"love is the only enchantment we know"

Oz fic: The education of Tobias Beecher (part 2)

2012-09-20T21:14:40Z

a sequel to this

It was Saturday night. Keller had been on the hunt for a couple of days now. What he’d been looking for he eventually found in this city center bar he’d never come to. He didn’t like hunting so deep in the city – the fringes were his usual territory. This time though, the find made the risk all worthwile.

What Keller could see of the guy from the door made him ravenous… Blond hair, pale flexible neck, lean frame packed in a tailored suit. And the number of drinks he’d downed. The whole picture said a lot. He would be an easy mark. That kind of men always was. Drowning whatever imaginary sorrow they had, ready for him. He would take him on his bike. It was summer; a warm starry night. What about a ride in the woods? And there he would take his time fucking him the way he loved it – the way the guy would love it. After that… He met his own feral grin in the mirror.

Here we go, baby.

The bar was crowded. While Keller elbowed his way to his prey, the man got up, a little unsteady, preparing to leave. Not so soon, baby, Keller thought, shoving people out of this way to reach the guy before he left, resting a hand on his shoulder at last. “Hey…”

The man turned and stared at Chris for a couple of seconds before frowning, incredulous.

“Chris?” he said. “Chris Keller?”

Keller’s hand fell. “Sweet fucking Jesus. Beecher.”

There was no mistaking Beecher’s delighted smile, his shining eyes. Keller found himself smiling back, his hand ruffling Beecher’s short hair. “Hey. That a surprise. How fucking long has it been?”

Toby laughed. “I don’t know. Too long!” He sounded goofy.

“You’re drunk, Beecher,” Keller said, amused.

“Are you sure of that?”

The look on Beecher’s face was almost… flirtatious – or was it just Keller’s imagination?

“Yeah. Yeah.” He shook himself out of the sudden uncomfortable feeling. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Beecher stumbled out, almost falling down the stairs. Keller had to help him keep his balance. It felt good to have Toby so close. He smelt good, a clean fresh scent in spite of the booze. Beecher leant against him for a moment, breathing hard. Keller gave him a sidelong glance. His plans for the evening were ruined. But fuck it was good to see Beecher again.

“Fancy a ride?”

Beecher seemed to ponder. “Where? There’s nothing left of our old place, you know. Built a shopping mall there instead. Bastards.”

“Anywhere can do… You’ll love the ride.”

They stopped in front of Keller’s bike. “Wow! That baby’s yours?” Beecher asked, incredulous. He ran the palm of his hand over the saddle. “I never got on a bike before.” He laughed again, a genuine, happy laugh and Keller knew, really knew, just by the sound of it, that Beecher didn’t laugh very often. It troubled him.

He got on the bike and gestured Beecher to sit behind him. “Fucking put this on,” he commanded, handing him the second helmet he always carried. It took some fumbling and muted swearing – Beecher swearing was sweet, really.

“You ready, Beecher?” he asked, starting the bike. He felt Beecher’s nod against his back, and all the way he could feel Toby’s arms around his waist and the rumble of his drunken laugh against his back. The bike was powerful and fast… It was obvious that Beecher was enjoying the ride.

“Jesus, Chris! It’s wonderful”, Beecher said when they stopped, taking off the helmet. “It feels like… freedom.”

Keller smiled. “That’s the point, Toby.” He parked the bike. It was a nice night. They walked for half a mile maybe before finding a nice place. Keller sat on a trunk in the middle of a clearing.

“So Beecher,” Keller asked. “Why all the drinking?”

“I was bored. I didn’t want to go home.” Beecher sat beside Chris on the old trunk and combed his hair back.

“No one waiting for you there?”

Beecher seemed to mull the question over. He sighed. “Yes. I got a wife. Two kids.”

The sheepish admission made him look young and lost. Chris stared at the boyish profile for a moment. Upturned nose, sweet mouth, slightly sweaty blond locks. Beecher had stopped talking.

“Is she any good, that wife of yours? Does she give good head?” Chris asked.

Beecher stood up, took a few steps away and turned to face Keller. “Gen… She’s not that kind. Jesus, Keller, you’re asking the most embarrassing things.”

