#It pleases me

[aethernoise]

all-rounder

[burnsopale]

At the inn (scene, 1500 words)

Fandom: The Scarlet Pimpernel Pairing: Percy/Chauvelin Rating: T for There was only one bed

Summary: The author projects her need to be cuddled onto two middle-aged men. Again.

Context: It's 1802, and Percy reunites with Chauvelin in Paris after having lost track of him for eight years. Chauvelin is not the man he used to be; the events in Orange left him little more than a ghost, and his life since then has been grey and empty. Percy means to awaken him again.

And then Sir Percy took his hand, as if Chauvelin was a lady he was about to lead onto the dance floor, and Sir Percy did lead him, but away, towards the stairs and the rooms above. Chauvelin followed docilely, too tired to assert himself, though his stomach was in a knot and his head felt hot and stuffed with cotton. Sir Percy was walking backwards, holding his eyes, and Chauvelin could not look away. Those heavy blue eyes could have pulled him along on their own.

He was almost surprised to find himself in one of the rooms, unable to recall walking through the door. He was definitely surprised when Sir Percy began to help him off with his jacket like some sort of valet.

“I can manage!” he protested. “I am not so tired as that.”

“Of course, Monsieur,” said Sir Percy, hanging the jacket on the room’s only chair before reaching for the buttons on Chauvelin’s waistcoat and beginning to undo them.

Chauvelin blinked at the industrious hands in confusion, and that allowed Sir Percy to get his waistcoat all the way off, and then he was working on Chauvelin’s cravat, his fingers strong and nimble on the knot and brushing Chauvelin’s chin sometimes, and as the cloth came undone, Chauvelin found his voice again.

“E-Enough!” He kept his voice low despite the emphasis. “Thank you for your aid, but that will do. Attend to your own wardrobe.” He turned away and, leaning on the bedpost, bent down to take off a shoe. Then he realised something and straightened up again suddenly. “Unless of course-!” He looked at Sir Percy, who had his jacket half off his arms. “Do you require aid?”

Sir Percy looked at him in surprise, but then a slow, warm smile spread on his face.

Chauvelin blinked and looked away from the other man’s twinkling eyes; he never had been able to understand what Sir Percy was thinking.

Sir Percy took his jacket off and hung that too on the chair. “Would you help me, Monsieur?” he enquired innocently. “To unbutton my waistcoat, for instance.”

Having offered, Chauvelin could hardly refuse. He went to Sir Percy and took hold of an ivory button, slipped it out of the hole, took hold of the next, wondered that Sir Percy was not able to do this for himself, really, it was the simplest thing in the world to undo a button, glanced up and realised that Sir Percy was laughing at him.

Chauvelin stepped back quickly and scowled. “You mock me!”

“No, my friend, not at all. I should be quite happy to let you take all my clothes off, as I would gladly have helped you off with yours.”

Surely-! That look in his eyes! It could not be-!

Chauvelin turned away to hide how the blood was rushing to his head. “That would require as much labour as if we attended to ourselves, and so I do not see any reason why we should.”

“Do you not? I see a reason.”

Chauvelin glanced back, unable to help himself. He frowned. “What reason do you see?”

Sir Percy came up behind him, bent down to his ear and said in a low voice, “That it would allow me to put my hands on your little person, and to feel your hands on mine.”

“Oh!” squeaked Chauvelin, his whole face blazing hot. “Then, as my person is so little, you would reduce your own labour a great deal, while I should have the lion’s share.”

Sir Percy threw his head back and laughed. “A fair point! Getting a lion out of his pelt is considerably riskier than teasing a mouse out of his fur.”

“What do you know of either?” asked Chauvelin despite himself.

Sir Percy continued to smile at him, more gently now. “I have wrestled a few of my fellow lions in my time, and timid deer, loyal dogs and powerful horses, but never a mouse. That would be a first.”

“You forget your swan,” said Chauvelin, turning sharply away again and bending down once more to remove his shoes. “Graceful, beautiful, she is a proper match for you. If you need someone to wrestle, you could not do better than her.” One shoe, then the other, and then he sat down on the bed to untie his garter ribbons. “Remember that swans mate for life, and they are not gentle in anger. Though I cannot see why you should stray; you could have scant satisfaction from a small, grey mouthful compared to her bountiful splendour.”

“Of course I would not stray, but she knows where I am-”

“What is that supposed to mean-”

“And what I am doing.”

Chauvelin met for a moment Sir Percy’s calm, earnest eyes, but once more he had to look away. This was not possible. The grief waiting on the other side of the offer would be more than Chauvelin could bear. So he said obstinately, “What you are doing is keeping me from sleep.”

