Fire Bird...
12/4/04 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyHello...anybody out there? THis is the next (almost done!) part of Fire Bird. Sadly for you fans of the Big Wrong Nasty, there is none.As far as I'm concerned any way.
so please to be considering this chapter of Fire Bird and The Gray Wolf.
It was early the next evening when Felix and Alexei arrived with a tall, dark, boisterous man. Kirill hung over the banister at the top of the stair case and watched the men come in, bringing a gust of bitter night air and white flakes swirling briefly in the foyer.
The man, Rasputin, spoke loudly and acted as if he belonged at the palace, he seemed to have no charm, no social grace. Kirill wrinkled his nose. Peasant.
So this was the infamous Rasputin then. He reminded Kirill of Boris, a Boris without any of the charm, intelligence or polish that Boris had. But the self-interest was there, shining out of his eyes, lighting him from inside. He was a shell of want and greed, exactly like Uncle.
Fine. It would be a pleasure to remove this blot on Mother Russia’s heart.
Kirill smirked. He didn’t give a damn about Russia, he didn’t give a damn about Boris, or Felix…but he could prove again to Alexei how worthy he was.
Alexei lifted his head almost as if he sensed Kirill’ regard, and met his eyes. A thrill ran through the boy--- anytime Alexei looked at him, any time he touched him or smelled the scent of Alexei, leather and roses and smoke and blood, he was hard.
Alexei smiled at him and went on to the dining room with Felix and the Monk. Kirill went back to their apartment and waited for a summons.
Alexei watched the little drama unfold, watched Irina flutter about Rasputin. He smiled and caught Felix’s eye. Felix gazed back, white as a sheet, and sipping at his glass of tea—sweat rolled down the side of his neck. Alexei snorted quietly to himself and drank his vodka.
Poisoned cakes. He watched the monk fill himself on the sweet cakes, and thought again how idiotic this plan was. A shot to the back of the head, and they could all be in their beds now, sleeping soundly. This demand for theater…too Russian. He preferred simplicity. Perhaps he should seriously consider immigrating—America.
There was a land--simple, direct people, uncomplicated rules, no monarchy…no defense against someone like himself. He smiled into his glass and nearly missed the signal Felix gave Irina. He scolded himself for being so unobservant and rose with Irina to leave the room.
He bent to Felix and spoke into his ear.“Calm yourself. It’s just a matter of waiting for him to die—let the poison do it’s work.” You gave him enough. He thrust his tongue into Felix’s ear before he pulled back and smirked at the shudder that went through him. He was going to miss that, he thought. So malleable, so defenseless.
Kirill was becoming bored waiting for his part in the affair. He slumped in the overstuffed chair by the fire, staring at the rug there. He could still see some spots of blood sunk into the fibers. He hoped that tonight Alexei would allow him in the bed again. Last night, he slept alone, Alexei sat up all night with the Prince, preparing for this evening. He sighed, wishing Alexei was there and the door opened and Alexei entered. The others waiting with him rushed up to Alexei, peppering him with questions.
“Felix will come when it’s over, in the mean time, help yourself, to the brandy, the wine.” He came to stand by Kirill, stroked his hair and murmured words of encouragement and Kirill’s eyes rolled shut, he leaned against the hand closing round the back of his neck and groaned. Heat flooded his limbs and he felt himself stir. Always when he touched him…
Moments later the door flew open and Felix swayed in the open doorway, white and shaking—“He won’t die! All that poison--the tea, the wine...he ate all the cake!”
Kirill struggled to hold in his laughter, and Alexei scowled at him before pulling his revolver out of its holster.
He pressed the revolver in Felix’s hand “Here. Shoot him. Should have done so in the beginning. Go. This time he’ll die.”
A little time passed before they heard a shot.
Alexei motioned for the party to go and they filed out like naughty schoolboys under his cold eye.
From the dining room, they could hear a keening noise, rising and falling mindlessly and in their haste to enter the room one of the party knocked the light switch off.
The flames dancing in the fireplace gave the room a hellish glow, the shadows leaped and twisted on the walls, and lit the figure of Rasputin curled in agony on a white bearskin, turned the blood splashed on it black. Alexei turned the switch back on with a snarl at the huddled party of terrified conspirators, and light flared, turning the blood a shocking scarlet against the white. Felix bent over the now silent figure, and shook his shoulder lightly.
