(![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
darkfaery1.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
monaboyd Apr. 24th, 2006 12:30 pm)
darkfaery1.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Apr. 24th, 2006 12:30 pm)Title: My Immortal
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkfaery1
Pairing: Monaboyd, Ian/Billy (past life non-con) this chapter only
Rating: NC-17 for slash sex, strong violence including torture and execution (past lives).
Summary: Billy and Dom are the best of mates, but strange dreams cause Dom to question the true nature of their relationship. As Dom attempts to prove that these intense 'dreams' are real past life memories, Billy is plagued by nightmares of his own.
Disclaimer: This tale is just for fun, no money has changed hands. It is a complete figment of my imagination.
Author's Notes: The title of this story as well as any quotes used are taken from the haunting ballad, My Immortal by Evanescence.
Links to all chapters can be found here.
these wounds won't seem to heal
this pain is just too real
there's just too much that time cannot erase…
It was cold and damp in Darvel, Ayrshire. Not a hint of sunlight broke though the darkening clouds during the two days of filming; somehow it did not explain the bone chill Billy felt each time he caught a glimpse of the centuries-old tollhouse that still guarded the town's northern entrance.
Billy had not slept well since his frighteningly real (and frighteningly erotic) Crusader dream. The vision of him and Dom as lovers during the Middle Ages still haunted him. He tried to replace her face and the memory of her touch with Dom's, but she seemed like the memory and Dom--or Étienne--was the reality.
Filming wrapped early on the second day, so Billy accompanied the cast and crew to a local pub for drinks. He drank more than he normally did, though the ale and whiskey only served to make him feel even more exhausted. Driving back to Glasgow was out of the question, so Billy excused himself and went back to the modest inn where he was staying.
He went to sleep easily enough that night, but was awoken by the creaking of a bed. It sounded as if it was in the same room, but that was impossible. Billy turned on the light and the creaking stopped. He scanned the room and saw nothing but his own tired reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite the bed. With a shake of his head, he switched off the light and turned over. As he hovered between sleeping and waking, Billy heard the creaking again…
August, 1594…
I bite my lower lip to keep from crying out. My master takes me from behind as he is wont to do in the middle of the night, pressing my face into the feather mattress until I can hardly breathe. Mercifully, I hear him grunt as he grabs me tightly, then releases me. He turns over and is snoring in moments. I do not sleep for the rest of the night, unable to forget the pain in my backside or the shame of my submission.
My master, John McClellan, calls himself the Witch-finder General of Scotland, but I know he is not the pious man he appears to be. Most of the witches he finds are women--old women with cats or birds or too much land, the insane and transient. Invariably every village we visit turns up a few male witches--poor, bonnie lads McClellan cannot suffer to live. McClellan chose me for his assistant for a similar reason. He tells me I am beautiful, but wicked and only he can save my soul from the wages of sin. My master may want to save my soul by daylight, but as soon as the sun sets, I feel McClellan's hands under the bed sheets, exploring my nether regions.
In the morning, we emerge from our room pious Calvinists once more. I turn to see the lad's blue-gray eyes flashing in the candlelight. He inches forward so that I may see his face. It is not mocking as I feared it would be, but full of sadness. He heard it all. He stood witness to my ordeal.
"What are you doing, lad?" Master McClellan barks. "Lurking about, up to no good?"
Geoffrey Galbraith emerges from the shadows, clad in his ragged tartan as always. I try to warn him with my eyes not to meet my master's gaze so defiantly, but to no avail. It matters not as young Geoffrey is a right bonnie lad and I can already see interest in my master's eye.
We join the Laird of Darvel and his family at the great table to break our fast. My master listens greedily to tales of troublesome neighbors from the Laird and his wife. The Galbraith's have had a vexing year, dealing with ruined crops, dead livestock, and complaining tenants.
"It is the fault of the cursed witches," my master tells them. "It is well that you called upon me when you did."
The Laird nods, then furrows his brow. "But the cost, Master McClellan--"
McClellan waves away his concern. "You forget a witch's property is forfeit when she is found guilty. Widow McCrimmon's land alone will cover any costs you may incur." The Laird's eyes twinkle with greed.
