#reynaulds back baby.

[darkestheir]

ive abandoned my boy

[chestercalico]

Reynauld's back baby!! They're kissing with tongue. ❤️

[ilwolf]

Day One- Trick

word count 499

Characters Reynauld, Dismas and Paracelsus

TW depression, Death

Reynauld couldn't stop the sigh as he watched the new recruits line up for slaughter.

The ancestor, or whatever the fuck his name was, was giving a speech to excite the newbies. To entice them for the onward march. If he hadn't heard it so many times before, he might have called it a touching speech. A heartfelt one. No, it was a signature on a death certificate. Many death certificates.

He looked down as his companion spoke. He was holding his shoulder to keep him seated. "More work for the Keeper." Dismas winced as Paracelsus stitched him up with the care and dedication of someone who's been doing this for far too long. 

How long had it been? A year? Two? Five? Time had long blurred to the point of being useless. The creaking of the tavern reminded him of how this place will become his coffin. "Shame them things can't destroy themselves."

The maskless plague doctor hummed. Her eyes so dark you could no longer tell them from the bags they support. "Dismas is trying to do that himself."

"Listen here Missy, someone had to protect Junia's honour and it most certainly wasn't her." Dismas actually had the decency to sound offended. 

Paracelsus snorted.

"Was that before or after they spotted you with their wallet." Didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. He couldn’t remember how many times they had this exact conversation.

"Waiting for the baby underling." Dismas asked elbowing his in the side. He had sharp elbows and knew Reynauld's weak spots.

He just slapped the arm away. He wasn't going to give into Dismas' taunting.

She finally looked away from her stitching. "The who?" She drained her own mug of beer. It was never too early to numb the pain. 

Dismas' continued his elbowing. "That baby plague doctor. Right."

"Oh! I think I know who. The one behind the tavern."

"That's the one." Dismas' grinned up at him. "Ain't she."

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. Dismas' could run off now he'd been patched up. Not that he will now there was no danger in it. "She hasn't returned yet and I don't know who she went out with." He drank from his mug to not say anymore. So few survive, it was hard not to get attached to those who do.

The closing of the case dragged both their attention to the doctor. She sounded so unconcerned. "Who bothers with returning anymore?"

"YOU FUCKING WHAT!"

The 'reformed' highwayman snorted into his scarf. "There she is."

"I supposed I should go tell her manners." He pushed off the wall and started heading over to the group yelling insults at each other.

"Rey." He turned back to face the doctor. "Tell her about stitches not having to look good to be useful."

"What?"

"She not the religious type, right? Stitches hold stuff together. The skin underneath isn't great but it works like it's supposed to."

"You make no sense."

She just flipped him off.

[tabletopwhumper]

Assault

Reports of a masked psychopath assaulting (seemingly) random targets have Seattle residents spooked. Well, most Seattle residents.

TW: Violence, profanity, home invasion, guns, and head injury

"Shit, I think Reynaulds might take this one!" Aces calls as he pops another SoyNugg in his mouth.

"Nuh uh, his rig is waaay past prime. Hasn't been edge ready in a freakin decade."

Plopping back onto the couch, Ali burrows against his shoulder and grabs a drink from Aces' synthahol pack. It's become almost a ritual between them and is quickly becoming her favorite pastime: watching the race on the vidscreen, both of them keeping tabs on their prospects via gambling app on their commlinks, exchanging barbs and giving each other shit as they curl together on the couch. The events are always more fun when they back different drivers. And, of course, whoever picks the winner gets unlimited bragging rights.

*BZZZZZT*

The sound of their door buzzer causes Ali to audibly groan. "Who in the fuuuuuuuuuck..." She rolls her eyes and slumps against him dramatically, causing Aces to chuckle.

"Hey, I'm still in the lead, you got this one."

Grumbling despite her grin, Ali pulls herself from the couch. "Keep talkin shit... I still say Szandora is going to take it."

"Whatever you say babe."

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

"Jesus... alright already." Ali zips up her hooded sweatshirt, lazily checking herself in the mirror before heading to the door. "Hold on, I'm coming." She reaches for the handle-

*KA-THUD*

SHIT!

A sudden impact sends the door flying off the hinges with a furious sound as splinters of PlastiWood fly in all directions. A masked intruder strides through the opening, baseball bat in hand. It only takes a second for him to rear back and bring the bludgeon down full force. All Ali can think to do is raise her arm in hopes of keeping her head. Literally.

A nauseating CRACK sounds as the bat makes contact and for the first time Ali is grateful for the synthetic arm. But it doesn't hurt any less as blinding white pain shoots down one side and she is knocked back against the wall.

Aces throws himself at the fucker, trying to take him to the floor, but the big bastard has other ideas. Pulling back, he deftly evades and jabs Aces in the ribs. The bat raises over his animal mask as he rears back for another home run swing…

NO!

Ali isn't sure what her plan is, doesn't have time to consider the consequences. She only knows that this sick son of a bitch has killed a dozen people and John is next in his line of sight. Scrambling around her broken arm Ali hurls herself toward the intruder-

*CR-ACK!!*

The room twists and it's through a distorted red haze that Ali realizes she's landed next to the far end of the couch. The couch… where a colt enforcer is holstered at one end.

Oh. Delightful.

Far in the distance she can hear angry shouts. Her vision blurs as she pulls the colt and looks back. The shadowy figure raises his bat as Aces moves to tackle him again. But Ali knows the shadow is too big, too quick.

*BANG*

A shot rings from the barrel before she can second guess pulling the trigger, sending the shadowy fucker sprawling with a yelp. He disappears through the dark entryway and into the night.

Good. Mission accomplished.

"Gotcha, son of a..." Her words are slurred. The room twists around her as gray begins to edge its way around the red. She falls back onto the couch. It's wet. Why is everything wet? That's all she can think as the room begins to fade.

**************************************************

"Ali!" Aces darts to the couch where his girl is slumped, blood coating one side of her face and still flowing freely down the fake leather. "Holy shit," he breathes, cupping her face in his hands. "Hey, look at me sweetheart." Her gaze seems to drift up toward him for a moment… before rolling back into her head. "Ali! C'mon baby, talk to me."

He's rewarded with her eyes fluttering for a moment as she tries and fails to lift her head. "Mfin," she slurs.

"What?" But no answer comes and her head falls back against the couch once more.

**************************************************

"Yeah, she'll be fine. Miracle it's not worse. Shot like that'll usually ice someone." The Doc enters something into his datapad as Aces listens, watching Ali anxiously.

Ripper had done a hell of a job, any open wounds caused by their intruder having been magically knitted closed, the blood coating her neck and clothes the only lingering reminder. Well, that and the vacant stare. Ali's face is utterly impassive, hooded eyes unfixed. She hasn't spoken or moved since coming back to consciousness. And despite Ripper's assurance that the disassociation is temporary, Aces can't help the nagging wrongness at the sight of his typically expressive lover staring into nothing.

"...just have to wait. But the NovaEX will prevent any more hemorrhaging, and the healing mantra seems to have closed everything up. Still... you'll want to keep the ACTI-Coat on a few more days, let her rest. The headache will be a lot better with them on."

"Thanks Ripper. I feel like I owe you more than the usual."

"Yeah, well, you're just lucky I still do house calls for the boys."

Aces' eyes move back to Ali's motionless form. "...Are you sure she's alright?"

"Kid..." The old man begins packing up his kit, spraying down the couch with disinfect one last time. "Trauma like that ain't just physical. I took care of what I can, it's up to you now." He chuckles as silver coats his eyes and he inspects his work.

"She okay to move? I don't trust staying here after that fucker ran off."

"Yeeeeah… When it's a quick heal like this sometimes it takes a bit for the aura to quit… ehh how do I put this... ringing. She'll go with what you direct her to do, but don't expect input or conversation. If you gotta move her make it low impact, and quick. You want her in a neutral, rested position when things start to line up."

"Got it," he says, hoping the words sound more confident than he feels.

**************************************************

Aces has sat at Alison Merrick’s beside many a time, anxiously watching her drift back to consciousness after one calamity or another. But this… seeing the girl he loves sitting beside him, physically present but utterly empty… is so much worse. Her eyes are faced forward on the street. But instead of the usual delight of seeing Seattle's wildly varying districts or the grin she might flash when he revs the R1-50 just a little more than usual…. there's nothing.

Christ... I don't care what Ripper said, this is NOT okay…

He heaves out a shuddering breath and takes another long drag of his cig before flicking it out the window. They're almost to the safehouse when Ali lets out a low groan. Johnny thinks back to the doc's instructions and can't remember anything other than the bit about being in a neutral rested position.

