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fan_eluneTitle: Unthinkable
Fandom: Lucifer Box, Torchwood
Characters: Charlie, Lucifer, Jack
Rating: R
Summary: Some things are in fact able to make Lucifer speechless.
Disclaimer: Lucifer and Charlie belong to Mark Gatiss; Jack to Russel T. Davis. Just having fun!
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
queenspanky, whose birthday I forgot and that makes me an ass. This is my penance, and it is sweet penance indeed. Hope you enjoy, honey.
Unthinkable
"Oh my," I whisper.
It is hardly a usual expectative for me. Too mild, too common. But I can't find any other words within me. Can you imagine? I, Lucifer Box, at a loss for words. Unthinkable.
"Sir?" Charlie asks, by my side.
Then again, these things are perfectly unthinkable. And unthinkably hatching. Were I of a weaker disposition and had I not seen many a thing in my time, I do think I might have fainted. The... eggs glow a disgusting purple-green colour, an insult to anyone with even a hint of a colour code.
"Sir? Sir!"
Charlie is shaking my arm, and I wrench it authoritatively from his grasp. What on earth? "Yes, what?"
"Shall we torch them, sir?"
He seems much less phased by these creatures, their three glistening yellow eyes, and their eggs. Not that I am phased myself, you understand, but simply taken aback. I'm about to reply that yes, it does seem like the sensible course of action, when somebody else barges in on our conversation.
"That's a great idea," a man in a long blue coat approves in an American accent, loudly, happily (what an odd character, but then again he is American), and he claps a hand in Charlie's back as he comes close. His smile shines white even in the half light offered by our torches, an even greater testament to his rather sad origins than his accent is. "Always one for great ideas, aren't you Charlie."
"Sir," Charlie replies with a happy nod and a smile, and I'm not sure what this thing is that is churning in my belly. It feels ugly, and it probably is.
The cad knows Charlie, Charlie knows him, and he has not even acknowledged me. I'm about to step in when he grabs my torch from me with another one of his winning smiles. "If you'll excuse me."
And he's talking to the creatures as he approaches them, about how he's sorry to have to do this but he likes Earth, Earth men tend to no matter when they come from, and any means to stopping an alien invasion, you understand. I don't, and I think he's a madman.
"Who is he?" I ask Charlie, and yes, I'm still frowning.
All the more so seeing as Charlie is still smiling, and I haven't seen him this happy in a long while. "Jack."
That is all I get before Charlie leaps in to join the fray. I watch them set fire to the things for a while, then decide that creatures, eggs and men alike can go to hell for all I care, and make it back to the surface.
The smell of the sewers has never done anything for me.
"Venus? My sweet Venus? Well, of course I knew she wasn't exactly a she, but a megalomaniac hellbent on a second Pompeii? Are you sure?"
I've only heard that voice once – earlier tonight – but I could recognise it from any other. From the utter disdain it triggers in me, of course. My hair is still dripping, as I have just washed the smell of the sewers off me, and I hurriedly shrug on a shirt to go and meet the voices in my hall.
"Certain, sir," Charlie's saying, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. "Mister Box himself unveiled the whole mystery. He was something."
"Still am," I quip as I come down the stairs, and pretend not to notice the blush raising to Charlie's cheeks. It makes him look eminently fuckable, and I'm not in the mood. "Charlie?"
"Mr Box, this is Captain Jack Harkness," he immediately introduces us, his posture switching back to that befitting a valet. "Jack, this is Mr. Lucifer Box, in His Majesty's Service. It's all right," he tells me pacifyingly. He's probably caught the look of utter outrage on my face. "Jack's trustworthy."
"So you think," I retort, and the flash of hurt is unmistakable on Charlie's face. That, too, I pretend not to notice. "Jack is mostly in my house."
It's not phrased as a question, but it is. A question and a request, almost a demand. Except Jack steps forward instead of letting Charlie answer, and his hand is stretched out toward me. "It's an honour, sir. I didn't realise who you were earlier, but we've heard so much about you. My people and I."