I see Geoffrey listening to their plans to ensnare the rich old widow out of the corner of my eye. My master sees him too before the lad can duck outside to do his chores.
"Your servant," drawled McClellan, "that lad Geoffrey--he has an ill-favored look."
"Aye," agreed the Laird. "An idle wretch, that one. His mother was a Highland savage, but he is my brother's bairn and an orphan. It would have been un-Christian not to take him in."
A hungry look crossed McClellan's face. "And the lad--a good Christian, is he?"
"Aye," the Laird said uneasily. "He's no witch."
"What an extraordinary thing to say." McClellan's thin lips curl in a cunning grin. "Behind every denial lies a grain of truth…"
Billy lay on the edge of consciousness, unable to fully wake himself from the dream-memory. "Geoffrey," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. At a soul level, Billy knew Geoffrey was Dom, just as he knew his 'master' John McClellan was their dear friend Sir Ian. How could Ian hurt me--hurt Dom…Geoffrey?
"Geoffrey…"
My master wants no female touching his garments, so it falls to me to do his washing. Geoffrey is chopping wood leisurely, stopping between each axe-fall to watch me at my task. I imagine he is snickering behind my back, but each time I turn I catch his pitying gaze, then he resumes his chore.
As I finish hanging my master's wash to dry, I feel a hand upon my shoulder. I start and am unnerved to find Geoffrey standing close to me. I take in his unkempt, but bonnie countenance as well as his muscular body clad in the threadbare blue and green tartan he wears so proudly. I mentally compare his rugged beauty to the harsh, civilized lines of my master's face. I feel my cheeks burn as I wonder how Geoffrey's rough hand would feel around my cock.
"He's a devil, your master."
Even though I heartily agree with Geoffrey's assessment, I cannot say so. "You would do well to hold your tongue, Master Galbraith."
"Dontcha yeh know I heard everything?" Geoffrey says with tears in his eyes. "Heard him taking you like a wee lass every night you've spent under my uncle's roof. And every night I hear you weeping after he takes his pleasure. Why do you stay with him?"
Tears spring to my own eyes and I turn away from him in shame. "I have nowhere else to go."
Geoffrey places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Come with me, then."
I gaze at him in surprise. "I cannot," I tell him firmly. "You are a stranger to me." These words feel untrue even as I speak them. I have only known this peculiar lad for a few days, yet he seems so familiar to me. "Where would we go?"
"To Breadalbane and the clan Campbell--my mother's kin," Geoffrey says with a smile. "We'll be treated little better than servants there as well, but at least you'll be far away from him."
"Highlanders," I breathe with awe mixed with fear. "Is it true they eat the fried skins of unbaptized bairns every Good Friday?"
Geoffrey laughs and shakes his head. "McClellan told you that?"
I nod, then lower my head. He takes my chin in his hand and lifts my face gently. His blue-gray eyes lock with my green.
"My, you are a bonnie lad, Will Mercer."
I feel my cheeks burn again, but I smile. "Not half as bonnie as you, Geoff."
He breaks out in a wide grin then presses his lips to mine. I open my mouth slightly and he darts his teasing tongue inside. His whiskers tickle my clean-shaven face. I feel my body convulse with delight, as joyful tears run down my cheeks. I am alive again.
Geoffrey withdraws too soon. He ruffles my hair affectionately. "You had best get back inside, Will."
"I know where my master keeps his gold," I whisper.
"Good lad," Geoffrey replies with an impish grin. "We'll leave tonight as soon as the Laird and McClellan are in their cups."
I go inside and see my master approach. At first I fear he has seen us kiss or heard our plan to rob him and run away, but his countenance betrays no such knowledge. "Is that lad still outside?"
"Aye, Master," I answer as I avoid his gaze. "He is chopping wood."
"Good." McClellen's eager expression makes me uneasy. I am frightened for Geoff, so I hide near the back door to watch them.