His vision had narrowed down to the garter ribbon he had tied too tightly and now could not unpick. Then Sir Percy was kneeling in front of him. “Don’t!” Chauvelin cried, but Sir Percy took his hands and held them for a moment, stilling their trembling, and then he put them away on Chauvelin’s lap and replaced them with his own.

His face was solemn now. “Forgive me,” he said. “You are right; you are tired and need rest before tomorrow. I am too eager.”

Chauvelin looked at that handsome face in helpless longing. “Eager?” he mumbled.

Again, the gentle smile. The garter ribbon came undone under Sir Percy’s strong fingers, and the first stocking was slipped down Chauvelin’s leg and off.

“I have not seen you in so long,” Sir Percy said. “I was powerfully struck when I laid eyes on you tonight. You were so altered, and yet so startlingly yourself, and I was reminded of how your thin shoulders have felt under my hands, how you would weigh nothing at all when I would lift you up, how your heart would flutter against my palm like a sparrow’s wings whenever I caught you.”

“How I would threaten you,” Chauvelin continued, voice sore. “How I would savour my triumphant hate as I dangled innocent lives above the pit to draw you in.”

“How you would blush when I scolded you,” Percy said, almost sternly, looking up at him. “How your face was bloodless and bright red by turns that night after Orange, when I sent you away.”

Chauvelin was caught in the helpless fascination prey feels when faced with a hunter, and could say nothing.

“I had scant hope then that you would live beyond the week. At worst, I feared you would attempt to resume your ignoble career.” Sir Percy smiled faintly. “But you put my doubts to shame and my fears to rest. You lived, and you learned, and you did better.”

Chauvelin shook his head slowly. “I do not live,” he mumbled. “I only am. I want to say it is for Fleurette’s sake I go on, in case she should someday need me, but what use could my child have of me when she has you? No. I stay because in death I will have to face God’s final judgement, and I know that I am marked for Hell.”

Sir Percy drew a deep breath and released it. He studied Chauvelin thoughtfully.

Chauvelin blinked tiredly, caught himself swaying.

“We will sleep now,” Sir Percy said, and his voice was good to the ears; low and gentle and sure.

In a couple minutes more, they were both undressed, Chauvelin was under the covers, and Sir Percy, after drawing the curtains shut, climbed in after him.

And then he took gentle hold of Chauvelin and pulled him deep into his embrace, curling up around him.

“You-! No!” Chauvelin cried, his voice high and thin. He trembled to feel the other man’s heart beating firmly and steadily against his back. Sir Percy was wonderfully warm, and so big, his arms safe and strong; Chauvelin's body was filled with pleasure even as he tried feebly to pull himself away.

“Shh,” Sir Percy soothed him, pulling him back and nuzzling his shoulder. “Let me hold you, Armand.” One arm was firm around Chauvelin’s waist, preventing his escaping, and the other hand came up to cover his chest. “There is your little sparrow-wing heart again, beating so fast. What frightens you, Monsieur? You’re quivering all over.” He spoke, low and insistent, into Chauvelin’s ear; “Dear friend, I won’t hurt you.”

“You said we would sleep!” Chauvelin clutched at the other man’s wrist, as if pulling his hand away could make the man forget what he had already felt against his palm.

“And so we shall, but let me hold you.” His breath was hot on Chauvelin’s skin.

Chauvelin longed to melt into the heat of his captor’s body. He was so tired his eyes were falling shut on their own. “What do you mean by this?” he whined, weakly struggling even as he sank helplessly towards sleep.

Sir Percy sighed. “That eight years of shame and loneliness is enough.” He kissed Chauvelin’s neck. His lips were silky, their touch pure pleasure. “I mean to hold you, little mouse, for you are mine to hold, though it frightens you.”

Again, his lips on Chauvelin’s nape. Chauvelin moaned.

“Sleep, little mouse,” said Sir Percy. “I have you.”

Chauvelin let go, and sleep welcomed him.

[aroanthy]

my secret is that i love the mangas (series, movie and atr) not bc they’re consistently the epitome of what makes utena so great, but because i think they’re fucking fascinating and have moments that really shine and merit analysis amongst the other parts that, really, are just a product of having less time in production. like say what you will about x, y or z, and id agree with you that they’re not as strong as the series, but man. i am happy to be able to appreciate them for what they are and what they add to the series

[quirkessake]

The empires were long forgotten, but the terrible Resurrected Men were not. Tom could remember playing at being one when he was a child in the Guild Orphanage, stomping about with his arms held out straight in front of him, shouting, "I-AM-A-STAL-KER! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!" until Miss Plym came and told him to keep the noise down.