Ha. A fellow secret agent; not all Americans are absolutely unbearable. Maybe I ought to give him a chance. "Have you really?" I put my hand in his; he shakes it vigorously, flashes me that too white smile again.
"Absolutely. You're a bit of a legend to us." His hand lingers in mine perhaps a second too long; it is the sort of thing I would notice. The look in his eyes says it was intentional. Very few people can resist me. "Charlie was kind enough to invite me over to get cleaned up, if you don't mind. I reek of the sewers."
"You both do," I remark, nose wrinkling in distaste. I think it over for a second; I still have questions. "You may use the upstairs bathroom. On the condition that you answer my questions afterwards."
Jack nods, and thanks me, and the look he throws me on his way up the stairs makes me think that perhaps, just perhaps, the lad isn't as bad as all that.
Charlie is washing in the backyard, using a basin of water. When it is just the two of us we often share the bathroom; sometimes I'm afraid he would not wash all that much if I didn't provide good enough incentive for him to climb into the bathtub. And I'm more than good enough, I'm excellent incentive.
"Charlie," I say.
It must be enough, because he looks up with the look of a deer surprised by the hunter. That would be me. He is the deer, and he's a guilty deer at that.
"Sir?" His voice wavers a little, and he straightens up from his bent position over the basin.
My hair might still be wet, but my clothes are dry. I care not a fig for them as I walk over to him, measured steps, then grab him by the neck, press him to me, and plunder his mouth. I'm determined not to stop until I have had my fill. While he is tense at first, he soon recovers and relaxes in my arms, kissing me back with just as much energy. The water on him permeates into my clothes and my fingers thread in his short wet hair; I lose track of time for a moment.
If there is one thing I like about Charlie Jackpot, it is how skilled his mouth is.
"Hope I'm not interrupting." The American-accented voice sounds amused, and my spine straightens up in an instant, mouth off Charlie's (a shame, that), head turned to glare at Captain Jack Harkness.
"Not at all," I answer icily. "You caught us in a discussion about proper guest etiquette." I let go of Charlie, walk back to Jack. "He has potential as a valet, but has yet to be broken in."
Jack snorts with amusement, and I glare at him still as I walk back into the house. "Follow me."
"They're called Ephretis," Jack is saying, and making very little sense. "They regularly try and take us over, and they're regularly put down."
I have to wonder, how come the Americans know of this thread and we don't? If I hadn't seen the creatures with my own eyes I would call Jack a madman, which he probably is either way. This knowledge might be on a strict need-to-know basis; I will need to have a word with JR tomorrow.
As it is, the fire is crackling and I have a glass of brandy in hand. Jack might be mad, but he is not unpleasant to the eye and he is quite definitely interested. The night is looking up.
"How did you come across them?"
His question comes as a surprise. I would have thought that Charlie would have told him everything on the way; they seem so very close. But it seems as if Charlie knows when to keep his lips sealed, and that is a very pleasant surprise indeed.
However, perhaps it is best to share intelligence with the Americans, or at least with this American, in this case. Jack does seem to be much more savvy about this than I could dream of claiming to be.
"We'll work the case together," I warn him, because there is no way that I will take a back seat and watch Captain Jack Harkness be the main attraction. I am in all situations and at all times the main attraction.
I wait until he nods his agreement, then only start to share. The secret organisation that led us to the sewers, what we know of their members, their goals. My guess would be that the Ephretis promised them wealth and wonders in exchange for some earthly help. The things might even have passed as gods; gullible men will jump at divine explanations to explain what they cannot understand.
"Well," he starts, clapping his hands together, once the business talk is concluded and neither of us can think of anything else to add, "care to show me to the master bedroom?"
Some Americans truly are quite bearable.