It was Chris’ turn to rise from his uncomfortable seat and join Beecher who had picked up a few stones and was throwing them into the small pond one by one.

“Tell me, Beecher… Did any of your girlfriends give you what you need in bed? Hot dirty sweaty sex? Messy sex?”

The last stone hit the water and Beecher shrugged. “Gen and I… I love her. I love the kids. I needed that.”

“Yeah,” Chris said, very softly. “I guess it’s important to you.”

“It is. More than you can figure out,” Beecher said, defensive.

They stared at each other for too long. Eventually Keller crossed the distance between them and rested a hand on the nape of Beecher’s nec, where the skin was warm under the soft hair. Warm and soft and slightly damp with sweat. “Everyone deserves to be kissed properly,” he said, pulling Beecher to him, and meeting very little resistance. Beecher’s lips were soft and warm; they parted obediently, letting Chris’ tongue enter the heat of Beecher’s mouth. It tasted of booze there. It took some time to Beecher to kiss back. When he did, Keller found that more exciting than anything else. They parted breathlessly.

Beecher tried to step back but Keller was reluctant to let him go. “More,” he said. “Let me kiss you again.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Chris,” Beecher said.

“Come on, Toby. Come on!” Keller would have begged. No one had called him Chris for so long. He had not kissed a man for months and he missed it badly. “One last time and I’ll drive you back to your car.”

It was lame but the offer seemed to win Beecher over and they kissed again, dazed with lust, pressing against each other… Beecher pushed Keller back. “I still have a wife, Chris. This is cheating.”

“She won’t know,” Chris said, holding him back. One more minute. Suddenly, fuck knew why, kissing Beecher was the most important thing in Keller’s sorry life.

“But I will,” Beecher said softly closing his eyes when Keller stroked his back. Ha. You want it, Keller thought. “Besides,” Beecher added with a self-deprecating smile, “I’m a terrible liar.”

“You lied to your parents for years about seeing me.”

“Yes. You’re right. But this… this is something else.”

Keller stepped back, trembling with frustrated lust. Any other guy he would have smashed down, bashed his head against the ground and roughened up - but this was Beecher. He still remembered his awed gaze, his obvious adoration for an older, more experienced, wilder boy. Hurting Beecher would’ve meant killing memories Keller still treasured. There were not so many of them.

“Sure,” he said, keeping his voice level. “Sure. I was married too. Three women. I know what you’re talking about.”

“You?” Beecher laughed. “Who were the lucky girls?”

The laugh was infectious. A laughing Beecher was a sight to behold. “I even married Bonnie twice. Bonnie’s some woman, you know.”

Beecher looked serious again, staring at Keller. “I bet she is,” he said. “What happened?”

Keller shook his head. “The sex was amazing. But sex… When it was over...” Never before had he realized how fucking true that was. “We had nothing in common.”

“Was it for good? No other woman?”

“I was in love, Beecher, right? I never cheated on them.” He smiled – Geez, when had he started sounding so solemn? Still, when Beecher nodded, looking all serious suddenly, he felt glad. “Listen, let’s go back. I’ll take you back to your place. I don’t think you can drive.”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

Used to it? How much did Beecher drink, exactly? How often? The thought worried Keller. It probably showed because Beecher blushed slightly. “Don’t worry, Chris. I’ll be fine.”

Why the fuck should he worry? It was not like they were close or anything, after all. He was not Beecher’s keeper. Fuck; his life was complicated enough as it was. He nodded. “OK. You know better. Let’s go then.”

It started raining and Keller slowed down. But when the dark SUV seemed to materialize out of the blue at the next crossroad there was nothing he could do. He swerved, braking desperately, feeling the bike slide down the wet road and the shock of the hard fall on the asphalt, the bike crushing his leg. He heard himself yell and someone else, and tried to look back to see how Beecher was doing but could not. After that, it took all he had not to sink into the tempting void of unconsciousness.

**********************

Toby woke up to a world of confusion and pain. He was lying on a hospital bed, an IV in his arm. Gen and his father were standing by his side. His father looked worried and grave. Gen burst in tears when he tried to reach out for her.

