Kidnapped verse fairytale
Jan. 27th, 2007 10:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrSleeping Beauties
50 Terms Ago
Planet 0000000 (Zero), The Palace of Eternity
“High Chancellor.”
“Ah, Messersmith. You are looking as fit as ever.” The High Chancellor smiled to show the words were a jest, but it provoked no return smile. Sighing, the High Chancellor motioned toward what looked like a high tech coffin.
Metal and glass, small panels that indicated circuitry was at work somewhere. Messersmith stared at the figure behind the glass and metal coffin that was actually a life support tank. A model at least a century old. The thing should be old, broken, not even fit for a museum. Instead it was beat up, worn, but in remarkably good condition.
Behind the glass was a man who could not be more than twenty-something. He was…stunning was the only word Messersmith could think of. Exotic, maybe. Like…a doll or something. It was as though someone had brought a fantasy to life. Why he latched onto that idea, he didn’t know, but it fit.
The man had skin paled by all the time locked away in his glass coffin…though on that note it wasn’t nearly as pale as Messersmith would have expected. It had a creamy tone, as though it would turn golden should he spend time in the sun. His hair was a deep, rich turquoise, straight and cut short, the feathery ends dusting against his skin, making that pale skin look soft and delicate.
What color were his eyes? Messersmith was surprised that he wondered, and more surprised by how badly he wanted to know.
His features were finely cut, sharp and handsome. What little the glass revealed between the metal showed a slender, bony form – not an ounce of fat anywhere on the man. Pale pink lips seemed to wait patiently to be given warmth and color, and Messersmith wondered at himself for letting his thoughts take such a direction merely from looking at the sleeping man.
More and more he was reminded of the porcelain dolls his mother had once made; ever so carefully carving the face, hands, and feet. Painting the finishing touches, then so tenderly putting on the handmade clothes. This man was exactly like that…except the spacesuit he wore did not suit him at all. It clung in ugly fashion to the bony frame, making him look as though he were starving instead of merely skinny. Messersmith wanted to tear it away and put the man in soft, lightly-clinging clothes that would display him well.
He shook his head and snorted softly. “Who is he?”
“’What’ would be the better question, actually,” the High Chancellor replied. “It’s taken us nearly a term of digging to figure out what the hell was retrieved just beyond the boundary of quad two. I didn’t think we still had some of the records I’ve found in the past term.” He shook his head in bemusement. “This thing was believed dead. Killed like all the rest.”
Messersmith repressed a sigh, long used to the High Chancellor’s tendency to leave out gaps in his explanations. “All the rest of what, my lord?”
The High Chancellor looked at him as though he were mad. “Didn’t you see the tattoo on his neck? What do I pay you for if you’re missing such obvious things?”
Rolling his eyes, because he could tell now that the High Chancellor had been hoping he would miss it, Messersmith looked again at the sleeping man. High on the right side of his neck, Messersmith’s left, was a small tattoo in black ink. A beautiful, calligraphic letter ‘A’. In old earth.
Messersmith drew a sharp breath. “Impossible. They were all destroyed.”
“So we thought,” the High Chancellor said. “The story gets more interesting.” He held out a small data pad. “All the information is here. It is for your eyes only and you should destroy that when all the information is firmly lodged in that head of yours.”
“Have you tried to wake him?”
The High Chancellor nodded. “We’ve tried everything. He will not wake…I think there must be some clause to his waking that we’ve not been able to fulfill.
Messersmith nodded. Back in days long forgotten, they had all come with activation clauses…though that usually applied to activating them each morning to tend their duties. Nothing like this. “He must be special, to have escaped…”
“Quite. We were able to discover him through description alone. Only one with his coloring and structure was on file…there could of course be files long lost and we’re completely wrong, but I think not. As I said, all you need or want to know is in that file. I have things to do, now. Take him off to your precious ship, my dear Captain. Keep me posted, and do inform me when you manage to wake him up.”
“What makes you think I can wake him?” Messersmith asked with a frown, not liking the knowing look on the High Chancellor’s face.
The High Chancellor laughed softly and clapped him on the shoulder. “My dear Wilbur, I have just given you the only other creature that has lived as long as you. Of course you will find a way to wake him. Good luck, and I look forward to hearing of your success.”