It's something to let myself be seduced, for once. Jack likes to be in control, apparently, although he's soon going to discover that it is hardly the way things run in this household. I might be letting him seduce me, but I am still the one in charge, thank you very much. Relinquishing control to an eager American agent? Hardly.
However, I'm not going to inform Captain Jack Harkness of this just yet. His hand is rather wonderfully busy inside my trousers, and it would be an absolute shame to do anything to stop it. We've come to a halt but a few feet from my bedroom, which is also a shame, as my bed is exquisitely comfortable and hedonistically filled with plush cushions, but the corridor wall will have to do for the moment.
"Sir?"
Charlie's voice breaks my concentration, and Jack's hand stills on me. We turn our heads to him as one man, and I find enough breath to ask, "Yes, Charlie?"
"Just wonderin' if I might be of service, sir."
I think Charlie's been watching me a little too closely. His smile looks an awful lot like mine, the one my friends naturally call the smile of Lucifer.
Jack looks back at me, tilts his head to the side with an expression that seems to mean "how on earth could you say no to that boy?" As much as an expression can say all this.
"I'm sure we can find a use for you," I surrender, and Jack's hand resumes its work.
Oh my.
~ fin ~
Fandom: Lucifer Box, Torchwood
Characters: Charlie, Lucifer, Jack
Rating: R
Summary: Some things are in fact able to make Lucifer speechless.
Disclaimer: Lucifer and Charlie belong to Mark Gatiss; Jack to Russel T. Davis. Just having fun!
Notes: For
queenspanky, whose birthday I forgot and that makes me an ass. This is my penance, and it is sweet penance indeed. Hope you enjoy, honey.Unthinkable
"Oh my," I whisper.
It is hardly a usual expectative for me. Too mild, too common. But I can't find any other words within me. Can you imagine? I, Lucifer Box, at a loss for words. Unthinkable.
"Sir?" Charlie asks, by my side.
Then again, these things are perfectly unthinkable. And unthinkably hatching. Were I of a weaker disposition and had I not seen many a thing in my time, I do think I might have fainted. The... eggs glow a disgusting purple-green colour, an insult to anyone with even a hint of a colour code.
"Sir? Sir!"
Charlie is shaking my arm, and I wrench it authoritatively from his grasp. What on earth? "Yes, what?"
"Shall we torch them, sir?"
He seems much less phased by these creatures, their three glistening yellow eyes, and their eggs. Not that I am phased myself, you understand, but simply taken aback. I'm about to reply that yes, it does seem like the sensible course of action, when somebody else barges in on our conversation.
"That's a great idea," a man in a long blue coat approves in an American accent, loudly, happily (what an odd character, but then again he is American), and he claps a hand in Charlie's back as he comes close. His smile shines white even in the half light offered by our torches, an even greater testament to his rather sad origins than his accent is. "Always one for great ideas, aren't you Charlie."
"Sir," Charlie replies with a happy nod and a smile, and I'm not sure what this thing is that is churning in my belly. It feels ugly, and it probably is.
The cad knows Charlie, Charlie knows him, and he has not even acknowledged me. I'm about to step in when he grabs my torch from me with another one of his winning smiles. "If you'll excuse me."
And he's talking to the creatures as he approaches them, about how he's sorry to have to do this but he likes Earth, Earth men tend to no matter when they come from, and any means to stopping an alien invasion, you understand. I don't, and I think he's a madman.
"Who is he?" I ask Charlie, and yes, I'm still frowning.
All the more so seeing as Charlie is still smiling, and I haven't seen him this happy in a long while. "Jack."
That is all I get before Charlie leaps in to join the fray. I watch them set fire to the things for a while, then decide that creatures, eggs and men alike can go to hell for all I care, and make it back to the surface.
The smell of the sewers has never done anything for me.
"Venus? My sweet Venus? Well, of course I knew she wasn't exactly a she, but a megalomaniac hellbent on a second Pompeii? Are you sure?"
