Fanwork 10
Aug. 20th, 2011 05:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sharknastyTitle: N/A
Pairing: Ψiionic|Helmsman/Dualscar
Rating: PG-13 (ish)
Warning: Kismesis stuff. Mild blood kink.
A/N: Someone showed me a picture on plurk and I was like "Huh", and then I wrote this early as hell in the morning and then wend to bed. Then I woke up and edited it and posted it here.
Her Imperial Condensation only leaves the control dock of her room once every few sweeps for the sake of attending the Grand Gala, of which she spends most of her time grinning with razor sharp teeth and unnerving the guests. Still, they wouldn't dare leave her off the guest list for fear that she would cull them, not that she could afford to lose so many highbloods in one foul swoop.
Still, someone must man the helm and the Helmsman, even while the fleet stagnates for a single night and although she does not know his name, an eager young purple-blood is as good as anyone else. Any member of the Nautical Aristocracy would die before betraying her in any way, so she can trust them as much as trolls can trust one another. She rules not through love, but through fear, and they fear her just as much as the lowbloods do deep down. He tells her his name is Dualscar and his title is Orphaner, and she dismisses him just as easily as she would a slave, long and lithe arm wrapping around the waist of her escort to the ball. Stunning as the hue of her blood is, the Condense doubts she will keep her alive past this date. There is too much pride in the seadwellers of her ship, knowing who their captain will be with for the night, and pride in others over seeing her as the submissive partner (the escorted) is not something she will let slip by lightly.
When he is selected, Dualscar believes it to be a shocking twist of fate and tells himself they are meant to be, even when she leaves the helm in the arms of another of his blood caste, the "rival" winking at him and turning her back on him so that the fabric of her skirt slips through the cracks just before the door swishes shut. Out of the sight of his empress, he flushes a deep violet and grits his teeth until they feel like they're about to crack until he hears a chuckle from the corner, then hisses and turns, sets his sights on the Helmsman who is chuckling away even while the tentacles encircling him squeeze a little tighter in the absence of their true captain.
"You are aware that ith a thad thing to thee, right? You're thtupid for going after her," he says with a grin, because there has to be something he can gain some sort of amusement from in his enslavement. She has yet to strip his sign and put him in slave garbs, but the Ψiionic ('Not anymore. Helmsman now.') knows that to hope for any sort of freedom from the Condese's clutches is futile. She has too much pride in her ship, in him despite his blood color, to ever let him go even if he hadn't sided with the Signless. "She'th attracted to power, dumbath, and you have nothing."
It isn't jealousy or some twisted sense of over-protectiveness that drives him to fling base insults at the Orphaner, but for once the Condense is out of sight, and he can't pass up this opportunity. The troll before him looks hateable enough and for once, just once, he wants to do something for himself and for a night, pretend he has the slightest bit of freedom to hate who he chooses. When Dualscar walks over to him, hands curled into fists and dripping precious purple blood onto bright red floors, he feels the hate boil in his chest and thinks 'Finally. Finally something for me.'
His hand rises, fingers curling to resemble claws and he does nothing to stop it; Dualscar is accustomed to abusing slaves for saying much less and the Helmsman is as good as, but a comment from the other stops him mid-swing and he's stuck staring at a fanged mouth curled into a smirk:
"You know what she will do if she theeths you so much as thcratched me?"
And the Orphaner shifts, wipes his blood off on the frills of his cape before curling his hand into a fist once more and punching the Helmsman in the gut. The smirk is wiped off his face in favor of a gasp and a wheeze, though even that is replaced by a sneer soon enough. "Now," purrs Dualscar, content with his cleverness, “she won't see anything, hidden by cloth as it is." The Orphaner is playing into the Helmsman's hands, even while they are binded, and all it does is make him want to smile until his teeth shatter and fall out in shards, leaving yellow blood to dye the tyrian wires keeping him merged with the ship.
The Orphaner walks away, but the Helmsman cannot follow, held fast as he is by the organic cables linking his nervous system into the power system of the ship. He can only continue to bait Dualscar with false scenarios of what he could do to him and his position in a single night, and he threatens the Orphaner with so many things that would end in his death or losing the favor (imagined favor) of the Condense, that each time he finishes, Dualscar returns to rain blows upon him wherever his clothing covers his body. It hurts and every time the Helmsman is left feeling a little sore, but even with the hate burgeoning in his chest, he's enjoying this. He's learned enough from watching the Condense toy with the minds of her many black conquests, and Dualscar is to furious to acknowledge the blue and red glow of the Helmsman's psychic ability as he works on disengaging a single arm from the coils of the ship.