"Alright Ali… I gotcha sweetheart." Hustling to her side of the car, he helps her into the safehouse. "We're here, you're okay," he murmurs. Her slow heavy steps begin to catch and it takes a minute before they're inside. Johnny settles Ali in the bed and gets to work tidying the space. The last time they hadn't exactly left it in the best shape.

A flick of his wrist and Chillhop fills the air. Stress from the night mingles with his worry and for a moment Aces feels lost in the small dwelling, his helplessness more frustrating than anything. An idea strikes and he begins making Ali's favorite tea. His hands are trembling but God dammit this is something he can do for her…

"Mmmnnnn... Is that lavender?" he hears her ask, her voice raspy.

"Yeah! Uhh... yeah. Still had some of the synthoil left from our vacay. Thought it might... uhhh..."

Her arm snakes across his middle and he jumps, having not heard her bare feet on the concrete floor. "Hey! Shit, Ali, you… you shouldn't be up yet. This isn't ready and I think…"

Ali smiles up at him and presses a kiss against his cheek. "I'm fine. Feels like I just got up from a long ass nap." But even as she says the words one hand presses against the wrapping on her crown and she teeters on her feet. "Ugh, hangover and all… unnnnh…" Fear coils in his gut as he helps guide her back into a chair.

"Easy... easy..." he murmurs and hands her a tin cup of SoyTea.

"I'm fine… See? Getting better by the second." She smiles up at him again, this time playfully, as she holds the cup to her face and inhales. "All thanks to you..."

Yeah... all thanks to me... and you nearly getting your skull caved in…

John sinks into the chair across from her, allowing the weight from the last few hours to finally hit him. "You scared me, girl," he confesses quietly as his hands catch her limp synthetic one. "When I saw you take that hit I was sure-"

"Hey, it's okay." His eyes raise to find hers and he's surprised by the certainty he sees. "I'm fine. You're fine. In the end all this cost us was a call to the doc and a new front door." She huffs out a laugh and examines her synthetic arm. "And maybe a few hours of repair work. Good thing it's not my dominant hand, huh?"

John offers a smile he knows is piss poor. "I'm not sure I'll be ready to crack jokes about this anytime soon."

He expects an argument, or that she'll tell him to relax. But her eyes soften as she sets aside her mug. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, leaning closer to rest the unbroken side of her head on his shoulder. "And I get it. No jokes for a minute."

"Thank you." They sit that way for a moment, Alison's head resting on his shoulder as his fingers ghost back and forth across her knuckles before a small huff of audible breath makes John look down. Ali's eyelids are drooping, despite her obvious attempts to ignore that fact. He smirks before pulling her into his lap to scoop her into his arms. He's pleased at her lack of objection. Even more pleased when she requests another cup of tea before drifting off.

[wiickedsliice-archive]

@bulwark-of-hope​:

Reynauld shoved a sleeping baby chick into Dismas' face "I found your son, you should take better care of him or one of the starving towns folk might eat him." he said unamused and waited for the Highwayman to take it.

- squeaky -

He almost forgot about this whole... chicken idea. Clearly he wasn’t completely himself when he accepted to do this. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he thought it was funny for, like, about two minutes before realizing how silly it was.

Especially when Reynauld seemed to take the joke a step too far.

“...aye, well” He’s still taking the chick in his hand. God forbid he understand when to quit. “I’m teachin’ him to be ready fer any inconvenience ‘n fight back. He won’t have his pops watchin’ over him fer all his life, after all. Kid gotta learn how to kill quick.”

How he managed to keep a straight face was a mystery even for him.

[sheyshocked]

My 2021 Fanfiction Year in Review

So… I wasn’t tagged, but I saw this little game back at @soullistrations and @daikon1 and decided to try it myself, so here we go.

Total Word Count: 95,775 (shame I haven’t finished that new chapter of When the Wolf Comes on time, that way I would have at least 100,000 – still very nice and much more than I’ve expected!)

Total Fics Completed: 38 (a lot of those are drabbles, but wow)

Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human

Top 5 fics by word count:

Of Golden Mirrors and Secret Admirers: 21,539 words, Fantasy/Fairy Tale AU. Honestly, this might be my overall personal favorite so far. Seems like lots of fluff, misunderstandings, and a happy ending is my shtick.

When the Wolf Comes: 21,415 words, Dark Fantasy/Werewolf AU, unfinished. I’m in the middle of writing the next chapter, and I’m excited to continue this bad boy in 2022.

A Child to Call Their Own – 7,922 words. A baby fic I never thought I would write. Still, it was a lot of fun.

Let Me Make It Up to You – 5,992 words. The first fic I’ve written this year, and my first smut too. Turned out better than I’d expected, to be honest.

Christmas Miracle – 5,245 words. The second fic starring deviant pet canaries Lemon and Chirpy. It was harder to write than I’d expected, but I loved every second of writing it nonetheless.

Top 5 fics by kudos:

Sleepover: 114 kudos

His Father’s Son: 101 kudos

Let Me Make It Up to You: 86 kudos

Of Golden Mirrors and Secret Admirers: 73 kudos

In the Heat of the Moment: 73 kudos

I’m so, so happy that two of my fics made it past 100 kudos this year and I’m grateful for each one of them. It sometimes helps me to remember that readers actually enjoy my writing, that it’s making them feel something, whether it’s happiness, sadness or anything really. That’s the greatest thing about writing, and I love it to bits.

Do you have any fanfic goals for the New Year?

My goal is to continue writing When the Wolf Comes and hopefully finish it soon. It’s the first time I’ve worked on such a big fic project, so I have high hopes for it. I also have a lot of plot bunnies I would like to work on in the meantime (for example a Vampire AU, fic about Daniel and Simon meeting in the canon universe, more snippets from Simon‘s and Markus‘ lives – one of them not part of my biggest series – and so on).

But I would also like to write a fic or two for the Darkest Dungeon fandom (there is a serious lack of Reynauld/Dismas fics and it’s irking me so much that I want to try my hand writing my own).

I also intend to go back to writing original fiction and taking part in contests, organize the Simarkus Week in February and try to write more comments. So… a lot of plans, so very few time.

At any rate, let‘s hope next year will be as good for my writing as the last one was.

Happy New Year everyone, and stay safe!

[bi-naesala]

Blood is the currency of the soul

Dismas goes to find an old friend with a specific request.

(Also on AO3)

(Spicy content up ahed!)

The way Dismas’ steps echo through the empty church hall will never stop being creepy, no matter for how many years he’s heard them. That’s something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

It’s not that he’s not used to creepy things, not when his job is to hunt down and kill all the monsters that fester the land, it’s just that this is supposed to be a place of worship and light but now it’s cold, dead and abandoned.

It’s such a weird place to be used as a house, especially if you are a vampire.

 “Hey.”

He cringes at the sound of his coarse voice; it’s certainly not something that should be heard in a church.

That simple greeting serves to warn the creature living here of his presence, creature that’s hiding behind the altar like he always does.

The first thing he sees are a couple of red eyes peeking from the stone surface, but they’re soon joined by a familiar head and a familiar body.

“Good evening, Dismas,” the creature says. He looks happy to see him, like he always does.

He begins to slowly walk towards him, until they meet halfway through their steps. The creature is imposing, but Dismas knows well that he poses no actual threat, especially to him.

“Good evening,” Dismas echoes him. When the creature steps into his personal space, he doesn’t move away not even an inch, and when he cradles his face in his hands - movements so tender for such a deadly monster - he can’t help but to smile.

“I missed you,” the creature says then, so earnest. Dismas rolls his eyes, though the smile doesn’t disappear from his face.

“You always miss me, Reynauld,” he replies, amused, though despite everything deep down he’s glad about this. It’s nice feeling wanted by someone, even if that someone is a vampire, but well, Rey is a special case.

Dismas still remembers their first meeting quite well, despite having been more than a couple of decades ago already. He was but a novice in the monster hunting business, maybe that’s why he let him live.

Reynauld looked so pitiful as he approached him - and what kind of vampire would voluntarily approach a hunter? - begging to be killed, that Dismas just… He didn’t have the heart to do it.

No matter how much he begged him, Dismas was paralyzed. He couldn’t bring himself to harm him! It was something so weird and unexpected that for a moment he feared that it was all a trick, a way to make him lower his guard, but no: Reynauld was being honest.

 That day, he left him where he found him, right there, in that wretched church.

The next day, however, he came back, and the day after again. The creature was still there, barely reacting to his presence if not to ask him to put an end to his life - or unlife, Dismas guesses - but the young hunter still couldn’t bring himself to do it; it should’ve been easy, right? The easiest kill in Dismas’ life, and yet he couldn’t help but to pity this creature who so much wanted to die. Hell, he never even attacked him! He never tried to take his blood despite the fact that he was clearly starving.

Eventually, he did something he knew he should’ve never done, something that goes against everything that had been taught to him: he got closer to the creature, removed one of his gloves and he sliced his wrist.

