Category: Sylum Events
McFassy Fortnight: Teaser – Guido & Wesley
Arianne had the patience of a Saint, but then Wesley was one of the few who knew the true identity of her Mate, so he understood how she’d coped all those years. It was a secret few would ever know.
Whenever he and Guido came home to them though, they’d bring boxes of gifts from Italy, and lavish them with all kinds of treats.
Arianne did love her notebooks and journals.
As far as Wesley was concerned, they deserved the very best for keeping his Mate in the world, when to every rational intent he ought to have been long gone. In fact, his gratitude was often hard to fully express in terms that could be readily accepted, but Arianne knew, and her patience with the pair of them never failed, even when they’d still been working their respective ways through the early stage of their Mating Bond, learning about each other’s particular needs and desires, and how to cope with their histories together.
It hadn’t exactly been simple, but then he didn’t imagine it was easy for anyone, no matter the circumstances of their meeting, or the baggage they brought with them. The centuries since then, had permitted him a finely honed sense for when his Mate’s emotional state was reaching collapse, and he would, if at all possible, ship the two of them safely to the isolation of the Scottish Highlands where silence, open space, and crisp fresh air were guaranteed to cleanse almost every Soul of it’s ills.
Sometimes however, there was nothing better than to be surrounded on all sides by the most comforting of things, in the surety of absolute safety. And this had become one such moment as Guido’s increasing agitation and sleepless frustration roiled through their Bond like an approaching hurricane.
Wesley had, years ago, come to accept that he could do nothing to prevent it, but he could certainly curtail it, and one of the most satisfying ways to do so, was the pillow fort.
His Sire had first suggested it back in a time when it didn’t actually have such a cute sounding name. But no matter the modern connotations, it worked brilliantly at defusing the dreadful mixture of socially enhanced pressure, anger, and abhorrent self-loathing that Guido could only contain for so long.
Arianne watched him then from the living room doorway, as the space they’d made in the middle of the floor was steadily transformed into a veritable pillow fort work of art, that she rather liked to think of as more like a ‘pillow cavern’.
It took just about every cushion in the house, several sheets, and the contents of her blanket chest to construct.
Wesley then added a string of softly colored LED lights that gave the whole thing a warm glow on the inside, and he finished it off with a tray of his Mate’s favorite snacks and some of their favorite oils for various and sundry purposes.
“Perfect?” she asked.
“Yep!” He beamed proudly.
“You’re a Master Fort Builder,” she assured him. “And just in time too.” She could hear her own Mate back from having dragged Guido out on a long, and hopefully exhausting walk. “Go upstairs and get changed. They’ll be in shortly.”
Wesley kissed her on the cheek as he dashed past her, and she closed the living room door firmly, so as not to spoil the surprize.
Whatever it took to keep her boys contented, she was totally good with. She just hoped her occasionally dense husband caught on to what was happening, before giving the game away.
Thankfully, however, the noble Roman she’d managed to corral in the kitchen, didn’t realize anything was amiss until he plonked himself down on one of the barstools and grunted in pain as his backside met wood with nothing in between to soften the blow.
By that time, Guido was safely ensconced in the ‘Pillow Fort of Epicness’, being slowly stripped naked by his linen shirt and leather pants clad Mate, who was lingering over every inch of him, and drawing him steadily into a haze of sensual comfort that swept away all the fears and torments of the past before they could became far too real again.
Their Bond was positively aflame, as kisses deepened and skin was laid bare to the finest of touches.
Wesley knew what Guido needed was to be reminded that his body was capable of so much more than pain, and with all the time in the world at their disposal, nothing could pressure them to hasten or doubt.
No one could reach them.
Touch them.
Stop them.
They were as one in that place, always together, always united.
There was some teasing and a little laughter to break tensions, but there was no physical restraint, no hurt, no torture.
Wesley had learned well from Master David how to build desire using every single inch of Guido’s body to explore along the way, with hands, lips, and tongue, until he had his Mate whimpering, purring and climaxing without effort or stress.
It was fun to challenge himself so, given that his own sexual predilections leaned firmly toward more painful lusts and violent fucking, and he rather enjoyed the release from being taken hard and spanked into submission.
Guido too had learned many lessons in helping him achieve such a desire. But that was for another day entirely.
Wesley had to concentrate on his Mate’s needs above all else at that point, without getting carried away in the wrong direction. Though he had to admit, straddling Guido’s waist as his ass was cupped by those big, solid hands of his and squeezed through his leather pants, that he was craving any and all expression of their mutual need for each other, whether soft and slow, or rough and hard.
“I want to be inside you,” Guido murmured, when his caresses had the desired effect on Wesley’s increasingly rampant cock.
He loved the sensation of those deliciously soft pants against his own bare flesh, and it had already gotten him hard just being naked under Wesley’s oh, so very innocent gaze. For there had never been a time when his Mate had failed to look upon him with a very special sense of reverent awe.
Not that Guido felt his deserved it.
Far from it.
Yet Wesley insisted that he would rather worship on his knees before his Mate, than do so at any other man’s bidding, regardless of faith.
And so Wesley took his time wriggling out of his clothes, teasing and grinding over his Mate’s erection, until they lay, skin to skin, panting slightly.
“I’m already prepped for you,” he whispered, licking a path down Guido’s neck.
