Happy birthday ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foreverdirt!
Oct. 4th, 2006 12:48 pmanotherusedpageI have birthday fic for you.
Warnings for hotboyskissing, implied sex and implied violence.
William the Bloody remembers the first time he met Captain Jack Harkness.
It was early in the twentieth century, and he was hanging out in Russia because a revolution on that scale was the place to be seen, and because Drusilla had been dreaming about the way moonlight glinted so beautifully on the blade of a guillotine. He’d gotten tired of rampaging his way through the cream of society – they feared and expected death, and that made it less fun. Inventive methods of maiming and torture were wasted on people who’d spent the last several months imagining for themselves worse fates at the hands of the mob than anything Spike could have managed with only Drusilla for company.
He’d turned his attention to the revolutionary elements, hoping for some sport. Drusilla sulked, preferring by far the silken dresses and delicate screams of the aristocracy. But Spike had been ready for good old fashioned terror, and blood, and the smell of idealism gone stale.
Jack had been wearing some sort of military uniform, a red sash, and an earnest expression when Spike had cornered him down a barricaded alley. He’d raised and eyebrow in surprise when Spike stepped out of the shadows.
‘You look familiar,’ he’d said, and then as Spike’s face had twisted demonically, ‘Ah, yes. We’re killing vampires here, y’know.’
Spike had been momentarily put out. Jack had grinned at him, a wide, bright grin that had unnerved him even further.
‘Those that play on the weak. Those that drain the lifeblood of society,’ Jack had clarified, helpfully. Spike snorted.
‘Revolutionaries always fail,’ he’d muttered, despite himself.
‘Ah, but I’m not a revolutionary,’ Jack had said. ‘I’m a conman.’ And suddenly there was some sort of gun in his hand, not a rifle, not anything that Spike had ever seen before, and somehow his arms were pinned at his sides, and he felt his game-face slipping, against his will.
‘I’m captain Jack Harkness,’ the man said. ‘And you’re lucky I have a very good reason for not killing you.’
‘Oh yes and what would that be then?’ Spike tried to say, but before he’d got to the end of the sentence, Jack was kissing him.
*
‘Where have you been, love?’ Drusilla asked. Spike shook his head.
‘Not now, Dru,’ he muttered, shrugging off the remains of his shirt and flexing bruised muscles gingerly.
‘Spike’s had a revolution all of his own,’ Drusilla murmured, hugging herself. ‘Under his skin.’
‘I said not now,’ Spike growled, raising a hand as if to hit her. She whimpered, and he pulled back, touching her cheek a little uncertainly.
‘I’ve had enough of revolutions, Dru,’ he said. ‘Let’s go somewhere civilised.’
***
Captain Jack Harkness remembers the first time he met William the Bloody.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ the vampire said, miserably.
‘Hi, I’m Captain Jack Har… have we met?’
‘Once. A very long time ago.’ Spike looked away.
‘Hey, are you all right?’ Jack asked. Vampire or not, Spike looked like he needed cheering up, and he had a few hours to kill.
‘I’ve got a soul,’ Spike said. ‘It’s new.’ He voice cracked. ‘It hurts,’ he said, so quietly that Jack could hardly hear him.
‘Yeah, they do that,’ Jack muttered. ‘Uh, remind me where we met. Did we, y’know…?’
‘Yeah, I seem to remember we y’knowed quite spectacularly,’ Spike said, but he didn’t look too cheerful about it. ‘Also, you shot me. With that.’
‘This? This I only got about three weeks ago. Nicked it off some underground military organisation.’
Spike looked vaguely shocked. Jack frowned, wondering how much morality he’d picked up along with the soul.
‘They shouldn’t have had it either,’ he said. ‘It’s at least 29th century technology.’
‘No, I just… Does having a soul always make you go insane? I thought it might just be Angel,’ Spike said distractedly, and then his eyes focussed again. ‘You shot me with that gun in about 1917. I probably deserved it. Unless I didn’t and you didn’t and I’m losing my mind.’
‘Ah. We’re going to meet again, then,’ Jack said.
‘No. We already met,’ Spike explained slowly, with a roll of his eyes. ‘In the past.’
‘The past is where I’m going next,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve got some revolutionary friends want to kill some vampires. Thought they might pay through the teeth for some proper ammunition.’
‘Oh,’ Spike said. ‘Time travel. Right, yeah. Of course.’ He looked away. ‘It must be nice, being able to go back and fix things.’
‘Doesn’t work like that,’ Jack said. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure what I’d be supposed to be fixing.’
