marx

Tue, 16 Sep 2008 05:09:10 GMT

Category: Smut? Romance?
Pairing(s): Howard/Bridget
Warnings: Sexual content, but nothing too explicit.
Disclaimer: D.Gray-man and its characters are the property of Hoshino Katsura.

It was hard not to with the two of them sharing the same office space, but Link found himself distracted by the newly transferred Secretary Fay on occasion. In fact, although he'd never admit it, he wasn't bothered by this.

She glanced up from her own paperwork and flashed him a come hither look, the kind of gaze that he figured could easily tempt even the holiest of men to hell. He had eyes for her, but what sane man didn't? She was a feat. From the curls of her hair to her hips and all the rest. Highly proficient and timely with her reports on top of being absolutely stunning.

If work had sex appeal, it would look something like Bridget Fay.

She was before her time, and hardly resembled the female workers he was accustomed to back in Dormagen. They were normally older women, of course, but their plain, unshapely uniforms did none of them any favors. They left everything up to the imaginations of curious young men, as it were.

But her skirt and blouse flattered her every feminine curve, and she was the type of woman that won content, knowing smiles among men discussing the nicer specimens around the Order. It was what they did. Even Walker, as gentlemanly as he was, wasn't prudish enough to avoid grinning and laughing when the subjects of particular women and sex were brought up in the lines for the showers.

Before he knew it they were locked together in a kind of awkward embrace, a sort of calm before the storm, and she was nestled against the near underside of his neck where he dabbed his cologne every morning. He pulled away and fumbled with the buttons on her blazer nervously. He would be the first to admit--off the record, of course--that she had wonderful breasts.

Even though they had thirty minutes at most before they needed to return to their respective posts outside, he let his thoughts wander to just what he'd do with them if he had enough time to give them the appreciation they deserved.

She quietly yet firmly made a note about the time, so he continued, still silent. He had easy access to her shapely bust once he discarded her blouse, so he went straight to work licking and suckling at her nipples, just savoring her taste. He relished sweets, naturally, but this was just as good. In its own way.

He was loathe to stop so suddenly, especially since it meant temporarily quieting her soft moans, but his own trousers were unbearably tight and he thought that the upcoming situation would go much more smoothly on the nearby couch.

She kindly noted that they only had twenty-six minutes left. And he always met his deadlines.

Fri, 25 Jul 2008 19:37:54 GMT

Category: Gen
Characters: Allen, Link, Cross
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, I guess.
Disclaimer: D.Gray-man and its characters are the property of Hoshino Katsura.

He isn't asleep even though it's 12:30 am, and it's starting. His fingers begin to twitch just a little, and then after a few more hours of lying awake and sweating, he begins to burn. There are insects crawling all over his body. Invisible ones, maybe imaginary ones, but after everything he isn't sure what's real and what isn't and whether he can afford the luxury to differentiate between the two.

He scratches at himself madly trying to get some relief, but after itching and peeling himself to the point of uprooting blood on his skin, he just finds that it itches more. So he scratches more, but the insects remain. The last time he felt this way, he thinks, was when he was working in the circus, since he always had fleas. And there's so much blood now.

He wonders just how he hasn't woken Link up yet. He shakes his head several times and bites into his pillow, grinding his teeth against the hot fabric. Even his teeth hurt, and he thinks about just how long it would take to scratch and pick them away. He wants to cry just because he thinks these things, and even though his chest heaves with...something, no tears come. And now his fingers hurt, which just makes everything all the more wonderful, since he'll have to take care of that too. He begins chewing on his right pointer's fingernail. It might take him a while, but he'll get it off properly. Then he'll work on the others.

The alarm clock goes off at around 7:00 am, and he curses as it wakes him up from a light sleep. He hates that damned clock, since it always rings too loudly. Link stirs in his own bed and blindly gropes around to turn it off. "Wake up, Walker. Get dressed."

He says nothing.

"Walker. It's morning."

Still nothing, but he manages to groan a little. He winces as he buries himself under the covers. The light cotton stings against the pink of his open sores.

"Are you ill? I'll take you to the infirmary. You were turning about all night..."

"Link... I. Ah."

"Come on. Get out of bed." He can tell from the tone of his voice that Link's bothered now.