The high point of the night is when Dualscar grabs him by the jaw after he makes a certain comment about his genetic lineage as a purple blood. He pulls their faces close and spits at the Helmsman's eye only for him to open his mouth wide in return and bite down on the tender web of flesh between index finger and thumb. He holds fast as the Orphaner scrams at first and then cuts it off with a grunt and swallows down the noise, wrapping his hand around the Helmsman's throat until the need for air forces him to relinquish his hold. Dualscar takes several steps back and watches in a combination of amazement and disgust while the Helmsman licks the blood off of his teeth and from around his mouth with both tongues. It clicks in his mind and the sentence is out before Dualscar even knows what he's saying.
"I already have a kismesis."
But that only garners another smirk from the Helmsman.
"I'm not asking for anything permanent, Orphaner. In fact, I'm not really asking at all."
It's easy for him to pull his arm from the bowels of the ship after having loosened it previously, but there are thinner tyrian strands still linked to it, though he ignores them in favor of extending his arm and entrapping the Orphaner in the red glow of his psionics. He curls his splayed hand into a fist, turning his arm and jerking it towards his own body, as if he was pulling a rope and Dualscar was at the end of it. The Orphaner slides across the floor and towards him, shoes scrapping against the ground and rage, fear, disgust and hatred burning in his eyes. The Helmsman relinquishes his power over Dualscar, lets the bright red psychic glow fade away in favor of grabbing him by the golden chain clasping his cape and pulling him forward into a kiss.
The entire sequence of actions shocks Dualscar, his mind looking for reason and coming up empty over and over again. He was not expecting this when he agreed to look after the Helmsman and the only thing that pulls him from his revere is the taste of his own blood, warm in his mouth as the fangs of his temporary unwarranted kismesis snag on his lips.
They don't kiss so much as fight with their mouths, as proper kismesises are wont to do, the Helmsman drawing blood on the surface while Dualscar focuses on drawing blood on inside his partner's mouth. While the lowblood's fangs scratch down his lips, the Orphaner sucks the Helmsman's lower lip into his mouth, biting down until he tastes yellow and he can feel the Helmsman squirm against him and hold tighter to the chain. His blood is disgusting in its baseness, filthy and impure and unworthy of even mingling with that of the Orphaners', who resists the urge to pull back to spit it out onto the floor of the ship for the same reason he is unwilling to make visible marks on the Helmsman, whose hand has snaked around to clench in Dualscar's hair and pull.
The Helmsman is starting to feel like the Ψiioniic again, with this minor amount of control over his own actions for once in a very long time, and he uses his only arm to pull Dualscar's head back until the kiss is broken, both of them panting for breath, but the Helmsman keeping enough of his wits about him to nudge aside the collar of the Orphaner's uniform with his mouth and press his lips to skin. He bites it softly in comparison to their kiss and sucks hard until he leaves a bright purple bruise, while the Dualscar curls his fingers and claws into the yellow cloth beneath his fingers, holding the Helmsman's abdomen hard enough to leave small fingerprint bruises.
In the back of his mind, the Ψiioniic feels the doors of the Deep Space Dock swish open, and though the ship's eyes he sees the Condense step out, wiping purple blood off her hands with a scrap of fabric that he suspects was probably once attached to the dress of her escort. He grins against Dualscar's shoulder, teeth pressing flush to skin as the Orphaner's hands hold fast to his waits now, and he entertains the thought of the Empress finding them like this, with yellow and purple splattered across their faces. Instead he shoves Dualscar back as hard as possible and wipes the blood from around his mouth before jamming his arm back into the waiting tentacle-esque cables of the ship, head slumping down as he lets out a shuddering sigh while the hook-like attachments stick back into his skin and extend all the way to his nervous system. It's a familiar pain, and he is weary of it, but it isn't as if he has a choice.
"She's coming," he manages to hiss out as Dualscar, and it gets him moving fast enough for all the wrong reasons, wiping spilt blood off the floor with a handkerchief and wiping his own on his cape. He straightens his collar and the chain of his cape, combs a hand messily though his hair as the Helmsman resists the urge to grin at the futility of his movements, knowing that even after this night The Condense still won't consider his name worth remembering.
She steps through the doors covered in purple blood, and beyond a slight widening of the eyes that is quickly hidden behind a mask of indifference and obedience, the Orphaner appears not to care. She seems to care even less as she dismisses him off-handedly, taking the elevators to her quarters while he leaves and casts a single glance that is more of a glare back at the Helmsman before the doors slide shut.
It is only when they are both gone and the Helmsman is left alone in the command bay of the ship, that he allows himself the last laugh.
