killabeez (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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crack_van2006-04-30 11:20 am
killabeez.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2006-04-30 11:20 am
Entry tags:
Masque by Rachael Sabotini (Adult)
This is my last rec for the month. Thanks for sticking with me on the ride!
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairings: Duncan/Methos (Duncan/Brian Cullen, Brian/Byron)
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wickedwords
Author Website: http://mediafans.org/rachael/
Why this must be read:
We have Highlander's writers to thank for the fact that Duncan, Brian, Methos, and Byron happened to all be in Switzerland around the same time, but we have Rachael to thank for crafting a lush and memorable story out of that happy coincidence. This seductive orgy of a tale weaves a spell around the reader -- gorgeous, horrifying, and unabashedly erotic by turns. It's absolutely true to its inspiration, and doesn't flinch from the darkest aspects of addiction and human need, while balancing that against the charm of an unexpected, tender encounter and a sweet tale of lost innocence.
The laughter in the black room quieted, and MacLeod felt the whisper of blood surging through his veins. It cried to him in a thousand tongues, drawing him closer, urging him to accept Death's embrace.
For whatever lay behind those black curtains, MacLeod knew to be Death. Dread welled up within him, stronger than anything he felt in years, maybe as much as a century, reducing him to the fears of his youth. He pushed the unfamiliar fear away, his head swimming from the noise and the drink. He gripped the curtain tighter, trying to push it aside, and the gong rang out again.
You too can die, my friend. Join us in the embrace.
He dropped his hold on the curtain, his hand trembling as terror seized him. Unseen voices pounded at him, screams of men he'd killed throughout the years. Other sounds joined them: the noise of the battlefield, the clang of steel upon steel, the thud of a head hitting the ground. The room surged and sank without cause as new visions filtered through his mind. The feeling of sharp pain from the slash of a sword, the claustrophobic sensation of water pouring into his lungs, the burning ache when there was no more air to breathe, all of it followed by the chill of pure physical death. The clock struck again and again, its echo filling the rooms, drowning out all other noise, mimicking the screams in his mind.
I am waiting for you.
MacLeod turned and ran, bolting through rooms of pale violet, white, orange, and green, ignoring the phantasms that surrounded him, until he managed to get to the deep purple room and the door to the garden. He tore through the open door and outside, stumbling through the trim topiaries, the huge flowering bushes, and into the narrow, twisting aisles of the hedge maze, his body drenched by the still-damp leaves of the lush, wet plants. He stood in the center of the maze, taking deep, shuddering breaths, freeing himself from the crowd. He collapsed onto a damp marble bench in the maze's small clearing, letting the cold and the wet remind him of where he was. His wool trousers were soaked through, and his balls recoiled from the cold, shriveling up in nameless fear. His heart raced; his chest tightened; he could barely breathe, his unnatural fear still intense. He couldn't remember ever being this afraid, not even when Graham Ashe was killed.
Then he felt it, that swooping in his stomach that signaled the presence of another Immortal.
Masque
Please let the author know if you enjoy this story.
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairings: Duncan/Methos (Duncan/Brian Cullen, Brian/Byron)
Author on LJ:
wickedwordsAuthor Website: http://mediafans.org/rachael/
Why this must be read:
We have Highlander's writers to thank for the fact that Duncan, Brian, Methos, and Byron happened to all be in Switzerland around the same time, but we have Rachael to thank for crafting a lush and memorable story out of that happy coincidence. This seductive orgy of a tale weaves a spell around the reader -- gorgeous, horrifying, and unabashedly erotic by turns. It's absolutely true to its inspiration, and doesn't flinch from the darkest aspects of addiction and human need, while balancing that against the charm of an unexpected, tender encounter and a sweet tale of lost innocence.
The laughter in the black room quieted, and MacLeod felt the whisper of blood surging through his veins. It cried to him in a thousand tongues, drawing him closer, urging him to accept Death's embrace.
For whatever lay behind those black curtains, MacLeod knew to be Death. Dread welled up within him, stronger than anything he felt in years, maybe as much as a century, reducing him to the fears of his youth. He pushed the unfamiliar fear away, his head swimming from the noise and the drink. He gripped the curtain tighter, trying to push it aside, and the gong rang out again.
You too can die, my friend. Join us in the embrace.
He dropped his hold on the curtain, his hand trembling as terror seized him. Unseen voices pounded at him, screams of men he'd killed throughout the years. Other sounds joined them: the noise of the battlefield, the clang of steel upon steel, the thud of a head hitting the ground. The room surged and sank without cause as new visions filtered through his mind. The feeling of sharp pain from the slash of a sword, the claustrophobic sensation of water pouring into his lungs, the burning ache when there was no more air to breathe, all of it followed by the chill of pure physical death. The clock struck again and again, its echo filling the rooms, drowning out all other noise, mimicking the screams in his mind.
I am waiting for you.
MacLeod turned and ran, bolting through rooms of pale violet, white, orange, and green, ignoring the phantasms that surrounded him, until he managed to get to the deep purple room and the door to the garden. He tore through the open door and outside, stumbling through the trim topiaries, the huge flowering bushes, and into the narrow, twisting aisles of the hedge maze, his body drenched by the still-damp leaves of the lush, wet plants. He stood in the center of the maze, taking deep, shuddering breaths, freeing himself from the crowd. He collapsed onto a damp marble bench in the maze's small clearing, letting the cold and the wet remind him of where he was. His wool trousers were soaked through, and his balls recoiled from the cold, shriveling up in nameless fear. His heart raced; his chest tightened; he could barely breathe, his unnatural fear still intense. He couldn't remember ever being this afraid, not even when Graham Ashe was killed.
Then he felt it, that swooping in his stomach that signaled the presence of another Immortal.
Masque
Please let the author know if you enjoy this story.