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Another Iconic Challenge Fic (#3 now), because I am INSANE.
As regular readers of this journal should already be aware, the lovely LaT issued this spiffy cool Isn't It Iconic? challenge back in March (see here for the original challenge) and, having fallen into a bit of a monofannish rut after the "While We Tell of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide Treasure" rareslash challenge, I decided an excuse to stretch my writing muscles would be a good thing.
On top of signing up to write not one but two stories for the challenge, I also expressed willingness to "pinch-hit" in case another writer(s) was unable to finish the story assigned to them on time. Well, I was called upon, around this time yesterday, and I somehow managed to get this story done in that time. (And without huffing any crack, though I know no one will believe that.)
I've again gone over the 250-to-750-word parameters, but again kept it under a thousand words. The person whose icons I was assigned to write for,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
master_flea (doesn't he have the best LJ handle?) when writing his own challenge stories (like me, he'd signed up for two), chose to cross over the two fandoms in each of his recipients' icons, rather than picking one or the other. Since I didn't know either of the fandoms especially well -- I mostly know the X-men from the animated series, and I saw Queen of the Damned once a year or two ago, after reading the book once even longer ago -- I decided I'd try the crossover thing, too. (I swear that reasoning made sense to me at the time...)
Anyway. Here are the icons:
and here is the story:
à La Fois Magique et à La Fois Perverse
(At Once Magical and Perverse)
They don't belong here.
I notice them when they go to the bar. The short, barrel-chested one wants beer, and shoulders aside anyone standing between him and his goal, seemingly unconcerned that they might take offence. His companion offers apologies in his friend's wake, in a lilting, lisping accent -- Bairisch? -- and settles behind him at the bar. His voice is high and sweet, and makes him seem young, though I know well how deceiving such things can be.
He stands just that little bit too close, one hand at the small of his companion's back. Interesting.
There's something else about the perhaps-younger one... I narrow my eyes, and concentrate. It is not, quite, the same as seeing through an illusion. No true magic here, only some particularly gifted technological wizardry.
The reason for the deception is no mystery; with blue skin and pointed ears, he could hardly go about in public without creating a sensation, at best. Even here.
Why they have come here remains as much a mystery as the pretty one's true appearance. Whatever else they are, they do not belong in this place. They are not of my kind, nor even, it seems, the hangers-on so common in modern times, eager to seem more interesting by proximity to us.
Though they may well be damned. A curious whiff of sulphurous odour clings to them.
The blue boy leans in yet closer -- he is even more lithe in his true form than the seeming he wears -- to murmur in his friend's ear. "--Of here," I catch. "People are staring."
"So what?" The other half-turns as he answers, and I catch sight of his face for the first time. It's as grizzled as his voice, which is to say even more grizzled than the rest of him. I haven't seen sideburns so prodigious since the eighteen-seventies.
"Logan," he entreats, his tone long-suffering but also amused. "Really, I think it would be better if we found another place." He glances around. He's absolutely correct, they are being stared at, and not only by me. He doesn't notice me, of course, since I don't wish to be noticed, but there are other spectators aplenty to raise the pair's hackles. "I don't think we fit in here."
"Not unless you've picked up blood-drinking as a new hobby," the one called Logan rumbles. I am surprised. He doesn't look the type to be aware of the existence of vampires, unless he's a hunter; and he doesn't seem to have the temperament to drink calmly in our midst if killing vampires were his self-appointed mission. "Besides, Kurt, how often do we fit in anywhere?" he adds, while the elfin one is still gaping and looking again at the faces surrounding them.
The question alters Kurt's demeanour at once. He turns back to Logan, strokes his hand up to the nape of his neck and pets him with soothing, solicitous strokes. There are only two fingers and a thumb on his hand, I notice, but that seems to be its natural configuration, rather than a result of amputation.
Logan merely grunts.
Both of them seem wholly unselfconscious about the way they are touching, as if they have reason to know that such things do not merit a second glance here.
Or perhaps they are from San Francisco.