Pairing: Ψiionic|Helmsman/Dualscar
Rating: PG-13 (ish)
Warning: Kismesis stuff. Mild blood kink.
A/N: Someone showed me a picture on plurk and I was like "Huh", and then I wrote this early as hell in the morning and then wend to bed. Then I woke up and edited it and posted it here.
Her Imperial Condensation only leaves the control dock of her room once every few sweeps for the sake of attending the Grand Gala, of which she spends most of her time grinning with razor sharp teeth and unnerving the guests. Still, they wouldn't dare leave her off the guest list for fear that she would cull them, not that she could afford to lose so many highbloods in one foul swoop.
Still, someone must man the helm and the Helmsman, even while the fleet stagnates for a single night and although she does not know his name, an eager young purple-blood is as good as anyone else. Any member of the Nautical Aristocracy would die before betraying her in any way, so she can trust them as much as trolls can trust one another. She rules not through love, but through fear, and they fear her just as much as the lowbloods do deep down. He tells her his name is Dualscar and his title is Orphaner, and she dismisses him just as easily as she would a slave, long and lithe arm wrapping around the waist of her escort to the ball. Stunning as the hue of her blood is, the Condense doubts she will keep her alive past this date. There is too much pride in the seadwellers of her ship, knowing who their captain will be with for the night, and pride in others over seeing her as the submissive partner (the escorted) is not something she will let slip by lightly.
When he is selected, Dualscar believes it to be a shocking twist of fate and tells himself they are meant to be, even when she leaves the helm in the arms of another of his blood caste, the "rival" winking at him and turning her back on him so that the fabric of her skirt slips through the cracks just before the door swishes shut. Out of the sight of his empress, he flushes a deep violet and grits his teeth until they feel like they're about to crack until he hears a chuckle from the corner, then hisses and turns, sets his sights on the Helmsman who is chuckling away even while the tentacles encircling him squeeze a little tighter in the absence of their true captain.
"You are aware that ith a thad thing to thee, right? You're thtupid for going after her," he says with a grin, because there has to be something he can gain some sort of amusement from in his enslavement. She has yet to strip his sign and put him in slave garbs, but the Ψiionic ('Not anymore. Helmsman now.') knows that to hope for any sort of freedom from the Condese's clutches is futile. She has too much pride in her ship, in him despite his blood color, to ever let him go even if he hadn't sided with the Signless. "She'th attracted to power, dumbath, and you have nothing."
It isn't jealousy or some twisted sense of over-protectiveness that drives him to fling base insults at the Orphaner, but for once the Condense is out of sight, and he can't pass up this opportunity. The troll before him looks hateable enough and for once, just once, he wants to do something for himself and for a night, pretend he has the slightest bit of freedom to hate who he chooses. When Dualscar walks over to him, hands curled into fists and dripping precious purple blood onto bright red floors, he feels the hate boil in his chest and thinks 'Finally. Finally something for me.'
His hand rises, fingers curling to resemble claws and he does nothing to stop it; Dualscar is accustomed to abusing slaves for saying much less and the Helmsman is as good as, but a comment from the other stops him mid-swing and he's stuck staring at a fanged mouth curled into a smirk:
"You know what she will do if she theeths you so much as thcratched me?"
And the Orphaner shifts, wipes his blood off on the frills of his cape before curling his hand into a fist once more and punching the Helmsman in the gut. The smirk is wiped off his face in favor of a gasp and a wheeze, though even that is replaced by a sneer soon enough. "Now," purrs Dualscar, content with his cleverness, “she won't see anything, hidden by cloth as it is." The Orphaner is playing into the Helmsman's hands, even while they are binded, and all it does is make him want to smile until his teeth shatter and fall out in shards, leaving yellow blood to dye the tyrian wires keeping him merged with the ship.
The Orphaner walks away, but the Helmsman cannot follow, held fast as he is by the organic cables linking his nervous system into the power system of the ship. He can only continue to bait Dualscar with false scenarios of what he could do to him and his position in a single night, and he threatens the Orphaner with so many things that would end in his death or losing the favor (imagined favor) of the Condense, that each time he finishes, Dualscar returns to rain blows upon him wherever his clothing covers his body. It hurts and every time the Helmsman is left feeling a little sore, but even with the hate burgeoning in his chest, he's enjoying this. He's learned enough from watching the Condense toy with the minds of her many black conquests, and Dualscar is to furious to acknowledge the blue and red glow of the Helmsman's psychic ability as he works on disengaging a single arm from the coils of the ship.
