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wickedwordsOkay, last one for now! I still have one more to write, but that one looks like it will be a while. Thank you all for being so patient with me. Oh, and the icon is misleading -- it wasn't a bad day for me at all -- but it's the only MFU icon I have.
This is the sixth story of the meme payment set, a MFU short of about 600 words. Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elynross for betaing this for me. No money made, no harm intended. All mistakes are my own.
Sound as Bright as Lightning
Napoleon's head is spinning like a frog in a blender, or maybe a nun falling downstairs. Words flicker and echo in his mind, images mixing with them until he can't tell if he's feeling a color or smelling a word. Red and white. Red and white. Red and white and black.
He smiles and it hurts, and that's good. Right? At least the pain feels normal. Bruises. Contusions. Abrasions. It's as if someone wrote the words on his skin, leaving the pain behind. He focuses, trying to see what might have happened: the first things he notices are his torn shirt and his forearm caked with dried blood.
He can feel a bed at his back, and if he turns his head slightly, there are bars on the window. It doesn't take much to connect the dots that mean prison cell, and from there, once the words stop spinning, Napoleon colors in the pictures that go with 'concussion' and 'drugs.'
He doesn't know how long he's been held, but the blood on his arm is relatively fresh. He's missing his shoes, along with his gun and his communicator, but there's a small amount of explosive still hidden in his belt. If he could stand, he might be able to use it on the bars at the window, but his stomach protests every movement.
Throwing an arm over his eyes, Napoleon tries to rest and wait for the drugs to clear his system. He can feel himself vibrating, and muscles in his thighs start to twitch.
A sound as bright as lightning echoes outside of his room, and Napoleon feels it as a pressure on his chest and in his ears. He tries to sit up, but the pressure keeps him on the bed. His heart is pounding; he feels the sweat run down the back of his neck.
This is his chance. If he can move, he can get away, but his body betrays him.
He breathes carefully as strong hands guide him upright. "Napoleon."
His eyes flutter open, and he can see bright blue eyes, wisps of blond hair, and concerned features. "Il... Illya--" He can barely get the word out, his throat is so dry. He licks his lips as Illya steadies him.
"Do not try to talk." Illya has a syringe in one hand as he steadies Napoleon with the other. "I need to inject you with this before I can get you out of here. Understand?"
Napoleon nods, hissing as Illya rips the torn sleeve even more, revealing his bicep. The liquid looks vanilla, tastes silver as Illya injects it.
Illya drops the syringe on the bed, his fingers gentle on Napoleon's arm as they wait for the antidote to take effect. He brushes Napoleon's jaw with his thumb, then quickly looks away. He leaves his hand on Napoleon's arm, though, and the feeling grounds him. Within moments, the pressure on his chest has eased. and Napoleon can breathe again.
He puts his hand over Illya's and squeezes; Illya gives him a sharp smile in return. He wraps his arm around Napoleon and helps him off of the bed.
Napoleon's legs are shaky, but things seem normal again; his stomach doesn't protest the movement, so Napoleon figures he's good enough to go.
Illya's looking at him, his eyes shadowed. "One thing," he says quickly, nearly biting off the words in his haste. Then he brushes the edge of Napoleon's lips with his own. "It is good to see you alive."
Then his gun is in his hand, and he's out the door, Napoleon only a few steps behind him.
A/N: This is fornangi_akki who asked for "napoleon and illya please - and if napoleon was hurting that would be lovely :)"
This is the sixth story of the meme payment set, a MFU short of about 600 words. Thank you to
elynross for betaing this for me. No money made, no harm intended. All mistakes are my own.Napoleon's head is spinning like a frog in a blender, or maybe a nun falling downstairs. Words flicker and echo in his mind, images mixing with them until he can't tell if he's feeling a color or smelling a word. Red and white. Red and white. Red and white and black.
He smiles and it hurts, and that's good. Right? At least the pain feels normal. Bruises. Contusions. Abrasions. It's as if someone wrote the words on his skin, leaving the pain behind. He focuses, trying to see what might have happened: the first things he notices are his torn shirt and his forearm caked with dried blood.