“Is—is he dead?” someone whispered.
“Felix—Felix,” Rasputin cried out as he rose from the rug like a gargoyle from hell, blood making his face a grisly mask, his mouth open and “Felix!” He screamed into the Prince’s face.
Felix shrieked and dashed through the group—ran wildly out to the courtyard, Rasputin on his heels and blood streaming from a wound in his chest.
The conspirators scattered in fear, and only Alexei and Kirill went out after the two.
Felix was plastered against the court yard wall, his face frozen in horror, shaking and moaning and the Monk ran on to the gate, crying out,” I’ll tell her, Felix, I’ll tell all to the Czarina! All!”
Flakes of snow splattered against Kirill’s face and he winced slightly, but Alexei took no notice of them, he settled himself, pulled a gun from his tunic and sighted the running man. He shot, and the man spun, he shot again, and he dropped to his knees. One more shot and he fell to his face.
A trail of bloody footsteps traced Rasputin’s flight to the gate. A pool of red surrounded his fallen form. Silence.
Kirill looked back at Alexei, his coat was open— wind billowing it against his legs. He held the gun at his hip, and tilted his head, a frown of concentration—displeasure-- on his face. “Bad shots.” He jerked his head at Kirill. "Check for me, little thing .”
Kirill raised an eyebrow. He walked out to the man stretched out in steaming snow—and he groaned and rolled to his back. Behind him he could hear Alexei yell, “Shit! What does it take!”
Kirill looked at Alexei’s furious face, looked down in Rasputin’s face, twisted in agony, shrugged, bent over and drove his finger into the man’s forehead.
The crack of bone was loud in the snow muffled air, and for a minute there was no sound at all and he could hear the blood splashing up against his face. Warmth laced his chin and cheek and he drew back, wiping his hand on Rasputin’s coat. He stared into Alexei’s eyes. “Dead now.”
Alexei grinned at him, a wolfs grin, and it seemed to Kirill his eyes caught and reflected the moonlight. So beautiful, he vibrated with life with power.
Kirill waited on his knees for Alexei to come to him and bowed his head.
“You’ve done well. Put him in the trunk now, little one. I’ll drive, and we can finish this thing, yes.” He bent down and kissed Kirill, heedless of the blood. He kissed him deeply, licking his lips and sliding his tongue across Kirill’s chin—“Go.”
They dragged the body out of the trunk, and Kirill walked across the thick ice of the river with the corpse slung over his shoulder, carrying him with ease. He knelt and punched a hole through the ice, and shoved the body in.
“Good riddance—you were a nasty thing. Enjoy hell, if there is such a place,” he stood. “And if there is” he muttered,”Warn the Devil about me.”
TBC
so please to be considering this chapter of Fire Bird and The Gray Wolf.
It was early the next evening when Felix and Alexei arrived with a tall, dark, boisterous man. Kirill hung over the banister at the top of the stair case and watched the men come in, bringing a gust of bitter night air and white flakes swirling briefly in the foyer.
The man, Rasputin, spoke loudly and acted as if he belonged at the palace, he seemed to have no charm, no social grace. Kirill wrinkled his nose. Peasant.
So this was the infamous Rasputin then. He reminded Kirill of Boris, a Boris without any of the charm, intelligence or polish that Boris had. But the self-interest was there, shining out of his eyes, lighting him from inside. He was a shell of want and greed, exactly like Uncle.
Fine. It would be a pleasure to remove this blot on Mother Russia’s heart.
Kirill smirked. He didn’t give a damn about Russia, he didn’t give a damn about Boris, or Felix…but he could prove again to Alexei how worthy he was.
Alexei lifted his head almost as if he sensed Kirill’ regard, and met his eyes. A thrill ran through the boy--- anytime Alexei looked at him, any time he touched him or smelled the scent of Alexei, leather and roses and smoke and blood, he was hard.
Alexei smiled at him and went on to the dining room with Felix and the Monk. Kirill went back to their apartment and waited for a summons.