I do not hear what McClellan is saying, but I can see clearly enough. My master approaches Geoffrey smiling as warmly as his cold heart allows. Though I cannot hear his words, I know in my heart McClellan is weaving the same web that entrapped me: Let me lead you from temptation, lad. I will save your wretched soul as we do God's work…
My master takes another step towards Geoff, who is in his thrall as I was, mesmerized by McClellan's velvety voice. My master raises his hand slowly; Geoffrey's eyes do not stray from McClellan's. Our plan to escape is dashed, but my heart begins to beat quickly at the thought of Geoffrey joining our company. A friend, an ally to share my pain, my shame.
McClellan's soft hand brushes against Geoffrey's cheek. Suddenly, my ire rises, jealousy and outrage consume me. I want to shout a warning to the lad, but I remain silent. When Geoffrey recoils from my master's touch, I smile. My happiness turns to dread as I watch an unmistakable word form on my master's lips…
"Witch!"
Billy finally forced himself to wake and turned on the light. He hugged himself tightly as he started to tremble. "Fucking Christ, I can't take anymore of this!" It was just a bloody dream! he told himself unconvincingly.
He threw back the bedclothes and sprang out of bed. He dressed quickly, then shoved his belongings into his bag. With hardly a word to the girl at the desk, he tossed the room key to her and made for his car. It was three-thirty in the morning and his body and mind begged for sleep. Billy rolled down the window and blasted his stereo, grateful for the mist that hit his face as he drove at top speed back to Glasgow.
~*~
To be continued…
Author:
darkfaery1Pairing: Monaboyd, Ian/Billy (past life non-con) this chapter only
Rating: NC-17 for slash sex, strong violence including torture and execution (past lives).
Summary: Billy and Dom are the best of mates, but strange dreams cause Dom to question the true nature of their relationship. As Dom attempts to prove that these intense 'dreams' are real past life memories, Billy is plagued by nightmares of his own.
Disclaimer: This tale is just for fun, no money has changed hands. It is a complete figment of my imagination.
Author's Notes: The title of this story as well as any quotes used are taken from the haunting ballad, My Immortal by Evanescence.
Links to all chapters can be found here.
these wounds won't seem to heal
this pain is just too real
there's just too much that time cannot erase…
It was cold and damp in Darvel, Ayrshire. Not a hint of sunlight broke though the darkening clouds during the two days of filming; somehow it did not explain the bone chill Billy felt each time he caught a glimpse of the centuries-old tollhouse that still guarded the town's northern entrance.
Billy had not slept well since his frighteningly real (and frighteningly erotic) Crusader dream. The vision of him and Dom as lovers during the Middle Ages still haunted him. He tried to replace her face and the memory of her touch with Dom's, but she seemed like the memory and Dom--or Étienne--was the reality.
Filming wrapped early on the second day, so Billy accompanied the cast and crew to a local pub for drinks. He drank more than he normally did, though the ale and whiskey only served to make him feel even more exhausted. Driving back to Glasgow was out of the question, so Billy excused himself and went back to the modest inn where he was staying.
He went to sleep easily enough that night, but was awoken by the creaking of a bed. It sounded as if it was in the same room, but that was impossible. Billy turned on the light and the creaking stopped. He scanned the room and saw nothing but his own tired reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite the bed. With a shake of his head, he switched off the light and turned over. As he hovered between sleeping and waking, Billy heard the creaking again…
August, 1594…
I bite my lower lip to keep from crying out. My master takes me from behind as he is wont to do in the middle of the night, pressing my face into the feather mattress until I can hardly breathe. Mercifully, I hear him grunt as he grabs me tightly, then releases me. He turns over and is snoring in moments. I do not sleep for the rest of the night, unable to forget the pain in my backside or the shame of my submission.
My master, John McClellan, calls himself the Witch-finder General of Scotland, but I know he is not the pious man he appears to be. Most of the witches he finds are women--old women with cats or birds or too much land, the insane and transient. Invariably every village we visit turns up a few male witches--poor, bonnie lads McClellan cannot suffer to live. McClellan chose me for his assistant for a similar reason. He tells me I am beautiful, but wicked and only he can save my soul from the wages of sin. My master may want to save my soul by daylight, but as soon as the sun sets, I feel McClellan's hands under the bed sheets, exploring my nether regions.
