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remix_redux2007-04-14 12:13 pm
sammyeatworld.livejournal.com) wrote in remix_redux2007-04-14 12:13 pm
Displays (I Don't Wanna Grow Up! Remix) [Swordspoint; Richard/Alec]
Title: Displays (I Don't Wanna Grow Up! Remix)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rm
Summary: Alec becomes the Duke; this is a problem.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Swordspoint
Warnings: splinters
Remixed From: Displays bywordsofastory, http://wordsofastory.livejournal.com/242942.html
Disclaimer: Swordspoint and the lot of it, belongs, of course, to Ellen Kushner.
"Something's transpired," Alec said, standing in the doorway to their rooms, pale and breathless.
Richard was immediately concerned and, as was still his habit in practice, dropped briefly into a plomb before breaking his form to give Alec his full attention. As strange as it seemed, it was likely from Alec's sudden arrival and waiver in voice that something really had happened that required his intervention.
Alec smiled, first briefly in relief and then unpleasantly as Richard's eyes fixed on his, and he drew himself up. "I won't ask that you bow."
Richard felt himself relax physically, because granted, while Alec was making no sense, the alarm he had arrived with seemed to bedissipating and there was no blood on him, no one charging up the stairs after him (oh, had that been been unpleasant) and surely whatever difficulty his friend was about to bring to the day was, in fact, manageable.
"What are you talking about?" he asked with a lightness he did not entirely feel as he finally set aside the sword he had briefly forgotten was resting in his off hand.
"Grandmother's died. Apparently, she made me her heir."
Richard felt his arms and shoulders tense and was glad he'd put the weapon down. He looked at their places in the room, this strangeconversation held at distance and with open door, Alec's breathing shifting between panic and spite, and he thought, numbly, that it would be good if he could bring himself to pick up the blade again and return to practice as if none of this were of consequence. After all, it might not be. Alec had certainly decided to make them rehearse for unlikely disaster before.
He turned from him, deciding he could busy himself with putting the weapon away if nothing else. "I suppose you'll need a new suit for the funeral, then."
"I'm due at the tailor's in an hour," Alec said, his voice taking on a tinge of shame as he bowed his head to the stupidity of it all. Not that Richard noticed, fussing as he was over the blade.
"You should have left already then," Richard said quietly, knowing it was both a long walk and that Alec had never been inclined to take the direct path anywhere at all.
"I don't want to go!" Alec replied, anguished, and Richard turned to lean against the foot-board of their bed. He crossed one ankle over the other, and peered at Alec who still hadn't moved from the open door.
"I can't fix this for you," Richard said quietly. "She's already dead."
"And you don't do women," Alec added with laughter that was weak and more than slightly hysterical.
"Close the door," Richard said softly, although his voice had the same focus as his blade and was, as ever, clear enough to shake Alec from his strange paralysis.
The door closed, Alec took a few steps into their front room and then stood there unmoored.
Richard sighed and resisted the urge to scrub a hand over his face. "When will you go up?" he asked, meaning neither the tailor nor the funeral, but all that must necessarily come after.
Alec looked shocked. "I won't."
"Alec," Richard said and then found he couldn't finish the sentence, already weary of the thing.
"What?" Alec looked hopeful, and Richard found that it hurt.
"You'll be late for the tailor."
"You can't want me to --"
"No, I can't. But...." Richard trailed off, shrugged. "You're always late for everything anyway."
"You could --"
"No," Richard cut him off, "I couldn't."
"Will you -- ?"
"Will I what?"
"Be here when I get back?" Alec asked, drifting towards Richard finally.
"When is that going to be, Alec?"
"Tonight, I'll --"
Richard shook his head. "There'll be dinners, won't there? Things to distract?"
"Come with me." He was in the doorway of their bedroom now.
"Alec."
"Please. You could protect me. I'll be late, and that tailor will surely try to stab me with his scissors, and all the servants always hated me and...." He realized how ridiculous he sounded.
"I don't like the Hill, Alec. What would I do, sleep amongst the servants until you called for me? Dine at the children's table?"
Alec looked shocked, then angry and for a moment Richard wondered if the other man were about to slap him.
"Come with me," Alec said again, tender and desperate and maybe even clearheaded, certainly very much not like how Alec usually was or at least so the swordsman told himself.
