thene spams fic when stressed
Jan. 4th, 2012 04:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thene posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
last_herald_mage1300 words, V/S UST, games as sex metaphor. Apologies for silly injoke title; the only other thing that came to mind was 'This Is Complete Bullshit.'
(I always wondered why, given a first volume founded on chess metaphor, Van & Stef don't just play chess, but eh, canon.)
NOBODY'S SIDE
This is impossible.
There's absolutely no way forward that doesn't involve getting ripped to pieces, and I feel like a fool for not giving up ages ago; there's no fool like a persistent fool, is there? I don't even look up when the door opens; Vanyel makes some sound at the sight of me hunched over the table, book pinned open by paperweights, all my attention focused at the unspeakable aggravation laid out upon it, and to my passing rage I actually think he seems amused by this sight.
"You're early," he notes.
"No, you're late."
"Does it count as late if I told you I'd be late?"
He sounds no happier about how he's spent his time than I am about how I've spent mine. "You're forgiven," I pledge him. "Duty and all that."
"And politics." Right, he's not happy, but it's not my fault. He slides one of the weights aside and examines the book's cover. "'Marryatt's Game Problems.' Haven't read that since I was a boy."
"I am told it's a classic of its kind." I hope he'll allow me to sound a little tired of it.
"Certainly a good starting point." He leafs past the first half, which is about chess - a game he seems to be adverse to for no particular reason. "It's missing all the newer tricks people have come up with, though."
People like him. Truly, I am destined to keep failing here. But I can't quit. "I knew you'd be late, and thought I may as well spend my time learning something. But I'm stuck on this one," I confess. "I was about to flick ahead to the back of the book and see if I understood the solution. But now you're here..."
He drops into his chair, eyes fixed onto the board. "You're playing the hinds, right?"
"Yes. Figured I needed to learn about their strategies."
"Trying to read my mind?" He smiles slightly, and I forcibly remind myself that he must be joking. He wouldn't do that. Not to cheat at a game, not to put one over on me, not ever. He steeples his fingers a pair at a time, calculating moves. "There's two different potential escape routes, depending on how exactly the pack chooses to give chase. Either way, you start by moving towards the lower left corner."
"But that's going backwards."
"Yes, and the pack can never advance quite fast enough to catch you before you can drive them off. Pace is the hinds' great strength, if you know how to use it."
I nod, and set the herd off in retreat. He fills in the hounds' moves for me, and with his advice and a couple of false starts, I can finally see the route to victory. "I should have known," I reproach myself. "I've seen you do that. Like a feint, pulling back and then kicking me down when I come after you."
"Survival is winning, from that standpoint." I don't know what came up in Council, but it's left him feeling grim. He's still flicking through the book, glancing at the pages on pages of peculiar starting arrays. "What I always wonder is how one gets into these positions in the first place..." I drop my eyes, trying to convince myself to stop thinking of double meanings for every damn thing he says. "It must take terrible strategy to become a puzzle."
"And yet good strategy to get oneself out of one?"
"Paradoxical, and not entirely realistic. But then, no one takes turns in war."
Or in love, I can't help but think. But I don't say it. "Well, thanks for the advice. It's a lot easier having you on my side than against me."
"Any time. Want a game now?" he asks.
"Yes." I wonder...I know I'm not that likely to pull it off but I have learned a thing or two today, and a few more things by watching his moves the last few weeks, and I really do want to try. "Mind if I play as the hinds for once?"
His elegant hands pause in arranging the board, and he spiders his fingers against its surface and rotates the game until the gathering herd sits before me. "As you wish." He looks at me curiously. "I know you're hardly a novice...have you played the hinds much before?"
"Oh, tons of times," I reply. "I've just never wanted to try it with you, you monster."
It lasts for twelve breathless moves.
I raise my palms to him in surrender, and contemplate my riven herd, feeling not so much defeated as demolished. "You..." He appears completely serene, not even smiling. "...bastard," I finish, and he finally gives in and grins at me.
"It just takes a little experience, I swear," he assures me.
I want to tell him he doesn't need to be gentle with me. Ever. But that might be crossing the wavering line he's drawn between us, oh gods he's exasperating. And brilliant. "Why do you even play as hinds, if you can do that from the hound side?"
He picks up one of the dogs and turns it in his fingers. "The hounds are too easy. I prefer playing hinds. Taking the seemingly weaker position...it's a lot more fun, once you know the game well. I enjoy the challenge."