Alexei watched the little drama unfold, watched Irina flutter about Rasputin. He smiled and caught Felix’s eye. Felix gazed back, white as a sheet, and sipping at his glass of tea—sweat rolled down the side of his neck. Alexei snorted quietly to himself and drank his vodka.
Poisoned cakes. He watched the monk fill himself on the sweet cakes, and thought again how idiotic this plan was. A shot to the back of the head, and they could all be in their beds now, sleeping soundly. This demand for theater…too Russian. He preferred simplicity. Perhaps he should seriously consider immigrating—America.
There was a land--simple, direct people, uncomplicated rules, no monarchy…no defense against someone like himself. He smiled into his glass and nearly missed the signal Felix gave Irina. He scolded himself for being so unobservant and rose with Irina to leave the room.
He bent to Felix and spoke into his ear.“Calm yourself. It’s just a matter of waiting for him to die—let the poison do it’s work.” You gave him enough. He thrust his tongue into Felix’s ear before he pulled back and smirked at the shudder that went through him. He was going to miss that, he thought. So malleable, so defenseless.
Kirill was becoming bored waiting for his part in the affair. He slumped in the overstuffed chair by the fire, staring at the rug there. He could still see some spots of blood sunk into the fibers. He hoped that tonight Alexei would allow him in the bed again. Last night, he slept alone, Alexei sat up all night with the Prince, preparing for this evening. He sighed, wishing Alexei was there and the door opened and Alexei entered. The others waiting with him rushed up to Alexei, peppering him with questions.
“Felix will come when it’s over, in the mean time, help yourself, to the brandy, the wine.” He came to stand by Kirill, stroked his hair and murmured words of encouragement and Kirill’s eyes rolled shut, he leaned against the hand closing round the back of his neck and groaned. Heat flooded his limbs and he felt himself stir. Always when he touched him…
Moments later the door flew open and Felix swayed in the open doorway, white and shaking—“He won’t die! All that poison--the tea, the wine...he ate all the cake!”
Kirill struggled to hold in his laughter, and Alexei scowled at him before pulling his revolver out of its holster.
He pressed the revolver in Felix’s hand “Here. Shoot him. Should have done so in the beginning. Go. This time he’ll die.”
A little time passed before they heard a shot.
Alexei motioned for the party to go and they filed out like naughty schoolboys under his cold eye.
From the dining room, they could hear a keening noise, rising and falling mindlessly and in their haste to enter the room one of the party knocked the light switch off.
The flames dancing in the fireplace gave the room a hellish glow, the shadows leaped and twisted on the walls, and lit the figure of Rasputin curled in agony on a white bearskin, turned the blood splashed on it black. Alexei turned the switch back on with a snarl at the huddled party of terrified conspirators, and light flared, turning the blood a shocking scarlet against the white. Felix bent over the now silent figure, and shook his shoulder lightly.
“Is—is he dead?” someone whispered.
“Felix—Felix,” Rasputin cried out as he rose from the rug like a gargoyle from hell, blood making his face a grisly mask, his mouth open and “Felix!” He screamed into the Prince’s face.
Felix shrieked and dashed through the group—ran wildly out to the courtyard, Rasputin on his heels and blood streaming from a wound in his chest.
The conspirators scattered in fear, and only Alexei and Kirill went out after the two.
Felix was plastered against the court yard wall, his face frozen in horror, shaking and moaning and the Monk ran on to the gate, crying out,” I’ll tell her, Felix, I’ll tell all to the Czarina! All!”
Flakes of snow splattered against Kirill’s face and he winced slightly, but Alexei took no notice of them, he settled himself, pulled a gun from his tunic and sighted the running man. He shot, and the man spun, he shot again, and he dropped to his knees. One more shot and he fell to his face.
A trail of bloody footsteps traced Rasputin’s flight to the gate. A pool of red surrounded his fallen form. Silence.
Kirill looked back at Alexei, his coat was open— wind billowing it against his legs. He held the gun at his hip, and tilted his head, a frown of concentration—displeasure-- on his face. “Bad shots.” He jerked his head at Kirill. "Check for me, little thing .”