"I, um..."

"All right, I'm coming over there." He curls in bed more and tries to resist the tugs on his sheet, and he knows already where this is going. He doesn't think he'll ever forget the expression on Link's face after that.

He's moved to the infirmary later. Not the normal kind of infirmary, a different one. He's the only one in the vast room, and everything is a crisp, aged white. He wonders why white is supposed to be a soothing color as he picks absent-mindedly at the skin on his stomach, occasionally peeling bits off. He prefers blue. And the nurses really did a bad job of restraining him, since it only took him an hour to break his bonds. There's also a bedside mirror next to his chamber pot, and now that Face is talking to him again, and it's getting harder and harder to ignore. He tells it to shut up, and surprisingly it's quiet for a while.

Somebody, maybe a nurse, is coming in to give him a bath soon, and he fidgets just thinking about it. He doesn't mind baths, but he hates the thought of being nude in front of someone else, especially since his pubic hair is still filling in (but hey, he's getting there.) He thinks that it's funny that he still worries about things like that, but he does. He's never even had proper sex with a girl, which makes him feel even worse. And that one kiss left a lot to be desired.

It's dark now and he doesn't even know where the day went.

He lounges in bed the next morning, wide awake, with an odd, vinegary sensation in his eyes. Almost like tears, but something completely alien. It's an odd word to describe tears, he thinks, but it fits, and it's almost like he's grown beyond his own sadness into something much deeper and infinite.

His master is going to come visit him today. He needs to see someone, anyone, and his friends aren't allowed to visit anymore. He hears a door open.

"They'll be taking you away tomorrow," Cross says nonchalantly, drawing on his cigarette. Allen wonders if he's allowed to smoke in here. "You could get dangerous, apparently, but from the looks of things," Cross whispers dryly, running his eyes over the sheets smattered in places with blood, "you're more of a danger to yourself than anyone else." Allen nods absently and licks his lips again, tasting blood. He doesn't remember getting cut.

Cross interrupts his thoughts with a low chuckle. "You did give Leverrier's little fag a scare."

Well, he muses, his master really didn't change that much after all, even with the hug. He'd miss that. And the food. It's been days since he's eaten. Cross ruffles his hair and tells him something about seeing him later sometime.

"...goodbye, master."

Cross blinks, and smiles sadly. "Don't worry. I'll be around."

He thinks that his master is a terrible liar, but at least he feels better. He falls asleep for a short while, still dreaming nothing.

His skin feels foreign the next morning, so he doesn't want to mess with it. He stares up at the ceiling as blood slowly trickles into his eyes. Its origins are a mystery to him, and he tries to blink it away. He finally just closes his eyes.

It's finally taking over just like It said It would. The Face told him so, too. He had to admit that It drove a hard bargain. And It won. He does the only thing that he's learned to do despite all of his troubles, and smiles.

Fri, 04 Jul 2008 07:19:14 GMT

Category: Gen
Characters: Leverrier, Komui, mentions of others.
Warnings: This entire thing is about Leverrier.
Disclaimer: D.Gray-man and its characters are the property of Hoshino Katsura.

I.

Something was very wrong with his family. His father sometimes walked with him down through London, the very center of it, past the churches, vendors, and shops with an air of 'we own this place, you know' about him. It was winter now, and his cheeks were chapped and burning from the cold.

The peddlers were trying to sell their wares, but his father never bought anything like all other fathers would sometimes do. He never knew exactly what his father did, but he was always away for the church, and his mother told him not to worry about it, and that he'd understand when he was older. His brothers never mentioned anything, and they politely changed the subject when it came up at dinner a few days later, instead slipping him a small chunk of Stilton. He hadn't seen his sister in weeks.

II.

Older came one day when he was around nine. He'd grown used to his father's frequent disciplines, and after only a handful of visits, he dreaded traveling to the Order.

He just wanted to touch them, after all, since they were hurting, and his father and the others never did anything but stand there and say 'again'. Once he was punished for being sick at the sight of a girl. There was something just so wrong, horribly wrong about her body that he couldn't have helped it.

He cursed himself for ever wishing to know just why his father was away all those years. He hated his father and all the blood and the screams, he hated the beatings, and he hated the Order. Most of all, he hated her. Hebraska.

