viceindustrious (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
viceindustrious) wrote2010-12-07 10:36 pm
viceindustrious) wrote2010-12-07 10:36 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Caprice
Title: Caprice
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 2009
Pairing: Blackwood/Coward
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Coward has a busy social calendar.
Word count: 510
Notes: Written for day seven of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
adventchallenge.Prompt: Parties. Really I was trying to play with ![[info]](https://files.livejournal.com/userhead/118)
unsettledink 's prompt about rejection but sleepiness wasn't making the words flow as easily as I'd like. Think I'll come back to this idea later. I refuse to let this challenge beat me though!
Coward's laugh rings bright and clear as ice, a high, helter-skelter sound unfettered by conscience or care. His cheeks are splotched pink, whether from wine or the wind, Henry isn't sure, but he is most definitely drunk. He throws his gloves onto the bed and stumbles across the room to warm his cold hands on Henry's neck.
"Is that really you, Henry?" He squints, tugs at Henry's earlobe. "What are you doing here?"
Henry stiffens and shifts awkwardly on the edge of the chaise lounge.
"My father says he won't stand to have me in the house over Christmas," he reminds Coward.
"Have you done something awful?" Coward asks gleefully, swaying a little on the spot as he claps his hands together.
Henry tries to smile, but the expression is ill fitting, the corners of his mouth feel too tight. Coward blinks at him expectantly, rather like a magpie that's caught a glint of something shining amongst the undergrowth.
"Apparently I murdered my mother. Though, as you know, that was twenty-five years ago so I'm not quite sure why he feels the need to bring it up with such wondrous regularity."
Coward stares silently at him for a moment and then his nose wrinkles. "Oh. Is that all?"
"The owner of the Avondale wrote him a rather strongly worded letter about the credit I have amassed there in his name."
This makes Coward laugh once more and begin to fuss with Henry's hair clumsily.
"But what are you doing here, Henry?" he asks.
Henry gently pushes Coward's hand away and Coward makes a huffing noise of irritation and swats him on the cheek with two fingers.
"You said I could stay," Henry says, looking up at the impatient, bemused frown on Coward's face. "Before-"
"Oh, before." Cowards waves his hand dismissively. "Well, I shall be rather busy. There are quite a lot of parties I must be seen to attend."
Every other word is laboured over carefully and Henry can tell Coward is attempting not to slur his words together, but he's blinking too much to appear anywhere near sober. He falls down onto the other end of the chaise and puts his feet up on Henry's lap.
"You know why you can't come with me, don't you Henry?"
Henry stares down at the dirty marks the soles of Coward's shoes are leaving on his trousers. The heel of one boot presses into his groin and he turns to see Coward smiling slyly at him. There's a nasty twist to his mouth.
"Try not to look so pitiful, my love," Coward says. "You can't ruin a suit that's as cheap as the one you're wearing. It's from Hillyard's isn't it?"
Coward snorts at the name. He digs the heel of his boot in harder. Coward's laugh is just like ice and more often than not, it hides the same cold, cutting edge beneath its beauty.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 2009
Pairing: Blackwood/Coward
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Coward has a busy social calendar.
Word count: 510
Notes: Written for day seven of the
adventchallenge.Prompt: Parties. Really I was trying to play with Coward's laugh rings bright and clear as ice, a high, helter-skelter sound unfettered by conscience or care. His cheeks are splotched pink, whether from wine or the wind, Henry isn't sure, but he is most definitely drunk. He throws his gloves onto the bed and stumbles across the room to warm his cold hands on Henry's neck.
"Is that really you, Henry?" He squints, tugs at Henry's earlobe. "What are you doing here?"
Henry stiffens and shifts awkwardly on the edge of the chaise lounge.
"My father says he won't stand to have me in the house over Christmas," he reminds Coward.
"Have you done something awful?" Coward asks gleefully, swaying a little on the spot as he claps his hands together.
Henry tries to smile, but the expression is ill fitting, the corners of his mouth feel too tight. Coward blinks at him expectantly, rather like a magpie that's caught a glint of something shining amongst the undergrowth.
"Apparently I murdered my mother. Though, as you know, that was twenty-five years ago so I'm not quite sure why he feels the need to bring it up with such wondrous regularity."
Coward stares silently at him for a moment and then his nose wrinkles. "Oh. Is that all?"
"The owner of the Avondale wrote him a rather strongly worded letter about the credit I have amassed there in his name."
This makes Coward laugh once more and begin to fuss with Henry's hair clumsily.
"But what are you doing here, Henry?" he asks.
Henry gently pushes Coward's hand away and Coward makes a huffing noise of irritation and swats him on the cheek with two fingers.
"You said I could stay," Henry says, looking up at the impatient, bemused frown on Coward's face. "Before-"
"Oh, before." Cowards waves his hand dismissively. "Well, I shall be rather busy. There are quite a lot of parties I must be seen to attend."
Every other word is laboured over carefully and Henry can tell Coward is attempting not to slur his words together, but he's blinking too much to appear anywhere near sober. He falls down onto the other end of the chaise and puts his feet up on Henry's lap.
"You know why you can't come with me, don't you Henry?"
Henry stares down at the dirty marks the soles of Coward's shoes are leaving on his trousers. The heel of one boot presses into his groin and he turns to see Coward smiling slyly at him. There's a nasty twist to his mouth.
"Try not to look so pitiful, my love," Coward says. "You can't ruin a suit that's as cheap as the one you're wearing. It's from Hillyard's isn't it?"
Coward snorts at the name. He digs the heel of his boot in harder. Coward's laugh is just like ice and more often than not, it hides the same cold, cutting edge beneath its beauty.
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YES! Snide, spoiled, brittlely vicious Coward! MMMMM, I've had such a craving for this!
Henry stiffens and shifts awkwardly on the edge of the chaise lounge. Blackwood here, oh, you've done a wonderful thing with him here. Young and at a loss for confidence and trying not to show how he's hurting, so human it's raw, WOOOOOT.
...huh. My little headcanon here is that Coward is totally far younger than Blackwood here, and it MAKES MY DAY.
Coward stares silently at him for a moment and then his nose wrinkles. "Oh. Is that all?" Ooooooooo, you just want to slap him and that makes me grin.
Henry gently pushes Coward's hand away Eeeeee! You know what's great here? (I'm sure you do.) You've got this rejection from Coward as the pin of this whole piece, yes, but then! Then you slip this in there, Blackwood rejection a moment of Coward's attention and with so much more caring, YESYESYESYESYES.
"You know why you can't come with me, don't you Henry?" Slap him. ARG.
"Try not to look so pitiful, my love," Coward says. "You can't ruin a suit that's as cheap as the one you're wearing. It's from Hillyard's isn't it?" GLEE. PURE TOTAL GLEE. GLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. SERIOUS TRUE MAD HAND FLAILING HERE.
*ROLLS EYES* SEE? MY GLEE KILLED MY HTML SKILLS. o.O
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The things you do with alliteration! That, and a very spoiled young man.
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And, oh, how you bring back the idea of ice with Coward's laugh and at the beginning it's just "hmmm" and the end it's all OWW like.
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I just want ask you if I can translate some of your FF... can I?
If you want to talk to me, my msn is akatsukithebest@live.it
Lots of kisses!
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