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crack_van2005-11-12 09:56 am
vissy.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-11-12 09:56 am
Entry tags:
Recall by Sophrosyne (NC-17)
Fandom: LOTRIPS
Pairings: Elijah/Billy/Dom
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sophrosyne31
Author Website: LJ memories
Why this must be read: An exceptionally well realised AU, 'Recall' describes a brief awakening in a soporific Victorian dystopia. The language is wonderfully evocative for a story about wilful forgetfulness, filling the tale with grotty sensuality and bittersweet tenderness.
Fishing a greasy bottle from under a dolmen of books, Elijah straightened. “Mr Boyd, I do apologise. I did forget—I have no glasses.” He blushed. A bachelor scribe, living in a bedsit, without even a single glass from which to drink. The rim of the bottle was sticky with mouth-prints.
Shuffling his way to sit at the other end of the bed from Dom—for there was no other place, except for the chair at the desk behind Elijah—and the shopkeeper was too timid to take the host’s chair—Mr Boyd gave Elijah a surprising grin. “My da said the milk always tastes best from the cow,” he said, and tilted his head. Elijah smiled back, and handed him the bottle with a gentlemanly bow and flourish.
It was fierce stuff, the liquor, and Mr Boyd gasped a little as he put the rim away from his mouth, which shone cherry red in the lamplight. “I thank you.”
It must have been several hours since his last dose of the drug, because already there was a sheen to his eyes and his lips had darkened. With another hour, skin would begin to sensitise and the world scrape against him with its realness.
Dominic grabbed the bottle, took a greedy draught. “What happened to that Russky stuff you had?” he asked, as he shoved the bottle at Elijah, who stood there awkwardly for a moment still, then sat on the chair and dragged it forwards so the three men made a little candlelit circle.
“I drank it,” he said shortly, and tipped the bottle at his lips. He was nervous; this was the first entertainment he’d made in as long as he could remember. Dominic was practically a stranger, for all that he’d mumbled Elijah’s flesh from time to time, and Mr Boyd was a nice little grocery man whom he hardly knew. The night was chill and the light was warm, though, and he rubbed his eye behind his spectacles and was glad his back was turned to the typewriter he was so weary of. It was pleasant to sit with other men.
Recall
Pairings: Elijah/Billy/Dom
Author on LJ:
sophrosyne31Author Website: LJ memories
Why this must be read: An exceptionally well realised AU, 'Recall' describes a brief awakening in a soporific Victorian dystopia. The language is wonderfully evocative for a story about wilful forgetfulness, filling the tale with grotty sensuality and bittersweet tenderness.
Fishing a greasy bottle from under a dolmen of books, Elijah straightened. “Mr Boyd, I do apologise. I did forget—I have no glasses.” He blushed. A bachelor scribe, living in a bedsit, without even a single glass from which to drink. The rim of the bottle was sticky with mouth-prints.
Shuffling his way to sit at the other end of the bed from Dom—for there was no other place, except for the chair at the desk behind Elijah—and the shopkeeper was too timid to take the host’s chair—Mr Boyd gave Elijah a surprising grin. “My da said the milk always tastes best from the cow,” he said, and tilted his head. Elijah smiled back, and handed him the bottle with a gentlemanly bow and flourish.
It was fierce stuff, the liquor, and Mr Boyd gasped a little as he put the rim away from his mouth, which shone cherry red in the lamplight. “I thank you.”
It must have been several hours since his last dose of the drug, because already there was a sheen to his eyes and his lips had darkened. With another hour, skin would begin to sensitise and the world scrape against him with its realness.
Dominic grabbed the bottle, took a greedy draught. “What happened to that Russky stuff you had?” he asked, as he shoved the bottle at Elijah, who stood there awkwardly for a moment still, then sat on the chair and dragged it forwards so the three men made a little candlelit circle.
“I drank it,” he said shortly, and tipped the bottle at his lips. He was nervous; this was the first entertainment he’d made in as long as he could remember. Dominic was practically a stranger, for all that he’d mumbled Elijah’s flesh from time to time, and Mr Boyd was a nice little grocery man whom he hardly knew. The night was chill and the light was warm, though, and he rubbed his eye behind his spectacles and was glad his back was turned to the typewriter he was so weary of. It was pleasant to sit with other men.
Recall