“God, Tobias,” his father said. “What were you thinking? We have been worried to death. You could have died.”

At that, his mind decided that unconsciousness was after all the best choice. I am such a coward, he thought before sinking.

The second time Gen and his father were gone. A stranger was sitting on the chair and Jesus did he look like trouble. His pale eyes were fixed on Toby’s face with an expression of something akin to hunger, his mouth a thin line. “Who are you?” Toby asked, hating the trembling in his voice.

He was flashed a badge. “Agent Taylor. FBI.”

Trouble indeed. The Harvard part of Beecher’s brain suddenly came to life and silenced the pain for a moment.

“I wasn’t aware that the FBI was interested in bike accidents,” he said, sitting up, fighting the throbbing pain in his head and arm.

The man – Taylor – smiled at that. “We are not. It’s Christopher Keller we’re interested in.”

Toby frowned. “Where is he? How is he? He must be wounded, I have to…”

“Keller’s gone.”

It took Toby a whole minute to process the fact. “Gone?” He realized he sounded like a sneezy duck. He cleared his throat before going on. “How? He fell… I saw him… I fell down on him…”

Taylor sighed. “You know, it’s a miracle to have you here alive, Mr Beecher. And I’m not talking about the accident. Keller generally makes sure his victims do not survive.”

Toby had to laugh at that. “His victims? Come on, you’re not talking seriously, are you?”

Taylor seemed to think about it. “Mr Beecher… How long have you known Christopher Keller?”

The memories were simmering close to the surface. His teenage friendship with Keller was a secret he’d never told anyone about so talking about him now, even in such circumstances, was a relief. Of course Toby was smart enough to keep silent about anything that would sound suspicious. The kisses were not mentioned. Toby would think about it later.

The FBI agent listened to him with rapt attention, his blue eyes never wavering from Toby’s face. “I was drunk, agent Taylor. Keller offered to drive me home. You know the rest.”

“You were found lying on the ground, unconscious. We got an anonymous call but when we arrived the bike and Keller were gone. Are you certain it was not some inventive way to get rid of you?”

Beecher remembered the car; Keller’s exclamation, the long slide across the wet road and the fall. Jesus, where was Keller? How badly was he wounded?

“We will ask you to make a deposition later. We’ve been after Keller for months now. We suspect he killed at least three young men after raping them…”

“This is absurd,” Beecher said. “Keller wouldn’t rape anyone.”

That brought a narrow smile to Taylor’s lips. “What about killing them?”

Beecher shrugged it off.

“Anyway he might contact you again. If he does, I want you to call me.”

Beecher frowned, staring at Taylor’s face. “Keller didn’t kill anyone. I’m sure of that.”

Taylor didn’t even grace Beecher’s words with an answer. “Call me. This is no joke. You got a good job, Mr Beecher. A beautiful wife. Nice kids… Don’t jeopardize them.”

So Beecher ended with Taylor’s card, a concussion, a headache and a lot of explanations to give Gen.

“You have strange friends,” she said, frowning in disapprobation.

“I was a kid, Honey. Teenagers need a few strange friends now and then.”

Gen glanced at Harry who was busy colorizing some image on a book and sighed. “I never felt that need,” she said.

Which must be why you get so boring sometimes, Toby thought almost angrily. Jesus. What was happening to him? Shame crept over him. “But you were a girl. Girls are so much more civilized than us boys.”

She deigned to smile at that but later suggested that he did something about the drinking. She seemed to take the whole thing rather well.

That was when Beecher realized how deep in shit he was; not just because of the booze addiction. The only thing he could think about while Gen was lying peacefully by his side was how and when he would be able to see Keller again. The thought kept him awake all night.

Oz fic: The education of Tobias Beecher

2012-04-23T21:02:47Z

Beecher/Keller, almost.

For a few years Toby Beecher trailed behind Christopher Keller like a trained puppy. He was a sensitive, clever, introverted teenager. His parents trusted him to be a good boy, behave and everything comforted them in their opinion. He excelled at school; he was polite and nice to everyone. He looked younger than fourteen, slight and angelic looking with innocent clear blue eyes and golden locks dancing around his face.

