yiling matriarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marginalia) wrote2004-04-11 03:55 am
marginalia) wrote2004-04-11 03:55 am
Entry tags:
fic of sorts. m&c in verona beach.
as yet untitled m&c vb au - stephen/jack & stephen/tom
because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glossing told me to. i guess if you're going to do a master and commander au, you might as well go all the way. verona beach challenge. this is mostly establish-y stuff, i think. we'll see what happens. again, 500 words.
Esteban had been too long away from the sea. The curve and the swell of waves, the slow rocking of the boat, the salt spray and his fingers tangled in Ioan's hair, these had all served to wear away at his rough edges, to make him smooth.
The world was an ever-changing place, however, and it was only a matter of time before the patronage bestowed by business exceeded that of governments. He weighed his options and returned to land, where his unique skills served him well, his command of language and his position as a man of medicine bringing authority and unlocking doors. It was a profitable partnership, but he missed the sea. Dry land scarred him, made him rough and angular.
When instructions strongly suggested a meeting of sorts on the coast, he could not be there soon enough. He arrived in town in a rented black Executioner, a half empty bottle of brandy under the seat. He sat for a while in the parking garage of the hotel, finishing his cigarette, then went to check in and change. The girl at the desk gave him his room key and a smile full of promise, but his edges were too sharp for a woman now.
The early evening dose of laudanum and he was off, wind blowing sand gritting diamonds between his teeth. He wandered towards the beach itself, the sun sinking and neon shooting into life around him, objects and people floating in a drowsy glow. He swung his arms at his sides in dream, then stopped outside a small bar, Illyria, rolling off his tongue.
It was early yet and not too crowded. He ordered a drink and scanned the room. His gaze was trapped by a tall youth with dark eyes, slim form in tight black trousers and a shirt bearing the image of the Sacred Heart of Mary. Esteban watched him for a moment, then looked away, finished his drink, and stepped towards the door.
Out in the street the breeze blew warm. He heard a gunshot in the distance, but continued, unhurried. He trailed his fingertips along the remains of a wall. A voice behind him, and then the youth, a scar curling across his skin, dark hair curling, skin pale in the moonlight. He said his name was Tomas, and no one should walk the beach alone.
Bonfires and music spun ahead of them, the light dancing off Tomas's skin, Esteban burning, muttering prayers. All around them color and shapes and slow touching. Sinners.
Fireworks sparkled above the water, and the music and the surf rocked them slow and sure. They left their shoes near a wall and continued down, sand growing damp and cool between their toes. When the water curled around his ankles, Esteban shivered and sighed.
He turned to Tomas, who opened to his touch and curved around him, welcome heat. Esteban licked the salt from inside his mouth, the moonlight from his skin. The sea.
because
glossing told me to. i guess if you're going to do a master and commander au, you might as well go all the way. verona beach challenge. this is mostly establish-y stuff, i think. we'll see what happens. again, 500 words.Esteban had been too long away from the sea. The curve and the swell of waves, the slow rocking of the boat, the salt spray and his fingers tangled in Ioan's hair, these had all served to wear away at his rough edges, to make him smooth.
The world was an ever-changing place, however, and it was only a matter of time before the patronage bestowed by business exceeded that of governments. He weighed his options and returned to land, where his unique skills served him well, his command of language and his position as a man of medicine bringing authority and unlocking doors. It was a profitable partnership, but he missed the sea. Dry land scarred him, made him rough and angular.
When instructions strongly suggested a meeting of sorts on the coast, he could not be there soon enough. He arrived in town in a rented black Executioner, a half empty bottle of brandy under the seat. He sat for a while in the parking garage of the hotel, finishing his cigarette, then went to check in and change. The girl at the desk gave him his room key and a smile full of promise, but his edges were too sharp for a woman now.
The early evening dose of laudanum and he was off, wind blowing sand gritting diamonds between his teeth. He wandered towards the beach itself, the sun sinking and neon shooting into life around him, objects and people floating in a drowsy glow. He swung his arms at his sides in dream, then stopped outside a small bar, Illyria, rolling off his tongue.
It was early yet and not too crowded. He ordered a drink and scanned the room. His gaze was trapped by a tall youth with dark eyes, slim form in tight black trousers and a shirt bearing the image of the Sacred Heart of Mary. Esteban watched him for a moment, then looked away, finished his drink, and stepped towards the door.
Out in the street the breeze blew warm. He heard a gunshot in the distance, but continued, unhurried. He trailed his fingertips along the remains of a wall. A voice behind him, and then the youth, a scar curling across his skin, dark hair curling, skin pale in the moonlight. He said his name was Tomas, and no one should walk the beach alone.
Bonfires and music spun ahead of them, the light dancing off Tomas's skin, Esteban burning, muttering prayers. All around them color and shapes and slow touching. Sinners.
Fireworks sparkled above the water, and the music and the surf rocked them slow and sure. They left their shoes near a wall and continued down, sand growing damp and cool between their toes. When the water curled around his ankles, Esteban shivered and sighed.
He turned to Tomas, who opened to his touch and curved around him, welcome heat. Esteban licked the salt from inside his mouth, the moonlight from his skin. The sea.
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*muah*
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*hugs*
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This is...wow. Gorgeous and muscular and just so awesome. Love the brandy under the seat, the sea in Tomas's mouth, the twisty renamings. And Illyria's the best name for a bar, *ever*.
Thank you so much for doing this! Somehow you exceeded expectations and, dude, they were damn high.
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the list of things i'm supposed to be writing, however, is much less impressed ;)