"Come on, Logan," Kurt murmurs, so low I almost miss it, his mouth close enough to Logan's ear that he could bite it. And then he does bite it -- he appears to have pronounced canines not unlike a vampire's, and he pierces the skin of Logan's earlobe with one.
Logan moves into the bite with a growl, Kurt licks the blood away... and unless my eyes deceive me, the wound has already healed.
*Quite* the interesting pair, these two.
Kurt slides his hand down Logan's back again, down past where I can see it through the crush of other patrons, but by the movement of his arm I imagine he is cupping Logan's buttocks, perhaps pinching one cheek.
"Finish your beer and let's get out of here."
Turning to lean against the bar, Logan pulls Kurt against him with one arm and lifts his bottle with the other. Kurt drapes himself against Logan's side and lays his hand on Logan's chest, watching with a lascivious grin while Logan tilts his head back and finishes his beer in several long swallows. "Happy now?" Logan asks when the bottle is empty.
"Ecstatic," Kurt says, one long finger playing in the open neckline of Logan's shirt. He hooks it in the fabric and pulls.
Logan moves the finger away, but keeps Kurt's hand in his own. "You have an idea where else we can go for more beer?"
"I have an idea," Kurt responds, turning away then glancing back over his shoulder, yellow eyes asparkle, "for *something*..."
Leering, Logan follows him out the door.
I am inclined to follow them and catch the end of this little drama; I rise and don my coat. It's a shame Louis isn't here, he would enjoy the show -- though he would probably become enamoured of the strange pair and get himself into who knows what trouble.
Perhaps I should follow their example, instead. Quit this noisome establishment for a more intimate setting, and consort with my own chosen companion.
Louis will be pleased to see me home. He hates it when I come to these places. He never feels he fits in.
Vampire Chronicles (Anne Rice) and X-Men comixverse crossover. PG-13 rating.
Thanks tolcsbanana, liviapenn, thete1 and weirdnessmagnet for their various audiencing, resources, characterisation tips, and general supportiveness, and a special nod to my new friend zing_och for helping me out with that German word.
master_flea's original request at sign-up
more fanfic by the Jack
all icon-challenge stories submitted
yuletide Treasure" rareslash challenge, I decided an excuse to stretch my writing muscles would be a good thing.On top of signing up to write not one but two stories for the challenge, I also expressed willingness to "pinch-hit" in case another writer(s) was unable to finish the story assigned to them on time. Well, I was called upon, around this time yesterday, and I somehow managed to get this story done in that time. (And without huffing any crack, though I know no one will believe that.)
I've again gone over the 250-to-750-word parameters, but again kept it under a thousand words. The person whose icons I was assigned to write for,
master_flea (doesn't he have the best LJ handle?) when writing his own challenge stories (like me, he'd signed up for two), chose to cross over the two fandoms in each of his recipients' icons, rather than picking one or the other. Since I didn't know either of the fandoms especially well -- I mostly know the X-men from the animated series, and I saw Queen of the Damned once a year or two ago, after reading the book once even longer ago -- I decided I'd try the crossover thing, too. (I swear that reasoning made sense to me at the time...)Anyway. Here are the icons:
and here is the story:
à La Fois Magique et à La Fois Perverse
(At Once Magical and Perverse)
They don't belong here.
I notice them when they go to the bar. The short, barrel-chested one wants beer, and shoulders aside anyone standing between him and his goal, seemingly unconcerned that they might take offence. His companion offers apologies in his friend's wake, in a lilting, lisping accent -- Bairisch? -- and settles behind him at the bar. His voice is high and sweet, and makes him seem young, though I know well how deceiving such things can be.
He stands just that little bit too close, one hand at the small of his companion's back. Interesting.
There's something else about the perhaps-younger one... I narrow my eyes, and concentrate. It is not, quite, the same as seeing through an illusion. No true magic here, only some particularly gifted technological wizardry.
The reason for the deception is no mystery; with blue skin and pointed ears, he could hardly go about in public without creating a sensation, at best. Even here.
Why they have come here remains as much a mystery as the pretty one's true appearance. Whatever else they are, they do not belong in this place. They are not of my kind, nor even, it seems, the hangers-on so common in modern times, eager to seem more interesting by proximity to us.