“Meddling old bastard,” Messersmith muttered once he was gone, but there was no heat in the words. He touched his fingers to the glass over the sleeping man’s face. He’d expected it to be cold to the touch, but the glass was almost hot beneath his fingertips. “Would you even want to wake, sleeping beauty? Certainly I feel no love for the princes who broke my slumber…” Sighing softly, he dropped his hand and went to arrange transport.
Present Day
Research class star ship #93524853, the Sweet Dream
The machinery hummed and chimed in a pattern Wilbur knew by heart. If anything ever went wrong with the ship, he would know simply by the alteration of its sounds. One hundred and fifty terms he’d been Captain of this ship, he knew it as well as he knew himself, adjusting to every change, alteration, and improvement as naturally as breathing.
He walked steadily down the walkway, pausing periodically to read update screens, and punch in necessary codes. It wasn’t truly necessary, he would know well before the security systems if something was wrong, but it was routine.
When he came to the end of the walkway, he nodded to the figure carefully cleaning and putting away a set of tools. “Good morning, Omicron.”
The gremlin gave no indication he’d heard, more interested in carefully stowing a laser saw and closing the lid on what Wilbur knew to be a thoroughly booby-trapped toolbox. Finally he looked up. “If that’s what it is,” he grumbled lightly, then answered Wilbur’s next question before it could be asked. “General maintenance on the wiring. Put in a reorder for E34LZ98 wires – blue, red, green, and violet.”
“I was just about to finish composing the supply list; I’ll add the wires on to it. Anything else?”
Omicron shook his head. His tail lashed fitfully, and combined with the wrinkled state of his many-pocketed engineering pants and dark t-shirt, it was obvious the gremlin had been pushing himself to finish his maintenance run.
Wilbur dismissed him with a motion. “Go. Eat. Sleep. Those are Captain’s Orders.”
Grunting a reply, Omicron hefted his toolbox and ducked out the room, taking paths and routes that only a gremlin would dare attempt.
Shaking his head, as amused by gremlins now as he’d been the very first time he’d met one, Wilbur turned neatly on his heel and retraced his steps down the walkway.
He made his way through the large research-class vessel to the bridge, sliding into the Captain’s seat and keying up his data screens. Panels of shifting light came to life in front of him and Wilbur steadily worked his way through the morning reports, making notes here and there, shaking his head or rolling his eyes occasionally. Eventually he closed down all but one screen. The fingers of his right hand moved easily over the keys of his console as he punched in the long string of code that activated the Sweet Dream’s light-jump capabilities. Once every half hour the ship randomly changed locations. Half the new coordinates were sent to the High Chancellor, the second half to the Grand Chancellor.
The ship could manage all of that on its own; however, once every twenty four hours Wilbur had to input the safety code. Should he ever fail to do so, the ship would make one last random jump and then lock down.
Deactivating the final screen, Wilbur stood up and stretched with a groan. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, making a face as it fell in his eyes. It needed a good trim…but Toby would pout. Rolling his eyes at himself, Wilbur made a futile effort to rake back the messy, wavy black strands and gave up with a sigh.
He wandered over to the wide stretch of windows that lined the front of the bridge. As the ship was fully automated – an expensive and extremely finicky system that was seldom worth the headache on standard ships – there was no need for a regulation bridge. There was all that he, Toby, and Omicron might require but little else. Most of the bridge was in fact given over to lounge space with a view of the stars, used when the rare dignitaries visited alongside the Grand and High Chancellors.
Where would Toby be this morning? If there was one thing upon his ship he didn’t immediately know, it was the location of his lover and second when the man was not in his presence. Toby loved wandering the ship; it was hard to tell sometimes he knew the entirety of it by heart.
This early…and after last night…Wilbur smiled and strode from the bridge.
50 Terms ago
Research class star ship #93524853, the Sweet Dream
He’d finally settled on putting the sleeping man in his room. The hardest part had been getting him out of the blasted life support capsule. A delicate process, to say the least. It was roughly fifty terms old, and not an emergency system. This one had been premeditated, and intended to keep the one inside alive indefinitely. Tracking back through the launch commands, whoever had packaged this doll up had taken care to make certain he’d be safe for as long as possible, launching him where nothing in space would bother him for a very long time.