LOL the temptation to officially adopt the idea that Doctor Who and Mortal Engines exist in the same universe. I could see the Daleks and pre-Traction Era humans striking a deal with one another, with the Daleks offering their knowledge of ancient human tech and their own tech to create the Stalkers. Honestly, Stalkers sort of seem like what you'd get if you combined Daleks and Cybermen; they were once human soldiers, now just squishy brains kept in entirely mechanical casings, filled with hate and a lust for battle.

What the Daleks would get out of this deal... who knows? Maybe something to do with MEDUSA? Or maybe they just revelled in watching humans destroy themselves with greed and violence?

In any case, the point I'm getting at is that I like the idea of stories about Daleks and Stalkers getting crossed as they drift from city to city, gradually picked up by adults and children alike until information gets all mixed up, like a big game of Telephone. So you get the idea that Stalkers talk like Daleks (they do not, they are a bit more human).

[the-lob]

i love it when i get a video of a racoon....racooning

[computerpeople]

a lot of shelbys appeal is that to me too. i love protagonists who arent human but are trying so hard to be normiecore

[thefearfulheart]

Iulian blinks at the ceiling as he lays in bed.

It’s…unusually quiet in his home.

Not a sound to be heard except for his light breathing and the pitter patter of the rain outside, maybe the occasional car driving by outside but other then that…

It makes him feel like he’s the only person that is alive in the world at the moment.

Where all that remains are the phantom sounds of people long gone, overgrown plants sinking their way into the buildings, animals making their homes into places that once where homed to thousands of people and making it belong to them now, the scattered rusted cars lining the streets of neighbourhoods with door half open or falling off and the the sun shining down at the empty places where humans once dwelled.

He can imagine how the light would reflect off the shattered glass of skyscrapers and into the dilapidated building with twisting foliage and animal’s sleeping or hunting in the building, the rooms filled with broken cubicles and everything either caved in or broken down.

It’s a…strangely comforting feeling.

Morbid but comforting.

His eyes flicker over the darkness of the room, running over his closet and desk in the corner, before resting back onto the chipped paint of the ceiling. His brown eyes hollowly staring into the cracked paint and following along the edges of the cracks until he finds himself staring at the end corner of his room.

He really needs to get that fixed at a later date…maybe, as long as it doesn’t cave in it should be fine.

It’s just chipped paint.

“Mhmm,” He sighs into the quiet space of the room as he rubs at his eyes, wanting to fill the space with some noise.

So that he doesn’t feel as alone as he does right now.

It’s a odd feeling.

To be completely alone.

No Addy. No Melly. No Sire and no Jos-

He stops himself before he goes further into that thought process. A knee-jerk reaction as he tightly closes his eyes and turns himself to the right of his bed.

He still hasn’t been able to find Jose.

Jose who’s been missing for the last couple of days without even a hint to where he could be and nobody else knows where he is. Addy and Melly are frantically trying to find him and even Jose’s friends have been hounding him on where he is-

He’scalledhisphonesomanytimesandhestillhasn’tpickedup,whereareyoujose?

-which is stupid.

He’s not Jose’s babysitter and if the other doesn’t to be found then he doesn’t have to be in the end.

He could be dead for all he cares.

stoplyingtoyourself

He doesn’t care for Jose and is only trying to find him so everyone else will shut up about him missing in the end. Jose is useful but he’ll never be anything compared to him in the end and that is the truth, just a cheap-

nohe’snotandyouknowthat

-imitation of himself in the end.

What trouble could Jose end up in anyway that he couldn’t handle?

Jose will be fine.

areyousure?

He has to be fine.

Cain, he’ll probably walk into his office tomorrow looking non the worse for wear.

pleasecomehome

Probably scratching the back of his head and apologising for everyone for wasting their time in trying to find his dumbass.

pleasebeokayjose

He’ll be fine.

[obaewankenope]

my activity feed is steadily becoming tumblr type poll and i am very proud of the gremlins making that possible

[imaginedheroine]

New chapter is out!

[kankuroplease]

There should’ve been a scene in naruto where when obito is walking around with no shirt on where someone says Cover them up slut

Vshdhdhd I’m trying to look at that thick chested Uchiha in HD

[justisco]

a lot less f1 on the dash these days

[mokacheer]

[hungercityhellhound]

Silly Dave Part 3 of ????

[frankcastlescumslut]

just spent $230 at target because i needed to feel something other than suffering

[danthekickingman]

Was doing drawpile drawings with era, and ended up doodling a design for a monster AU for Dan

Probably hunts monsters for kicks. Might also be a werewolf.

[faeriekit]

"This fic was ai generated—" Cool, so lemme block you real quick