"I can't," Richard said again, making the words too long in hopes they would be too clear.
For a moment, Alec hovered above him, a hand poised to cup his face, thumb and forefinger shaped to rest against his jaw. But Alec sank before him instead, and Richard had to bend over and then kneel down to find those lips, himself moved that all this would end in need on their dusty floor, a distraction from an errand that would last too long, comfort and familiarity in the lie that none of this could possibly be more complicated than that.
Alec's skin felt cold under his lips as he pulled the man's clothes off, as if the scholar and not the duchess had died, but Alec mewled and stretched and sighed, quickly dispelling that dark thought as he murmured Richard's name, little pleas, a muffled grunt of pain as he crashed his toes against the bed as he moved to hook a leg around his friend who was still half battling with his own clothes. And even in this, Richard found he could laugh in delight and could shush Alec in a way they both knew merely meant, "More." It was like the beginning of things, wondrous and strange, although Alec no longer had that hint of the child about him, and, if Richard had let himself acknowledge it, neither did he. He ran his nails down along he side of Alec's spine, bit at his jaw and smiled, but not so Alec could see.
After, Alec lay face down on the their floor, panting and slightly laughing, his hands folded under his head, which was turned to the side so he could look at Richard who was sitting up, leaning back against the bed, breathing already evened out, and eyes moving back and forth, as if practicing a fight merely in his mind. Alec wanted to look at him like this forever, but Richard noticed the gaze.
"You'll need a bath now."
Alec shook his head lazily and stretched, fingers and toes curling in sore delight. "What you don't seem to understand, Richard, is that I'm going to bring you with me one way or another."
Richard pulled his knees up and folded his arms around them then, realizing only after he had done so how young the gesture made him feel. He thought of all the conditions he could so easily insist on and that Alec would undoubtedly fail at: I am not your sword, I am not your lover, I am merely Richard, and you must never say my name to any of them as if a question, allow them to speak to me of the sword, or pretend I know letters without you. But he merely nodded instead, as he ran the pads of his fingers over the wooden tiles for which he now found himself in the throes of an irrational fondness.
Author:
rmSummary: Alec becomes the Duke; this is a problem.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Swordspoint
Warnings: splinters
Remixed From: Displays by
wordsofastory, http://wordsofastory.livejournal.com/242942.htmlDisclaimer: Swordspoint and the lot of it, belongs, of course, to Ellen Kushner.
"Something's transpired," Alec said, standing in the doorway to their rooms, pale and breathless.
Richard was immediately concerned and, as was still his habit in practice, dropped briefly into a plomb before breaking his form to give Alec his full attention. As strange as it seemed, it was likely from Alec's sudden arrival and waiver in voice that something really had happened that required his intervention.
Alec smiled, first briefly in relief and then unpleasantly as Richard's eyes fixed on his, and he drew himself up. "I won't ask that you bow."
Richard felt himself relax physically, because granted, while Alec was making no sense, the alarm he had arrived with seemed to bedissipating and there was no blood on him, no one charging up the stairs after him (oh, had that been been unpleasant) and surely whatever difficulty his friend was about to bring to the day was, in fact, manageable.
"What are you talking about?" he asked with a lightness he did not entirely feel as he finally set aside the sword he had briefly forgotten was resting in his off hand.
"Grandmother's died. Apparently, she made me her heir."
Richard felt his arms and shoulders tense and was glad he'd put the weapon down. He looked at their places in the room, this strangeconversation held at distance and with open door, Alec's breathing shifting between panic and spite, and he thought, numbly, that it would be good if he could bring himself to pick up the blade again and return to practice as if none of this were of consequence. After all, it might not be. Alec had certainly decided to make them rehearse for unlikely disaster before.
He turned from him, deciding he could busy himself with putting the weapon away if nothing else. "I suppose you'll need a new suit for the funeral, then."
"I'm due at the tailor's in an hour," Alec said, his voice taking on a tinge of shame as he bowed his head to the stupidity of it all. Not that Richard noticed, fussing as he was over the blade.
"You should have left already then," Richard said quietly, knowing it was both a long walk and that Alec had never been inclined to take the direct path anywhere at all.