The capsule was well built, having lasted so long with only a few dings and scratches and its occupant alive and whole – minus the not waking up part.
Sighing softly, wondering why he found it so hard to look away, Wilbur finally gave in to temptation and crossed the cabin to sit on the edge of the bed, tracing his fingers gently along the line of one fine cheekbone. The porcelain-fine skin was as soft as it looked, surprisingly warm. Before he could catch himself, he ran his thumb across the man’s bottom lip, wishing he could take a taste.
Wilbur snorted. He knew exactly why he was so taken – the man’s…no, he wasn’t really a man. He needed to remember that. The High Chancellor and the file he’d handed over had made that quite clear, even if the tattoo wasn’t enough of a giveaway.
Android 2B. One of the very first truly successful android models. Now the only. Wilbur brushed at the wispy strands of turquoise hair, then finally forced his hand to stop. He had no right to touch 2B so, even if most of his peers of that long lost time and place had thought otherwise.
With a rough sound, Wilbur stood and forced his mind to the duties that had gone neglected in his absence. He detested leaving the ship for any reason. It was his palace, covered in thorns, the world ignorant of its existence. Except this cursed prince wanted never to be discovered.
He glanced again at the sleeping android, fingers twitching with the urge to touch that so soft skin again.
2B slept, oblivious to all the changes that had taken place while he slept. Did androids dream? In theory, they could. Human in every way except the parts that made them up. The finest nanotechnology ever created…knowledge forever lost, after the Last War that had destroyed the planet now known only as Rehab, planetary number 5112808.
When he’d lived there, it had still been called Earth. No one alive now even remembered that name.
Sighing at himself, Wilbur turned off the lights and left 2B to sleep, the chiming of the machinery to which he was attached the only indication the android was alive.
Outside, he leaned against the closed door and closed his eyes. The High Chancellor expected him to wake 2B. Every bit of Wilbur ached to find a way to do that…but he couldn’t. Better to let sleeping beauty stay amongst his dreams.
In the story, so long forgotten by people now, the waking princess was happy to see the prince who had broken her curse.
Love at first sight.
Nothing but a pretty fairytale.
Present Day
Research class star ship #93524853, the Sweet Dream
A chiming stopped him as he reached the door. Wilbur frowned and turned around, returned to his seat, and punched in the acceptance code.
The pale, stern, and handsome features of High Chancellor Kavalerov filled his screen. “Greetings, Captain Messersmith.”
“High Chancellor.”
Kavalerov smiled. “How is everything?”
“As calm and quiet as ever,” Wilbur replied, knowing full well that Kavalerov knew the answer already. Still, the High Chancellor was always polite unless he had reason to be otherwise. To him, anyway. The colorful reports he archived for the IA never failed to amuse him on the colorful addendums about the High Chancellor. “Is there something I can do for you, my lord?”
Chuckling at Wilbur’s persistence in formality, Kavalerov nodded. “I am requesting some reports from you. Sending the request now. It’s an extensive list, and I’ve sent the necessary security protocols for access to the last fourteen.”
Wilbur raised his brows. “Last fourteen. You’re requesting fourteen level ten files?”
“In addition to fifty-six others,” Kavalerov said grimly. “I am investigating a potential traitor in the ranks of the IA. One who might have been doing this for quite some time.”
“I see,” Wilbur said, his mood turning as grim as Kavalerov’s. He made a face. “I will see you get the files as quickly as I can manage.”
“Thank you. Extend my greetings to Toby and Omicron.”
Wilbur nodded and stood. “I will do that. Minus this great problem, I hope your day is well.”
Kavalerov returned the nod. “The same to you. Farewell for now, Captain.” The screen went dark.
So much for returning to his warm, inviting bed and the man who made it so. Ah, well. The occasional demand from the High Chancellor was a small price to pay for the place he’d been given here…it was an unfair price, really. The IG was perfectly within its rights to demand more of him.
Wilbur briskly made his way to the ship elevator and punched in the long, complicated codes that took him down to the archives.
The Sweet Dream had only one purpose – to archive every bit of data even remotely vital or important to the IG. The enormous collection of data could only be accessed on the Sweet Dream, and only by him and Toby. Not even Omicron could access the data – well, he probably could, at that, but the engineers generally were not given the clearance. Not that Omicron had any interest in the data.
His in-lens flashed as he accessed his main computer and the requests Kavalerov had sent. At the door to the archives, on the third of the five-level ship, he again punched in a complicated access code. In addition to that, systems checked his DNA for the various chemkeys that were placed in his system every forty eight hours.
Finally the doors chimed open, and Wilbur entered the archives. Lights activated at his movement, spilling over the buzzing, humming machinery filling the room. White, gray, and black, the room had a filtered smell from the carefully controlled air and temperature.
The room was cool, even through the long sleeves of his cotton shirt. Wilbur smiled briefly. Deep green, to match your eyes. Your very lovely eyes. From the pocket of his dark brown pants, Wilbur drew out the activation keys and turned on the archive mother computer, his in-lens flashing as he looked up which files Kavalerov was requesting. The first fifty-six he went through quickly, not needing anything more than the basic security protocols and those few Kavalerov had trusted him with.
When those were pulled up and sent to his master computer on the bridge, to be sent from there to Kavalerov, Wilbur turned his attention to the fourteen level ten files. These were highly classified IG problems – things that even most of the IG knew nothing about. Four were assassinations, six were extensive sabotage, two complicated espionage, and the final two dealt with planet destruction. Whoever the suspected traitor was…Wilbur didn’t want to think about it.
That done, he pulled his key from the mother computer and left the room. Behind him everything locked, the codes resetting. Wilbur returned to the bridge and quickly sent off the files to Kavalerov, along a route secure enough to give even a gremlin problems.
Mission accomplished, Wilbur checked the time and decided he still had a chance of finding his lover right where he wanted him to be.
50 Terms ago
Research class star ship #93524853, the Sweet Dream
Wilbur sat back with a groan and rubbed his aching shoulders wearily. Security coding files was always exhausting work, especially when he got hit with so many at once.
Most of the coding could be done by those IA staff cleared to do such things…but levels eight through ten could only be done by him. Or the Grand and High Chancellors, but they didn’t have the endless hours available to do such complicated work.
Groaning again, Wilbur took a sip of his tea, long past tepid, and resumed work. An hour later he finally finished coding the file he was working on and transferred it to the appropriate part of the archive. Six more to go. He needed a break and a fresh cup of tea.
That reminded him he still had to compose a supply list. Best to check with the engineer and see what he needed restocked. It was late, though, according to the Zero time on which the Sweet Dream ran. Swiftly he shut down the mother computer. Standing, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the ache, he strode to the door and started to make his way to the mess.
His feet, apparently, had other ideas. Instead of the mess, Wilbur found himself in his own cabin. Since acquiring 2B three months ago, he had slept in one of the spare rooms. It hadn’t seemed proper, somehow, to shunt the sleeping beauty off to a room that was stale from disuse. Why the Sweet Dream had so many spare cabins, he didn’t know, but he was glad of them.
Wilbur sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to stroke 2B’s hair and cheek, dusting over his pretty lips. Sleeping Beauty indeed. He sighed at himself.
In three months he had not found a single clue as to how to wake 2B. The file itself was long memorized and destroyed, rolling around his head but giving up not a single clue.
Created by the notorious woman who had started what eventually led to the Last War on Earth. It forced him to dredge up memories he’d thought long forgotten. She had killed herself, when her golden children and humans had turned on each other. They had found her dead of a chemical injection. Of her personal androids no sign was ever found. Not that there was anything or anyone left to really care by that point. Those who had lived had finally packed up and joined the inhabitants of Mars.
He’d found one of her lost personal androids…but Sleeping Beauty was going to stay that way. Even if Wilbur wanted to wake him, he could find no way to do so.
For the first time in more terms than he liked to count, Wilbur wished he remembered more of those long-gone days. But he’d only been the youngest son of a minor lord in a province of Europe Minor. He’d had nothing to do with the affairs of the larger world…not until they’d stormed his home on trumped up charges and relegated him to the greedy, clawing grasps of cold scientists and their cruel experiments.
Wilbur clenched his left hand into a tight fist. Why had he dredged these memories up?
He felt cold despite the warmth of the room. Except his left forearm, and the serial number burned forever into it. In this day and age he could remove them, all he had to do was ask the High Chancellor, but…it was part of him now. 5133P1N634U7Y.