In the morning, we emerge from our room pious Calvinists once more. I turn to see the lad's blue-gray eyes flashing in the candlelight. He inches forward so that I may see his face. It is not mocking as I feared it would be, but full of sadness. He heard it all. He stood witness to my ordeal.
"What are you doing, lad?" Master McClellan barks. "Lurking about, up to no good?"
Geoffrey Galbraith emerges from the shadows, clad in his ragged tartan as always. I try to warn him with my eyes not to meet my master's gaze so defiantly, but to no avail. It matters not as young Geoffrey is a right bonnie lad and I can already see interest in my master's eye.
We join the Laird of Darvel and his family at the great table to break our fast. My master listens greedily to tales of troublesome neighbors from the Laird and his wife. The Galbraith's have had a vexing year, dealing with ruined crops, dead livestock, and complaining tenants.
"It is the fault of the cursed witches," my master tells them. "It is well that you called upon me when you did."
The Laird nods, then furrows his brow. "But the cost, Master McClellan--"
McClellan waves away his concern. "You forget a witch's property is forfeit when she is found guilty. Widow McCrimmon's land alone will cover any costs you may incur." The Laird's eyes twinkle with greed.
I see Geoffrey listening to their plans to ensnare the rich old widow out of the corner of my eye. My master sees him too before the lad can duck outside to do his chores.
"Your servant," drawled McClellan, "that lad Geoffrey--he has an ill-favored look."
"Aye," agreed the Laird. "An idle wretch, that one. His mother was a Highland savage, but he is my brother's bairn and an orphan. It would have been un-Christian not to take him in."
A hungry look crossed McClellan's face. "And the lad--a good Christian, is he?"
"Aye," the Laird said uneasily. "He's no witch."
"What an extraordinary thing to say." McClellan's thin lips curl in a cunning grin. "Behind every denial lies a grain of truth…"
Billy lay on the edge of consciousness, unable to fully wake himself from the dream-memory. "Geoffrey," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. At a soul level, Billy knew Geoffrey was Dom, just as he knew his 'master' John McClellan was their dear friend Sir Ian. How could Ian hurt me--hurt Dom…Geoffrey?
"Geoffrey…"
My master wants no female touching his garments, so it falls to me to do his washing. Geoffrey is chopping wood leisurely, stopping between each axe-fall to watch me at my task. I imagine he is snickering behind my back, but each time I turn I catch his pitying gaze, then he resumes his chore.
As I finish hanging my master's wash to dry, I feel a hand upon my shoulder. I start and am unnerved to find Geoffrey standing close to me. I take in his unkempt, but bonnie countenance as well as his muscular body clad in the threadbare blue and green tartan he wears so proudly. I mentally compare his rugged beauty to the harsh, civilized lines of my master's face. I feel my cheeks burn as I wonder how Geoffrey's rough hand would feel around my cock.
"He's a devil, your master."
Even though I heartily agree with Geoffrey's assessment, I cannot say so. "You would do well to hold your tongue, Master Galbraith."
"Dontcha yeh know I heard everything?" Geoffrey says with tears in his eyes. "Heard him taking you like a wee lass every night you've spent under my uncle's roof. And every night I hear you weeping after he takes his pleasure. Why do you stay with him?"
Tears spring to my own eyes and I turn away from him in shame. "I have nowhere else to go."
Geoffrey places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Come with me, then."
I gaze at him in surprise. "I cannot," I tell him firmly. "You are a stranger to me." These words feel untrue even as I speak them. I have only known this peculiar lad for a few days, yet he seems so familiar to me. "Where would we go?"
"To Breadalbane and the clan Campbell--my mother's kin," Geoffrey says with a smile. "We'll be treated little better than servants there as well, but at least you'll be far away from him."
"Highlanders," I breathe with awe mixed with fear. "Is it true they eat the fried skins of unbaptized bairns every Good Friday?"
Geoffrey laughs and shakes his head. "McClellan told you that?"
I nod, then lower my head. He takes my chin in his hand and lifts my face gently. His blue-gray eyes lock with my green.