As soon as the smell of dripping blood hit the creature’s nostril, he recoiled like he’d been hit, crawling away from Dismas and muttering something that he wasn’t able to catch amidst as series of “no, no, no, no”.

“I’m giving it to you,” Dismas said then. Those were his first words towards the creature. “Take what you need.”

The creature made himself smaller on the ground.

“I can’t… No… Light please…” He began to crawl towards Dismas. “… NO!”

Before Dismas could react, the vampire lounged at him, making both of them fall on the cold ground. Dismas tried to move but all he could feel is extreme pain, like someone was sucking the life right out of him.

Then everything went black.

 When Dismas came to, first of all he was surprised by still being alive, secondly, he couldn’t believe that he fell for such an obvious trap.

Where was he even… Oh, he was still here.

Just what was exactly that creature’s plan?

 He heard the sound of sniffles coming from behind the altar. It must’ve been him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he got up, trying his best to ignore the feeling of nausea that almost made him throw up. This time he didn’t move unarmed, dirk already in hand in case the beast tried some funny shit.

He walked with caution, measuring each step, circling the altar, until he got a view of the creature hiding under it. He was curled up around himself - almost like a baby - and there were crimson streaks across his visage.

Was the beast… crying?

 “Hey.”

Immediately the creature’s gaze snapped up, looking at Dismas with incredulous gaze.

“You!” he exclaimed. “You’re alive!”

Weird: even though he was clearly surprised, he hadn’t assumed any defensive position at the reveal. Actually, he even looked relieved.

“I am.”

Immediately the creature pathetically groveled at his feet, blabbering so fast that all Dismas could understand was “forgive me”. Alright, he had gotten enough of this story; he crouched down, putting himself at the same level of the beast, and put his hands on his shoulders, stopping him.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I forgive you,” he begun. “But what exactly are you?”

“What do you mean?” the creature asked, confused.

“I mean, what happened to you? Why do you act so weird?” Dismas replied. “What kind of vampire begs to be killed, then eats, then asks for forgiveness?”

The vampire didn’t reply immediately; he still looked confused. Maybe, Dismas realized, he didn’t know it himself; it’s rare, but he’d heard tales of certain victims that don’t end up quite dead as the vampire feeding upon them thought. A mistake in carelessness.

In these situations, there’s only one way to act: grant mercy to the newborn creature and kill it before it can become something dangerous. Still, with what heart could he do that?

 He tried his best to appear non-threatening, which might’ve been a bit hard considering that he was still holding his dirk in hand, but whatever, he was never good at this stuff.

“Listen, how about you and I have a chat,” he begins, “You seem in trouble and I might be able to help you.”

He could see the conflict in the creature’s eyes; he was clearly having a hard time deciding what to do. Well, Dismas didn’t blame him: if their positions were switched, he would’ve had a hard time too for sure.

Eventually, however, he weakly nodded.

“If you’re offering, then I suppose I can accept it…”

  “Dismas?”

He shakes his head, coming back to the present and - most importantly - to the amused Reynauld in front of him. He looks so different from the first time they met; he looks definitely better: with time he managed to accept his new condition as a vampire, also thanks to Dismas’ help. Dismas has no idea how he manages to balance the nature of his new existence - or un-existence he guesses - and his religious beliefs, but hey, whatever works for him.

“What?”

“You were spacing out,” Reynauld replies, tilting his head. “What were you thinking about?”

“Will you laugh if I say I was thinking about you?”

Reynauld’s smile grows larger at those words; Dismas finds it beautiful. When he closes his arms around his waist, pulling him closer, he rests his hands on his chest in order to keep himself uptight.

“No, but I can say that I’m flattered.”

They kiss, softly, Dismas humming against Reynauld’s lips a reply that is soon forgotten.

 Oh, how long it took Reynauld to accept his touch: at first he was too afraid for them to stand close to each other, afraid that the mere contact would be enough for his worse instincts - the one he always tries his best to keep in check - to resurface and take control of him, like when Dismas sliced his wrist to feed him.

With time and experience, however, he managed to keep himself in check, and of the fear that was holding him back there is no trace now.

 He can’t help but to roll his eyes when Reynauld pulls him up - an easy feat for him - and takes him to a familiar place, though the gesture is half-hearted at best.

“What would your god say if he saw us defile his church like this?” he teases as Reynauld lowers him onto the altar. Despite still wearing his clothes, Dismas can’t help but to shiver at the cold.

“’My God’, as you call him, has sent you to me, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t honor you the way you deserve,” Reynauld replies, before cutting off any possible reply from Dismas with another kiss.

Yes, in the years they’ve known each other, Reynauld has convinced himself that Dismas is some sort of godsend or some bullshit like that. He’s still unsure of how he feels about it, but he’s figured that, for Reynauld’s sake, he’ll put up with it.

This doesn’t mean that he can’t tease him about it, however. As Reynauld had learned in the years they’ve known each other, nothing is sacred to him, not even religion. It’s a wonder how patient he is with him in this regard; Dismas has always wanted to ask him about it, but each time he decides to do it, he stops himself before any word can leave his mouth. Things have always been like this between the two of them: they talk about their past, but never enough not to sound vague. To be quite honest, it’s one of the things Dismas appreciates more about this relationship: the ability to mind your own business; they both understand that the past is a tricky thing, so why suffer because of it when they can just focus on the present, on each other?

 Dismas’ train of thoughts is forcibly interrupted when Reynauld kisses him; Dismas chuckles, keeping him close with his arms around his shoulders, and returns the gesture in kind, parting his lips to sneak his tongue between Reynauld’s, caressing his fangs with it. He’s tempting fate like this, he knows it, but what’s life without risk? Boring, that’s what it is.

He’s rewarded by an animalistic growl from Reynauld, a sound he makes only when the most bestial part of him takes control, and he’s pushed with his back against the altar by the same Reynauld who’s now pressing his body against his, leaving him with no way to move. It’s like Dismas is trapped, and he loves it.

This aggression doesn’t last long, however, and soon they’re back to exchange soft kisses and caresses. Dismas has always liked it when Reynauld goes hard and fast, but lately he’s finding himself enjoying this side of him too; maybe he’s mellowing out with age.

 He can’t help but to cringe at that thought. Yes, he’s getting old, while Reynauld…

Dismas has never been one to care about looks. It just never was his priority.

Now, however, he can’t help but to be a little self-conscious about his aging body, about the wrinkles that are starting to appear, at the gray that has begun to pepper his hair, at the loss of muscle mass.

Reynauld is always quick to shut down his insecurities whenever they come up, even when Dismas doesn’t voice them - by now they know each other pretty well, enough to know what they’re thinking.

He always takes his face between his hands, caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs, kissing each and every wrinkle, caressing his graying hair.

“You’re as beautiful as the day we met,” he always says, and what can Dismas do, if not to believe him?

 Still, he likes it less and less to be naked in front of him. He doesn’t feel adequate, that’s all: Reynauld’s beautiful, powerful, and he’s not so thin that he might snap like a twig if someone blows his way. How is he supposed to compare?

Things are going to get worse and worse as he gets older, he knows this. On one hand, it’s reassuring to know that Reynauld would never dream to abandon him just because he doesn’t look as young as he once did, but on the other…

 They have talked about it once, during a moment of weakness on Reynauld’s part: the pain of knowing that eventually he’ll lose Dismas was too much to bear, and he asked him to allow him to turn him. He begged even, on his knees, something that took Dismas so much by surprise that he couldn’t find the words to say.

After that episode, they never spoke about it again, but as of late Dismas has been wondering, wondering a lot. Most importantly, he’s reached a conclusion, which brings him to the main reason why he’s come here in the first place.

“Reynauld,” he calls him in fact, taking his face between his hands. “I want you to turn me.”

He hears the way Reynauld’s breath hitches at those words, how it quivers into something resembling a whine. How much as he thought about this?

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice trembling, despite the fact that he looks eager to do it, he still waits, he still wants to make sure. Dismas loves him so much, though his consideration this time is pretty useless. He nods.

“I think I’ve waited too much…” he mutters then. It was supposed to be a joke, but of course Reynauld takes it seriously.

“We waited until you were ready,” he replies in fact, going back to mouth at his neck. “If you’re worried about your appearance, you should know that--”

“That I’m beautiful as the day we met, I know, you always tell me,” Dismas interrupts him, unable to hold back a cheeky smile that Reynauld immediately kisses away.

 Dismas thought that he would’ve gone straight for the turning, but he doesn’t. Actually, Rey’s acting like this short conversation never happened, beginning to tear Dismas’ coat open and then his shirt, kissing every inch of skin he uncovers. It makes Dismas almost forget about it too.