No one alive would understand the serial number. Even in his day, only five scientists and twenty four fellow lab rats had understood it. Project Divinity.
Of the original twenty-five, only he had survived. In those last days, the problems concerning androids and AI in general had finally escalated into war. He remembered feeling sick, alone and afraid. Wishing he could go back to his family’s humble lands and simple life.
The final injection had put him to sleep for thirty six years. When he’d woken to the glare of harsh lighting and unfamiliar faces, he was on Mars, Earth was long destroyed and under consideration for a Rehab planet. Everyone he’d ever known was dead or far away.
No smiling prince. No true love to take him into happily ever after. Only more cold scientists eager to see the results of an experiment that had been underway for nearly a century. The only success.
He had nearly everything humanity had ever wanted – high intelligence, improved strength and senses, nearly impervious to all harm…immortality and eternal youth. Since the day he’d been given that last injection, Wilbur had not aged a day past his 29 years. His hair was still black and thick, eyes dark green, skin lightly tanned, with all the health and vigor he’d had before being put to sleep.
The shining star of Project Divine.
Several days after he’d woken, the cold scientists had brought in IG officials – one of them a High Chancellor. That High Chancellor had listened quietly to all that was explained to him, his eyes never leaving Wilbur’s face.
When the scientists had finished, the High Chancellor had ordered them placed under arrest on charges of cruelty to fellow man, along with a dozen or so lesser charges. Then he’d ordered everything pertaining to the project destroyed.
A long term later, Wilbur had at last boarded the Sweet Dream as its captain. He’d seldom left it since.
Closing his eyes, Wilbur endured the memories a moment more, then shunted them back into the dark where they belonged.
He glanced down at the Sleeping Beauty in his bed and reached out to once more stroke his cheek, let his finger play with the fine, jewel-toned hair. Sighing softly, he bent and pressed a whisper-soft kiss to pale pink lips. “Sleep, Beauty.” Sitting back up, Wilbur scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to convince his feet that they should really be heading for the mess now.
A soft groan shattered the silence of the room, and Wilbur rippled with surprise. He whipped back around and stared wide-eyed at the man stirring in his bed. “You…no…I didn’t…” he couldn’t form a sentence, and lost the ability even to think as he stared into the eyes that slowly opened.
Orange, vivid and bright and utterly breathtaking. So alive. The sound of his own gasping finally made Wilbur realize he really had stopped breathing. He could not break away from those stunning eyes. The lips that curved into a sweet smile.
“Good morning,” 2B said, his voice as clear and fresh as spring water on a hot summer day.
Wilbur blinked. “Good morning…I am sorry I woke you, 2B.”
The android cocked his head and slowly reached up to rest a hand on Wilbur’s cheek. “Why should you be sorry? I was meant to be woken. Mistress promised I would not sleep forever. She was sorry to put me to sleep and send me away.” Sadness flickered briefly across his face. “She told me what she intended for herself…but would not let me stay to see and tend her body…what is the year, my dear Waker?”
Bemused, Wilbur told him.
“That is less time than Mistress anticipated would pass,” the android replied musingly. “Tell me more, by your courtesy.”
Haltingly at first, but steadiness growing as he continued, Wilbur told him. That the android was awake, in his bed, and seemingly happy confused him utterly. The situation was surreal, but Wilbur had felt his life to be that for so long he did what he had always done – pushed on and went with it. Someday, everything would fall back into place.
The android nodded as he finished. “I am most grateful that I was kept rather than destroyed. Mistress regarded me as her child…she killed herself more so that they would never find me than anything else… I thank you for waking me, good sir. Might I be given the pleasure and honor of your name?”
“Wilbur Messersmith, at your service. Did your Mistress have a name for you other than 2B?”
2B smiled, mirth making his eyes sparkle. That he was machine was impossible to tell – that had always been the biggest problem humans had with androids. So much a problem it had destroyed a planet. “Mistress called me Toby.”
Wilbur blinked. A grin tugged at his lips, then finally spilled into laughter. “Toby. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
Toby grinned, the expression impish and charming on him.
“Might I ask, Toby, how it was that you woke?”
The impish grin widened. “You did this, did you not?” Toby leaned forward, hands landing on Wilbur’s shoulders, and he brushed Wilbur’s lips softly with his own.