He shrugs, and looks up at me, and it happens; the mask falls away and allows me a second of honest daylight. I swear it's not the first time. Every day or few. A flicker. A moment, a sentence of innuendo, or more. One none-too-innocent question cuts deep and brings out a response that sounds like he wants to give it, to me, because my asking makes him want to let me in, and I see the flash of light in his eyes that reminds me that something in him needs me. It's all I live for and it's not enough for me and he's going to drive me mad, and oh gods, he's just shown me and told me that I can't conquer him and he doesn't want or need to conquer me.
"It's late," he murmurs, and it's gone again. Just like that. A note stilled.
"You're right," I concede. I'm tired and he wants me gone, and neither of those things help my mood much. I grab my instrument - still in its case, and take my leave with a mock-bow and a promise of more of the not-enough-same another day. He nods agreeably, and I wish I knew if he were thinking what I'm thinking. If I could see his face after the door closes, know what or who he'll think of when he lays down to sleep tonight...
I'm so sure, but it doesn't matter, because he still closed the godsdamn door in my face and left me on the other side of it. I spin on one heel and lean my back against the wood; my blood feels hot enough to burn right through it, but still it stands.
I don't have anyone to be angry at except myself. I should have given up weeks ago, and I don't even know why I can't. It's those moments, I guess. The times my words press him, and he presses back.
The times when he wants me to figure out how the hell to get him out of this ridiculous standoff and into bed with me.
This one, I need to be alone to think about. Very alone. I'd always speculated as much, and now he's as good as told me that, yes, he does have a carnal preference and it's delightfully compatible with mine. Glad to know. Don't even mind that I had to fall on my face to get him to drop that hint, and I really need to get back to my room now, and oh gods am I not going to fall asleep any time soon.
(I always wondered why, given a first volume founded on chess metaphor, Van & Stef don't just play chess, but eh, canon.)
NOBODY'S SIDE
This is impossible.
There's absolutely no way forward that doesn't involve getting ripped to pieces, and I feel like a fool for not giving up ages ago; there's no fool like a persistent fool, is there? I don't even look up when the door opens; Vanyel makes some sound at the sight of me hunched over the table, book pinned open by paperweights, all my attention focused at the unspeakable aggravation laid out upon it, and to my passing rage I actually think he seems amused by this sight.
"You're early," he notes.
"No, you're late."
"Does it count as late if I told you I'd be late?"
He sounds no happier about how he's spent his time than I am about how I've spent mine. "You're forgiven," I pledge him. "Duty and all that."
"And politics." Right, he's not happy, but it's not my fault. He slides one of the weights aside and examines the book's cover. "'Marryatt's Game Problems.' Haven't read that since I was a boy."
"I am told it's a classic of its kind." I hope he'll allow me to sound a little tired of it.
"Certainly a good starting point." He leafs past the first half, which is about chess - a game he seems to be adverse to for no particular reason. "It's missing all the newer tricks people have come up with, though."
People like him. Truly, I am destined to keep failing here. But I can't quit. "I knew you'd be late, and thought I may as well spend my time learning something. But I'm stuck on this one," I confess. "I was about to flick ahead to the back of the book and see if I understood the solution. But now you're here..."
He drops into his chair, eyes fixed onto the board. "You're playing the hinds, right?"
"Yes. Figured I needed to learn about their strategies."
"Trying to read my mind?" He smiles slightly, and I forcibly remind myself that he must be joking. He wouldn't do that. Not to cheat at a game, not to put one over on me, not ever. He steeples his fingers a pair at a time, calculating moves. "There's two different potential escape routes, depending on how exactly the pack chooses to give chase. Either way, you start by moving towards the lower left corner."
"But that's going backwards."
"Yes, and the pack can never advance quite fast enough to catch you before you can drive them off. Pace is the hinds' great strength, if you know how to use it."
I nod, and set the herd off in retreat. He fills in the hounds' moves for me, and with his advice and a couple of false starts, I can finally see the route to victory. "I should have known," I reproach myself. "I've seen you do that. Like a feint, pulling back and then kicking me down when I come after you."
"Survival is winning, from that standpoint." I don't know what came up in Council, but it's left him feeling grim. He's still flicking through the book, glancing at the pages on pages of peculiar starting arrays. "What I always wonder is how one gets into these positions in the first place..." I drop my eyes, trying to convince myself to stop thinking of double meanings for every damn thing he says. "It must take terrible strategy to become a puzzle."
"And yet good strategy to get oneself out of one?"
"Paradoxical, and not entirely realistic. But then, no one takes turns in war."
Or in love, I can't help but think. But I don't say it. "Well, thanks for the advice. It's a lot easier having you on my side than against me."
"Any time. Want a game now?" he asks.
"Yes." I wonder...I know I'm not that likely to pull it off but I have learned a thing or two today, and a few more things by watching his moves the last few weeks, and I really do want to try. "Mind if I play as the hinds for once?"