“R-Reynauld!” he manages to mutter however, once Reynauld has unbuttoned his shirt and is not getting comfortable with his head between Dismas’ legs. He raises his gaze to look at the hunter; his eyes are ravenous, but not in the dangerous way, it makes Dismas shiver.

“What?” he asks then. Did he truly forget?

“Didn’t we say…” Dismas begins, but thankfully Reynauld understands immediately what the deal is; so he hasn’t actually forgotten. Good.

“Let me have you as you one last time.”

… As you? What…

“Rey, I’m not going to turn into a monster or something. I mean, you haven’t, so why should I?” Dismas points out. Is there something about the turning process he’s not privy to? Something Reynauld hasn’t told him?

“I know, I know, but…” the other replies, succeeding immediately into calming Dismas down - he doesn’t have to worry about too unpleasant side effects at least - but then he continues. “Let me just have this, please?”

Oh well, if he puts it that way…

“Fine,” he says, but when Reynauld still doesn’t move, he adds: “Are you going to ravage me like the big boy that you are, or are you just going to stand there all night?”

At those words, Reynauld rolls his eyes, though there’s a fond smile on his face. Dismas is about to say something else, but he’s quickly shut down by a kiss.

  When Reynauld lowers himself between Dismas’ legs again, the other also sighs for the relief; he’s been building up more and more tension without any way to release it, but now hopefully Rey will put a remedy to that.

He shivers at the light bites Reynauld presses into his thighs; in all the times they’ve known each other, Rey has always tried to keep himself in check when it comes to biting, aware that if he lets go even just one bit, it might lead to some unpleasant situations. This time, however, there’s none of his usual hesitation in the way he covers his skin in red marks.

A moan leaves Dismas’ lips when, once he’s satisfied with his work, Reynauld immediately takes him in his mouth, without any kind of warning. He bucks his hips up, surprised, but Reynauld keeps him still as he begins to suck him off with a speed and vigor that Dismas is now mad that he’s always withheld from him.

Still, he’s ever so careful in the way he moves his mouth, mindful not to brush his tusks against the sensitive skin; not that Dismas wouldn’t like it but, judging by the time in which he came immediately after he had accidentally grazed against his cock, he would like it too much, and Reynauld wants this to last.

 Apparently, however, that doesn’t go along with Dismas’ plan, who begins to grind his hips against him, trying to get more.

“Reynauld… Rey, c’mon,” he moans, impatient as ever. Were Reynauld free to move as he pleases, he would’ve shaken his head.

In the end, if he has to be honest with himself, he doesn’t really mind it, quite the opposite actually. He knows he just gives more voice to the most egocentric part of himself, something that he shouldn’t do, but hearing, feeling, how much Dismas wants him is something that he’s come to need the more time they’ve spent together. The thought of someone needing him, still wanting him despite his nature, has kept him from making very displeasing thoughts, and helped him come to terms with the fact that, even if his life has been irredeemably changed, this doesn’t mean that he can’t try to make the most of it, even if he keeps staying hidden from everything and everyone, except Dismas.

 That’s why, once Dismas begins to beg, he gives in.

He gets up, already taking care of his pants, lowering them enough to pull his cock free, giving it just a few tugs.

Oh, he can’t wait to be inside Dismas. What? He’s not the only one with an extinguishable desire, even though Reynauld has a habit to hide it; after all, Dismas acts enough for the two of them already, there’s no need for him to give his contribution too.

“Oil… Do you have oil?” he asks before he can do anything though. It makes Dismas rolls his eyes - he’s not made of glass for fuck’s sake - but he guesses he appreciates his care.

“Pocket…” he mutters, reaching for the jacket that Reynauld has left on the altar. After fumbling a bit, he manages to procure himself a small vial of oil, and to offer it to Reynauld. “Here.”

Reynauld takes it, opening and beginning to smear some on his fingers, only for Dismas to stop him.

“There’s no need for that…” he says, making a meaningful pause as the meaning of what he said sinks in. Oh…

“You scoundrel…” Reynauld mutters, though there’s no heat in his voice. He’s smirking, actually. “Did you want me that much?”

“Of course, you old fool,” Dismas replies through gritted teeth. He never liked having to openly admit this kind of stuff, which makes extorting the truth out of him a huge pastime of Reynauld, though he usually has to work harder than this to obtain some resorts; he must be very desperate.

Oh well, it is what it is. There’s something more important to think about, now.

 As he pushes his oiled cock against Dismas’ rim, Reynauld can’t help the shaky moans that leaves his lips, not that Dismas is quiet, quite the contrary actually. Yes, they make quite a pair, the two of them, with how loud they are. Good thing they’re in an isolated place, right?

His voice trembles once Reynauld bottoms out, and he tells him to get a move on.

“We don’t have all day!” he says, which, as a matter of fact…

“We do, technically,” Reynauld retorts, although he gently begins to rock his hips back and forth, finding it hard to remain still, not when Dismas is so warm and inviting. He always talks big game about patience and all that bullshit, but then he’s the first one who can’t resist the temptation of a warm body beside his; not that Dismas is complaining of course. Whatever floats his boat.

Frankly, as long as he doesn’t stop moving, he doesn’t care.

 Gods damn it, he really isn’t young anymore, not with the shitty stamina he has nowadays, because he already feels close to coming. Thankfully for him, Reynauld isn’t that far off himself, so at least he doesn’t have to be too embarrassed about it, but that’s just because Reynauld gets overwhelmed easily during sex no matter how many times they’ve done it.

“Fuck…” he mutters, gritting his teeth.

“Language,” Reynauld reprimands him, but Dismas doesn’t let him utter another word as he grabs him by the hair and draws him closer for a kiss, clashing their mouth together. For such a big bad vampire, he sure can’t handle a few swear words here and here.

At least he seems to get the message and doesn’t stop pounding into him. Dismas’ back is beginning to hurt, but he sucks it up, not wanting to interrupt the moment. Besides, the pleasure he’s feeling is far greater than the pain.

He has no problems digging his nails in Reynauld’s back, leaving red marks, keeping him as close as he can. It makes Reynauld shiver, but he keeps going. Thanks to his vampiric abilities, besides, those wounds heal quite fast, though Reynauld would lie if he said that he wouldn’t mind if he could be able to wear them for longer, just like Dismas wears his. Would Dismas feel the same way he does if he could see the visible signs of what he’s done on Reynauld’s skin? He can’t help but to wonder, though now he should be focusing on something else, shouldn’t he?

 Dismas’ voice echoes through the empty church, filling it with his moans as he comes. It would probably be considered a sacrilegious act if only someone else was there to witness it; hell, Reynauld might’ve thought so at first, but after years of being together he’s gotten more tolerant to it, still without losing his faith, even if for the people who share it he’d be considered a monster. And yet, Dismas can’t help but to think, Reynauld is way more human than some of the people he’s met throughout his life.

“Gods above, I love you so fucking much,” he can’t help but to mutter before he can’t stop himself. He’s usually not one for these kinds of words: he’s more of a man of action, not words. Even when sometimes he says them, it’s mostly in response to something that Reynauld tells him first; sometimes he’s wanted to be the one pronouncing them first, but there’s always something that blocks him, a sense of shame that he’s never entirely gotten rid of, not towards his feelings per se, let’s be clear, but about having to voice them.

There’s nothing of that hesitation this time. He’s saying it with a sincerity that he hasn’t managed to reach since forever. All because of this man in front of him, a man that has become the most important part of his life, the man he can’t live without.

He can’t help but to smile, seeing Reynauld being thrown off his rhythm by that quiet admission, but he soon recovers.

“Me too, Dismas,” he says then, pressing his forehead against Dismas. “I love you too. Dismas… I love you so much.”

He comes. It makes Dismas squirm as he gets filled up, but it’s not unpleasant, not at all. He doesn’t have the time to say anything else that Reynauld’s back to kiss him with a softness that it almost hurts; it used to hurt once, when Dismas was still young and angry at the whole world, but not anymore.

 Still, there’s something else Dismas wants, and he wants it now, during this moment.

“Rey, c’mon… I’ve given you what you wanted. Now it’s my turn,” he urges him, eagerly baring his neck to him. This is something that goes against every lesson he’s been imparted in his youth, but the tiny scars that Reynauld’s fangs have left time and time again demonstrate that there isn’t really a risk behind it, not with Rey at least.

However, Reynauld still hesitates. “Are you sure? You won’t be able to go back to how things once where if you do it.”

“I know.” Dismas rolls his eyes. “Just do it already.”

Reynauld kisses him, just a soft peck on his lips, then he bares his fangs. This isn’t the first time this happens, but never with such intent. It sends a shiver down Dismas’ spine.

 He leans closer, always closer.

Dismas’ breath begins to itch.

He wonders if he’s making the right choice. What if he regrets it?