Wilbur felt his cheeks heat. “I…I am sorry. I should not have…”
Toby laughed, and it was the sweetest sound Wilbur had heard in too long a time. “That was the only way to wake me. Mistress worked many years on the proper coding. She anticipated everything. The activation was one of her proudest achievements.”
“What, precisely, was it?” Wilbur asked. Toby’s hands were warm and tingling where they rest on his shoulders, even through the fabric of his shirt.
Another impish smile. “That I could be woken only by someone with whom I was completely compatible. As a final touch, she put the compatibility sensors here.” Toby tapped his lips.
Wilbur drew a sharp breath.
Toby kissed him softly again.
Present Day
Research class star ship #93524853, the Sweet Dream
Wilbur stepped into his cabin, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh, and immediately sat down to pull off his boots.
The bed was a tangle of sheets and blankets. At the center was a lump. The slightest pit of turquoise hair peeked out the top, and a bit of foot from the end. Smiling, Wilbur strode barefoot to the bed and let his fingers trail over the bit of foot peeking out. The blankets shuddered and the foot withdrew. Chuckling softly, Wilbur thrust his hand under the blankets and latched onto an ankle.
A faint squeak came from the nest of fabric, then the blankets shuddered again and were finally thrust aside. “Your hand is cold, Wil.”
Wilbur grinned and moved onto the bed, crawling the short distance to loom over his lover. “Then warm me up, beauty.”
Toby laughed, vivid orange eyes sparkling. He wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s neck and dragged him down for a deep, hungry kiss, legs rubbing along Wilbur’s, playing and teasing.
A long moment later, Wilbur broke the kiss and moved to taste the smooth, pale skin he would never grow tired of. Toby smelled and tasted exactly as he looked, fresh and bright, warm and supple beneath Wilbur’s hands, ever eager and willing.
It seemed so far away, the day he’d accidentally woken the android. To Wilbur, it truly did feel as though they had been together forever, or so close to that it hardly mattered. Though they worked and lived together, never spending a day apart in all the terms since Toby had woken, it never felt old or stale.
Abruptly the world spun, and Wilbur found himself pinned beneath a smirking Toby who quickly set to work divesting Wilbur of his clothes.
“Given you were still abed, I thought you must too exhausted to play,” Wilbur teased.
Toby smiled and threw aside Wilbur’s shirt, then leaned down to kiss him. “I stayed abed because I am rather fond of being woken.”
Wilbur returned the smile and closed the space between them to take a kiss that was slow and sweet, left his mouth tingling. “I am fond of waking you, beauty. Always.”
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Date: 2007-01-28 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-28 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-28 03:47 am (UTC)“That is less time than Mistress anticipated would past,” I think you mean "would pass".
*goes back to read again*
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Date: 2007-01-28 05:41 am (UTC)You never fail to amaze me.
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Date: 2007-01-28 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-28 06:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-28 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-28 08:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-28 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-28 02:43 pm (UTC)2) 2b, Toby. I totally heart you for that alone. But then! You went and made him this kick ass cool AI android and guh! *_____________________* I heart him. Seriously.
3) ;_______; Poor Wilbur. I love that the High Chancellor kicked scientist butt when he figured out that his people had done their own poking and prodding at him. And I have to agree with Nikeyrm. You invent the coolest jobs and reasons for them to be where they are. I love that he has the Sweet Dream. It's interesting too, that Omicron's on that ship.
4) I LOVE that Wil woke Toby with a kiss. XD Not only did he know the fairytale, but the fairytale was probably what inspired Toby's mistress to place the sensors there in the first place. *hearts* I just LOVED that. *_____*
5) *twirls you around* You're sixteen billion shades of awesome, you know that right? ^_^ *glomps*
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Date: 2007-01-28 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-29 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-29 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-29 07:25 pm (UTC)Plently of rooms in the ship, though? Enough to take on a lover for Omi? I feel bad for him, so at odds with his charismatic brother. Well, maybe it is not charisma, exactly... Anyway, he needs somebody who will love his jealous, grumpy, imperfect self. *nods*
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Date: 2007-02-12 10:38 pm (UTC)I'm playing catch up.... reading all the delicious treats I've missed.
*wibbling madly*
You always strike that perfect balance between sweet and hot and it's always perfectly yummy.
*sighs happily*