Coffee is made of win
Jun. 24th, 2008 07:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI spoiled myself with some nice creamers for my coffee. I was just going to get blueberry cobbler or something, but Kroger had some extra shinies: Hazelnut Biscotti and Italian Sweet Creme. They also had Tiramisu, but I thought buying three was a bit of an overkill. The hazelnut is yummy, of course, but I am surprirsed at just how much I do like the sweet creme. It just goes really well with the fuck-off dark roast I've got. winz0r!
Will try to get up more drabbles this coming weekend. I'd do it faster, but after about five minutes I want to shoot myself in the face. It's funny the tedious work I can do, and what I sorely wish I could make someone else do. Hehe.
Umm. Really am hoping Embrace is good. It's frustrating in that I know what I want to do, I know how it ends, but the getting there still eludes me in places. Ah, well. If it were easy, I wouldn't like doing it.
Aubrey settled back in his bath with a long sigh of contentment.
Let the damnable snow keep falling, he was beyond caring for the time being.
The curtains had been drawn in his sitting room, giving him a grand view of the white-drenched landscape. Even the trees were losing against the relentless snow. It had not stopped for more than an hour or two the past few days, and only a couple of days to partly melt after the last snowfall. Very likely, they would not be able to leave the house for the next week or two at least.
He had forgotten how ruthless winter could be here; the weather at school had been much mellower.
It mattered not, because the fire was roaring, he was soaking in near-boiling water, and then fully intended to ensconce himself in a comfortable chair with a generous allotment of blankets and spend the day reading.
Perhaps he'd go find Camilla and read with her awhile; they could read a play aloud, as they used to do during the long winters. Yes, she'd enjoy that.
Smiling, he closed his eyes and sank deeper into the steaming water and sighed again. The maid who had arranged his bath had taken the liberty of adding scented oils, but he could not find reason to complain. Purple violet mingled pleasantly with peppermint, both melding with the smell of a crackling fire.
Though, beneath it all, he could still catch a hint of the peach blossom that Ruthven seemed to prefer.
He scowled, refusing to think about the damnably confusing Ruthven while he was trying to relax. The Pet had no business intruding, not when Aubrey was finally enjoying some time to himself. He did not even want to contemplate what his Pet might be about – no doubt revealing that he could do yet something else that was normally forbidden Pets.
Sighing, he slowly dragged his eyes open and stared out the window, frowning at the snow.
Reporting Ruthven would be the proper thing to do. A Pet that free and knowledgeable was a danger; there was no telling what he might be conveying to Elisabeth and Francois.
He could not bring himself to do it, however. Something held him back.
Images of Ruthven dipping his head, looking up through his lashes, anything but submissive, flashed through his mind.
Aubrey sat up with a jerk, swearing softly, the bath water suddenly far too hot.
Damn it, he was going to relax!
Forcing himself to lay back down, he closed his eyes again and refused to think about anything except Ruthven.
Stregoni – there was something to think about. He had arrived with Gille just two days ago, looking rather like he'd come out the loser in a fight. Aubrey wasn't certain which was odder – that Stregoni had been in a fight, or that he'd arrived with Gille.
He also wondered where the devil Gille had been, that he would encounter or meet Stregoni and both of them arrive at seven thirty in the morning.
Neither had been terribly forthcoming with answers; Stregoni had offered only the problem of the quack ensconced in Blackfield, and that his horse had taken a wrong turn in the snow, where he had encountered Gille.
Aubrey sensed there was much missing in the telling, but it was not his preference to press where it was not necessary.
He felt as though he were spending his days drifting. He missed the constant work of school – always class, or a meeting, or papers to write and test preparation to be done. Home again, he felt superfluous. It was obvious that in his absence, Gille had filled the role of son and heir far better than Aubrey ever would.
Well, it didn't matter. Once winter was past, perhaps he would just take off and do as he pleased. Playing the good son had accomplished nothing in the weeks since he'd been home. Beyond being set to handle the household accounts and other such tedious work, he had done nothing.
It should not bother him. It didn't bother him – he was simply unused to being idle. His crates had yet to arrive, no doubt stuck somewhere because of the snow. Unfortunate, for cataloguing them properly with the rest of the household collection would have occupied him most of the rest of the winter.
Perhaps he'd help Camilla with her book of flowers and herbs. Shrugging to himself, annoyed he could not quite seem to relax, Aubrey reached for soap and cloth. It carried the same scent as the oils, purple violet and peppermint. Good, soft, soap, one thing he had missed at school where his funds had been limited to the pittance his father doled out.
Rinsing off, he quickly washed his hair, and then finally stood up. Water splashed everywhere as he climbed from the tub, soaking the mat laid out, glistening on his skin in the firelight. He stretched with a groan and gave in to an urge to yawn, absently reaching out for his bathing rob – only to come up with empty air where it should have been.
He frowned, but even as he turned, the soft, warm fabric of his robe was draped over his shoulders by hands that lingered.