Ah, to hell with that. He wants to be happy, and he knows that Reynauld makes him happy. Besides, who would keep him company if he died?

 Then Reynauld bites him.

The sharp pain is familiar - it always happens during the biting - but soon Dismas is overwhelmed by a new sensation, something he’s never felt.

He wants to scream his pain out, but his throat burns, just as the rest of his body, and not a sound manages to get out.

It feels like he’s being burned alive. Did someone accidentally start a fire?

He can barely see Reynauld with how clouded his vision is, and he can barely hear him call his name.

 It burns and burns and burns and burs…

Until Dismas dies.

  It’s like being in a dream.

Dismas feels suspended into a sort of limbo.

He can’t see anything but he feels.

His body is changing, and he can’t stop it.

It’s getting colder and colder, almost soothing after the sensation of being burned alive he felt a mere moments ago, or is it more than just seconds? He has no way to precisely tell how much time has passed. For all he knows, it might’ve been centuries.

 Then, a pull, towards something that Dismas doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s…

 He opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is the church’s stained glass, or at least what’s left of it.

How long…

 Mmh, he’s on the ground; he can feel the cold stone pavement freezing his butt off. When he tries to move, however, he finds himself unable to. At first he fears he’s been tied up, but he soon realizes that the reason is far different from that: he’s being kept in Reynauld’s arms, which are squeezing him so hard that he feels like he’s going to break him.

As soon as he notices that Dismas is awake, Reynauld softens his hold on him. When he turns towards him, he’s smiling, though Dismas can see the faint red marks on his cheeks that indicate that he has cried while he was asleep. Did he think that he had killed him as he cradled his body? Did he think he made a mistake?

“You’re awake…” is all he’s able to say, and Dismas nods. He reaches out for him and rests his hand against his cheek. For once, he doesn’t feel cold.

Actually, now that he pays attention to it, his hands, and therefore his skin, are visibly paler than how they used to be. Does that mean that…

“We made it?” he asks, half-incredulous. Did it really work then? He can’t lie, he’s had his doubts right at the end, but not about the thing as a whole: it’s just that it hurt so much that Dismas thought it hadn’t worked, but apparently it’s part of the experience. “You could’ve warned me about the excruciating pain,” he points out then, without any real bite in his words.

Reynauld’s smile becomes more sheepish as he replies. “To my defends, I don’t remember much of how it felt when I turned…” He rests his head over Dismas’ shoulder and he’s back again to squeeze the life out of him, but hell, he doesn’t mind at all.

 A new beginning. New chances. Reynauld.

He can’t wait to get started.

[thedarkesthome]

Reynauld and Dismas, yes the letter is for the both of you, i know you two were the first to arrive in the hamlet, but why did you both answer the heir's call? And why stay after all you've witnessed?

The two would look at one another as they both read this letter as the holy knight would sigh and speak up first. “I feel as if…i needed not only my honor as a servant of the higher spirit but to atone for my sins of failing my duties as servant….”“….I have my own reasons.” Says dismas as he looks away a bit, he would slowly go and take out a small locket as it held a picture of a woman and baby inside as he stares at it for a while before closing it back up and gives a very long sigh. Reynauld would give his friend a pat on the back of comforter as the highway man would nod back. “And for as for us staying here? Have you seen the shit down there? If we don’t take care of it now then who will?”“Yes my friend has a point, we must clean the taint of corruption before it spreads any further beyond!” Says the holy knight with almost zealots might. 

[accusedofsin]

I don't know really. I guess you have a reputation for being "the short one" so I hoped. . . but well. Honestly I don't think ether of us would have actually be that happy if I was taller senses it wouldn't really change any thing. *sniffs the drink then takes a swig* Was taller than one of my siblings for a while actually, seeing as I was the oldest and she the youngest by six years. we called her backstab cause she would run circles around you and go for peoples backs in our sibling fights. Couldn't take the other two on fair you know. She was sooo pissed when she figured out she was passing me, too used to being mothers small baby of the group. Changed her mind real quick when she realized she could rest her chin on me head.

Dismas nodded to all that venting, half-listening and half paying attention to the tavern. A bit of paranoia never hurt anyone after all. And if the small fella over there just wanted a swing for his coin - well, he was welcome to the pissbrew that Dismas had himself, so no harm there. If they could stomach that bile, they deserved it.

"Fella, not gonna lie. 'at sucks," he replied sagely when the bugger finally shut up to drink some more. "But hey, now you getcha be the backstabber, eh?"

Maybe even literally.

"Well, either you have a late spur t' grow, or ya won't," he shrugged. "There's only one way 'm aware of t' grow by force, pal, n' the torture rack ain't worth those few inches. But hey, cuddlin', when someone puts a chin on yer head, doesn't sound too bad, eh? Not 'at I know much 'bout those, but... dunno, sounds not half bad?"

The highwayman would know, actually, little liar that he was. Reynauld, the insufferable, blessed git, would do that to him, constantly, all but enveloping the smaller rogue in the feeling of warmth and security. Even the drastic height difference wouldn't worry Dismas that much during those cuddles. And sure, the sibling ones weren't probably nearly as peaceful or calm, but... who knew?

[bluraaven]

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 5

Fuck him, he was one lucky bastard.  Dismas grinned as he pulled Reynauld along, through the automatic doors of the hotel and towards the elevators.  Stairs were too much of a hassle at this point and besides, he wasn't sure if they would make it up the four stories.  The way things were headed, he wanted nothing more than a soft bed and a door to lock out the rest of the world.

He had not expected tonight to go as it had.  Dismas had entered Jubie's with the intent of drinking until he wouldn't be able to see or think straight, until all the shit in his life would go away on its own.  Until he could no longer stew on how the pigs couldn't just storm somebody's room like that; not without a warrant or being invited.  But then, of course they could.  What were his options anyway?  Going to court to file a complaint?

He couldn't even blame the night clerk for doing jack shit.  They probably had a stash of drugs somewhere and were really glad the police was distracted looking another way.  The raid had still cost Dismas a roof over his head and most of his possessions, which were few to begin with.  The former was replaceable, and he had enough money stashed away in other safe places, but that didn't mean the close call had not rattled him.  For a while he had felt the tightening of the noose around his neck as he watched the shreds of his life being confiscated and carried away, unable to do anything but hide in the shadows.

Louet's arrest, the raid, the anger, frustration and fear of the past days; all would be forgotten in the haze of booze.  He'd pick a fight, get his ass tossed out of the bar, and then pass out while being patched up by Audrey.  

It had been a sound plan, which now it lay in shatters at the feet of Mr. Perfect, and his heart-stopping smile.  Reynauld didn't just look like he had stepped out of the front page of a magazine, he also kissed like the real deal.

Dismas briefly thought of asking for Reynauld's phone number – maybe they could hook up again sometime.  Shit, they hadn't even done anything yet.  He shouldn't jump the gun.  Perhaps Reynauld was terrible in bed.  Or he had some weird kinks that not even Dismas, although he had always considered himself to be fairly adventurous and relaxed about those things, could live with.  Or he just wouldn't want to meet again with a guy who was that obviously desperate – desperate not just for a quick lay but for being with another human being.  One who wasn't the same four people he considered his friends, somebody who could make him feel a little bit less like the bag of trash left by the door and a lot more like someone who deserved this kind of affection.

The 'up' button began to glow orange when Dismas jabbed it a couple of times, as if that would make the elevator descend quicker.  Reynauld chuckled, and damn if that low rumble wasn't more of a punch to the gut than anything a thug could throw at him.

He wasn't ashamed to admit he was a sucker for those warm brown eyes, and the tiny creases that appeared at their corners whenever Reynauld smiled.  He was generous with those, and he had a laugh Dismas could die for.  The kind that came from deep within, genuine and impossible not to join in.

Dismas knew he was one idiot in love.  He'd always crashed hard and fast, and he could contemplate this terrible mistake as he the elevator doors opened, and they stepped in.  Reynauld moved closer, his arms on each side of Dismas so that he could trap him between the rail and himself.

"Hey."

"Hm?" Dismas hummed, lifting his gaze from between his feet.

Reynauld must've caught on to something.  His brows furrowed, one hand rubbing circles over Dismas' stomach and side.  "What's wrong?"

"I feel good," Dismas said with a small, self-disparaging laugh.  "Something bad will surely happen in a moment.  For instance, we could get stuck in this elevator."

Disaster did have a tendency to strike when things were going well.  Life seemed to get its kicks out of kicking him in the teeth.  Dismas had gotten used to rolling with the blows of fate, but he hated how now every moment of happiness also carried a hint of urgency, of trepidation.

The corner of Reynauld's mouth twitched, and then he took full advantage of his position, leaning in and tracing the shape of Dismas' lips with his own, the touch feather light and almost tickling.