They had always used rich scented oils as part of the sensuous experience, but there were times when he surprized his Mate with pressed olive oil, or grapeseed that had virtually no smell. And it pleased him greatly when Guido chuckled dirtily.
Rising up, he positioned his Mate’s swollen cock head at his willing hole, and lingered there, watching Guido’s expression, a soft smile on his face.
“I love you,” he murmured, bracing his hands on Guido’s abdomen as he sank back down with a slow, steady self-control that had taken him some considerable practice to master without shaking or trembling.
It was infinitely pleasurable, and so well worth the play of emotions that crossed their Bond in the process.
Guido gripped his Mate’s buttocks possessively when he was fully inside the tight warmth of Wesley’s body. “I love you,” he said softly in reply. “So much. So very much…”
And the wave of unspoken gratitude that flooded through them both, was enough to bring tears fast behind it.
“I know,” Wesley whispered, bending to kiss his lover’s fluttering eyes. “Let me take care of you.”
And he always would.
He had sworn it before Father Kiernan in a tiny chapel in Rome when they’d first been struggling to reconcile faith with need, and past with future.
He’d never broken that vow.
Not once.
And he swore it again as he tightened himself on the rigid flesh buried inside his body.
It would be ever so.
Just the two of them.
Safely together.
McFassy Fortnight: Karla
Karla Aesthetic
“She shot my son!”
Smiley just sat there and stared across the desk at his oftentimes elusive Mate, who had to all intents, just miraculously appeared in his office like a wraith on All Hallow’s Eve.
“She set him up!”
Still Smiley said nothing, knowing the best way with one who generally said little enough himself, was to play the same card.
“She doesn’t get to keep living for this!”
Several sarcastic comments on the nature of parenthood, lanced caustically through Smiley’s mind, but never once made themselves known upon his face.
“My own government wants her dead!”
Having deconstructed the material Lorraine had used to frame the Head of Berlin Station as the much sought after traitor known as ‘Satchel’, George had only a moment before put the phone down on M, after securing her agreement on a mutually beneficial deal that would ensure the cooperation of the Americans for quite some considerable time.
“I’ll kill her myself!” Karla snarled it with a particularly vicious tone that naturally reminded George of the manner in which his Russian nemesis was known to conduct daily business. “She’s murdered sufficient Russians to justify a death sentence from Moscow.”
“Moscow bought her cover just as much as London and Berlin.”
“My son is not a traitor!!”
“Very true, but then again he is no more like you than he is like me. David will inevitably have his moment to confront her before he goes back to work.”
“Insanity!”
Smiley pushed his glasses up his nose. “The Wall has come down. The world changed shape over night.”
Karla’s eyes narrowed nastily. “And one day we will truly be obsolete, but until then, I will see justice done!” He was about ready to thump his fists on the desk.
“It will be,” George assured him. “The real ‘Satchel’ is ruthless, efficient and quite brilliantly smart. At least for a female operative. She’ll be made to help train a different generation of spies for us in this brave new world we are creating.”
“For the Americans?”
“No. For us.”
“The Americans will simply hand her over? Are you mad?
“Yes, they will. And no, I am not. At least not today.”
“How will they do this?”
“Well now, that would depend on whether you trust your son to be more ruthless than you, more clever than me, and more efficient than our enemies across the Pond.”
“You just said he was nothing like either of us.”
“He’s not. He’s better than we ever were.”
Karla snorted, though it sounded more like a disgusted cough as he contemplated the future. “He can adapt.”
“Indeed. He’s very good at it.”
“While we are old and crusted over?”
George allowed himself the mildest laugh. “We do have our moments, don’t we?”
McFassy Fortnight: Guimar de Massard & Leigh Teabing
Guimar de Massard Aesthetic
“That is not my Mate! How can you even think of such a ridiculous thing?”
Guimar could hear the ranting from some considerable distance, given his sensitive Vampire ears, and though he knew it would be far better for his state of mind if he were to block it out and just keep walking, he honestly couldn’t bring himself to pretend it wasn’t happening.
He’d gone from the overwhelming elation of finding his Mate, to the crashing reality of being rejected, in less time than it took to boil an egg. And he’d not even had chance to say a word to the man he’d found lecturing a group of tourists on the history and mythology of Rosslyn Chapel.
“I should have stayed at home,” he whispered, slipping into his native French. “I should not have come.”
Cadfael couldn’t bear to see his Sire’s hands shaking so badly. “Come and sit in the car for a moment.” He was trying to keep an eye on his own Mate too, as Lord Beringar demanded a few answers courtesy of the very nice, but clearly very bored American from Knight Clan, who had introduced himself as ‘Hicks’ and claimed to be acting as de facto bodyguard to Leigh Teabing – a man whose presence in Camelot Clan territory should have been discussed between Clan hierarchies preferably before there was a problem.
“I don’t care, woman! This is not possible, and I refuse to accept further meddling in the issue!”
Cadfael already knew Teabing to be as vociferous as he was loudly obnoxious, having met him when he’d stayed for a few years at Camelot Castle after Romulus and Remus tossed him from Lealta.
Rome had refused to deal with the man’s obsession over Robert Langdon, and Venice had made it abundantly clear that they would not tolerate anything whatsoever, threatening their beloved Leonardo.