I've only heard that voice once – earlier tonight – but I could recognise it from any other. From the utter disdain it triggers in me, of course. My hair is still dripping, as I have just washed the smell of the sewers off me, and I hurriedly shrug on a shirt to go and meet the voices in my hall.
"Certain, sir," Charlie's saying, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. "Mister Box himself unveiled the whole mystery. He was something."
"Still am," I quip as I come down the stairs, and pretend not to notice the blush raising to Charlie's cheeks. It makes him look eminently fuckable, and I'm not in the mood. "Charlie?"
"Mr Box, this is Captain Jack Harkness," he immediately introduces us, his posture switching back to that befitting a valet. "Jack, this is Mr. Lucifer Box, in His Majesty's Service. It's all right," he tells me pacifyingly. He's probably caught the look of utter outrage on my face. "Jack's trustworthy."
"So you think," I retort, and the flash of hurt is unmistakable on Charlie's face. That, too, I pretend not to notice. "Jack is mostly in my house."
It's not phrased as a question, but it is. A question and a request, almost a demand. Except Jack steps forward instead of letting Charlie answer, and his hand is stretched out toward me. "It's an honour, sir. I didn't realise who you were earlier, but we've heard so much about you. My people and I."
Ha. A fellow secret agent; not all Americans are absolutely unbearable. Maybe I ought to give him a chance. "Have you really?" I put my hand in his; he shakes it vigorously, flashes me that too white smile again.
"Absolutely. You're a bit of a legend to us." His hand lingers in mine perhaps a second too long; it is the sort of thing I would notice. The look in his eyes says it was intentional. Very few people can resist me. "Charlie was kind enough to invite me over to get cleaned up, if you don't mind. I reek of the sewers."
"You both do," I remark, nose wrinkling in distaste. I think it over for a second; I still have questions. "You may use the upstairs bathroom. On the condition that you answer my questions afterwards."
Jack nods, and thanks me, and the look he throws me on his way up the stairs makes me think that perhaps, just perhaps, the lad isn't as bad as all that.
Charlie is washing in the backyard, using a basin of water. When it is just the two of us we often share the bathroom; sometimes I'm afraid he would not wash all that much if I didn't provide good enough incentive for him to climb into the bathtub. And I'm more than good enough, I'm excellent incentive.
"Charlie," I say.
It must be enough, because he looks up with the look of a deer surprised by the hunter. That would be me. He is the deer, and he's a guilty deer at that.
"Sir?" His voice wavers a little, and he straightens up from his bent position over the basin.
My hair might still be wet, but my clothes are dry. I care not a fig for them as I walk over to him, measured steps, then grab him by the neck, press him to me, and plunder his mouth. I'm determined not to stop until I have had my fill. While he is tense at first, he soon recovers and relaxes in my arms, kissing me back with just as much energy. The water on him permeates into my clothes and my fingers thread in his short wet hair; I lose track of time for a moment.
If there is one thing I like about Charlie Jackpot, it is how skilled his mouth is.
"Hope I'm not interrupting." The American-accented voice sounds amused, and my spine straightens up in an instant, mouth off Charlie's (a shame, that), head turned to glare at Captain Jack Harkness.
"Not at all," I answer icily. "You caught us in a discussion about proper guest etiquette." I let go of Charlie, walk back to Jack. "He has potential as a valet, but has yet to be broken in."
Jack snorts with amusement, and I glare at him still as I walk back into the house. "Follow me."
"They're called Ephretis," Jack is saying, and making very little sense. "They regularly try and take us over, and they're regularly put down."
I have to wonder, how come the Americans know of this thread and we don't? If I hadn't seen the creatures with my own eyes I would call Jack a madman, which he probably is either way. This knowledge might be on a strict need-to-know basis; I will need to have a word with JR tomorrow.
As it is, the fire is crackling and I have a glass of brandy in hand. Jack might be mad, but he is not unpleasant to the eye and he is quite definitely interested. The night is looking up.
"How did you come across them?"