Dismas couldn't tell if the dizzy weightless feeling was from kissing Reynauld, or the elevator taking off.  He did jump a bit when they stopped too early and the doors opened to a surprised-looking man and woman.  The couple looked at them, then at each other, and didn't get on.

"Sorry, this one's taken," Reynauld said and reached over Dismas to push the button for the doors to close.

The girl laughed, and then they both disappeared from view and were forgotten just as quickly.

Dismas ran the palm of his hand over Reynauld's bearded cheek, turning his head around to steal one more kiss before a soft ding announced they had arrived on the right floor.  The corridor was brightly lit, almost too much so after the outdoors and the muted elevator lights, and Dismas blinked owlishly as his eyes stung and watered.

They went left and then took the first right, stopping in front of a wooden door with the number 41.  There, Dismas found out just how difficult finding and fitting the right key inside the keyhole was when you had a hunk pressing up against you from the back, peppering your neck with kisses that promised so much more to come.

"Easy there, darlin'," he muttered, because at this rate they might as well have a roll on the carpeted floor.  But after several unsuccessful the lock finally clicked, and Reynauld marched them both into the semi-dark room.  There was just enough light to see by from the neon letters and the street lamps outside, and that was well because Dismas never got to flip the switch.

He fell against the door the moment it closed behind them, his back to the wood, his front pressed against Reynauld.   They were close enough that he could feel the strength in the other man's arms, the way his muscles shifted under his clothes.  Too many clothes.  But they would surely resolve that problem in a short while.

For now it was enough for Dismas let his head fall back, to better allow Reynauld to kiss along his jaw line, then down his throat and up the side of his neck.  He caught Dismas' earlobe between his teeth, and pulled until Dismas turned his head and kissed him, deep and messy.

The way the soldier's arms tightened around him, the air was pressed out of him with an involuntary grunt, but Dismas wasn't a china doll.  He wouldn't want it any other way as long as he was still able to breathe. Warm saliva on his neck and lips quickly cooled in the crisp night air, but the rest of Dismas' body was hot, and Reynauld was a furnace.

And fuck, did he smell good.

When Reynauld's hands found their way under Dismas' shirt, it was a bit too late to worry whether he would like what he found there.  Dismas had always thought he was in pretty decent shape, but he knew that he couldn't hide how hunger and violence had been stellar companions throughout his life.

Reynauld didn't seem to mind at all.  He ran his palms up Dismas' ribs and over his chest, and when he withdrew it was only to help him lose the coat.  The shirt followed a couple of seconds after, and Reynauld turned his attention to undoing Dismas' belt buckle.

"Somebody's eager," Dismas chuckled, grasping Reynauld's hands with his own.

"I want to see you naked," Reynauld said, no longer ripping clothes off Dismas, but rather looking at him for direction.

"Then let's take this somewhere more comfortable, huh?" Dismas suggested, and walked in the direction of the bed, not taking his eyes off Reynauld's face.  He sat down when his knees hit the mattress and toed off his boots.  Reynauld helped him pull off his pants and then crawled over him on all fours while Dismas scooted back on his elbows.

The soldier's tags fell out of his shirt, and they were warm from resting on his own skin, the chain allowing Dismas to tug Reynauld low enough he could whisper into his ear,

"Come on, baby, take off that shirt."

Dismas had to let go again when Reynauld sat up abruptly, and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.

And for the first time Dismas regretted the low light, because from what he could tell, Reynauld was a wet dream.  For a second he stared dumbly, undecided as to what he wanted to do.  First on his list was kiss those perfect abs – and then he would find himself at a crossroads.  Go up that sculpted chest, or down, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared under the rim of Reynauld's pants?

Why was he still wearing those anyway?  

Dismas ran appreciative hands over Reynauld's abdomen.  Reynaud's skin was slightly tacky from sweat, and when Dismas circled one nipple with his thumb, he sucked in air through his teeth.

Dismas grinned up at him, and with some effort, sat up.  He wrapped his arms around Reynauld to keep him from falling back again, and placed wet sloppy kisses all over Reynauld's chest.  With Reynauld sitting on Dismas' thighs, Dismas could tell that the other man was just as hard as he was.

Dismas' own briefs were uncomfortably tight, the tip of his cock peeking out.   It was time to do away with them, and just as he thought that, Reynauld seemed to read his mind and responded by pushing Dismas into the mattress, his fingers intertwining with Dismas' above the smaller man's head.

In a moment of clarity, and because there was no way he was getting up later, Dismas breathed,

"You got rubbers?"

Reynauld paused for a second to think.  "Yeah.  Here, somewhere."  He reached into his pocket and there was a metallic clang.

"Nope, that's keys.  Hang on."

Dismas chuckled, then 'oofed' when, without one hand to support himself, Reynauld's full weight pressed him into the mattress.  Reynauld could go a bit easier on his wrist, but then he fully settled between Dismas' legs and hell, Dismas wasn't going to complain ever again.

Reynauld rocked and Dismas bucked up, eager for more contact.  They both gasped, and Reynauld dipped his head to kiss Dismas, his tongue slipping between Dismas' lips, who moaned his approval –

Something wasn't right.  Reynauld's grip, firm before, turned bruising and suddenly there was cold metal tightening around Dismas' wrist, followed by a ring and click, and before he knew what was going on, Reynauld rolled off.

The soldier was out of the bed and on his feet with the grace of a mountain cat, and when Dismas tried to sit up, he was tugged back down.

He looked at his hand, the gleam of metal encircling his wrist.  It took his brain second to process that.

He was handcuffed.  To the bed.

"The fuck?" Dismas asked, confused and outraged, and with rising fear.  "THE FUCK, REYNAULD!?"

"I'm sorry."  Reynauld ran a hand over his face, and backed away from the bed until he could let himself fall into the cushioned seat next to the small desk that was overflowing with hotel pamphlets and tourist attraction coupons.

With his heart in his throat, no clue as to what to do now, and not daring to draw attention to himself, Dismas flinched when a moment later Reynauld announced in a measured flat voice that made Dismas' stomach turn,

"Riverside Police Department.  You are under arrest."

Well, at least Reynauld was not some lunatic murderer.  But that also meant...

"You're a plant," Dismas blurted out.

"I'm sorry," Reynauld repeated.  Dismas observed as Reynauld's thumb traced the shape of his lips, probably unconsciously, and wondered if he could still feel them kiss, if that was a memory he wanted to keep or wipe away.

Reynauld seemed to become aware of his gaze, and his hand dropped.  He got up and picked his shirt off the floor, beating it out briefly before putting it back on again.  Seconds later the lights went on and Dismas hissed, shielding his eyes with his free arm.  By the time his eyes had adjusted, Reynauld had pulled out his phone, but he looked up from it when Dismas cleared his throat.

"If ya'd reach in the right front pocket of my jacket.  Could ya – "  He didn't finish, not wanting to plead for one tiny favour with the man who had just slapped handcuffs on him in the middle of a make-out session.

Thankfully, he didn't have to.

Reynauld found his jacket, picked it up and patted it down.  He quickly found the cigs and lighter, and looked back to him.  Dismas nodded.  It might be his last opportunity for who knew how long, and Reynauld apparently thought so too, because after contemplating it for a moment, he came to the conclusion that it couldn't hurt to let a defeated man enjoy one last smoke.

Dismas watched Reynauld open the lid with a flick of his thumb and pull one of the cigarettes out with a fluid motion that spoke of practice.  He tapped the package against the table twice to knock the rest of the cigs back, and closed it again.  And then he put the one he had just taken between his own lips and lit up, and Dismas was stuck speechless, because he had not had the impression that the soldier was that much of an asshole to torment him like this.

Reynauld took a drag, and just as Dismas was getting ready to introduce the other man to some of his choicest curses, Reynauld exhaled and held out the cigarette.  He didn't come close, but had Dismas reach out instead, proper safety etiquette and all that.

Dismas snorted and took the smoke which now held a faint taste of Reynauld.  Or perhaps it was just his imagination torturing him.  Disinclined to contemplate that particular brand of masochism any further, Dismas let himself fall back onto the mattress.

Breathe in.  Hold.  Breathe out.  Watch it curl while everything around him flickered and blurred.  'The smoke,' he thought as Reynauld finally called made his call.  His words ran together just like the water stains on the ceiling.  Dismas chose not to listen.  He probably should, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.  Reynauld's voice tuned in and out like a radio when a child was fiddling with the volume button, and he let it all pass him by.

Dismas had known.  He'd called it out.  Something bad was going to happen, because that was the story of his sorry fuckarse life.  He tried not to feel anything, to not let himself be affected and he certainly wasn't showing it – but it was the deepest cuts that hurt the least.