But the general consensus had been that once Teabing found his own Mate, the man’s belief that he actually belonged with Langdon, would naturally fade away.
A sad fact that suddenly seemed, under the circumstances, to be quite ridiculously naive.
Teabing had always maintained that Langdon was falsely Bonded to Leonardo, who had been psychologically manipulating him from an early age. It had led to more than one awkward assessment by Lealta Clan’s Ruling Council, as they struggled to determine the nature of such strange allegations, and whether there could be any real truth to it. Questions were raised as to whether Teabing was meant to complete a Triad with Langdon and Leonardo, but such a suggestion was fiercely and repeatedly refuted by all three parties.
Leonardo’s miraculous salvation of Langdon as a boy, when at a seven years of age he’d been trapped at the bottom of a water logged, abandoned well with virtually no hope of rescue, was called into doubt and re-examined.
Nicolaus Meridius, as Head of Sylum Clan, had been forced to get involved over it all. So too Arthur Pendragon, as Teabing, being British, had been a member of Camelot Clan at that time. It had been one almighty fuss after another until finally Teabing found himself a place in Knight Clan, where his particular eccentricities could be overlooked as long as he didn’t cause any physical harm or distress as a result.
It hadn’t helped that Alexander, as Leader of Sanguen and therefore Head of the Kin Clan Structure, repeatedly threatened to behead the man for being a self-righteous prick, should he ever show his face anywhere in the Mediterranean.
Hugh had snidely suggested back then, that Imenand must surely have bribed La Croix with a hell of a lot of money, for taking Teabing out of everyone’s way.
Not that anyone ever suggested otherwise.
Still, things were rather inevitable after That Night, and Teabing had been investigated ever more thoroughly as a Childe of Galileo.
While Langdon himself had found it impossible to believe that someone so much a scholar of art and history, could have had anything to do with an attempt at destroying the Vatican, it had been agreed upon that should Teabing ever have to leave the relative safety of Knight Clan’s territory, there would be warnings sent out to whoever else’s Clan might be on the receiving end of any or all potential trouble.
But apparently, Knight Clan’s leadership wasn’t giving too much of a crap about the niceties of interClan diplomacy any more.
Which didn’t shock Cadfael all that much, but certainly pissed off Hugh Beringar as Head of Camelot Security.
Doctor Teabing, as it turned out, was on some kind of lecturing tour with a group of people who had a specific interest in all things Illuminati, following on from the events of That Night. Such a thing was bound to have an impact on the public consciousness, and there had been a massive uptick in curiosity over all manner of conspiracy theories and secret societies.
Sensing a money making opportunity when it came their way, more people than just Teabing were taking best advantage. In 2007 alone, the volume of books on the shelves about similar issues, had quadrupled. And there were films, shows, and tours all over the world, claiming to have some connection to the ‘global terrors’ of secret sects and their power hungry leaders.
Cadfael really wanted someone to try and calculate the odds on him and Hugh dragging one of their oldest friends to a place like Rosslyn Chapel, only to have said friend meet hitherto unknown Mate.
Guimar was, however, not so much concerned with the mathematics as with his inability to see what the problem was. He’d never heard of Leigh Teabing, even in passing, let alone been aware of the scandal that followed the man like a virulent plague. But as his Childe sat him down in the car and explained the long history of such matters, it quickly became apparent that there were a few things in which Passion Clan had played no part, and remained blissfully unconcerned.
Which in turn, rather made him feel personally affronted. If not a little foolish on top of everything else.
“Perhaps I might seduce him, no?” Guimar had reverted to his native tongue and stayed there, but Cadfael chose not to tell him. “I am not without resources after all.” And yet the expression on his dear Childe’s face was not one to fill him with hope. “You have told me everything?”
“Yes. But I fear, given the reaction that your mere presence has evoked, that Leigh’s obsession may prove too much to break. If he had found you sooner…”
It had been an exceptionally long time since last Guimar shed tears, and though he wanted to deny what the Vampire inside him was desperate for, his slightly more rational mind told him Cadfael was probably right.
He could still hear the ranting and railing, never mind that it was being tempered by a woman’s calming, evenly measured tones.
Hicks had said that his wife, Lucy, often acted as Doctor Teabing’s personal secretary. She certainly sounded like a very nice woman, but Guimar could not tell whether she fully understood the implications in such a moment.
“I should know more of this Robert Langdon person,” he concluded.
“None of this is his fault, or his doing, old friend.”
“I believe you.” From somewhere de Massard drew a smile before running a hand over the ache that was forming between his brows. “Nevertheless…”
Cadfael sighed. “Do not consider him a rival. Please?”
“Right now, I do not know what to consider. I am rejected by a Soul I have never yet spoken with, and who in turns seems unable to entertain any though whatever of my existence.”
Around them, cars in the parking lot began moving out, leaving a patchwork of empty spaces.
Cadfael wondered how many were simply done for the day, heading for lunch, or fleeing from Leigh’s unexpected shouting that cast an almost hysterical shadow over so very dignified a place.
He could sense Hugh’s own tightly wound anger start bubbling to the boil, and struggled to send calm reassurance through their Bond so that matters wouldn’t lead to a visit by the local Constabulary.
And their day, that had been meant only as a mildly interesting diversion, was suddenly soured by the brutal reality of an old problem no one had ever really known how to fix.
He wanted to believe that a noble and decent man like Guimar, deserved better than a stubborn old mule like Teabing, but he kept that to himself too. After all, he and Hugh had hardly been the most perfect couple, and there were many others of his acquaintance who hadn’t exactly met the easy way, or been instantly accepting of one another.
“How many times do I have to tell you people? My Mate was brainwashed by da Vinci!! Never in a thousand lifetimes, was I meant to be with anyone but Robert!!”
The screeching got louder as Teabing stalked through the car park from where he’d been yelling at Lucy in the tour bus his group were using.
Guimar glanced away, growling harshly in his throat, and it made Cadfael wince at the kind of memories such a sound could dredge up. He had visions then of a vicious fight amongst the cars, with horrified but curious tourists capturing it all on their cameras for the evening news.
Arthur having a royal fit.
And The Bruce demanding whoever’s head got in the way first.
But that it didn’t actually happen at that point, didn’t mean it would never come.
Leigh Teabing Aesthetic
McFassy Fortnight: McFassy Q&A
Cal sighed as he dropped his messenger bag into an empty seat at the airport. He had thought it was rough getting all the Pirates in one spot, but then again Thomas did bribe them with Rum and it helped that most of them seemed to living either at Sylum or Sanctuary.
Trying to get the ‘Metal Bending’ family into one place was a fucking nightmare.
Actually he never did get the family into one place … instead he ended up traveling around the world just to see most of the assholes.
Only to discover there were more of them, that he had thought and he might kill Dilios for not warning him.
McFassy Fortnight: Callum Lynch
Callum Lynch Aesthetic
(You’re probably wondering … wait why is he also on this day – well you’re just going to have to wait and see *smirks wickedly*)
Hint: Reread – New Orleans Chronicles – Aiden Pearce
Callum woke with a start.
The ceiling wasn’t his home, nor Aguilar’s. It wasn’t the hotel he had been recently crashed in, after his latest mission. He had no idea where he was, and could hear Altaïr’s lecture on not being aware, feel Proximo’s twenty mile run in the desert just because he’s an asshole, and Aguilar’s disappointed yet scared expression.
He turned his head to see a woman sitting next to him.
“You’re awake.”
“Where am I?” He asked casually as one can, when they’ve been kidnapped.
“It’s not important.”
“It is, when I’ve been brought here against my will.” His instincts wanted to choke the life out of her, but he needed more information.
“You were brought here for your own good. There was an altercation…”
‘Bullshit’
“…The police figured some downtime would be better than jail time.”
‘Bullshit’
“So you were brought to our facility, to help with your anger management issues.”
“What because I’m Irish I have anger management issues?” He tilted his head, studying her intently. She was a scientist, or she thought she was. Her pencil skirt, ivory blouse showed her curves, but it was covered by the labcoat, to make her seem more professional.
She smelled like a Templar.
The small pendant on her necklace showed her to be one.
“Well they are known for their more violent tendencies. I mean the history of the IRA, and the attacks on innocent citizens,” said in a very European brisk accent, trying not to show she had been educated in Britain.
“I’m not going to get into a political debate with you on Ireland and the oppression of Britain on my mother’s country.” He sat up and shifted his legs over the edge of the hospital style bed. The room was grey, very institutionalized. He looked down at the grey scrubs and white t-shirt, it would seem they were going for mental institution … though the place lacked the screaming of the insane. He gently stood, still feeling the drugs run through his veins. He would need to Feed … he looked at her one more time. “I will be leaving.”
“You can’t.” She moved around the bed to block the door. “You’ve been committed for treatment.”
“You think you can keep me?” He used his body to back her against the wall, though never touched her.
“It would be for your own good, Mr. Lynch.” She swallowed down her fear, then opened the door leading him outside. “I’m trying to find ways to curtail violent behaviors.”
He snorted. “By holding me against my will.”
“It’s for your own good.” She repeated a forced smile on her face. “If you followed the path you were on, you could’ve ended up in jail or worse … dead.”
‘Already dead luv.’
“Aye, so ya’ going to study me like a rat?” He moved around her, voice dropping low. “Inject me with a new kind of drug? Watch me like a bug, to see how I tick?”
“Actually we’re going to show you a purpose.”
The voice was haughty, annoying, and every inch a Templar. Callum turned, to face the newcomer, he reseted flexing his hand, wanting nothing but his blade to slide down to shank the bastard.
“I have a purpose.”
“To club crawl and get into bar fights?” He asked with a disdain only someone who was rich and powerful could pull off.
“It works.”
It dawned on him they had no idea who he was. They saw him as a punk lowlife who had no focus. He swallowed the hysterical laughter, that he was standing in front of two Templars, who had no idea he was an Assassin.
“Come with me, Mr. Lynch.”
“Sure why not.”
He followed him into an huge open chamber. Everything painted dull grey, to the point it hurt to look at anything. He could see camera’s and hear equipment running, but wasn’t quite sure what it all was.
He wasn’t the tech Assassin.
That would Nico of late.
Maybe he should kidnap Clay’s Mate once this done, learn a few things. He didn’t like be unawares, and if they were going to move this war into the cyber world, he needed to up his skills.
“Do you know where you come from?”
