[fic] Relics (part the seventh) {pg-13ish for mentions of sex}
The birthday fic I threatened promised here. So yes, once again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY wolfalice!!!!!!!! This is for you! :D
And because I am terrible at originality, this follows all that's come before.
She doesn’t remember any of her afternoon classes.
She tells Tom she’s still jetlagged. Goes home to an eerily empty house and thinks about the time Julian turned her home against her.
Thinks about when he was just a good-looking boy in a strange little game shop, with its 120 beats-per-minute music. Thinks about how she likes it when her heart beats that fast, how her breasts prickle and that dark place between her legs gets wet.
Because it wasn’t just her home that Julian turned against her.
That night, Jenny dreams in black-and-white. Like the Victorian porn Dee wrote a paper on once, and they all had giggled - scandalized and embarrassed - at the shocking pictures reprinted in boringly academic treatises.
Julian’s there (of course), immaculate in a mourning coat.
“Miss Thornton,” he says, raising her gloved hand to his lips.
“You’re dead,” she says, dully, stupidly, and she tries to adjust the veil of her hat. “I can’t find your name.”
He smiles against the back of her hand. She can feel the way his lips curve, even through the kid leather. And then he’s raising his head, and his electric-blue eyes are staring past her soul and straight into the waking world.
“I don’t know why you’re so convinced of my German heritage, Miss Thornton. Especially since I went to such lengths to drop hints of my more…exotic blood…at out first meeting.”
And because I am terrible at originality, this follows all that's come before.
She doesn’t remember any of her afternoon classes.
She tells Tom she’s still jetlagged. Goes home to an eerily empty house and thinks about the time Julian turned her home against her.
Thinks about when he was just a good-looking boy in a strange little game shop, with its 120 beats-per-minute music. Thinks about how she likes it when her heart beats that fast, how her breasts prickle and that dark place between her legs gets wet.
Because it wasn’t just her home that Julian turned against her.
That night, Jenny dreams in black-and-white. Like the Victorian porn Dee wrote a paper on once, and they all had giggled - scandalized and embarrassed - at the shocking pictures reprinted in boringly academic treatises.
Julian’s there (of course), immaculate in a mourning coat.
“Miss Thornton,” he says, raising her gloved hand to his lips.
“You’re dead,” she says, dully, stupidly, and she tries to adjust the veil of her hat. “I can’t find your name.”
He smiles against the back of her hand. She can feel the way his lips curve, even through the kid leather. And then he’s raising his head, and his electric-blue eyes are staring past her soul and straight into the waking world.
“I don’t know why you’re so convinced of my German heritage, Miss Thornton. Especially since I went to such lengths to drop hints of my more…exotic blood…at out first meeting.”