‘I’ve got to make it up to the Slayer,’ Spike said. ‘That’s what I’ve got to do. Got to, I dunno, save the world or something. Maybe die. That might make things all right.’
Jack frowned, a dim memory suddenly dawning of an early twenty-first century Californian apocalypse he’d heard of once, and the unexpected people who’d saved the world, the way unexpected people sometimes do. He smiled.
‘You never know your luck,’ he said. Spike looked up at him.
‘Stay with me tonight,’ he said. 'We can... y'know.'
‘Alright, so sometimes you do know your luck,’ Jack said. ‘Got somewhere to go?’
‘Got a crypt. It’s small, and smells of death,’ Spike said.
‘Ah. Well, in that case let’s go back to my time machine,’ Jack said.
***
Jack remembers the last time he ever saw Spike.
‘I’m going to save the world?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m going to kill all those people?’
‘Yes.’
‘You really think my poetry’s that bad?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re going to do what exactly to me when we’ve finished this conversation?’
Jack grinned, and explained. With hand-gestures.
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ the young, floppy-haired poet asked, afterwards.
‘Because you won’t remember,’ Jack said.
And Spike never does.
***
AN: Not quite the fic I intended for you Katydarling, because the mental image that I thought would make you squee was Jack and Spike prancing around during the French revolution, and wearing silly hats, and humming do you hear the people sing - and then I realised that Spike had missed the French revolution by a hundred years or so. But I thought I'd give you the fic that happened in that one's place, and the mental image of Jack in a red-white-and-blue sash and a hat-with-a-feather-in-it. Loveyou.
Warnings for hotboyskissing, implied sex and implied violence.
William the Bloody remembers the first time he met Captain Jack Harkness.
It was early in the twentieth century, and he was hanging out in Russia because a revolution on that scale was the place to be seen, and because Drusilla had been dreaming about the way moonlight glinted so beautifully on the blade of a guillotine. He’d gotten tired of rampaging his way through the cream of society – they feared and expected death, and that made it less fun. Inventive methods of maiming and torture were wasted on people who’d spent the last several months imagining for themselves worse fates at the hands of the mob than anything Spike could have managed with only Drusilla for company.
He’d turned his attention to the revolutionary elements, hoping for some sport. Drusilla sulked, preferring by far the silken dresses and delicate screams of the aristocracy. But Spike had been ready for good old fashioned terror, and blood, and the smell of idealism gone stale.
Jack had been wearing some sort of military uniform, a red sash, and an earnest expression when Spike had cornered him down a barricaded alley. He’d raised and eyebrow in surprise when Spike stepped out of the shadows.
‘You look familiar,’ he’d said, and then as Spike’s face had twisted demonically, ‘Ah, yes. We’re killing vampires here, y’know.’
Spike had been momentarily put out. Jack had grinned at him, a wide, bright grin that had unnerved him even further.
‘Those that play on the weak. Those that drain the lifeblood of society,’ Jack had clarified, helpfully. Spike snorted.
‘Revolutionaries always fail,’ he’d muttered, despite himself.
‘Ah, but I’m not a revolutionary,’ Jack had said. ‘I’m a conman.’ And suddenly there was some sort of gun in his hand, not a rifle, not anything that Spike had ever seen before, and somehow his arms were pinned at his sides, and he felt his game-face slipping, against his will.
‘I’m captain Jack Harkness,’ the man said. ‘And you’re lucky I have a very good reason for not killing you.’
‘Oh yes and what would that be then?’ Spike tried to say, but before he’d got to the end of the sentence, Jack was kissing him.
*
‘Where have you been, love?’ Drusilla asked. Spike shook his head.
‘Not now, Dru,’ he muttered, shrugging off the remains of his shirt and flexing bruised muscles gingerly.
‘Spike’s had a revolution all of his own,’ Drusilla murmured, hugging herself. ‘Under his skin.’
‘I said not now,’ Spike growled, raising a hand as if to hit her. She whimpered, and he pulled back, touching her cheek a little uncertainly.
‘I’ve had enough of revolutions, Dru,’ he said. ‘Let’s go somewhere civilised.’
***
Captain Jack Harkness remembers the first time he met William the Bloody.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ the vampire said, miserably.
‘Hi, I’m Captain Jack Har… have we met?’
‘Once. A very long time ago.’ Spike looked away.
‘Hey, are you all right?’ Jack asked. Vampire or not, Spike looked like he needed cheering up, and he had a few hours to kill.
‘I’ve got a soul,’ Spike said. ‘It’s new.’ He voice cracked. ‘It hurts,’ he said, so quietly that Jack could hardly hear him.