Callum turned his head slowly, frowning at the question. “Aye, the green hills of Ireland.”
“No your family.”
“Potato farmers.” He could see the tick in the Templar’s expression, he was annoying him. Good. “I didn’t get your name? It’s only polite to introduce yourself, especially as you’ve had me committed to this Institution.”
“Rikken.” He answered, the nodded to the girl. “My daughter, Sophia.”
“Pleasure.” He gave them both a half smirk. “Cut ta’ the chase, why am I here?”
“To learn about who you are.” He waved a hand, and suddenly the world changed around him.
He recognized it.
It was a small town outside Madrid.
And if the uniforms on the soldiers were any indication, it was early 16th Century.
“Spain. 1492.”
He looked down at himself, startled to see the Assassin uniform, the one Aguilar mostly wore, though today’s was more updated. He moved his hands around to see the bracers and blades, touched his waist to feel the bola and red sash.
What the hell was this.
He then saw a young boy being dragged away from his parents, and tossed into a prison wagon.
This wasn’t right – he wasn’t here for this, Aguilar told him about this particular mission. He was still in Ireland, dealing with a corrupt church official with Il Duce.
Did they think he was Aguilar?
Wrong twin asshole!
“You’re seeing the world of your Ancestor.”
Callum’s head snapped up, he looked around, not seeing Rikken or his daughter.
Instead there were fellow Assassins on either side of him. Except Aguilar was one of the few in Spain, outside Maximus.
Who the hell was the woman.
“This is who you were, and it could be you again.”
He shook his head, this wasn’t real …
He saw one of the soldiers put a gun to the parent’s head … Instincts kicked in, and before he could think twice, the blade slide down and he jumped from the roof.
McFassy Fortnight: Jacob Peter Quill
Jacob Peter Quill Aesthetic
(You’re probably wondering … wait why is he on this day – well you’re just going to have to wait and see *smirks wickedly*)
He was wet, muddy, wet and did he mention muddy? He bent his knees, and leaned against the makeshift wall, which was getting him wet and muddy.
Jacob Peter Quill wondered if he would ever see home again. He left the green hills of Wales, over three years ago, not long after his mother died. He had volunteered for the army, and was soon shipped out to the Front, where he stayed.
He had seen death and destruction.
Survived battles his friends didn’t.
Yet he hadn’t moved from this spot, or at least it didn’t seem like it.
The armies were in a stalemate, stuck across a mile of No Man’s Land, taking pot shots at each other.
His tall frame made for good target practice for the Germans. He’s learned over the years to either walk slumped, or bend his knees more.
A commotion caught his attention, Chief was handing out goodies to some of the soldiers. They gave him smiles and sincere thanks, it was these small things that made life in the trenches bearable.
“How does a bear like you survive in this small cave?” Chief smiled at him, handing a small wrapped gift, he could smell the fresh meat.
“Hibernating.” He answered with a smile.
“I am glad to see you Quill.” He patted his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I send prayers to the gods that I will see you after this.”
“What brings you back to the Front?” He asked, seeing Sammy and Charlie coming up the rear.
“Steve has a plan to end the war.” Sammy leaned forward, with a shrug. “Life isn’t boring with him.”
He was about to answer, when he saw the last member of their party. A woman, wrapped in furs, looking around in shock, horror, and honest to God righteous anger. Quill watched as she touched and soothed villagers, speaking in their native language.
The woman turned Steve around, arguing with him, which was a sight to see in itself. Quill at one point had good hearing, but years at the Front had done damage. He glanced at Chief, then Sammy who both shrugged.
When she dropped the fur coat, stepping up to the ladder, wearing a uniform he had only read about. It looked a mix of Greek and Roman armour. The metal was nothing like had seen, and the boots were obviously hand crafted. If he didn’t know better he would say she was a Greek Goddess come to life.
“Diana it’s No Man’s Land.” Steve tried to stop her.
“I’m no man.”
She moved up the ladder and stepped out onto No Man’s Land.
He was watching history take place, but knew it would never make the books.
He looked left, then right and with a nod they followed her over the wall.
McFassy Fortnight: Aguilar de Nehra
Aguilar de Nerha Aesthetic
The call came from the Santa Maria della Vittoria.
There had been a man, who had been on his knees praying for over five hours.
The Parish Priest had called Kiernan, who was in a budget meeting, so contacted Ernesto.
The Inspector sent a very rude message back, but found himself driving to the one Church he still wasn’t comfortable with, despite it being his home Parish.
He walked in to see a well dressed man, kneeling in front of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa. This wasn’t a homeless man, nor did he look like someone who was in desperate straights that would make Kiernan’s recruitment requirements.
His dark auburn hair was pulled back in a old fashion black velvet tie, his suit was at least five grand if not more, and the shoes were hand crafted. He held a rosary in his hand, as he prayed, and in the twenty minutes, Ernesto watched him, he didn’t move.
Not even a flinch.
It sadly took him those twenty minutes to realize how quiet the church was, so quiet he wasn’t hearing a heartbeat.
The man praying was a Vampire.
Now that he was paying closer attention, the Vampire was heavily armed. Ernesto stepped back, hands loose at his side, waiting.
The man crossed himself, put the rosary in the inside suit pocket, and with ease, for someone who had been kneeling for hours, stood. He reached up touching the marble, and bowed his head for a few moments.
