Unexpected (Vanamond's Kiss, part I)
Yes, this is slash. Very mild slash, but...
It's not my fault, I tell you. There was just this picture, and then I had to write it.
Pairing:Tarvek/Vanamond. Rating: mature-ish themes.
(Gah. Must fight my way out of Tarvek rut SOON!)
Unexpected
Thump, thump, stomp, stomp, stomp CRASH.
Vanamond von Mekkan, Seneschal of Castle Heterodyne, put the safety lid back on his coffee cup. A remarkable invention that, and so kind of Lady Heterodyne to come up with it.
“Von Mekkan, what the HELL are you doing with the English Ambassadress?”
If there were two pieces of advice his long lines of ancestors had passed down to him that he always followed, they were “Don’t keep anything breakable in the office,” and “Never argue with an angry Spark.”*
(*unless absolutely necessary, "absolutely" being defined with an almost Jagerish looseness.)
“What am I doing with the English Ambassadress?” he asked, carefully, knowing that the handsome, flamboyant redhead in front of him was one of the more powerful sparks and one of the most sneaky political animals in Europa.
“You’re leading her on, you idiot! You’re going to ruin her reputation, and Albia will throw a FIT. Lady Heterodyne really doesn’t have time to deal with menacing submarines off the Baltic Coast!” Interesting. Usually Sturmvoraus kept his temper unless it was politically expedient to lose it. What was he playing at this time?
“I was not aware I was leading her on, Your Highness.” Vanamonde couldn’t help thinking how nice the amusing, bossy Lydia-Sophia Rivenhall felt in his arms.
“You can hardly marry-- or even dally with-- the Ambassadress from England! She must go home to sunken Britannia, and you can’t leave Mechanicsburg-- at least, until you get a successor. And this is not the way to go about it!”
Vanamond carefully erased from his mind any comments about the comparative marital situations of his employer and himself, let alone the complex political disaster his employer and her madboys constituted, and stood up.
“I will bear your advice in mind, your highness.”
“That is not good enough!”
“Nevertheless, absent a direct command from the Mistress of Castle Heterodyne, it is all you are going to get.”
Vanamond never knew what demon inspired him to abandon the advice of his ancestors, not to mention all common sense. “Sturmvoraus, if you keep on like this, people will begin to think you are jealous.”
“I’ll give you jealous, you … you lout!” spat out the erstwhile Heir to the Storm King, seemingly vaulting over the desk in a single bound and slamming Vanamonde against the wall, body to body with an arm across his throat. Apparently Lord Tarvek was as good -- and fast-- a close fighter as reputation claimed. Still, the man was never sloppy, so..
von Mekkan returned to the ancient lore for dealing with Angry Heterodyne Minions and relaxed into the hold. “I apologize. I never thought that would be a sore spot...”
At which point Sturmvoraus tilted his head and enveloped Vanamond’s lips in a very, very hungry kiss. A delicious kiss, which made his innards melt and other parts go very stiff indeed. A confusing kiss. An oddly untutored kiss, if von Mekkan’s knowledge of such things was not at fault. An arousing kiss. A kiss that made Vanamond think of a lot of things he hadn’t considered in quite some time, and one or two he had never considered at all.
Abruptly, Tarvek pulled away and stomped out of the room, crashing the door behind him, leaving Vanamond shaken but strangely amused. He was pretty sure the ear and back of the neck he had caught sight of on their way out were scarlet with embarrassment.
His secretary came in a few minutes and found him smiling into a now-lukewarm cup of coffee. “What did his High-and-Mighty want, anyway?”
“Apparently, to give me advice on my personal life. By the way, do we still have that invitation to the boring musicale at the Spanish Embassy? I must arrange a meeting between Prince Sturmvoraus and Lady Rivenhall, and I think I’ll find them both there.” von Mekkans had never gotten through their busy days without a certain amount of calculated risk, he thought, chuckling.
It's not my fault, I tell you. There was just this picture, and then I had to write it.
Pairing:Tarvek/Vanamond. Rating: mature-ish themes.
(Gah. Must fight my way out of Tarvek rut SOON!)
Unexpected
Thump, thump, stomp, stomp, stomp CRASH.
Vanamond von Mekkan, Seneschal of Castle Heterodyne, put the safety lid back on his coffee cup. A remarkable invention that, and so kind of Lady Heterodyne to come up with it.
“Von Mekkan, what the HELL are you doing with the English Ambassadress?”
If there were two pieces of advice his long lines of ancestors had passed down to him that he always followed, they were “Don’t keep anything breakable in the office,” and “Never argue with an angry Spark.”*
(*unless absolutely necessary, "absolutely" being defined with an almost Jagerish looseness.)
“What am I doing with the English Ambassadress?” he asked, carefully, knowing that the handsome, flamboyant redhead in front of him was one of the more powerful sparks and one of the most sneaky political animals in Europa.
“You’re leading her on, you idiot! You’re going to ruin her reputation, and Albia will throw a FIT. Lady Heterodyne really doesn’t have time to deal with menacing submarines off the Baltic Coast!” Interesting. Usually Sturmvoraus kept his temper unless it was politically expedient to lose it. What was he playing at this time?
“I was not aware I was leading her on, Your Highness.” Vanamonde couldn’t help thinking how nice the amusing, bossy Lydia-Sophia Rivenhall felt in his arms.
“You can hardly marry-- or even dally with-- the Ambassadress from England! She must go home to sunken Britannia, and you can’t leave Mechanicsburg-- at least, until you get a successor. And this is not the way to go about it!”
Vanamond carefully erased from his mind any comments about the comparative marital situations of his employer and himself, let alone the complex political disaster his employer and her madboys constituted, and stood up.
“I will bear your advice in mind, your highness.”
“That is not good enough!”
“Nevertheless, absent a direct command from the Mistress of Castle Heterodyne, it is all you are going to get.”
Vanamond never knew what demon inspired him to abandon the advice of his ancestors, not to mention all common sense. “Sturmvoraus, if you keep on like this, people will begin to think you are jealous.”
“I’ll give you jealous, you … you lout!” spat out the erstwhile Heir to the Storm King, seemingly vaulting over the desk in a single bound and slamming Vanamonde against the wall, body to body with an arm across his throat. Apparently Lord Tarvek was as good -- and fast-- a close fighter as reputation claimed. Still, the man was never sloppy, so..
von Mekkan returned to the ancient lore for dealing with Angry Heterodyne Minions and relaxed into the hold. “I apologize. I never thought that would be a sore spot...”
At which point Sturmvoraus tilted his head and enveloped Vanamond’s lips in a very, very hungry kiss. A delicious kiss, which made his innards melt and other parts go very stiff indeed. A confusing kiss. An oddly untutored kiss, if von Mekkan’s knowledge of such things was not at fault. An arousing kiss. A kiss that made Vanamond think of a lot of things he hadn’t considered in quite some time, and one or two he had never considered at all.
Abruptly, Tarvek pulled away and stomped out of the room, crashing the door behind him, leaving Vanamond shaken but strangely amused. He was pretty sure the ear and back of the neck he had caught sight of on their way out were scarlet with embarrassment.
His secretary came in a few minutes and found him smiling into a now-lukewarm cup of coffee. “What did his High-and-Mighty want, anyway?”
“Apparently, to give me advice on my personal life. By the way, do we still have that invitation to the boring musicale at the Spanish Embassy? I must arrange a meeting between Prince Sturmvoraus and Lady Rivenhall, and I think I’ll find them both there.” von Mekkans had never gotten through their busy days without a certain amount of calculated risk, he thought, chuckling.