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Okay. So. Today was the first examination I've taken in three years, and it ... went sort of okay? I mean, what I've written probably wasn't worth the paper it was scrawled on, but at least I managed to answer two questions, and get seven pages out of them, and approach at least one question from various angles ... Gah! Not thinking about it. Still probably failed. But ... went sort of okay, and I can ... I've remembered what it's like to take exams now, so hopefully the next couple should be a bit easier. Hopefully. Maybe. *fingers crosses*
And then ... because I'm dead tired and unable to think straight at the minute, I was browsing through document fragments on my laptop. Bits and pieces, early drafts of fics, stuff like that. And I found an earlier draft of Close, one that went in a ... less porny direction. Heh. And since I rather liked it anyway, I thought I'd just post it up here as a snippet, and show people how different things can be between drafts, and yet how sort of the same. Heh.
This version's more Nigel's shakiness and recovery:
And then ... because I'm dead tired and unable to think straight at the minute, I was browsing through document fragments on my laptop. Bits and pieces, early drafts of fics, stuff like that. And I found an earlier draft of Close, one that went in a ... less porny direction. Heh. And since I rather liked it anyway, I thought I'd just post it up here as a snippet, and show people how different things can be between drafts, and yet how sort of the same. Heh.
This version's more Nigel's shakiness and recovery:
The bed really was too narrow for the both of them. Single passenger berths were not designed to hold two full-grown men, not even when one of them had lost what felt like half his substance to the Spanish flu. They'd tangled together more by necessity than design, a loose bundle of limbs and noses mashed into uncomfortable places, and Nigel had to wonder that either of them had slept at all. Exhausted though he'd been, and maybe killing people was tiring even for a vampire ...
He shook his head, or at least tried to, shoving the thought away and hiding his eyes against the rise of Nikola's collarbone, tucking his nose into a crease in his companion's shirt and breathing slow and steady. Above him, Nikola made a vague, inquisitive noise in his sleep, curling closer unconsciously around Nigel, and Nigel suddenly had to fight around the lump in his throat, the hitch in his breathing.
Give him time, he'd said. Time to get used to having a safe place. Time to get used to being safe. Bloody years, it'd been. Too damn long, since he'd been able to lie somewhere and think "I'm safe". Because he hadn't been. He hadn't been, and he oughtn't to be now, still on the run, still with a very angry government behind him. This shouldn't be safe.
Nikola shifted slightly against him, wriggling in the tiny space between him and the edge, and Nigel tightened his arm around the man's waist instinctively, keeping the poor sod from falling onto the floor. Fine thanks that would be, letting Nikola fall after he'd ... And the only reason the bugger was on the outside of the bed in the first place was because he had this protective streak, putting himself between Nigel and anyone who might happen to come in the door. Despite the fact that Nikola had never been a quiet sleeper, and that was just asking to fall on his arse at some point in the night. Nigel nearly argued with him on it, was going to argue, but Nikola had this expression, sometimes, this soft dark thing when he looked at you, and Nigel ... had been too damn tired, suddenly. Too tired to fight the man on this, when Nikola'd already bled for him. Already killed for him.
He curled forward into Nikola's chest. Hid his face in the folds of the man's shirt, knotted his hands into fists at Nikola's hips. Somewhere behind him, trapped beneath the weight of his head, Nikola's arm curled in the space between Nigel and the wall. There'd be no more evidence in the flesh of what had happened, Nikola's rapid healing having dealt with that, but there'd still be a tear in the shirt, still be blood on the sleeve. Nigel didn't want to see it. Felt, for some reason, that he should. That he should look at the evidence of the night, the only thing left after Nikola tossed the bodies into the sea. That he should look, and somehow understand ... what had happened. What Nikola had done, for him.
He was too tired to look. Too tired to try. Three years now, he'd been running, from one side or the other. Invisibility only got you so far, and war wasn't kind to anyone. Not to him, definitely. Not to Nikola either, he thought. Not to any of them. And Nigel was too tired to count the costs just yet. To wonder how badly he'd damaged Nikola, in asking the man to fight for him. In leading the man to bleed for him, and kill someone in the dark and the quiet to keep him safe. Nigel was too tired to ask, just yet, how much that would come to cost them both.