"My, you are a bonnie lad, Will Mercer."
I feel my cheeks burn again, but I smile. "Not half as bonnie as you, Geoff."
He breaks out in a wide grin then presses his lips to mine. I open my mouth slightly and he darts his teasing tongue inside. His whiskers tickle my clean-shaven face. I feel my body convulse with delight, as joyful tears run down my cheeks. I am alive again.
Geoffrey withdraws too soon. He ruffles my hair affectionately. "You had best get back inside, Will."
"I know where my master keeps his gold," I whisper.
"Good lad," Geoffrey replies with an impish grin. "We'll leave tonight as soon as the Laird and McClellan are in their cups."
I go inside and see my master approach. At first I fear he has seen us kiss or heard our plan to rob him and run away, but his countenance betrays no such knowledge. "Is that lad still outside?"
"Aye, Master," I answer as I avoid his gaze. "He is chopping wood."
"Good." McClellen's eager expression makes me uneasy. I am frightened for Geoff, so I hide near the back door to watch them.
I do not hear what McClellan is saying, but I can see clearly enough. My master approaches Geoffrey smiling as warmly as his cold heart allows. Though I cannot hear his words, I know in my heart McClellan is weaving the same web that entrapped me: Let me lead you from temptation, lad. I will save your wretched soul as we do God's work…
My master takes another step towards Geoff, who is in his thrall as I was, mesmerized by McClellan's velvety voice. My master raises his hand slowly; Geoffrey's eyes do not stray from McClellan's. Our plan to escape is dashed, but my heart begins to beat quickly at the thought of Geoffrey joining our company. A friend, an ally to share my pain, my shame.
McClellan's soft hand brushes against Geoffrey's cheek. Suddenly, my ire rises, jealousy and outrage consume me. I want to shout a warning to the lad, but I remain silent. When Geoffrey recoils from my master's touch, I smile. My happiness turns to dread as I watch an unmistakable word form on my master's lips…
"Witch!"
Billy finally forced himself to wake and turned on the light. He hugged himself tightly as he started to tremble. "Fucking Christ, I can't take anymore of this!" It was just a bloody dream! he told himself unconvincingly.
He threw back the bedclothes and sprang out of bed. He dressed quickly, then shoved his belongings into his bag. With hardly a word to the girl at the desk, he tossed the room key to her and made for his car. It was three-thirty in the morning and his body and mind begged for sleep. Billy rolled down the window and blasted his stereo, grateful for the mist that hit his face as he drove at top speed back to Glasgow.
To be continued…
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I also loved that you got Sir Ian in there, albeit as such a horrible character. Brilliant though, how you portrayed him. I'm curious now, though- if John McClellan is Sir Ian, is the Laird of Derval anybody, or is he just another random bloke?
Par excellence, once more. Brava
From:
no subject
Thank you again for your thoughtful comments. I'm afraid the Laird is just a random bloke. I really debated about bringing Ian into this, but now I'm so happy I did. When I was researching this particular time period, I played with dialect a bit, but I came to the conclusion that unless you're a native, dialect is a bad idea. Even then it's damned difficult to read. Better to get the flavor of the time and place and leave the dialect to Sir Walter Scott.:)
I love historical AU's so much, I'm tempted to write an Elizabethan Monaboyd fic I've been thinking about for ages, but I don't know if it would generate much interest. There's so many amazing stories to read on Monaboyd (I think I have 6 on my 'must read' list), it's hard to build a readership. I really do appreciate your interest in my stuff. Thank you.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Thanks for the support! I really would like to do it. The rest of the 'historical' cast would be based on Kate Blanchett's Elizabeth, particularly the portrayal of Elizabeth's spymaster, Sir Francis Walsingham, played brilliantly by Geoffrey Rush. My thought was to have Dom work for Walsingham during the intrigues of the various Mary Queen of Scots plots. Of course, a certain Sir William Boyd, Scottish nobleman would also figure prominently--though I'm not sure whose side he'll be on.
First though, I need to post my last chapter of "My Immortal," which I promise to do today.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject