Swordspoint fic!
Oct. 22nd, 2006 02:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rmMy smutty, smutty Swordspoint fic is over here: http://community.livejournal.com/_riverside/7399.html
Now that that's done, perhaps I can do something useful today.
TITLE: Over a Lake of Cracking Ice
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rm
PAIRING: Richard/Alec
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: Almost PWP, except with these characters it's all about the emotional content of the porn. Er, also, fisting.
NOTES: I've only read Swordspoint; I haven't worked up the courage for the sequels yet.
DISCLAIMER: These lovely characters belong, of course, to Ellen Kushner
When Alec comes back from the Hill, he is different in a way Richard doesn't want to think about. He tries, at first, to ascribe it to the hair which is neater and shorter than either of them prefers, and once it has raggedly passed Alec’s shoulders again, somehow it seems easier to breathe even if the difference Richard hasn’t found a name for remains.
Alec is different. Richard is sure of it. He no longer drinks before picking fights in the taverns of Riverside and seems to enjoy the meager results of his own scathing remarks regardless of whether they lead Richard to draw blood for him or not. In light of this, the swordsman wonders at times about his own necessity, but Alec doesn’t leave and so Richard doesn’t dwell.
It seems, too, that Alec no longer needs reminding that he likes to be touched. His moods, Richard thinks, are still mercurial and largely better placidly ignored, but Alec no longer startles so easily, no longer afraid, it seems, that Richard will discover the truth of him in flesh. And so, as horrible as the Hill has been to them both, Richard finds it difficult to mind the adventure too much, not when Alec takes his hands and lures him to bed, not when Alec places those hands exactly as he wants them, even if for all his mewling and begging his friend still can’t just ask for what he wants other than his supposed death. That, at least, comes up less now. Richard considers, sadly, the possibility that maybe the Alec has finally decided to take him at his word.
For a swordsman and a man of Riverside, Richard has been with Alec a long time now, but he still doesn’t entirely understand the things the scholar -- supposed scholar, ex-scholar, Richard doesn’t know what to call him anymore -– brings out in him. When Jessamyn made noise in bed, he had always laughed. Not at her, of course, but she was issuing a challenge in those throaty sounds, and he knew how to respond in kind. He would grin at her, perhaps pause if he could stand to, smirk just a tad, and then thrust into her hard again with a grunt and all rough breath. Not so with Alec, whom he has always wanted to shush and soothe and encourage like a frightened animal over a lake of cracking ice.
But Alec isn't frightened anymore. Nervous, yes, but not afraid, Richard notes one night with his fingers buried inside him and Alec's incoherence marred only by his sudden mirroring of the gesture. Richard gasps, and then they both laugh, low, throaty and embarrassed. Richard shifts, pulls his leg up a bit and squirms closer to Alec, even if the angle is no good for his wrist and it's as often his wrist as his wits that keeps him alive. He smiles in the breath before Alec flutters his fingers. This is alive too, he knows; Alec's skin doesn't even seem chilled, and Richard presses his forehead against the other man's shoulder preferring that Alec feel, rather than see, whatever sudden emotion has decided to clutch at him.
Alec finishes first, which is how Richard likes it, although not, as his wayward scholar most likely assumes, to ensure his docility. Richard hates docility, but he doesn't tell people that, doesn't tell them that it wasn't temper that earned Jessamyn her death, but the way she had decided it was best to smugly endure him. Women do that, and he finds it unsettling. It's why he doesn't do women anymore. That, and the way they seemed surprised by blood. Men, he's noticed, only seem surprised that death is real.
Richard feels Alec push another finger into him and says his name almost like a question, sure his misplaced noble is grinning at him with slightly ridiculous and unearned, innocent curiosity. Richard rolls his eyes at the darkened ceiling, unsure of just what type of deliverance he's seeking, or from who.
"I thought of you, the whole time I was up there," Alec says.
Richard makes a sound, a puff of air, and wants to hear more. It's been months since either of them has mentioned it.
"I hated you," the sharp-boned boy says and Richard sighs, smiles, relaxing against the intrusion. "I did."
"I believe you," Richard gasps, hoping he's not asked to say more.
"I should drink more. Less specificity to suffer later."
Whatever noise Richard is about to make changes when Alec manages a forth finger and then shushes and pushes him away just a bit. He wonders if Alec has any damn idea what he's doing and decides probably not, which, of course, has always been part of his charm; something has to make up for the usefulness of letters.
"Here," Alec says, and Richard finds himself on his back and trying to cling in a way that's awkward. He wishes the room were even dimmer so that he needn't see his loaned creature studying him so. It's not that he minds it; it's that he doesn't want to know about it.
"This is going to hurt," Alec says, prodding him slightly with his thumb, and the faint tremor in his voice distracts Richard from whatever witty thing he knows he should try to say. Afterall, he's supposed to know all about hurt.
The pressure is immense, but somehow he understands that he's supposed to bear down on it, and heels dug into the bed, he does.