From the stories his great uncles told him, she started out as nothing more than a twisted mountain of gnarled flesh, and over the years she grew into a coiling, glowing, snake-like thing that was only barely human anymore save for the voice. She was the family pride. Saints were supposed to be beautiful, he thought. They don’t kill, either.

But that was just how it worked in this place, and his mother always doctored his bruises and scrapes when he came home without saying a word.

III.

Somewhere between the age of fifteen and twenty-five he gave up on most of his harbored feelings and simply did what came naturally; he began turning into his father.

A part of it never felt exactly right, but he could actually sleep pretty well at night now. That was just how it worked.

IV.

The experiments finally stopped. For the first time in his life he saw his closest cousin rear a daughter, and she was beautiful now, in her prime. She lived seven years longer than intended, and she'd be married soon enough.

It was true that he never really stopped resenting his father and his father's father for everything (and especially not Hebraska,) but this newness was so uncomfortable that it pulled at something in his chest.

And his family was "saved," of all things, by a young oriental man who came from a family of tailors. Saved. Saved.

"Saved? Not quite, Mr. Lee. My family is just as damned now as it was before."

And to this, Komui could say nothing. He just excused himself under the guise of making more coffee.

V.

He was relieved when it was time for him to be given an assistant, since it would certainly be a boy, and he actually yearned for a way to feel young again.

The aging process was going only decently—his prostate was acting up, his wife was frigid (and funnily enough starting to resemble her mother,) and the only excitement was in the occasional visit to the Order, where any number of things could preoccupy him. The church had become his other woman.

Naturally, he was vaguely disappointed when the young man, Howard, had turned out to be quiet and set in his work. He couldn’t complain, however, since the boy was reared correctly (he knew,) cleaned up nice, and was willing to do his job.

Howard wasn't a challenge. He examined him in his office during their second meeting, and, rubbing at his temples lightly, determined that he’d be taken on the next trip to the Order. Whenever that should come.

His hair had a similar color when he was the boy’s age. Not that he thought too much of the past, now, of course.

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 07:10:21 GMT

Category: Gen
Characters: Allen, Howard, Komui, Leverrier, Bak, and some others. No pairings.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This is an odd sort of slice of life fic. Allen deals with the Ark, Link deals with Allen, and more.
Disclaimer: D.Gray-man and its characters are the property of Hoshino Katsura.

a little aside:

Allen briefly surveyed his room, noticing that the maids and workers had done some cleaning since he’d been gone. Even his stray socks had been picked up.

Link edged past him and sat his belongings down on a corner chair before stopping to stare at the single-fitting bed. “Which side do you prefer, Walker?”

“...I don’t think this is going to work out.”

----
Frightening, that was the word for it. The Ark. It’s not like he knew what to expect from some volatile thing thousands of years old.

Its inside looked tame enough, but when he closed his eyes and pictured his destination, it was a rush and a punch to the gut. It wasn’t necessarily painful, but still shocking; so much so that it took his breath momentarily.

The second time was no less frightening, but he had something to go on, so he could at least work with that. He opened his eyes when it moved, fully expecting to see nothing, but instead getting treated to a montage of images so furious and fleeting that it made him feel like vomiting from the stimulation.

Truth be told, though, the sensation itself wasn’t nearly as strong as it was during the first trip. It was dazzling. He could actually get used to it, he figured. It actually...felt right, at the risk of saying that it felt pleasurable. He didn’t want to dirty something as amazing as this.

It was his. If he didn’t have anything else on Earth, he had this.

----
There was no third time as of yet, as Mr. Link made sure of. This one afternoon had them both seated at a long table in the East Wing’s library. It looked bitterly cold outside, and a bright blueish-gray overcast was their only source of light from the opposite windows.

Allen slouched in his seat. How in God’s name could anybody (other than Ravi) stand to write all day long? He’d only been sitting for a few hours, and he was already making up random excuses to leave his seat when he could.

“...Link? Have you seen a film?”

Link barely glanced up from his own paperwork. “No, I have not. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ah. Nothing, really. I was just thinking about films. I’ve heard that those are supposed to really be something...all the moving pictures, I mean. Even if they're short.” He maneuvered his pen over the fingers of his left hand for a few seconds. “And would you mind reading me this question?” He vaguely motioned to the paper in front of him.