He turned giving Ernesto a small smile. “Inspector.”
The man was Spanish, accent was subtle but still there, though is Italian was perfect. He had a feeling he should know him, but the memory was elusive.
“Do I know you?”
“You knew me as an annoying teenager, Giovanni.”
He blinked, looked around the church then back at the man. “Aguilar. Where’s your brother? Where there is one the other is not far away.”
He laughed, the grin on his face wide, almost shark like. “He’s back at the hotel. He knows I like to spend time with Teresa when we’re in Rome. I’ve been gone for too long, but I hadn’t wanted to come during the renovations.” He glanced around, then back at Ernesto. “They did an amazing job, if you didn’t know what happened here, you would have no idea.”
Ernesto blinked a few times, focusing back on the now. “An odd devotion for an Assassin.”
“Says an Assassin who guards the Pope.” Aguilar grinned. “I knew Teresa personally. The only person I knew who walked into the Inquisitor’s Office and walked out, without me leaving a trail of bodies.
“You knew her? As in knew her?” The Inspector rolled his eyes at himself.
“She was feisty, talked a mile a minute, wrote just as quickly, and was devoted to God. The fact it took so long to make her a Saint only shows that the Church still has aways to go in showcasing equality.” Aguilar reached up and squeezed his shoulder. “Come on let’s get some coffee. Make sure your boy sees you’re okay. He’s perched across the street.”
“Give me a moment.”
Aguilar watched as the Inspector went to the memorial, touched it revelantly, and said a prayer for his men and those who died. Neither said a word as they walked out into the late afternoon sun. Aguilar slipped on his sunglasses, holding his hand up to shield his eyes as he waved up at the Florentine.
“So what’s it like to know a Saint?” Ernesto asked as they made their way across the plaza to his waiting car.
“You tell me, considering you know St. Patrick.” He paused as he stepped up to the passenger side. “Both of them.”
His eyes narrowed.
Aguilar smirked. “Come on Giovanni, lets get some food and catch you up on the gossip and drama of the Assassin Order.”
McFassy Fortnight: David Percival
David Percival Aesthetic
“You fucking bitch! You shot me in the fucking head!!”
Lorraine was on her feet, gun in hand so very fast, that if he hadn’t already been expecting such a move, she would’ve shot him again.
As it was, he neatly sidestepped the bullet that zinged past him and embedded itself in the doorframe where he’d just been standing by the pilot’s cabin.
“How are you still alive?” she demanded, her natural American accent kicking in when she realized she was wasting ammunition trying to hit him. His suddenly inexplicable speed and agility were both intense and apparently impossible to counter in such a small space.
Not once, however, did he pull a weapon on her.
“Y’know, I ask myself the same thing, love,” he retorted. “But you just gotta go with the mystery.”
She glanced at her Handler, but Emmett remained entirely focused on M, who’d sat down opposite him, being all business and no amusement.
Despite her every belief in the man, Lorraine knew she’d find no help there. It wasn’t shocking, but it felt rather disgusting, no matter which way she chose to interpret his slightly sardonic expression.
“I killed you!” she hissed, gun still raised at David’s head. “I killed you!”
He shrugged. “Actually, I’d forgotten how much that shit really fucking hurts!!”
She expected him to do something
Make a move.
Start toward her.
Something.
But, no.
He just stood there.
Starting at her.
Like the Ghost of Christmas Past.
M sighed. “Could you two either go fuck this tension out between you, or sit down and let the grown ups talk?”
David snorted rudely. “I’m not getting my dick out for this bitch!”
“Guess I shot you in the wrong head then…” She lowered her gun to his crotch.
“Go right at it. Stuff’ll just grow back anyway.” He felt the strange temptation to wiggle his hips lewdly in her direction, but the confused gleam in her eyes offset the otherwise utterly professional expression she was wearing. “Want a drink yet?” he asked, mocking her despite the imminent threat to his manhood.
“You should be dead!”
“Already am, love. You’re just having a nervous breakdown before you’re dragged out of here in cuffs.”
She laughed out loud. “I don’t believe in ghosts!”
He licked his lips. “You should, or one of ’em’ll kill you.”
When confronted by elements she knew she was missing in any given situation, the best option was to let others talk, then piece together whatever snippets of information she’d been able to glean, and go from there. Which usually worked well enough, except in dealing with fellow spies.
And David was one of the best.
She’d give him that.
“You’ll kill me?” she mocked right back. “When I’m the one who’s been cleaning up behind your mess, Comrade Satchel?”
“Oh, please,” M interjected. “Your set up was excellent. If you’d tried it on anyone else you might just have gotten away with it, but when you put the blame on those who aren’t really as dead as you’d like them to be, they do rather put a crimp in things.”
David blinked. “Well, that was rude!”
“Honey, you were never smooth enough for the Double O Programme, but then again you were never dumb enough to play both ends against the middle. You get that from your Sire at least.”
“How very charming of you to say so,” George said quietly, coming into the plane through the still open main door.
Lorraine turned her gun to the new threat in her vicinity. “Do put that down, madam,” he replied, sounding thoroughly bored. “I can assure you I’m as dead as my protege over there, so don’t waste your time on futilities.”