"I don't want to go!" Alec replied, anguished, and Richard turned to lean against the foot-board of their bed. He crossed one ankle over the other, and peered at Alec who still hadn't moved from the open door.
"I can't fix this for you," Richard said quietly. "She's already dead."
"And you don't do women," Alec added with laughter that was weak and more than slightly hysterical.
"Close the door," Richard said softly, although his voice had the same focus as his blade and was, as ever, clear enough to shake Alec from his strange paralysis.
The door closed, Alec took a few steps into their front room and then stood there unmoored.
Richard sighed and resisted the urge to scrub a hand over his face. "When will you go up?" he asked, meaning neither the tailor nor the funeral, but all that must necessarily come after.
Alec looked shocked. "I won't."
"Alec," Richard said and then found he couldn't finish the sentence, already weary of the thing.
"What?" Alec looked hopeful, and Richard found that it hurt.
"You'll be late for the tailor."
"You can't want me to --"
"No, I can't. But...." Richard trailed off, shrugged. "You're always late for everything anyway."
"You could --"
"No," Richard cut him off, "I couldn't."
"Will you -- ?"
"Will I what?"
"Be here when I get back?" Alec asked, drifting towards Richard finally.
"When is that going to be, Alec?"
"Tonight, I'll --"
Richard shook his head. "There'll be dinners, won't there? Things to distract?"
"Come with me." He was in the doorway of their bedroom now.
"Alec."
"Please. You could protect me. I'll be late, and that tailor will surely try to stab me with his scissors, and all the servants always hated me and...." He realized how ridiculous he sounded.
"I don't like the Hill, Alec. What would I do, sleep amongst the servants until you called for me? Dine at the children's table?"
Alec looked shocked, then angry and for a moment Richard wondered if the other man were about to slap him.
"Come with me," Alec said again, tender and desperate and maybe even clearheaded, certainly very much not like how Alec usually was or at least so the swordsman told himself.
"I can't," Richard said again, making the words too long in hopes they would be too clear.
For a moment, Alec hovered above him, a hand poised to cup his face, thumb and forefinger shaped to rest against his jaw. But Alec sank before him instead, and Richard had to bend over and then kneel down to find those lips, himself moved that all this would end in need on their dusty floor, a distraction from an errand that would last too long, comfort and familiarity in the lie that none of this could possibly be more complicated than that.
Alec's skin felt cold under his lips as he pulled the man's clothes off, as if the scholar and not the duchess had died, but Alec mewled and stretched and sighed, quickly dispelling that dark thought as he murmured Richard's name, little pleas, a muffled grunt of pain as he crashed his toes against the bed as he moved to hook a leg around his friend who was still half battling with his own clothes. And even in this, Richard found he could laugh in delight and could shush Alec in a way they both knew merely meant, "More." It was like the beginning of things, wondrous and strange, although Alec no longer had that hint of the child about him, and, if Richard had let himself acknowledge it, neither did he. He ran his nails down along he side of Alec's spine, bit at his jaw and smiled, but not so Alec could see.
After, Alec lay face down on the their floor, panting and slightly laughing, his hands folded under his head, which was turned to the side so he could look at Richard who was sitting up, leaning back against the bed, breathing already evened out, and eyes moving back and forth, as if practicing a fight merely in his mind. Alec wanted to look at him like this forever, but Richard noticed the gaze.
"You'll need a bath now."
Alec shook his head lazily and stretched, fingers and toes curling in sore delight. "What you don't seem to understand, Richard, is that I'm going to bring you with me one way or another."
Richard pulled his knees up and folded his arms around them then, realizing only after he had done so how young the gesture made him feel. He thought of all the conditions he could so easily insist on and that Alec would undoubtedly fail at: I am not your sword, I am not your lover, I am merely Richard, and you must never say my name to any of them as if a question, allow them to speak to me of the sword, or pretend I know letters without you. But he merely nodded instead, as he ran the pads of his fingers over the wooden tiles for which he now found himself in the throes of an irrational fondness.
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I like the incomplete questions and answers, that some make sense and some do not, and that they're both very-- shocked by events, and therefore incapable of otherwise simple things like shutting the door. I also find myself paying extra attention to how you have Richard treating his sword-- and for him to forget it entirely, that made his shock very much more palpable.