He can feel a bed at his back, and if he turns his head slightly, there are bars on the window. It doesn't take much to connect the dots that mean prison cell, and from there, once the words stop spinning, Napoleon colors in the pictures that go with 'concussion' and 'drugs.'
He doesn't know how long he's been held, but the blood on his arm is relatively fresh. He's missing his shoes, along with his gun and his communicator, but there's a small amount of explosive still hidden in his belt. If he could stand, he might be able to use it on the bars at the window, but his stomach protests every movement.
Throwing an arm over his eyes, Napoleon tries to rest and wait for the drugs to clear his system. He can feel himself vibrating, and muscles in his thighs start to twitch.
A sound as bright as lightning echoes outside of his room, and Napoleon feels it as a pressure on his chest and in his ears. He tries to sit up, but the pressure keeps him on the bed. His heart is pounding; he feels the sweat run down the back of his neck.
This is his chance. If he can move, he can get away, but his body betrays him.
He breathes carefully as strong hands guide him upright. "Napoleon."
His eyes flutter open, and he can see bright blue eyes, wisps of blond hair, and concerned features. "Il... Illya--" He can barely get the word out, his throat is so dry. He licks his lips as Illya steadies him.
"Do not try to talk." Illya has a syringe in one hand as he steadies Napoleon with the other. "I need to inject you with this before I can get you out of here. Understand?"
Napoleon nods, hissing as Illya rips the torn sleeve even more, revealing his bicep. The liquid looks vanilla, tastes silver as Illya injects it.
Illya drops the syringe on the bed, his fingers gentle on Napoleon's arm as they wait for the antidote to take effect. He brushes Napoleon's jaw with his thumb, then quickly looks away. He leaves his hand on Napoleon's arm, though, and the feeling grounds him. Within moments, the pressure on his chest has eased. and Napoleon can breathe again.
He puts his hand over Illya's and squeezes; Illya gives him a sharp smile in return. He wraps his arm around Napoleon and helps him off of the bed.
Napoleon's legs are shaky, but things seem normal again; his stomach doesn't protest the movement, so Napoleon figures he's good enough to go.
Illya's looking at him, his eyes shadowed. "One thing," he says quickly, nearly biting off the words in his haste. Then he brushes the edge of Napoleon's lips with his own. "It is good to see you alive."
Then his gun is in his hand, and he's out the door, Napoleon only a few steps behind him.
A/N: This is for
nangi_akki who asked for "napoleon and illya please - and if napoleon was hurting that would be lovely :)"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 04:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 02:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 02:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 02:43 pm (UTC)A girl after my own heart. Love some Napoleon hurting. :D
Very lyrical and flowing, like a good drug-induced haze ought to be. I adore this line:
Words flicker and echo in his mind, images mixing with them until he can't tell if he's feeling a color or smelling a word.
Wonderful. Thanks you!
no subject
Date: 2005-10-20 12:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-20 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-19 11:00 pm (UTC)Very nice piece, btw. I loved the imagery.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-20 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-20 12:53 am (UTC)such gorgeous descriptions of napoleon's synaesthesia
and concerned!illya - my favorite flavor
and this made me smile:
"Napoleon's head is spinning like a frog in a blender, or maybe a nun falling downstairs."
*hugs her beautiful, perfect ficlet*
millions and millions of thanks
no subject
Date: 2005-10-20 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-20 05:20 pm (UTC)he hurts so pretty, doesn't he?
and maybe you'll be inspired to write more MFU? maybe? please?
you should archive this at the chrome and gunmetal madhouse
http://www.chromeandgunmetal.com/chrome/
no subject
Date: 2005-10-21 03:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-22 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-23 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-21 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-22 05:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-22 01:05 am (UTC)Please can we have the novel-length fic this escaped from? Soon?
*smiles*
no subject
Date: 2005-10-22 05:05 am (UTC)