David really wanted to know who’d called his Vampire ‘father’ into the situation, but he’d already figured out that it could only have been Smiley who’d disentangled the clever set up Lorraine had been hoping to frame him with.
She was immensely smart, and he’d admit to having some begrudging respect for her in that. Still, he’d rather put a bullet between her eyes than admit it out loud, given what she’d tried to turn him into.
“Young man, you should be lying down.” George gave his Childe the benefit of a concerned stare. “Who exactly let you come here to do this?”
David’s mouth fell open. “Are you seriously being all ‘parental’ right now?” he demanded, even making air quotes to enhance his opinion.
M rolled her eyes, but then again she knew only too well what it was like having boys who were ‘special’.
“Without me, you’d be branded a traitor right now, young fellow. You could at least show a little more appreciation.”
Lorraine wanted to laugh at the farcical nature of what was happening, but still her Handler just sat there in seemingly stoic silence.
She’d done far too good a job of covering her tracks and laying blame elsewhere, for some creaky old fart that MI6 had clearly dug up from the earliest years of the Cold War, to come pull it all apart like he’d been faced with nothing more than a particularly tough question courtesy of the Times Crossword Puzzle.
She needed an out.
She just wasn’t sure how to get it yet.
David grinned at her cheekily despite the gesture making his still healing face ache. “Might wanna sit down for this, love. Dad gets a bit of a rambler when he starts lecturing.”
George Smiley pushed his glasses up his nose more firmly. There were no notes or folders in his hands to call on as she spoke. He didn’t need them. He knew all the details, every last convoluted one of them.
And as his name was cleared of all wrongdoing, David remarkably felt the urge to hug him.
His own information on the real identity of the agent known as ‘Satchel’, was then icing on the cake.
With a cherry.
One of those nice juicy ones soaked in alcohol.
“Had you been working with any one but David, my dear, you would likely have succeeded, but as it is, I already knew there could be no way the Head of Berlin Station was a traitor. He’s too much like his actual father to ever be more than who he really is,” Smiley concluded.
“Hey!!” David growled, not quite ready to appreciate so obtuse a compliment.
George chuckled softly. “I shall, of course, do my best to stop Karla from making you his next target, Agent Satchel, but I can in no way guarantee success…”
Lorraine paled just a tiny bit.
“…given that he doesn’t take too kindly to people who try and kill his son.”
David sighed. “Tell me you didn’t call him yet? Please, tell me you didn’t call him…”
Smiley had the most irritating little grin occasionally.
McFassy Fortnight: Stelios
Stelios Aesthetic
He was about to close the laptop, and go take care of his Mate, who had been wiggling his ass for about an hour now to get attention, when he saw something flash across the screen.
“What the hell?” He opened up a secondary browser, dove into the backend of the system he was digging through to see if he could find what the hell flashed across his screen.
“Oy!”
He ignored his Mate, instead pulling up tab after tab, diving further into the darker networks to see what the hell was going on.
“I totally got myself off, since ya’ abandoned me for coding.” David paused, watching his Mate for a few seconds, noticing instantly the difference between getting lost and searching. “Hey…” He made his way into the office, and sat his bare ass down on the desk. “Whatcha chasing?”
“I saw something.” Stelios looked up, gaze raking over his Mate’s naked body. It was a strong muscular body, with a few too many scars for his liking. “Not sure what it is, but it flashed across some coding I was digging around in.”
Percival looked at the laptop, then at one of the many screens around him. “Is this bad?” There were times he still marveled that his Spartan Mate was such a geek boy. His body screamed warrior, his mind was all numbers and coding. It was hot in so many ways. He understood half of what Stelios said, and even less of what he did.
“Not sure.” He turned the laptop around. “See this.”
“It’s a bunch of numbers, the ones and zeros you go on about.” He looked over at him, now worrying at the look on Stelios face.
“See the odd ones out?” He put a hand on his naked thigh, then pointed at a section of the screen.
“That tiny thing in the corner, is it supposed to be different?” David shifted until he looked at all the tabs and windows that were open. “Should we call M, I doubt Smiley could help.”
“Not yet. Let me see if I can find out what this is first.” He took some screenshots, then closed down the computer.
“Well it come bite us in the arse?”
“Likely.” He leaned back in his chair smiling at his naked Mate. “Did you still need a hand?”
“I need ya’ cock.” David smirked sliding down into his lap. “I want ya to fuck me, geek boy.”
He pulled him into a open mouth heated kiss, hands sliding up the bare back. “I can bend you over my desk, or you can ride me.” Stelios nipped along the elegant neck, enjoying the sounds he was pulling from his Mate.
They had met at a club in Berlin, fucked in the back alley, then started a short yet interesting courtship. In all his years, he had wondered if he would find someone to settle down with, he never expected David Percival, but then the gods (and he knew a few) had a sense of humor.
McFassy Fortnight: Teaser – Harry & Ike
He was asleep.
Isaac couldn’t quite believe it.
His Mate was actually asleep, without recourse to drink, or being otherwise fucked into the mattress.
It was nothing short of a miracle.
Harry had even made it to the bed as well, clad only in a towel from having soaked long in the bath.
His hair was still damp on the pillow. Ike liked it when it got a little longer than the normal military style cut Harry usually kept it at. It gave him something to run his fingers through when they were intimate. Not that he could persuade the fiercely stubborn Police Inspector he’d found for a Mate, to let it grow out too much thicker.
