I can't tell how well I did on this. It affected me whilst writing it though . . .
Written with "Over My Head (Cable Car)" by The Fray on repeat.
Title: Falling Through
Pairing: Pilot!Mitchell / Pilot!Herrick (I put "pilot" because writing "Old!Herrick" would confuse me.)
Warnings: pre-series, mid-pilot(?) You don't have to have seen the pilot, but you have to know that the Herrick I am working with is young (looking, but a vampire. . .) and fit.
Most of them were aware of it before I was. Well, everyone has accepted it before I had.
***
Herrick and Mitchell. The ones with the power. The ones with the beauty. The ones in charge.
I knew I wasn’t there for the words. That was Herrick’s strength. I was there to smile and charm. To whisper pleasantries in newcomer’s ears. And then, when Herrick reached a climax in his speech of family and bonds I would appear at his side as his. And he would smile and say something under his breath or touch me and something and a part of my exterior would . . . crack. Deep inside my gut . . . something would shift.
And, more often than not, I would smile.
Herrick said he counted that as his day’s accomplishment, making me smile in front of people I barely know, rather than adding another five devoted followers to his group.
And then he would ask me for tonight’s idea, and I would take him somewhere new, and find someone new, and take them somewhere new (more private) and do something new.
It was private, but everyone was aware of what went on, and they were in awe. It was another thing Herrick used to prove he was better than them.
It wasn’t exclusive. It was an honour.
It was extended sometimes; to a newcomer showing promise, to someone one of us had newly turned. It was a gift.
***
There was a point where the old timer’s started treating me different. Their gaze held something heavier than the long-held respect.
Still, I flirted and flattered and continued like I hadn’t noticed.
When I arrived at Herrick’s side he indicated a twenty-looking Swedish girl and asked what I thought.
I followed his gaze.
She was my sire’s sired.
She turned to look at us, as indicated by her sire, and I held her gaze. That was flattery enough for someone who was human only last week.
But instead of blushing or looking away or eye-flirting back, she looked at me with darker emotions.
Sadness. Sympathy. Pity.
I broke the look, confused, turning first to Herrick for an explanation, but finding him engaged with his latest - a beautiful redheaded Cambridge graduate - turned back to the girl’s sire, who had busied himself with the girl and another friend.
I left that night with something missing, but the gap inside me was hidden that night, when I and Herrick found some Greek twins in a bar.
***
But more gaps were left inside me, making me something of a honeycomb - but far more fragile because I hadn’t learnt how to build the holes strong enough.
And the looks built, as did my desire to forget them. So I pulled Herrick out for more and more dangerous and extravagant stunts, and as word of these got out, the looks built even more.
Until the night where the redhead made her first successful turn and Herrick took her and her chosen to a hotel and I had the night to myself for the first time in decades.
I finally understood the looks, the empathy offered from some, pity from most, as I fought for and slowly lost my place beside Herrick.
And I mulled over this as I flirted with and dragged a boy down an alleyway, slid one of my legs between his and leant down towards his neck.
It was at this point that the honeycomb collapsed inside me, and I realised the boys blood was nowhere near as good as it was the night before, and the night before, and the night before. And all the nights when Herrick was there.
The boy passed out and I stopped. He’d live.
***
The next day I told Herrick I was giving up blood and getting a studio flat. I didn’t intend to return.
Title: Falling Through
Pairing: Pilot!Mitchell / Pilot!Herrick (I put "pilot" because writing "Old!Herrick" would confuse me.)
Warnings: pre-series, mid-pilot(?) You don't have to have seen the pilot, but you have to know that the Herrick I am working with is young (looking, but a vampire. . .) and fit.
Most of them were aware of it before I was. Well, everyone has accepted it before I had.
***
Herrick and Mitchell. The ones with the power. The ones with the beauty. The ones in charge.
I knew I wasn’t there for the words. That was Herrick’s strength. I was there to smile and charm. To whisper pleasantries in newcomer’s ears. And then, when Herrick reached a climax in his speech of family and bonds I would appear at his side as his. And he would smile and say something under his breath or touch me and something and a part of my exterior would . . . crack. Deep inside my gut . . . something would shift.
And, more often than not, I would smile.
Herrick said he counted that as his day’s accomplishment, making me smile in front of people I barely know, rather than adding another five devoted followers to his group.
And then he would ask me for tonight’s idea, and I would take him somewhere new, and find someone new, and take them somewhere new (more private) and do something new.
It was private, but everyone was aware of what went on, and they were in awe. It was another thing Herrick used to prove he was better than them.
It wasn’t exclusive. It was an honour.
It was extended sometimes; to a newcomer showing promise, to someone one of us had newly turned. It was a gift.
***
There was a point where the old timer’s started treating me different. Their gaze held something heavier than the long-held respect.
Still, I flirted and flattered and continued like I hadn’t noticed.
When I arrived at Herrick’s side he indicated a twenty-looking Swedish girl and asked what I thought.
I followed his gaze.
She was my sire’s sired.
She turned to look at us, as indicated by her sire, and I held her gaze. That was flattery enough for someone who was human only last week.
But instead of blushing or looking away or eye-flirting back, she looked at me with darker emotions.
Sadness. Sympathy. Pity.
I broke the look, confused, turning first to Herrick for an explanation, but finding him engaged with his latest - a beautiful redheaded Cambridge graduate - turned back to the girl’s sire, who had busied himself with the girl and another friend.
I left that night with something missing, but the gap inside me was hidden that night, when I and Herrick found some Greek twins in a bar.
***
But more gaps were left inside me, making me something of a honeycomb - but far more fragile because I hadn’t learnt how to build the holes strong enough.
And the looks built, as did my desire to forget them. So I pulled Herrick out for more and more dangerous and extravagant stunts, and as word of these got out, the looks built even more.
Until the night where the redhead made her first successful turn and Herrick took her and her chosen to a hotel and I had the night to myself for the first time in decades.
I finally understood the looks, the empathy offered from some, pity from most, as I fought for and slowly lost my place beside Herrick.
And I mulled over this as I flirted with and dragged a boy down an alleyway, slid one of my legs between his and leant down towards his neck.
It was at this point that the honeycomb collapsed inside me, and I realised the boys blood was nowhere near as good as it was the night before, and the night before, and the night before. And all the nights when Herrick was there.
The boy passed out and I stopped. He’d live.
***
The next day I told Herrick I was giving up blood and getting a studio flat. I didn’t intend to return.