His elegant hands pause in arranging the board, and he spiders his fingers against its surface and rotates the game until the gathering herd sits before me. "As you wish." He looks at me curiously. "I know you're hardly a novice...have you played the hinds much before?"
"Oh, tons of times," I reply. "I've just never wanted to try it with you, you monster."
It lasts for twelve breathless moves.
I raise my palms to him in surrender, and contemplate my riven herd, feeling not so much defeated as demolished. "You..." He appears completely serene, not even smiling. "...bastard," I finish, and he finally gives in and grins at me.
"It just takes a little experience, I swear," he assures me.
I want to tell him he doesn't need to be gentle with me. Ever. But that might be crossing the wavering line he's drawn between us, oh gods he's exasperating. And brilliant. "Why do you even play as hinds, if you can do that from the hound side?"
He picks up one of the dogs and turns it in his fingers. "The hounds are too easy. I prefer playing hinds. Taking the seemingly weaker position...it's a lot more fun, once you know the game well. I enjoy the challenge."
He shrugs, and looks up at me, and it happens; the mask falls away and allows me a second of honest daylight. I swear it's not the first time. Every day or few. A flicker. A moment, a sentence of innuendo, or more. One none-too-innocent question cuts deep and brings out a response that sounds like he wants to give it, to me, because my asking makes him want to let me in, and I see the flash of light in his eyes that reminds me that something in him needs me. It's all I live for and it's not enough for me and he's going to drive me mad, and oh gods, he's just shown me and told me that I can't conquer him and he doesn't want or need to conquer me.
"It's late," he murmurs, and it's gone again. Just like that. A note stilled.
"You're right," I concede. I'm tired and he wants me gone, and neither of those things help my mood much. I grab my instrument - still in its case, and take my leave with a mock-bow and a promise of more of the not-enough-same another day. He nods agreeably, and I wish I knew if he were thinking what I'm thinking. If I could see his face after the door closes, know what or who he'll think of when he lays down to sleep tonight...
I'm so sure, but it doesn't matter, because he still closed the godsdamn door in my face and left me on the other side of it. I spin on one heel and lean my back against the wood; my blood feels hot enough to burn right through it, but still it stands.
I don't have anyone to be angry at except myself. I should have given up weeks ago, and I don't even know why I can't. It's those moments, I guess. The times my words press him, and he presses back.
The times when he wants me to figure out how the hell to get him out of this ridiculous standoff and into bed with me.
This one, I need to be alone to think about. Very alone. I'd always speculated as much, and now he's as good as told me that, yes, he does have a carnal preference and it's delightfully compatible with mine. Glad to know. Don't even mind that I had to fall on my face to get him to drop that hint, and I really need to get back to my room now, and oh gods am I not going to fall asleep any time soon.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-05 12:52 am (UTC)I think this is very clever! UST, why is it so delicious. I love watching 'em squirm. /terrible person
no subject
Date: 2012-01-05 01:07 am (UTC)Glad you like ;__; I can just see so. many. mind-games. going on at this stage. /squirms, crosses legs daintily
no subject
Date: 2012-01-05 04:02 am (UTC)WHY HAVEN'T WE WRITTEN MORE UST FICS. THIS IS PRIME GOOD FIC MATERIAL RIGHT HERE.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-05 04:08 am (UTC)IDK I GUESS I GENERALLY FEEL MORE LIKE GOING FOR THE SAPPIER PART WHERE THEY ACTUALLY GET LAID SOMETIMES BUT YEAH SERIOUSLY, THIS MASTURBATING IN SEPARATE ROOMS THING IS TOTALLY WORTH MORE ATTENTION.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-05 04:22 am (UTC)I thought you conveyed the sense of tension that a lifebond being denied might cause with wonderful subtlety (Stef doesn't even consider it!) and very genuine ache. Loved Stef being ready to throw up his hands on the whole gamebook idea, and Van trouncing him while playing either side, and SEXUAL METAPHORS AHOY and both of them yearning though they show it in different ways.
It probably doesn't hurt that I'm a sucker for stories about
True LoveLifebonds Don't Mean It's Easy. :Dno subject
Date: 2012-01-05 05:28 am (UTC)I too am a sucker in that regard. The more difficult/doomed it is, the harder I ship it.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-08 08:23 pm (UTC)omg, this comm is sooo pink!
no subject
Date: 2012-01-08 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-08 09:28 pm (UTC)It's the sparkle type for modern day Treesa!!
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Date: 2012-01-08 09:59 pm (UTC)IMAGINE
And. yeah, existential. mostly. probably. Um.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-08 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-08 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-22 01:14 am (UTC)-facepalm-
no subject
Date: 2012-08-22 02:22 am (UTC)