It was safe, here. In this dark, tiny space, curled on a bed, pressed between the wall and the weight of Nikola at his side, curled away from the world behind the smug confidence of the man. Nikola made little noises as he slept, little huffs and snorts, his breath eddying in Nigel's hair. At ease, untouched. Untouchable, with his hard, strong limbs, and his arrogant smile, and the wound in his arm that was a wound no longer. Nikola, who you couldn't bloody keep down if you tried, and more than a few had. More than a few had tried, and Nigel had yet to see any really succeed, and that, here, was something reassuring. That was something safe.
It had been more than three bloody years since anything had been this safe. And maybe it shouldn't be this, shouldn't be curling in the dark with a vampire to watch over you, but Nigel didn't really care, at this point. Sometimes, a friend to help you stow away, who'd sleep on the outside of the bed to keep you safe, was all you could ask for, all you were going to get, and damn well all you needed.
He shook his head, or at least tried to, shoving the thought away and hiding his eyes against the rise of Nikola's collarbone, tucking his nose into a crease in his companion's shirt and breathing slow and steady. Above him, Nikola made a vague, inquisitive noise in his sleep, curling closer unconsciously around Nigel, and Nigel suddenly had to fight around the lump in his throat, the hitch in his breathing.
Give him time, he'd said. Time to get used to having a safe place. Time to get used to being safe. Bloody years, it'd been. Too damn long, since he'd been able to lie somewhere and think "I'm safe". Because he hadn't been. He hadn't been, and he oughtn't to be now, still on the run, still with a very angry government behind him. This shouldn't be safe.
Nikola shifted slightly against him, wriggling in the tiny space between him and the edge, and Nigel tightened his arm around the man's waist instinctively, keeping the poor sod from falling onto the floor. Fine thanks that would be, letting Nikola fall after he'd ... And the only reason the bugger was on the outside of the bed in the first place was because he had this protective streak, putting himself between Nigel and anyone who might happen to come in the door. Despite the fact that Nikola had never been a quiet sleeper, and that was just asking to fall on his arse at some point in the night. Nigel nearly argued with him on it, was going to argue, but Nikola had this expression, sometimes, this soft dark thing when he looked at you, and Nigel ... had been too damn tired, suddenly. Too tired to fight the man on this, when Nikola'd already bled for him. Already killed for him.
He curled forward into Nikola's chest. Hid his face in the folds of the man's shirt, knotted his hands into fists at Nikola's hips. Somewhere behind him, trapped beneath the weight of his head, Nikola's arm curled in the space between Nigel and the wall. There'd be no more evidence in the flesh of what had happened, Nikola's rapid healing having dealt with that, but there'd still be a tear in the shirt, still be blood on the sleeve. Nigel didn't want to see it. Felt, for some reason, that he should. That he should look at the evidence of the night, the only thing left after Nikola tossed the bodies into the sea. That he should look, and somehow understand ... what had happened. What Nikola had done, for him.
He was too tired to look. Too tired to try. Three years now, he'd been running, from one side or the other. Invisibility only got you so far, and war wasn't kind to anyone. Not to him, definitely. Not to Nikola either, he thought. Not to any of them. And Nigel was too tired to count the costs just yet. To wonder how badly he'd damaged Nikola, in asking the man to fight for him. In leading the man to bleed for him, and kill someone in the dark and the quiet to keep him safe. Nigel was too tired to ask, just yet, how much that would come to cost them both.
It was safe, here. In this dark, tiny space, curled on a bed, pressed between the wall and the weight of Nikola at his side, curled away from the world behind the smug confidence of the man. Nikola made little noises as he slept, little huffs and snorts, his breath eddying in Nigel's hair. At ease, untouched. Untouchable, with his hard, strong limbs, and his arrogant smile, and the wound in his arm that was a wound no longer. Nikola, who you couldn't bloody keep down if you tried, and more than a few had. More than a few had tried, and Nigel had yet to see any really succeed, and that, here, was something reassuring. That was something safe.
It had been more than three bloody years since anything had been this safe. And maybe it shouldn't be this, shouldn't be curling in the dark with a vampire to watch over you, but Nigel didn't really care, at this point. Sometimes, a friend to help you stow away, who'd sleep on the outside of the bed to keep you safe, was all you could ask for, all you were going to get, and damn well all you needed.