"Ah." It's a soft little noise Alec makes, as if he's just understood some minor, and not even terribly useful, alignment of the stars.
Richard would do so many things if he had any dominion over himself in this moment, but he doesn't and Alec kisses the inside of his knee, right at the joint, and then abruptly, he is out of the world for a moment and back in it. He pants, a little frightened at the feeling of the whole of that long-fingered hand inside him, and rolls his head to the side and there's Alec's tongue at the corners of his watering eyes, like a cat lapping blood.
Alec is shushing him again, and so he considers that he must be making some sound he hasn't even the power to stop, even with Alec kissing him deeply, even with the man's free hand on his cock.
He would ask How am I supposed to survive this? but he can't talk and he knows Alec would just assure him that he isn't. From faraway he knows, suddenly and strangely, that he's sad at having spent this much of his life so far, which surely must be most of it, thinking that there could only ever be one way to die.
The world snaps again, and he can hear himself, can feel his ragged breath ghosting over dry lips as Alec bites at them and he's glad, just glad he's close because he needs to rest now, soon, more than anything.
And it's difficult after, strange, having to be patient as Alec untangles and re-tangles them and he falls asleep with his nose against the hollow of Alec's throat and those fingers combing through his hair.
In the morning, Alec inquires why he doesn't practice.
"Don't want to," he nearly mumbles, not even bothering with the excuse of the neighbors, and hopes the lateness of the previous night and the brilliance of the winter sun are both excuse enough for his tone. "I'm going for a walk."
"Shopping?" Alec inquires in some horrid mocking of girls voice.
"If you want," Richard says, touched, because Alec has never really asked to come with him anywhere, always merely showing up instead. On the way out their door he leans against the taller man for just a moment and then pretends it an accident and strides ahead, Alec grinning ferally and self-satisfied behind him.
Now that that's done, perhaps I can do something useful today.
TITLE: Over a Lake of Cracking Ice
AUTHOR:
rmPAIRING: Richard/Alec
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: Almost PWP, except with these characters it's all about the emotional content of the porn. Er, also, fisting.
NOTES: I've only read Swordspoint; I haven't worked up the courage for the sequels yet.
DISCLAIMER: These lovely characters belong, of course, to Ellen Kushner
When Alec comes back from the Hill, he is different in a way Richard doesn't want to think about. He tries, at first, to ascribe it to the hair which is neater and shorter than either of them prefers, and once it has raggedly passed Alec’s shoulders again, somehow it seems easier to breathe even if the difference Richard hasn’t found a name for remains.
Alec is different. Richard is sure of it. He no longer drinks before picking fights in the taverns of Riverside and seems to enjoy the meager results of his own scathing remarks regardless of whether they lead Richard to draw blood for him or not. In light of this, the swordsman wonders at times about his own necessity, but Alec doesn’t leave and so Richard doesn’t dwell.
It seems, too, that Alec no longer needs reminding that he likes to be touched. His moods, Richard thinks, are still mercurial and largely better placidly ignored, but Alec no longer startles so easily, no longer afraid, it seems, that Richard will discover the truth of him in flesh. And so, as horrible as the Hill has been to them both, Richard finds it difficult to mind the adventure too much, not when Alec takes his hands and lures him to bed, not when Alec places those hands exactly as he wants them, even if for all his mewling and begging his friend still can’t just ask for what he wants other than his supposed death. That, at least, comes up less now. Richard considers, sadly, the possibility that maybe the Alec has finally decided to take him at his word.
For a swordsman and a man of Riverside, Richard has been with Alec a long time now, but he still doesn’t entirely understand the things the scholar -- supposed scholar, ex-scholar, Richard doesn’t know what to call him anymore -– brings out in him. When Jessamyn made noise in bed, he had always laughed. Not at her, of course, but she was issuing a challenge in those throaty sounds, and he knew how to respond in kind. He would grin at her, perhaps pause if he could stand to, smirk just a tad, and then thrust into her hard again with a grunt and all rough breath. Not so with Alec, whom he has always wanted to shush and soothe and encourage like a frightened animal over a lake of cracking ice.
But Alec isn't frightened anymore. Nervous, yes, but not afraid, Richard notes one night with his fingers buried inside him and Alec's incoherence marred only by his sudden mirroring of the gesture. Richard gasps, and then they both laugh, low, throaty and embarrassed. Richard shifts, pulls his leg up a bit and squirms closer to Alec, even if the angle is no good for his wrist and it's as often his wrist as his wits that keeps him alive. He smiles in the breath before Alec flutters his fingers. This is alive too, he knows; Alec's skin doesn't even seem chilled, and Richard presses his forehead against the other man's shoulder preferring that Alec feel, rather than see, whatever sudden emotion has decided to clutch at him.