Link sighed, but walked over anyway. “Which one?”

“Number...86?”

“...‘With what aptitude can you use the Ark?’”

Allen frowned. “Right. So what’s aptitude mean again?”

“Skill, you could say.”

“Oh, well, not very good skill...when you think that I’ve only used it just a few times. Well enough, I guess,” he trailed off while scribbling an answer on the page in his chicken scratch print.

He truly didn’t like any of the questions, but at least this was better than the one about his father’s mother’s maiden name. How the hell was he supposed to know that? Mana never spoke of her much to begin with.

Link returned to his seat and pulled his chair in with an air of annoyance. And the silence was thick again in only a few moments.

----
It was no great secret that Leverrier and his assistant could bake well. As much as Komui hated the man, he would happily admit that he indulged in his odd cakes. So, both of them were sitting with food and drink at hand in Komui’s office, about as relaxed as they’d ever truly be around each other. Which wasn’t to say a lot.

“Hear any news on Walker’s issue today, Supervisor?”

Komui drained the rest of his tea and sat in silence for a moment. “Nothing today, Inspector. Aren’t we expecting some sort of report back from the Curia within the week, however?”

“I believe so. Until then... Walker will be well taken care of,” he said with a slight grin. Komui shivered.

“Your boy, with you...what was his name again?”

“Link, Mr. Howard Link. Son of one of my associates. He’s quite young. Full of piss and vinegar, as the saying goes.”

“He seemed very reserved when we met briefly,” Komui admitted. Leverrier only chuckled.

“It was a joke, Supervisor. He’s a very collected boy, as you’ll see. Very dedicated as well. Just the sort that we need in a war like this. Someone dedicated and steadfast.”

“...Oh? Just the sort?” Komui was letting himself slip just a bit, he noticed. He cleared his throat and motioned River over to bring him more tea.

“Yes. We can’t take any chances with some of these.” He tapped on his chin thoughtfully. “It goes to say, however, that there are no atheists in foxholes. Don’t you believe so, Supervisor? And you, Wennham? It would certainly be to our favor...in a war like this.”

Komui hesitated, and River walked on silently. “Yes, sir. It would.”

----
It had been three days since the interrogation began. Three days that mostly consisted of Allen and Link holed up in the same East Wing’s library, which few others frequented.

Allen had been resting on his stomach on a side couch before an odd door slamming made him jump awake. Link was unfettered and still sitting cross-legged in a cushioned chair a few feet away, only with an oddly colored book.

Allen sat up and popped his neck. “Mm. Wh...what are y’reading?”

“It’s called Struwwelpeter. I had it read to me often when I was a child. This library, it... is nothing compared to the Apostolic, but you will never find books like this in it.”

He thumbed through it a last time before getting up to place it on a nearby cart. “This place is a marvel in itself, however.”

Well, that explained a lot, Allen had to admit. He actually had it read to him once by Mana when he was little. It scared him for a good while, but to his father’s credit, it did break him of his thumb-sucking habit.

Link cleared his throat.

“Do you attend Mass, Walker? Tomorrow is Sunday.”

----
In truth, even though Allen considered himself a pretty good Catholic as far as Catholics went, he didn’t go to Mass very often. Not at all, even, with the exception of Easter Mass and occasionally Christmas Mass. It gave him something to do on the holidays, since Cross was normally too pissed out of his mind to be good company. Pretty much any occasion called for drinking on his part, Allen found, even the birth of Christ.

So there they were, sitting in a center pew the next morning instead of haunting the cafeteria. Link was still wearing his uniform (only re-pressed) and Allen was wearing his waistcoat with accompanying church coat. He even had his slacks ironed and shoes polished.

He might not frequent Mass often, but he figured that he had better look nice when he did go. The last thing he needed was a strike against him for not being presentable to go along with his new ‘does not attend Mass regularly’ charge. He smiled bitterly before he could stop himself, earning him an odd look from Link, who had one eye open during the first prayer.

“Cheater,” Allen whispered under his breath. Link sniffed and turned his head, eyes properly closed again.

Church ended quickly, more quickly than Allen last remembered, especially with the Eucharist. They filed out of the chapel after the service’s end and loitered around in the vestibule for a few moments. Link paused and turned back around to face the crowd. “Wait a moment, please.”