But every moment he could get away he rode his bike across the streets, down the bridge and along the railroad track, leaving the rich suburbs behind to reach the fields near the disused factories. On the way he bought what he was supposed to. Cigarettes, soft drinks, chocolate and whatever struck his fancy. Not for him; Toby didn’t smoke and he had whatever else he wanted home. But Chris was poor – very much so. He sometimes pretended he would repay Toby but Toby didn’t want that. What he wanted was to be with Chris, for as long as Chris allowed him to. He was afraid to be found boring or stupid and did his best to live up to what he supposed were Chris’ expectations.

Chris was unhappy. After his mother’s death, he had been placed in foster care. But Chris was fifteen. He was difficult and rough and untamable. Every time he could he ran away, jumped on a bus and rode to the factories where Toby joined him. He could listen to Toby for hours; the guy lived in what felt to Chris like an exotic place where people lived a life he knew very little of. Besides, Toby’s obvious admiration was good for his ego. Besides Toby never came empty handed and Chris had come to rely on him for some of the things he could not afford. For an hour or two they talked, played base-ball, rode Toby’s bike on makeshift circuit. Toby was the closest thing to a friend Chris would ever know. He kept the base-ball glove and the ball Toby had bought for him like a treasure, hiding it from everyone.

Toby never dared call Chris Keller a friend. Chris obviously belonged to some superior species. Somehow he was the sort of boy his father would like. Tall, muscular. A man already. Harrison Beecher, unaware of the damages he was causing, often teased his son about his physique. Toby had come to believe that he would never be as tall, as strong and solid as his father. He would never be possessed with so much quiet authority. Chris had all that and more. He was also handsome and from the tales he told Toby sometimes, he seemed to leave a much more interesting life. There were girls and stolen kisses, fights, records stolen from the nearest store and although Toby knew it was wrong he admired Chris for his boldness.

The satisfying deal lasted for three years. More cigarettes, less chocolate and some beer. Chris became more blasé. He roughened Toby a bit sometimes but Toby only laughed because he had finally realized how badly life mistreated Chris. It was an intuition more than evidence, gathered along the years from some remarks Chris made, unintentionally most of the time. It made Toby angry against those who hurt Chris.

Toby was fifteen when Chris vanished from his life. One day he stopped coming to the factories, just like that. Toby thought he would never see him again. His fears had become real; Chris had lost interest in his too young too sweet-looking, dull friend. He had found others, probably older and more daring. For a whole year Toby’s life lost its shine. He stopped going to the factories and spent his days at the bowling or at the movies. He took up smoking but never quite got the hang of it, so he gave up. Drinking though was a pleasant surprise; being just a bit intoxicated provided him with unknown confidence and courage. At sixteen he wanted to date Kelly Thompson. She was the hottest girl in college and one year older than him. He did not dare make the first move and even a glass of his father’s scotch didn’t help. That day he took the old bike and rode to the theater to take his mind of her. He stopped his bike at the corner of the building, not trusting his eyes, his heart beating wildly.

Chris was standing near the main entrance, talking with the pretty girl who worked there. Toby’s first idea was to run to him but then he held back. Maybe it was not the best moment. Maybe Chris did not want to see him. Maybe Chris had forgotten him. He probably had. So he waited and when Chris finally left, Toby followed, looking for the best way to approach him. He thought himself discreet enough although the bike didn’t help, of course, but at a traffic light Chris stopped abruptly and turned, scanning the crowd. Knowing he was followed. Toby wanted to hide but Chris’ gaze paralyzed him.

“Why didn’t you just come up to me?” Chris asked later while they were devouring hamburgers in a tiny restaurant.

Toby shrugged. “You looked busy.”

Chris laughed. “Yeah, I was. Chatting up the girl. Still, I’m fucking happy to see you.”

Toby looked down, not trusting himself to talk and after a minute of uncomfortable silence Chris talked. “I was in prison,” he said out of the blue. “For 10 months. I could not tell you. I don’t even have your address. That’s why.”

