking admirers, two of whom helped him to his feet shakily. “What the Hell…? What happened?!”
“It was that cloaked bastard in brown,” Tom the Baker grumbled, sounding outraged. “He conked ya over the head wit’ that blade ‘a his, took ‘is whore an’ left!”
The crowd agreed angrily. “From behind, even!” “Never a fair fight!” “Knew he wouldn’t ‘a had a chance against Gaston…” Gaston breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone seemed to be too preoccupied with his attacker than the fact that he was sneaked up on and knocked out cold with one blow. The fact was irritating, though…
It took three more rowdy songs and a rather elaborate dance number before Gaston’s mood improved again.
*****
Alec frowned petulantly at Richard as they departed the tavern with haste. “But why couldn’t you have killed him? It wouldn’t have taken long. He was imbecilic; I don’t know what that pack of twits was going on about.”
“He wasn’t a-“
“Don’t say it!” Alec groaned, rolling his eyes. He thought a bit, and then concluded, “Maybe it was a good thing you didn’t. He was too stubborn; it would have taken forever to get the blood off.”
Richard hid a smile. “It’s still early. Do you want to head back to Rosalie’s?”
Alec seemed to ponder this, and then replied, “No.”
“Martha’s, then? I hear the beer has been drinkable lately.” He glanced at Alec, who shook his head. “Not that, either. Not tonight.”
“Well, where, then?” He halted because Alec had, turning to face his runaway. Alec’s expression had become just a little conspiratory, and a quiet smile had taken place all over the bottom half of his face. “I would like to go home now, actually, and be fucked into the sheets with extreme prejudice. Specifically, by you.”
Richard decided that it was an excellent idea.
It's a Swordspoint and Beauty and the Beast crossover!
Yes, you read that right. (D
*sends a little prayer up to the LJ gods to please please please let this format correctly*
It was a Friday night, spirits were high, and the Disney lyricists were a little drunk.
So the villagers were singing.
“My, what a guy…GAAA~STOOOOOON!!” the tavern echoed with the cheers of its occupants. Several of them clamored around Gaston to pat him on the back, shake his hand, and otherwise wish him luck with the inventor’s beautiful daughter. He reveled in the praise, as he always did…it was good to be king in this village, admired and saluted by all. Belle had almost made him forget that, taking his confidence down to a staggering low. But she’d eat her words soon enough. And a good, long, song number always fed his ego nicely.
Still laughing and on top of the world, he tossed a loaded purse to LaFou. “Run to the Insane Asylum-tell the warden to get here as soon as possible! We’ll set this in motion tonight!” LaFou fumbled with the purse a little, and dashed off eagerly.
The crowd around him had not dispersed, but Gaston pushed his way out of his throng of admirers, using his biceps as a nonverbal command to move out of his way. He’d just spotted a tight little ass alone at the bar, and planned to take full advantage of the opportunity. His spirits were high, and since Belle was as non-receptive to his advances as an old maid, he needed to burn off some extra energy-now.
He thumped down onto the stool next to his prey, and leaned on the bar, flashing what he had been told was a roguish grin. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you new in these parts?”
The figure turned to analyze him with a decidedly unimpressed gaze. “Oh, hello. You must be the overly-muscled nitwit everyone was wailing about just now. Are you here to proposition me or to pick a fight?” The bartender brought the strange man-it was a man, Gaston realized with dismay, but oh, well, he was only after an hour of relief anyway-a beer. He decided not to bother picking his way through the string of complicated words thrown at him, and stroked a hand up the person’s arm lightly. “Are you acquainted with the upstairs rooms above the tavern? Because I’d love to give you a tour.”
The man choked on his drink a little, and jerked the black-robed arm away, staring at him in an impossibly green wave of contempt. “You can leave now,” he growled, still shrinking back. Gaston grinned, going on the offensive. “Look,” he purred, “you and me are going to be fucking upstairs in ten minutes, so you might as well be there.” He slid his hand back around the pretty man’s thigh, pulling him closer. The person yelped and almost fell off of the stool in his haste to get up and away.
The last thing Gaston was aware of was the whistle of steel in motion before something collided heavily with the back of his head and he blacked out.
*****
Gaston woke up staring at the ceiling of the tavern, gagging on some smelling salts one of the local hussies was waving under his nose. He was surrounded by concerned-looking admirers, two of whom helped him to his feet shakily. “What the Hell…? What happened?!”
“It was that cloaked bastard in brown,” Tom the Baker grumbled, sounding outraged. “He conked ya over the head wit’ that blade ‘a his, took ‘is whore an’ left!”
The crowd agreed angrily. “From behind, even!” “Never a fair fight!” “Knew he wouldn’t ‘a had a chance against Gaston…” Gaston breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone seemed to be too preoccupied with his attacker than the fact that he was sneaked up on and knocked out cold with one blow. The fact was irritating, though…
It took three more rowdy songs and a rather elaborate dance number before Gaston’s mood improved again.
*****
Alec frowned petulantly at Richard as they departed the tavern with haste. “But why couldn’t you have killed him? It wouldn’t have taken long. He was imbecilic; I don’t know what that pack of twits was going on about.”
“He wasn’t a-“
“Don’t say it!” Alec groaned, rolling his eyes. He thought a bit, and then concluded, “Maybe it was a good thing you didn’t. He was too stubborn; it would have taken forever to get the blood off.”
Richard hid a smile. “It’s still early. Do you want to head back to Rosalie’s?”
Alec seemed to ponder this, and then replied, “No.”
“Martha’s, then? I hear the beer has been drinkable lately.” He glanced at Alec, who shook his head. “Not that, either. Not tonight.”
“Well, where, then?” He halted because Alec had, turning to face his runaway. Alec’s expression had become just a little conspiratory, and a quiet smile had taken place all over the bottom half of his face. “I would like to go home now, actually, and be fucked into the sheets with extreme prejudice. Specifically, by you.”
Richard decided that it was an excellent idea.