Alec finishes first, which is how Richard likes it, although not, as his wayward scholar most likely assumes, to ensure his docility. Richard hates docility, but he doesn't tell people that, doesn't tell them that it wasn't temper that earned Jessamyn her death, but the way she had decided it was best to smugly endure him. Women do that, and he finds it unsettling. It's why he doesn't do women anymore. That, and the way they seemed surprised by blood. Men, he's noticed, only seem surprised that death is real.
Richard feels Alec push another finger into him and says his name almost like a question, sure his misplaced noble is grinning at him with slightly ridiculous and unearned, innocent curiosity. Richard rolls his eyes at the darkened ceiling, unsure of just what type of deliverance he's seeking, or from who.
"I thought of you, the whole time I was up there," Alec says.
Richard makes a sound, a puff of air, and wants to hear more. It's been months since either of them has mentioned it.
"I hated you," the sharp-boned boy says and Richard sighs, smiles, relaxing against the intrusion. "I did."
"I believe you," Richard gasps, hoping he's not asked to say more.
"I should drink more. Less specificity to suffer later."
Whatever noise Richard is about to make changes when Alec manages a forth finger and then shushes and pushes him away just a bit. He wonders if Alec has any damn idea what he's doing and decides probably not, which, of course, has always been part of his charm; something has to make up for the usefulness of letters.
"Here," Alec says, and Richard finds himself on his back and trying to cling in a way that's awkward. He wishes the room were even dimmer so that he needn't see his loaned creature studying him so. It's not that he minds it; it's that he doesn't want to know about it.
"This is going to hurt," Alec says, prodding him slightly with his thumb, and the faint tremor in his voice distracts Richard from whatever witty thing he knows he should try to say. Afterall, he's supposed to know all about hurt.
The pressure is immense, but somehow he understands that he's supposed to bear down on it, and heels dug into the bed, he does.
"Ah." It's a soft little noise Alec makes, as if he's just understood some minor, and not even terribly useful, alignment of the stars.
Richard would do so many things if he had any dominion over himself in this moment, but he doesn't and Alec kisses the inside of his knee, right at the joint, and then abruptly, he is out of the world for a moment and back in it. He pants, a little frightened at the feeling of the whole of that long-fingered hand inside him, and rolls his head to the side and there's Alec's tongue at the corners of his watering eyes, like a cat lapping blood.
Alec is shushing him again, and so he considers that he must be making some sound he hasn't even the power to stop, even with Alec kissing him deeply, even with the man's free hand on his cock.
He would ask How am I supposed to survive this? but he can't talk and he knows Alec would just assure him that he isn't. From faraway he knows, suddenly and strangely, that he's sad at having spent this much of his life so far, which surely must be most of it, thinking that there could only ever be one way to die.
The world snaps again, and he can hear himself, can feel his ragged breath ghosting over dry lips as Alec bites at them and he's glad, just glad he's close because he needs to rest now, soon, more than anything.
And it's difficult after, strange, having to be patient as Alec untangles and re-tangles them and he falls asleep with his nose against the hollow of Alec's throat and those fingers combing through his hair.
In the morning, Alec inquires why he doesn't practice.
"Don't want to," he nearly mumbles, not even bothering with the excuse of the neighbors, and hopes the lateness of the previous night and the brilliance of the winter sun are both excuse enough for his tone. "I'm going for a walk."
"Shopping?" Alec inquires in some horrid mocking of girls voice.
"If you want," Richard says, touched, because Alec has never really asked to come with him anywhere, always merely showing up instead. On the way out their door he leans against the taller man for just a moment and then pretends it an accident and strides ahead, Alec grinning ferally and self-satisfied behind him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 10:57 pm (UTC)should "it's often as his wrist as his wits" be "it's as often his wrist as his wits"?
no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 10:58 pm (UTC)You've read Swordspoint I presume, or were you just there for the smut?
no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:22 pm (UTC)(The second story I sold to Circlet, although it ended up falling out of the book so I suppose its mine again, had one character who refused categorically to sleep with her ex-girlfriend. I finally got her to agree to bitter angry sex, because it had to be an erotic story and she had no interest in cooperating)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:35 pm (UTC)That reminds me of when I wrote an entire story solely because smashing an entire case of glass bottles MYSELF seemed to be impractical. But I got my character to do it with no problems. It was very cathartic. I have to dig that out and see if I can work on it again without embarassing myself into a stupor. I blush too much at my own erotica to enjoy re-reading it once I've gotten it out of my system. (Although my girl-of-largely-pointeless-flirtation apparently has a habit of going out and smashing things just for relaxation. It is one of her many endearing qualities.)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 04:30 am (UTC)I just finished Swordspoint and enjoyed it muchly.
I don't really have to time to belong to a book club, but I am tempted just to follow along with what you are reading for tasty recommendations.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 04:31 am (UTC)Swordspoint, for the record has sequels, but I haven't braved them yet (as I both have a long list of things to read, and also know stuff happens in them that's a bit shattering, but I'm been assured and reassured I'll be pleased in teh end). I do so love Richard and Alec though.