Toby put his glass down. “What? Prison? But…”

“Something I didn’t do. I was charged with armed robbery.” Chris shrugged. “Armed robbery; can you believe that? I suppose it was easier to sentence me than the rich prick who did it. Sorry. Nothing to do with you, Beecher.”

Chris had changed. Hardened. He called him Beecher. No more Toby. It was both flattering and a bit sad. Chris looked so much more… adult. Any softness he’d once had was gone. Hard gaze, hard set of mouth, hard laugh. Stubbly jaw, for God’s sake. Whatever had happened in prison had caused that.

“It’s unfair,” Toby said. “When I’m a lawyer I’ll change that.”

“Yeah? Will you? I hope I won’t need a lawyer, though. One time is enough.”

Whatever had happened had been bad. Something in Chris’ voice gave away the pain.

“Hey,” Chris said. “Tell me about you.”

“There’s a girl,” Toby said, aware that the descriptions of his sheltered life would have lost any appeal to this new Chris. “I’m not so sure about what to do…”

Chris listened, ordered a second meal, obviously ravenous. He did that well, listening. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t laugh at Toby or smile when Toby blushed. And when Toby stopped talking he kept silent for a moment before saying, “Want me to show you the ropes? Kissing and stuff?”

Toby thought he would never recover. He sat there, his mouth open. Stunned.

“Hey, you’re younger than me, Beecher. I know things you don’t yet. You don’t have a big brother to help you out. Make your education. I’d like that.”

Remembering that day, sitting in the library in Harvard, Toby wondered how he’d managed to be so incredibly naïve and stupid. A fool.

He let Chris kiss him. It happened at the movie. No one around and the movie was boring enough.

“Come on,” Chris whispered in his ear. “You take her hand.” A strong warm paw closed around Toby’s hand, pressing softly. “Like this.” Then Chris scooted closer, threw an arm around Toby’s shoulders, keeping his eyes on the screen. “Relax,” he said, “I’m not going to hurt you.” A mere dark whisper in Toby’s ear and he shivered.

It seemed unbelievable, seen from an older Toby’s point of view, that he had not protested, walked away. At the same time, even the older Toby remembered why he had not; shyness, anxiety and a weird feeling of excitement that made his heart beat faster.

He felt Chris turn, felt his hand cupping his jaw, the sleek move and warm lips on his. The wonderful sensation. When Chris’ tongue brushed against his lips, Toby shivered. He opened his mouth willingly and learned what a kiss was – from the best. He remembered that very clearly. Clinging to Chris for dear life. Kissing back.

Chris seemed in no hurry to break it and Toby was too far gone to mind.

“Got it?” Chris asked and Toby nodded. “Good. One more to make sure.”

He’d been kissed throughout the whole movie until he was so aroused he did not even dare move.

Chris had known from the very beginning where it was heading. He’d been out of Lardner for two months, trying hard to forget and resume a normal life – well, as normal as he could anyway. Vern had got him a job at his brother’s garage as a mechanic. Chris hated Vern for what he’d done to him, hated his brother, hated the fucking job but all the same he went there every day. Sometimes he visited Vern in prison and brought him some treat from his brother. He had no choice. Prison had scared him too much to take any risk. He would not go back. After two months of freedom though the anger and the shame were still there eating him alive.

So Beecher, his golden hair, upturned nose, clear blue eyes and tentative smile, had been the perfect one at the moment. Got some food inside Chris, stroked his ego the right way, admitted he’d missed him and then the movie. The kiss. Fuck how could a boy be that innocent? He tried to picture Beecher in Lardner. Picture Beecher with good old Vern. Imagine what the sadistic fuck would do with him. Jesus fucking Christ; it didn’t bare thinking about. Beecher loved to be kissed; he was genuinely shameless. And a quick learner. “I’m gonna show you something girls can do for you,” Chris said. They were alone; two young guys watching a boring movie. He’d slid down to the floor, kneeling in front of Toby who was flushed and breathing hard.

“I don’t think…” Beecher had said.

“Shut up and let me show you.” A couple of seconds to yank down the jeans and what a surprise… Beecher was naked underneath. “Going commando?” Chris had said lightly. “Something wrong at Beecher’s house?”