The high point of the night is when Dualscar grabs him by the jaw after he makes a certain comment about his genetic lineage as a purple blood. He pulls their faces close and spits at the Helmsman's eye only for him to open his mouth wide in return and bite down on the tender web of flesh between index finger and thumb. He holds fast as the Orphaner scrams at first and then cuts it off with a grunt and swallows down the noise, wrapping his hand around the Helmsman's throat until the need for air forces him to relinquish his hold. Dualscar takes several steps back and watches in a combination of amazement and disgust while the Helmsman licks the blood off of his teeth and from around his mouth with both tongues. It clicks in his mind and the sentence is out before Dualscar even knows what he's saying.
"I already have a kismesis."
But that only garners another smirk from the Helmsman.
"I'm not asking for anything permanent, Orphaner. In fact, I'm not really asking at all."
It's easy for him to pull his arm from the bowels of the ship after having loosened it previously, but there are thinner tyrian strands still linked to it, though he ignores them in favor of extending his arm and entrapping the Orphaner in the red glow of his psionics. He curls his splayed hand into a fist, turning his arm and jerking it towards his own body, as if he was pulling a rope and Dualscar was at the end of it. The Orphaner slides across the floor and towards him, shoes scrapping against the ground and rage, fear, disgust and hatred burning in his eyes. The Helmsman relinquishes his power over Dualscar, lets the bright red psychic glow fade away in favor of grabbing him by the golden chain clasping his cape and pulling him forward into a kiss.
The entire sequence of actions shocks Dualscar, his mind looking for reason and coming up empty over and over again. He was not expecting this when he agreed to look after the Helmsman and the only thing that pulls him from his revere is the taste of his own blood, warm in his mouth as the fangs of his temporary unwarranted kismesis snag on his lips.
They don't kiss so much as fight with their mouths, as proper kismesises are wont to do, the Helmsman drawing blood on the surface while Dualscar focuses on drawing blood on inside his partner's mouth. While the lowblood's fangs scratch down his lips, the Orphaner sucks the Helmsman's lower lip into his mouth, biting down until he tastes yellow and he can feel the Helmsman squirm against him and hold tighter to the chain. His blood is disgusting in its baseness, filthy and impure and unworthy of even mingling with that of the Orphaners', who resists the urge to pull back to spit it out onto the floor of the ship for the same reason he is unwilling to make visible marks on the Helmsman, whose hand has snaked around to clench in Dualscar's hair and pull.
The Helmsman is starting to feel like the Ψiioniic again, with this minor amount of control over his own actions for once in a very long time, and he uses his only arm to pull Dualscar's head back until the kiss is broken, both of them panting for breath, but the Helmsman keeping enough of his wits about him to nudge aside the collar of the Orphaner's uniform with his mouth and press his lips to skin. He bites it softly in comparison to their kiss and sucks hard until he leaves a bright purple bruise, while the Dualscar curls his fingers and claws into the yellow cloth beneath his fingers, holding the Helmsman's abdomen hard enough to leave small fingerprint bruises.
In the back of his mind, the Ψiioniic feels the doors of the Deep Space Dock swish open, and though the ship's eyes he sees the Condense step out, wiping purple blood off her hands with a scrap of fabric that he suspects was probably once attached to the dress of her escort. He grins against Dualscar's shoulder, teeth pressing flush to skin as the Orphaner's hands hold fast to his waits now, and he entertains the thought of the Empress finding them like this, with yellow and purple splattered across their faces. Instead he shoves Dualscar back as hard as possible and wipes the blood from around his mouth before jamming his arm back into the waiting tentacle-esque cables of the ship, head slumping down as he lets out a shuddering sigh while the hook-like attachments stick back into his skin and extend all the way to his nervous system. It's a familiar pain, and he is weary of it, but it isn't as if he has a choice.
"She's coming," he manages to hiss out as Dualscar, and it gets him moving fast enough for all the wrong reasons, wiping spilt blood off the floor with a handkerchief and wiping his own on his cape. He straightens his collar and the chain of his cape, combs a hand messily though his hair as the Helmsman resists the urge to grin at the futility of his movements, knowing that even after this night The Condense still won't consider his name worth remembering.
She steps through the doors covered in purple blood, and beyond a slight widening of the eyes that is quickly hidden behind a mask of indifference and obedience, the Orphaner appears not to care. She seems to care even less as she dismisses him off-handedly, taking the elevators to her quarters while he leaves and casts a single glance that is more of a glare back at the Helmsman before the doors slide shut.
It is only when they are both gone and the Helmsman is left alone in the command bay of the ship, that he allows himself the last laugh.