Fic: 753
Title: 753
Author: anneka_neko
For: raging_raven
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The first time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was unimpressed.
The first time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was unimpressed. The man wasn't particularly attractive, his hair slicked down greasily, his shoulders a little too hunched, his crooked tooth a little off-putting. His voice was nice enough in a vague sort of way, but Nicholas found the man's intense gaze more than a bit unsettling. Nicholas shook his hand and moved on to the next man he was to meet, seeing nothing at all remarkable about Lord Blackwood.
The second time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was furious. They'd just come from a meeting of the Temple of the Four Orders, and Sir Thomas Rothram, a moron if he'd ever seen one, had obstinately refused to even consider resisting the passage of the Criminal Law Amendment Act-- some nonsense about moral fiber and resisting the scourge of depravity sweeping the culture, as though they didn't loll about all day basking in their own debauchery. Lord Blackwood called him over as the gathering broke up. He spoke quietly, asked Nicholas if they could meet at his convenience to discuss the matter. Nicholas nodded, pleased to have found an ally, but couldn't help noticing the way Blackwood's hand rested lightly on the small of his back, pulling him gently closer. He wasn't sure if he minded.
The fourth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was surprised. The man stood with a flourish as soon as he entered the little cafe, and politely waited for him to sit. Nicholas wasn't sure if he was annoyed at being treated like a woman, or flattered that Blackwood was treating him with such respect. Respect wasn't something he was used to receiving, and it was something he craved above all other things. They spoke pleasantly of a variety of mundane matters, Blackwood explaining the inner workings of the Order, Nicholas relating the latest news of life at Oxford. Even when the discussion turned to the recent argument in the Order, the conversation remained light and pleasant. Nicholas left that evening with a new spring in his step, feeling as though, at long last, he might have made a friend.
The eleventh time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was curious. Blackwood had approached him after an Order meeting the day before, asking if they could meet in private. Now Blackwood looked down at him, smiling slightly, and began to speak. He spoke of changing the government, of changing the world, and some of what he said terrified Nicholas, shook him to his very core, but some of it intrigued him, enticed him, seduced him as surely as those dark green eyes drew him in and refused to let him go. He nodded fervently when Blackwood asked him if he was willing to help, if he was ready to change the world, but he left unsure of what he'd agreed to.
The thirty-fourth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was terrified. He stumbled out of the darkened, candle-lit room feeling nauseous, shaken and dirty, so dirty. His nostrils were filled with the smell of blood, and his ears with the final gurgling gasp of the man who lay on the symbol-covered floor, bleeding silently onto the ancient stones. He leaned against the wall, shaking and unsteady; he nearly ran when he felt Blackwood's-- Henry's-- hand come to rest gently on his shoulder, pulling him into a protective embrace. Nearly.
The seventy-eighth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was moaning. He writhed on the bed, wrists and ankles burning with the friction of the ropes, pleading and begging for release. Henry smiled as he watched, read the paper, leaving Nicholas aroused and needy and tormented with the need for release for hours, finally, mercifully, lovingly teasing orgasm from Nicholas' unbearably imperfect body.
The one hundred and seventy-third time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was swaying. Dredger loomed behind him, kept him from running, from falling, from curling up on the floor sobbing, because he had failed, he had disappointed his Lord; he might as well die now rather than live with the agony of knowing he'd lost the only thing that had ever given his life meaning. But Henry put a gentle hand under Nicholas' chin, lifted his head, put a gentle kiss on his lips, asked if he was hurt. Nicholas wasn't sure what to say, shook his head nervously. Henry sighed, closed his eyes, opened them, told him he was so very glad to hear that. The blows that rained down after that, the pain Nicholas felt, were tempered by the knowledge that Henry cared what happened to him. He would never disappoint him again, no matter what.
The four hundred and ninety-ninth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was excited. Henry had found someone at last, a Mr. Reardon, who could make their vague, wild plans a reality. He was a genius, it seemed, in matters chemical and mechanical, and no one would miss him if anything unfortunate happened. Nicholas felt a triumph in their love-making-- a celebration, a prelude of things to come.
The seven hundred and forty-eighth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was relieved. He broke down sobbing as Henry's eyes opened slowly, collapsed shaking and whimpering against the strong, broad, oh thank you, thank you god he's breathing chest. Henry was surprised but kind, spoke to him softly, told him gently that he was an idiot for worrying. Nicholas clung to him needily as they made love, unable to stop moving his hands, kissing, licking, biting, sucking, anything to remind himself that Henry was alive, that the nightmare was over, that nothing could possibly stand in their way now.
The seven hundred and fifty-third time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was giddy. This was it, one final charade, one final ceremony, one final spilling of blood, and nothing could stop them from rising to power, from ruling the world together. Their moment was at hand, and Nicholas almost called Henry back for one last kiss, one last silly, superstitious good luck wish, a farewell before they broke the world and remade it in their image.
The seven hundred and fifty-third time he met Lord Blackwood was also the last.
If only Nicholas had known.