“I… I just wanted to give it a try. A friend of mine says it feels good.”

Jesus. What kind of friend says this? Rich guy’s whim.

Beecher was nicely hung; he tasted good. Keller made the best of Vern’s lesson, swallowing the swollen cock entirely, his hands on Beecher’s hips to stop him from moving and sucked him off mercilessly, keeping him on the edge of pleasure for as long as he could and swallowing every drop when Beecher had come. The boy was a true delight.

“The girl who does that to you? Marry her.”

But Beecher had married Gen, which was a major error. That was much later of course.

They spent the whole day together, until Toby had to go home. “Homework,” he said, and Chris laughed, hugged him and walked away.

They met again, from time to time. Chris had a small apartment downtown. They resumed an awkward friendship. Drinks – Beecher had a liking for those, music, movies, video games. They never talked about the kiss and the blowjob again. What had happened there staid there. Once though Toby told Chris that kissing Kelly had not been all that thrilling. He sounded disappointed. Chris stared at him, trying to read those soulful eyes and finding only sincere dismay there. No ulterior motives. “Come on, Beecher,” he said with a smile. “You’ll find the right one, trust me on that.”

Two more years and Toby left for University. That time he lost Chris for good.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Fic: Mala vida

2011-01-18T11:10:53Z

You'll find the righ fandoms for this, I'm sure.

The old Empress looks down at the crowd of courtiers, soldiers, young and old, handsome and deformed, brave and cowards. Her omniscient eyes roam over every face, slowly, looking for the right one.

The young commander of the Septime fleet takes a step forward and says, “I shall go.”

She looks at the man; the mane of ginger hair, the sandy short beard, the thin mouth, the hard-looking blue eyes. She smiles. “Of course,” she says. “You will. Who else would?”

The Commander of the Septime fleet is loyal. He proved it over and over. His body bears the marks of the wounds he received for the sake of his glorious sovereign. He shielded her with his own body twice against those criminals who tried to shoot her down. She trusts him.

He does not smile back. He is one of those men who do not smile at all. No happiness, no triumph is ever enough to make him. His life is hard work; a smile an unwanted sign of weakness.

“Defeat him. Kill him and his people. Any way you can find. And drop his body in deep space so I never have to see him again.”

The commander bows and walks out. He demands five cruisers and the right to pick out his crew. The next week, he’s gone. Before the fleet leaves Earth, the Glorious Empress blesses him and he kisses the ring at her middle finger. She goes as far as rest a motherly hand on his hair.

*****************

“It doesn’t have to be like this every time,” he tells the other man. “A failure, life after life after life. We can change that.”

He is sitting very straight on chair. He rests his elbows on the dark metal of the table. He tries to meet the eyes of the man seated in front of him but cannot because the man is looking down. “Thomas,” he says softly.

This time the man – Thomas is not his current names but he still answers it – looks up and gives him a look of immense desolation. “We tried. We failed. With monotonous regularity. The fact that you are here, wearing this uniform…” he shakes his head.

The commander stares at him. He sees the high cheekbones, the wide dark eyes, the mysterious charisma that seems to pour out of the man. He is young; his age. This never changes. It makes everything possible.

“How many times do you remember?”

“Too many.”

The commander of the Septime fleet sighs and gets up, walks to the window. There is nothing to see outside of course. But the sight of the starlit, unmovable darkness, still soothes him. No tempests here at least. Other dangers but no tempests. He misses them, a little. He misses them and the way the crowd moved below as he sang. It felt the same somehow.

“We came close last time.”

Thomas looks at him and frowns like he doesn’t remember.

“Serge?” the commander who was once Francis Drake says.

The other man almost laughs. “You mean that time I wasn’t the one who died?” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t very easy to live with it, you know. With people asking about it. How it happened. Why you did it. If I…” his voice caught. " The grief. The guilt. Life held no interest after that. It was just dreaming about you… Wondering…”

At least, the commander thinks, as Francis Drake he didn’t feel guilty. He felt sad. Uncomfortable. Oh and he missed Thomas of course but guilty didn’t enter the scope of his emotions at the time.