Aubrey whipped around, fumbling with the robe as it tried to slip – and glared. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. His cheeks heated as he hastily did up the robe. How the hell had he not heard Ruthven come in? How long had he been standing there? "When did you come in?"
"Only a moment ago, master," Ruthven said demurely, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes in the moment before he lowered them.
He was, as ever, too beautiful for Aubrey's peace of mind. He wore dark brown breeches and a white shirt, but nothing else. Either he did not feel the cold, or simply was not bothered by it. Around his throat was yet another velvet collar. Aubrey had thought by this point he had seen all of them, but this one was new – the same delicate, beeswax color as his hair.
"You—" Aubrey raked back his soaking wet hair, moving closer to the fire to ward off the chill he would begin to feel shortly. "Did you need something?"
Ruthven looked up, though he was still partially inclined in a polite half bow. "Only you, master. I came only to see all your needs were properly tended."
Aubrey jerked his gaze away from the dark eyes, cheeks hot. "I'm fine," he said curtly. "If you want to please me," he coughed as he spoke, "then stop calling me master, and stop being impertinent."
"Alas, master," Ruthven said, and Aubrey knew he was smiling now – smirking, really – but did not turn to confirm it. "That I cannot do, for you are my master, and I enjoy calling you so." The sound of movement made Aubrey twitch, but he did not turn to watch Ruthven approach.
Nor, he told himself, did he shiver when he felt Ruthven's warm breaths against his bare skin, as his voice spoke softly close to Aubrey's ear. "And I like being impertinent."
"I've noticed," Aubrey said. "I cannot believe no one ever…took care of you."
"Some vampires are harder to put down than others," Ruthven said, the words barely audible.
Aubrey jerked away, hand going to his ear, where he swore he had felt the barest touch of lips. "What did you say?"
"I like being impertinent?" Ruthven asked, all innocence.
"Not that," Aubrey snapped.
Ruthven persisted with the innocence. "Some Pets are harder to put down than others?"
Aubrey narrowed his eyes. He started to speak, to demand to know what the hell that word Ruthven had used was, because he was pretty certain he had only seen it once, in an old historical tome.
"I'm feeling a bit famished, master. May I?"
Thrown by the abrupt shift, wishing his damned Pet would at least have the decency to make sense, Aubrey gave an automatic nod and started to hold out his wrist – but instead Ruthven stepped close. Too close.
Aubrey gasped as teeth grazed his neck, then bit down sharp, and he reached out for something to hold, gripping Ruthven's arms tightly, eyes growing strangely heavy as the Pet fed.
Will try to get up more drabbles this coming weekend. I'd do it faster, but after about five minutes I want to shoot myself in the face. It's funny the tedious work I can do, and what I sorely wish I could make someone else do. Hehe.
Umm. Really am hoping Embrace is good. It's frustrating in that I know what I want to do, I know how it ends, but the getting there still eludes me in places. Ah, well. If it were easy, I wouldn't like doing it.
Bluebell
(chapter five)
(chapter five)
Aubrey settled back in his bath with a long sigh of contentment.
Let the damnable snow keep falling, he was beyond caring for the time being.
The curtains had been drawn in his sitting room, giving him a grand view of the white-drenched landscape. Even the trees were losing against the relentless snow. It had not stopped for more than an hour or two the past few days, and only a couple of days to partly melt after the last snowfall. Very likely, they would not be able to leave the house for the next week or two at least.
He had forgotten how ruthless winter could be here; the weather at school had been much mellower.
It mattered not, because the fire was roaring, he was soaking in near-boiling water, and then fully intended to ensconce himself in a comfortable chair with a generous allotment of blankets and spend the day reading.
Perhaps he'd go find Camilla and read with her awhile; they could read a play aloud, as they used to do during the long winters. Yes, she'd enjoy that.
Smiling, he closed his eyes and sank deeper into the steaming water and sighed again. The maid who had arranged his bath had taken the liberty of adding scented oils, but he could not find reason to complain. Purple violet mingled pleasantly with peppermint, both melding with the smell of a crackling fire.
Though, beneath it all, he could still catch a hint of the peach blossom that Ruthven seemed to prefer.
He scowled, refusing to think about the damnably confusing Ruthven while he was trying to relax. The Pet had no business intruding, not when Aubrey was finally enjoying some time to himself. He did not even want to contemplate what his Pet might be about – no doubt revealing that he could do yet something else that was normally forbidden Pets.
Sighing, he slowly dragged his eyes open and stared out the window, frowning at the snow.
Reporting Ruthven would be the proper thing to do. A Pet that free and knowledgeable was a danger; there was no telling what he might be conveying to Elisabeth and Francois.
He could not bring himself to do it, however. Something held him back.
Images of Ruthven dipping his head, looking up through his lashes, anything but submissive, flashed through his mind.
Aubrey sat up with a jerk, swearing softly, the bath water suddenly far too hot.
Damn it, he was going to relax!
Forcing himself to lay back down, he closed his eyes again and refused to think about anything except Ruthven.