Kirill raised an eyebrow. He walked out to the man stretched out in steaming snow—and he groaned and rolled to his back. Behind him he could hear Alexei yell, “Shit! What does it take!”
Kirill looked at Alexei’s furious face, looked down in Rasputin’s face, twisted in agony, shrugged, bent over and drove his finger into the man’s forehead.
The crack of bone was loud in the snow muffled air, and for a minute there was no sound at all and he could hear the blood splashing up against his face. Warmth laced his chin and cheek and he drew back, wiping his hand on Rasputin’s coat. He stared into Alexei’s eyes. “Dead now.”
Alexei grinned at him, a wolfs grin, and it seemed to Kirill his eyes caught and reflected the moonlight. So beautiful, he vibrated with life with power.
Kirill waited on his knees for Alexei to come to him and bowed his head.
“You’ve done well. Put him in the trunk now, little one. I’ll drive, and we can finish this thing, yes.” He bent down and kissed Kirill, heedless of the blood. He kissed him deeply, licking his lips and sliding his tongue across Kirill’s chin—“Go.”
They dragged the body out of the trunk, and Kirill walked across the thick ice of the river with the corpse slung over his shoulder, carrying him with ease. He knelt and punched a hole through the ice, and shoved the body in.
“Good riddance—you were a nasty thing. Enjoy hell, if there is such a place,” he stood. “And if there is” he muttered,”Warn the Devil about me.”
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
12/5/04 06:05 am (UTC)It also scares me how much I love Kirill just sticking his fingers through someone's skull, and Alexei being delighted about it.
I continue to love Alexei callling Kirill 'little thing'.
(no subject)
12/5/04 06:15 am (UTC)*whispers* I scare myself! heh!
Thank you for the lovely feed back ! *kissy*
(no subject)
12/5/04 06:46 am (UTC)Me, too! I have fond memories of my high school history teacher telling us of his demise with great relish. He preactically acted the whole thing out! Hee!
Roxy, dear - this was fabulous! Alexei is so delightfully in charge - toying with Felix and keeping everyone else together, then making sure R. got finished off. He's got oodles more charisma than that unwashed googly-eyed peasant!
Not to mention the services of a sexy and devoted alien! It's probably a good thing for Russia that Alexei is thinking of immigrating. *g* Which is to say - still lovin' this! Yay!
(no subject)
12/5/04 07:13 am (UTC)I'm thinking that too, hee! Can you imagine Alexei in 1900's America? He'd be running any city he landed in within the year! (so not going there...no--no!)
I can't believe how much fun this was to write, bending the truth enough to make it fit the tale, but not so much as to throw it completley out of whack. Now I know why people do historical fic-- it's great, great fun!
(no subject)
12/5/04 05:01 pm (UTC)I know exactly what you mean! Even as I'm enjoying Felix's little porny scenes, I'm thinking that this was probably part of the basis of the November Revolution - those depraved aristocrats!
And Alexei in turnofthecentury America? *dies* It's so Gangs of New York! You are so right - he'd run any city he was in like that *snaps*
Such a great incarnation of Lex you''ve created! I'm going to miss him so much when you finish this story!!!
*clutches badass Alexei tight* (so as not to get stabbed)
(no subject)
12/5/04 10:50 pm (UTC)Gosh, I know, I'm getting kinda sad that I'm almost done here. I'll misss him tons, too. I just might have to write him some more...
*clutches badass Alexei tight* (so as not to get stabbed)
*nods* Wise.
(no subject)
12/5/04 08:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/04 09:02 am (UTC)and yes, poor Alexei, surrounded by incompetents, tsk! *pets him*
(no subject)
12/5/04 08:51 am (UTC)How sick is it that I found that cute?
(no subject)
12/5/04 09:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/04 12:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/04 04:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/04 12:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/04 04:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/04 08:04 pm (UTC)*bounce*
In the thick of it now!!
Wheeeee!!
(no subject)
12/5/04 10:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/6/04 01:21 am (UTC)I don't know why, but i enjoy this line! Very nice work yet again.
(no subject)
12/6/04 01:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
12/6/04 05:25 pm (UTC)Thanks, Roxy! I love this.
(no subject)
4/6/05 10:55 pm (UTC)Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!!