“What’s the matter? Have to pee or something?”

“...I’d like to go to confessional.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll wait here.”

Link flashed Allen an offended and questioning look while Allen pretended to find the ceiling very interesting. He knew that Link expected him to follow suit. The irony in this whole thing was slightly amusing, but he decided not to think anything of it. He hadn’t done anything bad recently anyway.

He vaguely wondered just what Link would confess to. Maybe it was because he was such a glutton for sweets? Allen figured that eating enough cakes, pies, and jellies in one sitting to make his stomach turn had to be some kind of sin.

He chuckled knowing that Ravi would say that he’d have to regularly ask forgiveness for his eyebrows.

----
The next morning Link had a private meeting with his superior and a few other figures, which Allen was glad of. He’d had enough of him to last for this and the next century, that much was sure. He was instructed to keep close by the office hall entrance.

Which he never did. Last meeting, he and Ravi kept busy by taking turns throwing Timcanpy down the free space over the banister two halls over and seeing how long it would take for him to pop back up. He’d busied himself with personal things in the nearest toilet the meeting prior. That was really the only downside about the sharing rooms business...

This time, he had a good chance to investigate the Ark. He waited until the formalities were well past and snuck off to its holding bay. It was 11:00 am on a Monday, and there were actually few watchmen around, he found. Probably on lunch. He was creeping up the marble staircase inside its main frame before he had any time to really think about it.

He didn’t plan on traveling in it today, but he instead walked around, choosing random doors to open (not that there was much randomness to it. Any sort of scene or place that he’d think of would instantly appear, if he wanted).

He glanced back one last time before exiting. Controlling the Ark was a weird sort of power.

Link was exiting just as he turned the corner back into the hallway. "Where were you, Walker?"

"Ah, nowhere. Just stretching my legs."

----
That evening, upon Link’s insistence, they met in the main lounge after supper. Link was nursing some sort of alcoholic beverage in a mug that had cream topped off up to the brim. Allen spotted the American Branch leader (whatever her name was) chatting up Leverrier a little too amiably in the far corner of the room, but she quickly departed. He was a little glad of that, since his bile didn’t leave a pleasant aftertaste. Wasn't he married at his age?

Link passed Allen a quick look and trotted over to where Leverrier was standing. Business things leftover from the meeting, Allen assumed. He saw that Bak was sitting in the opposite corner with a notebook, and decided that he needed some company anyway.

“What are you working on, Bak?” Allen inquired.

“This? It’s nothing. Just some tinkering with the gravitational constant. And oh, a sketch of the Ark. We went down there a while ago. You just missed Epsteine, actually... here, have a seat, don’t stand there.”

Allen did, and glanced at the notebook. It was positively covered from page to page with numbers, equations, symbols, and odd drawings (plus a large one of the Ark, like he'd said.) There were red scribbles running all across some of the equations, complete with footnotes. Some scientific, others adding up to ‘no no no, you idiot, what the fucking hell do you think--’

“...Epsteine,” Bak added irritably.

“Oh.”

Allen glanced over at Link and Leverrier in the far corner. Link was showing documents of some sort to his superior. Looked like the meeting was going well, if anything, he thought acridly. Well enough, considering they were probably entertaining the thought of him being tortured. Or worse.

“Bak.”

“Yeah?”

“Why do think they have it out for me?” He gave a vague gesture to the two. “You know.”

“Well... I’ll put it this way, Walker. I'm a physicist. You know that. And the things that you can do are so far beyond what's scientifically possible and...,” he hesitated slightly, fishing for the right words. “Um, what I've devoted my life to studying... that it's absolutely astonishing. Now, what do you think of Leverrier and his ward?”

Allen craned his neck back over to see Link and his supervisor still conversing in the crook of the lounge's far entrance. “Mm. I don’t know, really. I’m not fond of them?”

“Walker... The fact that you're a fifteen year old boy with the ability to control something as powerful as that is frightening to them. Because... while I know that I'll never be able to master the things in the universe, the very institution that they were sent from believes it already has.”

At this, Allen couldn't say much. He simply smiled over at the other man.

Bak indulged him and forced a smile back.