Stregoni – there was something to think about. He had arrived with Gille just two days ago, looking rather like he'd come out the loser in a fight. Aubrey wasn't certain which was odder – that Stregoni had been in a fight, or that he'd arrived with Gille.
He also wondered where the devil Gille had been, that he would encounter or meet Stregoni and both of them arrive at seven thirty in the morning.
Neither had been terribly forthcoming with answers; Stregoni had offered only the problem of the quack ensconced in Blackfield, and that his horse had taken a wrong turn in the snow, where he had encountered Gille.
Aubrey sensed there was much missing in the telling, but it was not his preference to press where it was not necessary.
He felt as though he were spending his days drifting. He missed the constant work of school – always class, or a meeting, or papers to write and test preparation to be done. Home again, he felt superfluous. It was obvious that in his absence, Gille had filled the role of son and heir far better than Aubrey ever would.
Well, it didn't matter. Once winter was past, perhaps he would just take off and do as he pleased. Playing the good son had accomplished nothing in the weeks since he'd been home. Beyond being set to handle the household accounts and other such tedious work, he had done nothing.
It should not bother him. It didn't bother him – he was simply unused to being idle. His crates had yet to arrive, no doubt stuck somewhere because of the snow. Unfortunate, for cataloguing them properly with the rest of the household collection would have occupied him most of the rest of the winter.
Perhaps he'd help Camilla with her book of flowers and herbs. Shrugging to himself, annoyed he could not quite seem to relax, Aubrey reached for soap and cloth. It carried the same scent as the oils, purple violet and peppermint. Good, soft, soap, one thing he had missed at school where his funds had been limited to the pittance his father doled out.
Rinsing off, he quickly washed his hair, and then finally stood up. Water splashed everywhere as he climbed from the tub, soaking the mat laid out, glistening on his skin in the firelight. He stretched with a groan and gave in to an urge to yawn, absently reaching out for his bathing rob – only to come up with empty air where it should have been.
He frowned, but even as he turned, the soft, warm fabric of his robe was draped over his shoulders by hands that lingered.
Aubrey whipped around, fumbling with the robe as it tried to slip – and glared. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. His cheeks heated as he hastily did up the robe. How the hell had he not heard Ruthven come in? How long had he been standing there? "When did you come in?"
"Only a moment ago, master," Ruthven said demurely, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes in the moment before he lowered them.
He was, as ever, too beautiful for Aubrey's peace of mind. He wore dark brown breeches and a white shirt, but nothing else. Either he did not feel the cold, or simply was not bothered by it. Around his throat was yet another velvet collar. Aubrey had thought by this point he had seen all of them, but this one was new – the same delicate, beeswax color as his hair.
"You—" Aubrey raked back his soaking wet hair, moving closer to the fire to ward off the chill he would begin to feel shortly. "Did you need something?"
Ruthven looked up, though he was still partially inclined in a polite half bow. "Only you, master. I came only to see all your needs were properly tended."
Aubrey jerked his gaze away from the dark eyes, cheeks hot. "I'm fine," he said curtly. "If you want to please me," he coughed as he spoke, "then stop calling me master, and stop being impertinent."
"Alas, master," Ruthven said, and Aubrey knew he was smiling now – smirking, really – but did not turn to confirm it. "That I cannot do, for you are my master, and I enjoy calling you so." The sound of movement made Aubrey twitch, but he did not turn to watch Ruthven approach.
Nor, he told himself, did he shiver when he felt Ruthven's warm breaths against his bare skin, as his voice spoke softly close to Aubrey's ear. "And I like being impertinent."
"I've noticed," Aubrey said. "I cannot believe no one ever…took care of you."
"Some vampires are harder to put down than others," Ruthven said, the words barely audible.
Aubrey jerked away, hand going to his ear, where he swore he had felt the barest touch of lips. "What did you say?"
"I like being impertinent?" Ruthven asked, all innocence.
"Not that," Aubrey snapped.
Ruthven persisted with the innocence. "Some Pets are harder to put down than others?"
Aubrey narrowed his eyes. He started to speak, to demand to know what the hell that word Ruthven had used was, because he was pretty certain he had only seen it once, in an old historical tome.
"I'm feeling a bit famished, master. May I?"
Thrown by the abrupt shift, wishing his damned Pet would at least have the decency to make sense, Aubrey gave an automatic nod and started to hold out his wrist – but instead Ruthven stepped close. Too close.
Aubrey gasped as teeth grazed his neck, then bit down sharp, and he reached out for something to hold, gripping Ruthven's arms tightly, eyes growing strangely heavy as the Pet fed.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-25 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-26 12:23 am (UTC)You already got a spoiler. I'm not giving you any more.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-26 10:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-26 10:31 am (UTC)Hopefully I'll have enough energy tonight to write seven, which is back to our favorite angsty pair. Mwahahaha. Here's something to torment you all day: the chapter is called 'enchanter's nightshade.'
no subject
Date: 2008-06-26 10:48 am (UTC)