He has to force himself back to the now and then, come back to the table. He was the one to ask for this meeting. Leaving his fleet safely hidden behind a dying planet, he boarded a shuttle, inviting the Rebel Leader to join him. Alone. No weapon. No witness.

When the man entered the room, he felt the natural irresistible pull and managed not to throw himself in his arms. He’s done that, often when Thomas’ name was Serge. He has resisted that often as Francis Drake.

“I want this to end,” he says. “I want us to make it work… us together.”

“And die forever?”

“Do you call this a life? We have a life as long as we can’t remember.” Twenty years, thirty at best and after that… He remembers the last time he found out. He was on stage, singing. It felt like everything was crumbling around him. For a second he lost his breath. Behind him Serge had collapsed to the ground. Everyone seemed to find it funny.

“The Empress sent you to kill me. Us. Why am I even here?” The rebel asks.

“How many men do you still have?”

The Rebel raises a tired hand. “Too many to save, even with my life. Not enough to win the war but enough to make it last and make the old bitch very sorry. Hope she dies before I am defeated and a change comes.”

The commander makes a quick calculation. His own soldiers, the rebel fighters … Not as much as he hoped.

“I have five ships.”

“You think you’re going to crush us with five ships? Sir Francis, you’re losing your touch.”

The commander shakes his head. “No. Five ships with men on board who are ready to join you and your… revolution, as you call it. If you agree.”

The Rebel Leader frowns. “You’d join me?” He leans forward, his elbows on the table. “You pledged your faith to the Empress.”

“That was before I remembered.”

*********************
He agreed to the meeting with a –justified- sense of dread. As he listens, he feels like he is being crushed by the weight of their past lives. The ones they remember as clearly as yesterday. The others he only has uncomfortable flashes of.

The incarnations are subtly different. It took some time finding Francis in Tom until he saw him standing at the edge of the stage above the crowd, poised, unsmiling, surveying the audience with the same searching look he’d had on the ship. It is probably the same for him.

They chose this place to meet. An abandoned merchant station somewhere beyond the borders. Close enough to the rebel base that he can fly back in no time. He looks around at the metal and glass and worn posters in what used to be a bar, years ago. Some things never change; there’s a calendar with naked women on it. Probably the politically correctness of the Empire did not reach here. Torn leather stools. They’re sitting at a table where thousands of men sat before them. Some carved their names on it. He can see old marks of burning, old stains. Drinks. Blood?

He is thinking about the offer. He cannot quite believe it. It has been ten years since he started the civil war against his own grandmother to restore the core of the system she perverted for her own benefit. He was too upright to be perverted. For Francis, or whatever his name is these days, things are different; he grew up from nothing because of the same system.

“You have much more to lose than I,” he says in the end.

“I’m a daredevil.”

He stands, paces the room for a minute. “Let’s imagine we win. What after that?”

“I don’t know. You are the clever one, aren’t you?” There’s a bit of a challenge in the commander’s voice. “You will find something.”

He watches him rise and walk up to him. He is manoeuvred back against the wall.

“You still think it’s a trap. That I’m using this… this thing between us to trap you. But I’m not.” He shakes him a bit, like a reluctant kitten. “I’m not.” Then he kisses him. They lose themselves in the kiss, again and again.

“Over my dead body, Francis,” he remembers saying. “You are not going out of this room unless you kiss me!” Teasing, his back against the door, drunk on ale and lust, arms spread out, laughing. Francis did not laugh. He very seldom did. Taking it as the challenge it was he kissed Thomas, who knew in a flash, and too late, that this, this - hard warm mouth, tickle of a beard, tongue invading him, body pressing full against him, fearless - was his doom. He had expected Francis to roll his eyes, kiss him chastely and storm out. Instead he was manhandled to the bed, pinned there and fucked.

Every kiss with Tom is obscured by the last memory of too cold lips against his; warm tears falling over Tom’s still face, hands pulling him away as he clawed at the coffin…

“You know,” he says against the commander’s mouth. “Somehow, even if this ends being a trap, I don’t really care.” He is kissed again, lightly. “Just, if you must kill me, please do it now.”