He would have preferred to be taken down the old fashioned way.  A kick in the guts, a twisted arm and then at least all the pain would have been purely physical.  Dismas knew pain.  It was as familiar as the bottle and glass he used as a cure.

A moment later there was a knock on the door and when Reynauld opened, in came the couple from two floors below.  The gal left after exchanging a few words with Reynauld and her colleague, but the guy came in.  He had a camera he aimed at the man who was still in his briefs, cuffed to the bed.

"Smile for your mugshot," the policeman said as Dismas blinked at him from under heavy eyelids and released another plume of smoke.

The flash blinded him and made green spots dance in front of his eyes.  Whatever.  Wasn't like anything fucking mattered anymore.

Dismas watched camera guy take several shots of the hotel room, but it wasn't long before the two men turned to him and he spotted a set of keys in Reynauld's hand.

"Are you going to resist?" Reynauld asked.

Dismas thought it was a fairly stupid question.  He surely wasn't going to say so if the answer was yes.  But it was one against two with more police stationed outside the room, and even if he somehow managed to overpower Reynauld and his friend both, something that experience told him was a slim chance at best, what would he do then?  There was no other way for him to escape.

"What's the point?" Dismas said with unconcealed bitterness, but he knew that his voice also carried a hint of resignation.  He stubbed the cigarette out against the wall.  It might be petty of him to vent his anger like that, but at this point, having nothing to lose, he didn't give a damn.

"I'm going to need you to turn over on your stomach," Reynauld said, but it sounded all wrong.   It should have been a warm murmur in his ear after a round of foreplay, and Dismas hated how his brain still conjured those images up.  Of Reynauld kneeling above him, shirtless, breathless, aroused.

"Kinky," Dismas replied.  "Want me to pretend to enjoy it, officer?" he asked, deliberately avoiding Reynauld's name.  This way he could at least act as if there was – had been – nothing going on between them.  A lie, but not the only one being told tonight.  For what he knew, Reynauld might not even be the guy's real name.  "Couple 'o minutes ago I might've."

"Just don't give us a reason to fuck up your face any more than it already is," Reynauld's friend drawled in a cheerful tone, which, interestingly enough, earned him a glower from Reynauld.

Dismas did not bother with an answer, and just did as he had been told.  At least they cuffed him quick and without causing any pain.  But it was anything but comfortable as his joints were twisted just enough to make struggle impossible.  Dismas pressed his face into the bedding, closed his eyes and did his best to relax.  He could tell that Reynauld knew what he was doing just by how he didn't cut him any slack.  If Dismas had wanted to put up any kind of fight, he would have regretted it very quickly.

Once they had him restrained, Reynauld was considerate enough to wrap Dismas' jacket around his shoulders, and to zip it up, which left Dismas naked only from his briefs down.

All done, they led him out.

If asked, Dismas wouldn't be able to recall the whole trip to the police department.  He heard Reynauld's friend tell some other officers that they were to 'wrap matters up', which probably meant to take the rest of his things.  And then, no matter how hard he tried, he could not recall walking through the hotel, or whether they had taken the stairs or the elevator.

Getting into the police van stood out, mostly because Dismas had wondered whether the hand on his head was there so he wouldn't bang it against the doorframe, as getting in with handcuffs was somewhat awkward, or to do the very thing if he put up a fight.

Reynauld fastened the seatbelt for him, while Dismas stared over his shoulder and off to the side.  The proximity allowed him to catch a whiff of whatever perfume Reynauld had used, and he swallowed.  The fucker had just arrested him, he shouldn't be wanting to kiss him as much as he did.

And then Reynauld was gone, and a moment later the doors slammed shut.  From outside, Dismas could hear the muffled voice of Officer Number Two.

"Everythin' alright?"

"Y're asking him?" Dismas muttered.  "Seriously?"

Then the noise of the engine drowned out any answer that Reynauld might have given his friend, and shortly after, they were moving.  Dismas wondered how rough of a ride he was going to get, but as it turned out, it wasn't that bad.  He could see the inside of the van flood with cold light whenever they passed a street lamp and the sharp edges of the shadows stretched and moved, before everything was plunged back into darkness.

Dismas closed his eyes and let the lights flash over his eyelids before he could be overcome with nausea.  

He hated that he had a thing for powerful men in uniforms, enough to make him go completely stupid.  Reynauld had been watching him from the moment he had entered Jubert's.  Of course had.  But out of all the possible reasons, Dismas' lizard brain had not thought of the simplest of them all.

They stopped an indefinite amount of time later, and the sudden silence made Dismas aware of the rush of blood in his ears. A lump was forming in his stomach, and it was a good thing he was already sitting down, because his knees felt very weak all of a sudden.

When Reynauld returned to take him in, he found Dismas with his head between his knees, trying to keep his breathing even.

"M'coming," Dismas muttered, and convulsively tried to swallow past the cottony feeling of his tongue.  "Just seasick."

He did not see Reynauld's reaction, but he didn't instantly force Dismas to get up and move, but let him get a few steadying lungfuls of fresh night air first.

When Dismas got off the van he found himself in a stone courtyard, surrounded by arched entryways on one side and Dismas' as of right now least favourite building on the other.  It was mostly unlit, but even so it could not be mistaken for anything but the Riverside PD.

Reynauld took Dismas past a guardhouse, through a barrier and into a corridor that had all the allure of a hospital waiting room.  From the outside the police station had looked abandoned, but inside there were plenty of people going about their business.   Some greeted Reynauld, some cast curious looks at Dismas, but most of them appeared to be too engrossed in their own tasks to really care about one more guy in handcuffs.

"So what happens now?" Dismas asked, as they walked past a set of doors that looked much too solid and high-security for his liking.

Reynauld answered, but his reply was more professional than friendly.  "We need to book you in, and then you will be in holding until my superior arrives to question you."

"Sounds like fun," Dismas muttered.  "Where do I check in?"

As it turned out, it was in the second room right around the corner.  He was photographed, fingerprinted and then a wild-eyed doctor who had a subtle air of crazy about her drew his blood before sending him on his way to have his chest x-rayed.

When everything was done, Dismas received some pocketless, drab grey prison clothes and was finally allowed to dress.

Out of all the things Reynauld could have said to him in parting, it had to be,

"Whatever you do, don't accept any kind of drink."

He didn't explain.  He just left Dismas in a cell that was already occupied by three other men.  One of them was lying stretched out on one of the two benches, a little pool of drool collecting under his chin.   The second one was sitting on the floor. He had a staple of blank papers and was drawing simple, childlike pictures with crayons while the third man was having a very animated conversation with one of the corners.   Neither of them noticed the new arrival, which was probably for the best.

Dismas' sole consolation was that Reynauld had taken off the handcuffs, and that within the cell he could move around freely.   Not that there was much space to do so.  In the end, he made himself as comfortable as possible on the unoccupied bench.

It was chilly in here, and he wished for his coat to wrap around himself, but that had been confiscated, alongside his earring.  The adrenaline high of his arrest was beginning to wear off, and the subsequent crash combined with the waiting and the uncertainly, were slowly but surely beginning to take their toll..  In addition to that, Dismas tried not to think about the walls surrounding him, the iron bars and how this might be the only view he was going to get for the rest of his days.

He distracted himself by trying to remember the way back to the exit, but the truth was that he did not even know in which block the prison was located.   His only clue was on the far wall in the form of a tiny green plaque with a white arrow underneath, the former of which read forensics.

There was no clock for him to keep track of the passing of time, and little else to do but shift in discomfort and to keep a wary eye on the other prisoners and the occasional police officer walking by.

He never heard or saw the doc who had been present during his examination arrive.  When he turned to look out past the bars, she was right there, watching him like he was a curiosity in an expo, or maybe an animal in the zoo.  Dismas was so startled by her sudden appearance, that he jerked violently enough to rattle the bench underneath him.

"Did you know that before syringes the medicus would use leeches?" the blonde woman asked him out of the blue.  "Their practices were most curious."

"W- what?" Dismas stammered, completely taken off-guard and with his heart still wildly palpitating in his chest.

"Nothing," the doc replied and lifted a silver can.  "Coffee?"  

Dismas looked from the sleeping man to the other one who now rocked back and forth while the last one raved on about doom, lost eyes and knives in his back, and swallowed.

"Thanks, 'm good," he said, scooting a little bit further back.

The doc made a small disappointed noise in the back of her throat, and abruptly turned and left.

Dismas pulled his knees up against his chest, so he could rest his chin on them.

If the holding cells were meant to intimidate him, it was working.  He might have expected to be tied to a chair and have the truth beaten out of him with a crowbar, but not to get drugged, be put in a diaper, and spilling the beans willingly.

He was up in an instant when Reynauld returned.  Dismas did not care what was going to happen next, he only knew that if he stayed in here much longer, he would lose his sanity as well.  