Author: anneka_neko
For: raging_raven
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The first time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was unimpressed.
The first time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was unimpressed. The man wasn't particularly attractive, his hair slicked down greasily, his shoulders a little too hunched, his crooked tooth a little off-putting. His voice was nice enough in a vague sort of way, but Nicholas found the man's intense gaze more than a bit unsettling. Nicholas shook his hand and moved on to the next man he was to meet, seeing nothing at all remarkable about Lord Blackwood.
The second time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was furious. They'd just come from a meeting of the Temple of the Four Orders, and Sir Thomas Rothram, a moron if he'd ever seen one, had obstinately refused to even consider resisting the passage of the Criminal Law Amendment Act-- some nonsense about moral fiber and resisting the scourge of depravity sweeping the culture, as though they didn't loll about all day basking in their own debauchery. Lord Blackwood called him over as the gathering broke up. He spoke quietly, asked Nicholas if they could meet at his convenience to discuss the matter. Nicholas nodded, pleased to have found an ally, but couldn't help noticing the way Blackwood's hand rested lightly on the small of his back, pulling him gently closer. He wasn't sure if he minded.
The fourth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was surprised. The man stood with a flourish as soon as he entered the little cafe, and politely waited for him to sit. Nicholas wasn't sure if he was annoyed at being treated like a woman, or flattered that Blackwood was treating him with such respect. Respect wasn't something he was used to receiving, and it was something he craved above all other things. They spoke pleasantly of a variety of mundane matters, Blackwood explaining the inner workings of the Order, Nicholas relating the latest news of life at Oxford. Even when the discussion turned to the recent argument in the Order, the conversation remained light and pleasant. Nicholas left that evening with a new spring in his step, feeling as though, at long last, he might have made a friend.
The eleventh time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was curious. Blackwood had approached him after an Order meeting the day before, asking if they could meet in private. Now Blackwood looked down at him, smiling slightly, and began to speak. He spoke of changing the government, of changing the world, and some of what he said terrified Nicholas, shook him to his very core, but some of it intrigued him, enticed him, seduced him as surely as those dark green eyes drew him in and refused to let him go. He nodded fervently when Blackwood asked him if he was willing to help, if he was ready to change the world, but he left unsure of what he'd agreed to.
The thirty-fourth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was terrified. He stumbled out of the darkened, candle-lit room feeling nauseous, shaken and dirty, so dirty. His nostrils were filled with the smell of blood, and his ears with the final gurgling gasp of the man who lay on the symbol-covered floor, bleeding silently onto the ancient stones. He leaned against the wall, shaking and unsteady; he nearly ran when he felt Blackwood's-- Henry's-- hand come to rest gently on his shoulder, pulling him into a protective embrace. Nearly.
The seventy-eighth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was moaning. He writhed on the bed, wrists and ankles burning with the friction of the ropes, pleading and begging for release. Henry smiled as he watched, read the paper, leaving Nicholas aroused and needy and tormented with the need for release for hours, finally, mercifully, lovingly teasing orgasm from Nicholas' unbearably imperfect body.
The one hundred and seventy-third time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was swaying. Dredger loomed behind him, kept him from running, from falling, from curling up on the floor sobbing, because he had failed, he had disappointed his Lord; he might as well die now rather than live with the agony of knowing he'd lost the only thing that had ever given his life meaning. But Henry put a gentle hand under Nicholas' chin, lifted his head, put a gentle kiss on his lips, asked if he was hurt. Nicholas wasn't sure what to say, shook his head nervously. Henry sighed, closed his eyes, opened them, told him he was so very glad to hear that. The blows that rained down after that, the pain Nicholas felt, were tempered by the knowledge that Henry cared what happened to him. He would never disappoint him again, no matter what.
The four hundred and ninety-ninth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was excited. Henry had found someone at last, a Mr. Reardon, who could make their vague, wild plans a reality. He was a genius, it seemed, in matters chemical and mechanical, and no one would miss him if anything unfortunate happened. Nicholas felt a triumph in their love-making-- a celebration, a prelude of things to come.
The seven hundred and forty-eighth time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was relieved. He broke down sobbing as Henry's eyes opened slowly, collapsed shaking and whimpering against the strong, broad, oh thank you, thank you god he's breathing chest. Henry was surprised but kind, spoke to him softly, told him gently that he was an idiot for worrying. Nicholas clung to him needily as they made love, unable to stop moving his hands, kissing, licking, biting, sucking, anything to remind himself that Henry was alive, that the nightmare was over, that nothing could possibly stand in their way now.
The seven hundred and fifty-third time he met Lord Blackwood, Nicholas was giddy. This was it, one final charade, one final ceremony, one final spilling of blood, and nothing could stop them from rising to power, from ruling the world together. Their moment was at hand, and Nicholas almost called Henry back for one last kiss, one last silly, superstitious good luck wish, a farewell before they broke the world and remade it in their image.
The seven hundred and fifty-third time he met Lord Blackwood was also the last.
If only Nicholas had known.