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Topics - Kribu

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76
'Let Valkyrie back out. Please.'

Darquesse traced a finger over Skulduggery's cheekbone, her dark eyes full of desire. Skulduggery dipped his head, not willing to look at her. She wasn't Valkyrie, dammit! No matter how much she looked like his partner, she wasn't Valkyrie. Not his Valkyrie.

The hungry look on her face wasn't making things any better. He'd dreamed of Valkyrie looking at him like that – dreams, which he full well knew, were far more conscious and sensible than those of people who actually slept – and he wasn't sure if he could resist.

'I don't think so,' she whispered.




He shivered when she ran her hands over his chest, her touch demanding, her fingers clasping his ribs, making him gasp for air he didn't need.

He should push her away. She wouldn't kill him – she could, of course; he knew she was powerful enough to, but he wasn't afraid she'd take his rejection as a reason to tear his consciousness apart. It wasn't insanity her eyes glittered with.

He should push her away. If he didn't, once Darquesse got what she wanted and drew back into the recesses of Valkyrie's mind… She'd know what had happened.

He stopped resisting.




[It's not really explicit enough for M, but I figured the implications were enough.]

77
Fan Fiction / Undying Devotion: Thrashgrace (rated M)
« on: March 31, 2011, 08:15:55 PM »
A/N: Please heed the rating. Sexual situations implied, although not explicit. I think.
I blame the Pairings thread in the General Discussion forum for putting this idea in my head and not letting go.
Pairing: Scapegrace/Thrasher
Word count: 6 x 100 word drabbles
Summary: Um. A moment in the life of Scapegrace and Thrasher.




Scapegrace was sulking.

His search for information – any information – on how to stop his body from decaying had finally led him to the library of China Sorrows. He’d only heard of China Sorrows before; he’d never actually seen her.

But now he had.

China had taken one look at him, at the library door, wrinkled her nose – her beautiful, beautiful, beautiful nose! – and told some lackey of hers to turn him, Vaurien Scapegrace, away.

She was … Well, she was the most beautiful person Scapegrace had ever laid eyes on.

He was in love. And China had turned him away.





“Am I really so disgusting?” Scapegrace wailed.

Thrasher, his only remaining minion, raised his head. Surprise was evident in his face, or what was left of it. “No! Of course not. In fact, you are …” His voice trailed off.

Scapegrace couldn’t help it. He was curious. Perhaps there was still a way to make China see him for what he was, even if he needed Thrasher’s help to put it into words.

“In fact, I am …?” he prompted.

“Gorgeous,” Thrasher whispered. “Wonderful. Amazing. My hero, the Killer Supreme.”

Scapegrace tilted his head, careful not to overdo it. Interesting.





Scapegrace had never considered Thrasher in that way before. He was, well, too much of a dull minion. And dead. And, honestly, not very attractive. Certainly nothing like China Sorrows.

But the adoration that made Thrasher’s dull, dead eyes shine was hard to ignore.

And it wasn’t the only thing that was hard.

Had he not been dead, Scapegrace knew he would have been blushing right now.

And, a little voice in his head whispered, it’s not like you haven’t touched him intimately before. Thrasher had, after all, been his first kill. You couldn’t get much more intimate than that!





It would be good practice, Scapegrace told himself when he reached out and tentatively put his hand on Thrasher’s knee. Once China understood – and she would! – any practice would come in useful.

He wondered, vaguely, why he couldn’t blush, but yet seemed to have enough blood flowing through him for other bodily functions. One of the mysteries of being the mysterious, cool undead, he supposed.

The feeling of Thrasher’s dry lips on his was unexpectedly not unpleasant. He was almost disappointed when they withdrew again.

“I’m sorry, sir,” his minion said, his voice trembling. “That was too forward of me.”





Scapegrace reminded himself to stay cool, calm and authoritative.

“It’s all right,” he soothed Thrasher. “It’s my duty to make sure you’re happy.”

Not that he’d ever thought of it in those terms before, but he was responsible for the poor individual of illegitimate birth, wasn't he? Without him, without the Killer Supreme on the prowl, Gerald the dull middle-aged mortal would still be leading his dull middle-aged mortal life, doing whatever it was that dull middle-aged mortals did. Accounting, probably.

He stood up, careful not to bang his head on the low roof of the van, and pulled Thrasher into his embrace.





For all his shabby dullness, Thrasher had a surprisingly firm grasp.

Scapegrace moaned appreciatively. “Just a little harder,” he croaked, gasping for – well, he didn’t know what he was gasping for, as he didn’t actually need air, but it was what seemed to come naturally. “Just a little—”

“I’m sorry, sir!” Thrasher raised his hands to his face, covering them in shame. He dropped something; Scapegrace heard it fall on the floor with a dull thud.

He looked down.

Damn.

There went his chances to impress China.

“Where did I leave the stapler?” he asked with a resigned sigh.


The End.

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