He had to take one step at a time with Hole, and it had been hard enough just getting him to accept that it was okay to come live in the hotel.
But if there was one thing he’d learned when dealing with the Norwegian love of his life, it was how to be patient as each new challenge came their way.
Eddie had said it was like house training a dog rescued from a shelter.
Which was not entirely inaccurate, truth be told.
Isaac smiled at the very gentle expression on his Mate’s otherwise severe face.
For the first time in weeks, things had come to a conclusion that allowed for some peace.
And it was good.
There were always going to be ghosts though, and there were always going to be nightmares. But they’d deal with them together whenever they raised their ugly heads, because that was how it worked.
Sleepy eyes flickered open and focused on him.
Ike felt his smile broaden warmly.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, thinking he’d been a particularly bad Mate for disturbing such a beautiful sight. “Go back to sleep.”
Harry didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
All he did was reach out with both hands for the man he loved, and that alone was encouragement enough for Isaac to kick off his shoes, drop his jacket and tie, and slip onto the bed, wrapping himself protectively around Harry’s lithe body.
He still smelled of sandalwood soap and hot water.
It lingered on his skin.
Ike caressed his back between his shoulder blades, where the sudden tension of waking had settled over him.
“You can go back to sleep…”
He found himself murmuring the words in Harry’s left ear as he was snuggled against, and one more time he had to wonder at the walls that had been lowered in his Mate’s psyche that allowed such a moment without struggle.
Perhaps he’d gotten too accustomed to the aforementioned nightmares, and the screaming, and the sleepless nights, that one spent without them seemed somehow destined to shatter.
But it didn’t.
And though Ike fought to stay awake in the hopes of keeping Harry’s demons at bay, he too finally fell asleep, content enough with whatever miracle had come his way, that arguing with it seemed pointless.
McFassy Fortnight: Charles Xavier & Max Eisenhardt
The Professor & Magneto Aesthetic
Charles Xavier stared across his desk at the one person, he thought would never be sitting on his couch. He had to block out everyone at the school, or his head would be buzzing with gossip, ranting, and he’s pretty sure the maniacal laughter was coming from Alex … maybe Brisco.
“Erik.” He said after the five minutes of silence.
“It’s actually Max, well that’s the name my mother gave me before the Nazis ripped it from me.” His gaze was steady, but his tone held a slight bitterness yet openness.
“What would you prefer I call you?” Charles asked sincerely.
“I’m actually not sure.” The answer was painful in it’s honesty. “I’ve been so many people Charles, but the only time I was happy was as Max, when I was with Magda and Erik when I was with you. And I lost both.”
“I’m still here my friend.” He moved out from behind his desk, sliding his chair up next to the couch. “I’ve always been here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Vampires?” Charles was surprised there was no malice in the question. “Were you afraid I would turn against you? I’ve always stood for our people, being a Vampire is no different than being a Mutant. I’m sure the humans hat the idea of either species being mixed in with them.”
“I was afraid.” Charles looked over to the far wall, where he had pictures of his three boys. “It’s not an easy concept to accept, even for a Mutant. Especially, with the added of past lives and connecting souls.”
“Your children accept you?” He looked behind him to the closed door, he could feel Logan lurking nearby.
“They only learned recently. Alex has stood by me, all these years, as has Sean.”
“He’s loyal, I can admire that.” Erik gave him a smirk. “I’m sure uptight Scott took the news well.”
“They’ve all taken it well, which I should’ve known they would. Now with Storm, one of us, it’s easing others into the idea.”
“We’ve known each other once before?” Magneto reached over and took his hand.
“Actually three times.” Charles held onto him. “We lost everything, then had a beautiful family, and lastly societies perceptions pulled us apart.”
“The Roman, the one who confronted me, let you talk to me.” He nodded towards the pictures. “Our middle boy?”
“Youngest, the last one, Sherlock was born after you died, my darling wife.”
“You bastard! Cheating on me after my death!” Magneto always had a flare for the dramatic. “They are handsome.”
“So’s yours.”
“He’s powerful.” He sighed. “Even more than me. He’s also very loyal to his Mate. I saw his look Charles, he would’ve destroyed the earth at that moment to protect him. It made me realize there was still love in this world, and now I know I could have it.”
“You could, but things have to change.” Charles gave him a small smile. “I’ve been a Vampire over a hundred years, our son Nicolaus has been over 1600 years – it’s not an easy life, but you learn to blend.”
“One day we all will be out and proud.” Erik stood from the couch. “I want to be there for that, and I’m sure at least once I’ll be able to say I told you so about the humans.”
“I’m sure you will.” He looked up his friend, it was his move.
“I’m going to do something I should’ve done fifty years ago.” He leaned over and kissed Charles softly. “I’ll be back to formally court you, Mr. Xavier. Do make sure the children don’t try to lock me out, it will be pointless if they did.”
“I like flowers.” Charles grinned up at him.
“Then I shall bring you some, Liebling.”
And with that Magneto put on his fedora, slipped on his coat, and walked out of the room. He pushed Logan out of his way, gave Scott a nod, a smile to Jean, and left the mansion.
He had a date to plan.
A future, a real one, finally awaited him.