A hand in his hair, a face against his own, a body pressed against his body, an arm around his waist. A breathless laugh. “I love you. Did I say that already?”

They take it slow with the next kiss, hands roaming under the tight jacket of the Commander’s uniform, the worn leather of the rebel’s coat.

*********************

“How nice.” The voice from the door, mocking applauses, a senile laugh…

The commander takes a step forward, shielding his friend. Facing the guards. The guns.

“Useless, Commander. Once you’re down, I’ll get him.”

He turns away. They don’t look at her. They embrace; tighten their grip around each other. Close their eyes. Cheek against cheek. Bodies locked together. It feels like dancing.

“If I understand correctly what I heard earlier,” she says, “I’m doing you a favor. You did not have time yet to let each other down.”

It doesn’t matter. The world doesn’t matter. Death doesn’t matter. They barely feel the pain anyway, only each other’s warmth, until everything goes dark.

My index of Kasabian fics

2011-01-12T19:07:14Z

It's relatively short for now...
Lots of explicit sex

AU

Grace Improbably. A story written for the Yuletide challenge.

Fire (part one)
Fire (part 2)
Fire (part 3)
Tom is the frontman in an Irish band. When Kasabian comes to Dublin, he gets to meet Serge. Explicit sex

Mala vida : A reincarnation fic... Space fic... Crossover with DV

Send me an angel to love: Serge and Tom meet in 19th century London

Bandom (?) crossovers

What if...
Twice is a charm
Heartfelt apologies to Chris Martin. I'm so sorry. I couldn't help.

Crossovers

The gig (part one)
The gig (part 2)
Young Kasabian have some friends.... Crossover with Drake's venture. It's hard to understand why such a crossover should happen if you don't know the other fandom.

Good Charlotte
Tom and Serge remember a previous life...

Stuff that could happen, given a chance.

Five times Sergio Pizzorno fucked Tom Meighan Written for the Yuletide challenge.

Green eyes
I like Jay; what can I say?

Jay's night
I do like Jay, really.

God put a smile upon your face
It's a PWP. I write a lot of those.

Birthday gift
Another PWP. It's Tom's birthday...

Wishing upon a star Short

I'm bored so... Music...

2011-01-10T17:33:41Z

I was talking with a friend on Facebook earlier - we were in high-school together and it was all about Bowie and French rock (it did exist) way back then. And yes we did go to gigs and... Well. *clears throat*

Anyway. She asked which were the five songs I had been listening to during the last week.

So here's my last week top five

- Songs for lovers (Richard Ashcroft). True wonder. Verve was my fav band for long
- Got put a smile upon your face (Coldplay) Well, all Coldplay takes me to heaven.
- The importance of being idle (Oasis) My fav Oasis song EVER
- Hard on for Jesus (The Dandy Warhol). Ah! I love them so.
- Cry baby cry (the Beatles)

I have to confess that Coldplay and the Dandy Warhols are the bands I listen to pretty much all the time.

Now, if you ask me what's my fav band in the world, I'll answer, "Kasabian", but I'd really love to have something new to listen to because I've been listening to them obsessively all spring, summer and falls. And when it comes to them it's more about watching than listening, now.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, FRIEND LIST!

2011-01-02T11:37:34Z

So, I'm back after exhausting but very nice holidays (and a thirty hours trip, including 1200 km across France, the crossing of the Mediterranean and so on).... The highlight of the holidays was this:

Yay! Beautiful baby! Extremely beautiful baby's mom! To tell that I won't see them again for 6 months. :(

.................

Fic wise:

I was treated to two wonderful story (thank you Yuletide)
blakefancier'sfragments of a mirror, probably one of the most beautiful, heartbreaking DV story I ever read. She knows me so well! There's even a blue cloak. *smooches blakefancier*

shimere277's beautiful passive-agressive. Ahhhhh. Tom. Ahhhhhhhhh. Serge. Oooooooooohhhhhhh Tom/Serge. Be thanked for this, Kasabian writer!

I also wrote two KASABIAN RPS fics for shimere:
Grace and Five times Sergio Pizzorno fucked Tom Meighan

...........

Now, let's empty the suitcase!