Though they may well be damned. A curious whiff of sulphurous odour clings to them.
The blue boy leans in yet closer -- he is even more lithe in his true form than the seeming he wears -- to murmur in his friend's ear. "--Of here," I catch. "People are staring."
"So what?" The other half-turns as he answers, and I catch sight of his face for the first time. It's as grizzled as his voice, which is to say even more grizzled than the rest of him. I haven't seen sideburns so prodigious since the eighteen-seventies.
"Logan," he entreats, his tone long-suffering but also amused. "Really, I think it would be better if we found another place." He glances around. He's absolutely correct, they are being stared at, and not only by me. He doesn't notice me, of course, since I don't wish to be noticed, but there are other spectators aplenty to raise the pair's hackles. "I don't think we fit in here."
"Not unless you've picked up blood-drinking as a new hobby," the one called Logan rumbles. I am surprised. He doesn't look the type to be aware of the existence of vampires, unless he's a hunter; and he doesn't seem to have the temperament to drink calmly in our midst if killing vampires were his self-appointed mission. "Besides, Kurt, how often do we fit in anywhere?" he adds, while the elfin one is still gaping and looking again at the faces surrounding them.
The question alters Kurt's demeanour at once. He turns back to Logan, strokes his hand up to the nape of his neck and pets him with soothing, solicitous strokes. There are only two fingers and a thumb on his hand, I notice, but that seems to be its natural configuration, rather than a result of amputation.
Logan merely grunts.
Both of them seem wholly unselfconscious about the way they are touching, as if they have reason to know that such things do not merit a second glance here.
Or perhaps they are from San Francisco.
"Come on, Logan," Kurt murmurs, so low I almost miss it, his mouth close enough to Logan's ear that he could bite it. And then he does bite it -- he appears to have pronounced canines not unlike a vampire's, and he pierces the skin of Logan's earlobe with one.
Logan moves into the bite with a growl, Kurt licks the blood away... and unless my eyes deceive me, the wound has already healed.
*Quite* the interesting pair, these two.
Kurt slides his hand down Logan's back again, down past where I can see it through the crush of other patrons, but by the movement of his arm I imagine he is cupping Logan's buttocks, perhaps pinching one cheek.
"Finish your beer and let's get out of here."
Turning to lean against the bar, Logan pulls Kurt against him with one arm and lifts his bottle with the other. Kurt drapes himself against Logan's side and lays his hand on Logan's chest, watching with a lascivious grin while Logan tilts his head back and finishes his beer in several long swallows. "Happy now?" Logan asks when the bottle is empty.
"Ecstatic," Kurt says, one long finger playing in the open neckline of Logan's shirt. He hooks it in the fabric and pulls.
Logan moves the finger away, but keeps Kurt's hand in his own. "You have an idea where else we can go for more beer?"
"I have an idea," Kurt responds, turning away then glancing back over his shoulder, yellow eyes asparkle, "for *something*..."
Leering, Logan follows him out the door.
I am inclined to follow them and catch the end of this little drama; I rise and don my coat. It's a shame Louis isn't here, he would enjoy the show -- though he would probably become enamoured of the strange pair and get himself into who knows what trouble.
Perhaps I should follow their example, instead. Quit this noisome establishment for a more intimate setting, and consort with my own chosen companion.
Louis will be pleased to see me home. He hates it when I come to these places. He never feels he fits in.
Vampire Chronicles (Anne Rice) and X-Men comixverse crossover. PG-13 rating.
Thanks to
lcsbanana, liviapenn, thete1 and weirdnessmagnet for their various audiencing, resources, characterisation tips, and general supportiveness, and a special nod to my new friend zing_och for helping me out with that German word.master_flea's original request at sign-upmore fanfic by the Jack
all icon-challenge stories submitted
no subject
I really like the story. The characters feel real, and after all "X and Y meet in a bar" is an accepted tool for crossovers everywhere ;)
no subject
70s Porn Star Buddha says: Two fandom slash objects walk into a bar...
no subject
A lot.
Like always.
no subject
Congrats
*clap hands in happynes