His question comes as a surprise. I would have thought that Charlie would have told him everything on the way; they seem so very close. But it seems as if Charlie knows when to keep his lips sealed, and that is a very pleasant surprise indeed.
However, perhaps it is best to share intelligence with the Americans, or at least with this American, in this case. Jack does seem to be much more savvy about this than I could dream of claiming to be.
"We'll work the case together," I warn him, because there is no way that I will take a back seat and watch Captain Jack Harkness be the main attraction. I am in all situations and at all times the main attraction.
I wait until he nods his agreement, then only start to share. The secret organisation that led us to the sewers, what we know of their members, their goals. My guess would be that the Ephretis promised them wealth and wonders in exchange for some earthly help. The things might even have passed as gods; gullible men will jump at divine explanations to explain what they cannot understand.
"Well," he starts, clapping his hands together, once the business talk is concluded and neither of us can think of anything else to add, "care to show me to the master bedroom?"
Some Americans truly are quite bearable.
It's something to let myself be seduced, for once. Jack likes to be in control, apparently, although he's soon going to discover that it is hardly the way things run in this household. I might be letting him seduce me, but I am still the one in charge, thank you very much. Relinquishing control to an eager American agent? Hardly.
However, I'm not going to inform Captain Jack Harkness of this just yet. His hand is rather wonderfully busy inside my trousers, and it would be an absolute shame to do anything to stop it. We've come to a halt but a few feet from my bedroom, which is also a shame, as my bed is exquisitely comfortable and hedonistically filled with plush cushions, but the corridor wall will have to do for the moment.
"Sir?"
Charlie's voice breaks my concentration, and Jack's hand stills on me. We turn our heads to him as one man, and I find enough breath to ask, "Yes, Charlie?"
"Just wonderin' if I might be of service, sir."
I think Charlie's been watching me a little too closely. His smile looks an awful lot like mine, the one my friends naturally call the smile of Lucifer.
Jack looks back at me, tilts his head to the side with an expression that seems to mean "how on earth could you say no to that boy?" As much as an expression can say all this.
"I'm sure we can find a use for you," I surrender, and Jack's hand resumes its work.
Oh my.
~ fin ~
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 02:24 pm (UTC)Ahem.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
Sorry, wasn't done.
*bounces* It's really wrong that this OT3 makes perfect sense to me, yes? And how you can so fit Jack into Lucifer's... universe, people, I was going to say universe. And I love Charlie knowing Jack, and the jealousy - that's too perfect, I adore adore adore it.
I swear, I'm just going to ask people for this kind of fic for Xmas and birthdays from now on, because it's so delightful receiving it and so few people write Lucifer fic and they should do more of it, because you've nailed his actions and his inner thoughts and it's FABULOUS.
Which actually makes me think - I've been thinking of running and ficathon, and perhaps Lucifer would be a good topic. Maybe Lucifers in general, stick to ten fandoms. What do you think?
no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 10:57 am (UTC)Lucifer would be an awesome topic, and The Vintner's Luck needs to be one of those fandoms. Please. :D That would rock so, so hard.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-19 05:06 pm (UTC)Of course you're in charge, Lucifer. *grin*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 10:58 am (UTC)Heee! Glad you enjoyed, and thanks for commenting. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-04-20 06:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 11:00 am (UTC)Thank you so much for the comment! I'm glad you liked it. This OT3 does seem obvious now, doesn't it. Of course it had to happen, at one point or another.
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Date: 2008-04-21 12:53 pm (UTC)Brilliant! For some reason this OT3 had never occured to be before but now you've written it it seems perfect! :)
no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 01:25 pm (UTC)I don't know how you can say I write him better than you because oh my GOD. This is fantastic. Lucifer and Jack and CHARLIE, I so love your Charlie and Charlie knowing JACK is perfect. And.
I'm going to go away and come back to comment when I can stop CAPSLOCKING at you.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 06:00 pm (UTC)