"Did someone offer you something?" was the first thing out Reynauld's mouth, and he cast a glance full of suspicion in the direction of the door through which the strange woman had disappeared what must have been hours ago.  He did not seem fazed by the condition of Dismas' cell mates at all.

"Yeah – ," Dismas said, hurrying to add,  "I didn't take it."

"Oh. Good."  The relief in Reynauld's voice made Dismas' brows shoot up in alarm.  "Ya know, I don't think that's legal."  He pointed his thumb over his shoulder.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Reynauld replied flatly.

Of course not.  Dismas did not argue as he was put back in handcuffs.   Reynauld kept a firm hold on his arm, and led them through another maze of corridors.  Dismas wondered if this place was specifically designed so as to make any attempts of escape nigh impossible.  It was highly probable.

"Is Mallory here yet?" Reynauld asked when they arrived at a door that was being guarded by one bored police officer.

"Yep," came the answer.  "She's just finished talking to the other guy.  You can go right in once they come out."

Dismas wasn't paying attention, until the doors opened and he came face to face with –

"Louet – "  Dismas stared, that one word caught in his throat like a cough, threatening to suffocate him.

Louet's eyes caught Dismas', and immediately flittered away again, and Dismas knew in that moment who had sold him out.  He wouldn't have believed it before.  What had happened to the promises, to it being them against the rest of the world?  Thick as thieves was apparently just a saying, after all.

And now there was nothing; no cocky grin, no nod – the back-stabbing piece of shit didn't even have the gall to look him straight in the eye.

Dismas was still reeling from the encounter when he was led into the room and made to sit down.  The table and chairs were bolted to the floor, and Dismas quickly got handcuffed to the former.  It wasn't Reynauld who took his place on the other side, but a stern looking woman who introduced herself as Mallory Dumont, deputy director of the RPD.  She had to be the Reynauld's superior then.

"I'd rise fer a lady, Dismas said, "but," he shrugged and rattled the metal links.

Mallory did not crack a smile, nor did her lips so much as twitch.  Reynauld himself had a chair in the corner of the room, and he was balancing a clipboard on his knees.  He appeared to be busy with some paperwork, but if that was the case, there's be no reason for him to do it right here, right now.

Mallory was paid him no heed, and Dismas tried not to let the other man's presence distract him too much.  It was easier said than done, especially when Reynauld made a face as if the form had insulted his entire ancestral line, or when tapped the end of his pen against his cheek, lost in thought.

Mallory in contrast, could have been carved out of marble.  She was the kind of person who used all the big words in conversation.  Not to impress, but because she knew exactly what they meant and when to use them.

Dismas by contrast, could barely string together enough syllables to turn them into something that resembled language.  He was cold and hungry, with a headache building behind his eyes and a throat that was sore from thirst.  All in all, perfect conditions for the cops to question him.

"Do I get an attorney?" Dismas wanted to know, fully aware that he was grasping at straws.

"Technically, you have the right," Reynauld's boss replied without a hint of concern.  She held all the cards, and she knew it.  "If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you."

And Dismas knew just how unbiased and committed said person would be.  The police knew he could not afford legal counselling.  After all, they had been the ones who had taken his possessions.

"Practically," Mallory continued, "You are not a citizen, which means we do not have to prosecute you at all.  There are others who would be happy to do so in our stead.  For instance, several of the Northern city-states where, I believe, you are better known under the name Valance Paixdecoeur."

Dismas stared ahead blankly.  If they knew his name, there was nothing he could do to stop them from unrolling his past.

He could not go to prison in the North.  Too many broken ties, too much history.  He was sure he would not live long enough to serve his full term.  Not that he would want to, in that scenario.  Banditry and murder would get him a lifelong sentence, even without the more recent addition of burglary and car theft.

"So as you can see," Mallory resumed, "There is no point in withholding information."

"If I do know something," Dismas said, licking dry lips.  His head was spinning too much for him to be clever, so he outright asked, "What do I get out of it?"

"You misunderstand the nature of this relationship," Mallory retorted with glacial composure.  "The PD does not need your cooperation.  We would merely prefer it."

Dismas had to give it to her; she had more balls than most gang leaders he had known.

"What do you want?" he rasped.

Mallory did not give an indication that she was pleased with how everything had turned out.  She was too professional for that.  What she wanted, boiled down to Dismas giving them names, dates, any and every kind of dirt he had that would be of help to their investigation.  His little side-venue of robbing graves seemed barely a concern to them.  No, they had fatter fish to catch.  They were going for El Abuelo, and they were doing it via the Wolf.

Dismas had been part of the outfit for a while, and while he actually knew little about the legendary bandit boss whose name was still only spoken in hushed whispers in parts of the North, he still had old contacts, and some of them owed him favours.

"If you cooperate to your fullest extent, and your contribution is found to significantly have helped the outcome of the investigation, we would be willing to advocate for a lighter sentence," Mallory added, as if in afterthought.

Ah.  First the crop, then the carrot.

"And who's to decide that?" Dismas wanted to know, even though he had his suspicions.  

"Us," Mallory replied and did not blink when Dismas huffed at the blatant unfairness of it all.  "Or more specifically, the senior officer in charge of the operation."

The saddest part was that it was still the best deal he was going to get.  Dismas was no rat, but what good was there for him in protecting people who would not return the favour?  It seemed these days he only had false friends who either already had or who without a second thought would sell him out for a chance at their own freedom.

Dismas nodded, not trusting his voice, silently agreeing to cooperate.

"Excellent.  Mallory reached into her bag and took out a folder, putting its contents in front of Dismas.

Dismas looked at the stack of papers that were undoubtedly full of legal bullshit, and with a sigh, he grabbed the pen and drew the first one closer.

"You should read this before you sign," Reynauld chimed in from the back.  He had barely said anything during this entire time, and now his comment had Dismas grinding his teeth together.

This was the worst possible time to make this confession, but, "I can't – "

"You can't read," Mallory stated coolly.

"I can read," Dismas snarled, instantly furious they would assume he was just one more dumb criminal ne'er-do-well from the North – even though the parts about crime and the North were actually true.  "I just can't – "  He couldn't make out the mouse shit letters when they were so tiny that the words were running together in blurry lines.

Reynauld rose, carried his chair over to the side of the table and took the papers out of Dismas' hands before he could crumple them in his frustration..  Reynauld cleared his throat and began to read slowly, tracing the text with his index finger to indicate where he was.

The last thing Dismas wanted to feel was grateful.  He wondered if he should ask him to print out the stupid forms in a larger font size.  That would be the smart thing to do.  Refuse to sign anything he could not verify reading for himself.  But Dismas had never been the smartest.  He wanted to believe the man who was so good at playing the good cop, who without being asked explained what most of the legal stuff actually meant, and who managed not to sound condescending to boot.

And above everything else, Dismas was tired..  Tired of hiding from the gangs, tired of running from cops and former friends alike.  At least now he had certainty.  As long as he stayed here, in Velstaad, he had a chance at life.  At escape.

Audrey had not taken to hiring him to jiggle one security system or another for nothing.  He wasn't possessed of a magic touch like she claimed, but repairing vehicles was not the only skill he had.

It would take time and a lot of planning, but for now, it would do.

Dismas scrawled his name wherever Reynauld pointed.  When they were dine, he collected the stack of papers, and handed them to Mallory.

She rose without another glance at the prisoner, put the documents in a folder, and nodded.  "Well done, Maurouard.  He is all yours."

"E – excuse me?" Reynauld stammered.

Dismas nodded to show he agreed with the cop.  The fuck?  

"I was under the impression this was your case?" Mallory said with raised brows.  "Assigned to you by the chief?"

Oh.  

"Oh."  Reynauld said sheepishly and Dismas just knew they had both thought the exactly same thing.  "Yes."

"Is there a problem?" Mallory enquired, her bright eyes drilling a hole right through both men.

"None," Reynauld replied, not very convincingly.

But Mallory either did not notice, or did not care, because she left shortly after, leaving Reynauld to regain his composure and Dismas to ponder the meaning of that brief exchange.  It looked like he would have to work for and with Reynauld.  Their eyes met.

Dismas was the first to look away.  He snorted.  They'd both believed that Miss Mallory was implying –

"What?" Reynauld's question interrupted Dismas' train of thought.

"Just wonderin'," Dismas said, "What bein' a pig's like."

"It's diverse, and I'm not just referring to work hours," Reynauld replied, deadpan.  

Dismas barked out a surprised laugh, but the amusement lasted only a moment.  "Wish I could hate you," he muttered.

Dismas could hear Reynauld exclaim noisily.

"Same."

AN: I’m back from a place terrifyingly devoid of the internet, and while I managed to update on AO3, I had no suck luck trying the same here.  But better late than never I suppose, so I hope you enjoyed the chapter!