‘Yeah, they do that,’ Jack muttered. ‘Uh, remind me where we met. Did we, y’know…?’
‘Yeah, I seem to remember we y’knowed quite spectacularly,’ Spike said, but he didn’t look too cheerful about it. ‘Also, you shot me. With that.’
‘This? This I only got about three weeks ago. Nicked it off some underground military organisation.’
Spike looked vaguely shocked. Jack frowned, wondering how much morality he’d picked up along with the soul.
‘They shouldn’t have had it either,’ he said. ‘It’s at least 29th century technology.’
‘No, I just… Does having a soul always make you go insane? I thought it might just be Angel,’ Spike said distractedly, and then his eyes focussed again. ‘You shot me with that gun in about 1917. I probably deserved it. Unless I didn’t and you didn’t and I’m losing my mind.’
‘Ah. We’re going to meet again, then,’ Jack said.
‘No. We already met,’ Spike explained slowly, with a roll of his eyes. ‘In the past.’
‘The past is where I’m going next,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve got some revolutionary friends want to kill some vampires. Thought they might pay through the teeth for some proper ammunition.’
‘Oh,’ Spike said. ‘Time travel. Right, yeah. Of course.’ He looked away. ‘It must be nice, being able to go back and fix things.’
‘Doesn’t work like that,’ Jack said. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure what I’d be supposed to be fixing.’
‘I’ve got to make it up to the Slayer,’ Spike said. ‘That’s what I’ve got to do. Got to, I dunno, save the world or something. Maybe die. That might make things all right.’
Jack frowned, a dim memory suddenly dawning of an early twenty-first century Californian apocalypse he’d heard of once, and the unexpected people who’d saved the world, the way unexpected people sometimes do. He smiled.
‘You never know your luck,’ he said. Spike looked up at him.
‘Stay with me tonight,’ he said. 'We can... y'know.'
‘Alright, so sometimes you do know your luck,’ Jack said. ‘Got somewhere to go?’
‘Got a crypt. It’s small, and smells of death,’ Spike said.
‘Ah. Well, in that case let’s go back to my time machine,’ Jack said.
***
Jack remembers the last time he ever saw Spike.
‘I’m going to save the world?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m going to kill all those people?’
‘Yes.’
‘You really think my poetry’s that bad?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re going to do what exactly to me when we’ve finished this conversation?’
Jack grinned, and explained. With hand-gestures.
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ the young, floppy-haired poet asked, afterwards.
‘Because you won’t remember,’ Jack said.
And Spike never does.
***
AN: Not quite the fic I intended for you Katydarling, because the mental image that I thought would make you squee was Jack and Spike prancing around during the French revolution, and wearing silly hats, and humming do you hear the people sing - and then I realised that Spike had missed the French revolution by a hundred years or so. But I thought I'd give you the fic that happened in that one's place, and the mental image of Jack in a red-white-and-blue sash and a hat-with-a-feather-in-it. Loveyou.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 12:45 pm (UTC)MmmmJack/Spike. There's one I'd never thought of until now.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 04:01 pm (UTC)Yours is great too though I thought you were Jessie.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 04:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 04:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 05:32 pm (UTC)Can I worship you? Please???
no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 01:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-05 08:18 pm (UTC)(I once came accross a rather fabulous Jack / the West Ham first team. This thought made me considerably happier than it will probably make you, but I thought I'd share anyway...)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-05 08:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-05 09:25 am (UTC)(Dude. This is perfect. Perfect perfection. Perfect perfection of joy. Thank you.)
*squees v'ry, v'ry quietly, as am in college computer room*
no subject
Date: 2006-10-05 04:58 pm (UTC)Loveyou.
Katybar, what kind of a cake are we going to make on Saturday? Because if you have't had any ideas for anything specific, I think I might have had an idea...
no subject
Date: 2006-10-05 05:10 pm (UTC)Ooh, an idea? I haven't thought terribly specific, so anything you can suggest would bring me joy.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-05 06:40 pm (UTC)I thought we could do a gothic-ball-dress style one. I have a half-barbie or two I could donate. *grin*
(I will have an
no subject
Date: 2006-10-06 07:34 pm (UTC)(Yay! I look forward to seeing you both.)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-07 12:55 am (UTC)(Will be at yours midafternoon, unless traffic is shit. God you live in college. Will give you a ring from the plodge.)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-06 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-07 12:46 am (UTC)(Sometimes, I still can't get over my squee that when I was sixteen, ff.net existed and had the world's coolest people on it, and that then it turned out that they existed in the real world too...)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-07 10:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-16 09:51 am (UTC)...but on the plus point, I thought about breasts. *Shrug*