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outside_omens2006-05-23 11:38 pm
stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com) wrote in outside_omens2006-05-23 11:38 pm
Entry tags:
It started off not being smut... but I guess I'm addicted :-(
Date: May 22, 2000, 'round midnight
Setting: Oxford University
Status: Private (Pestilence and a 'scientific colleague')
Summary: Pestilence feels miserable.
Warnings: Smut, and coitus interuptus...
It wasn't since that damned petri that he'd felt this bad. Nothing cheered him; not the outbreaks of flu, nor the rampant allergens, nor the sting and itch of annonymous sexual partners. He stood, not even looking into the microscope, thinking.
"Excuse me, Dr. Weiss, is something wrong?" Pestilence jumped a little at the voice behind him. Turning around he saw Dr. Turnbin looking at him with concern.
Pestilence gave a sickly smile. "No, its nothing doctor. Just lost my train of thought." Pestilence looked at his colleague. They had never really been introduced, no more than a nodding acquaintance. But he knew him by sight. Dr. Turnbin was thin. He wore glasses. He didn't just have one pocket protector, he had three. One in his shirt, the other two in his labcoat pockets. Pestilence guessed that he probably had a closet full of different pocket protectors. He was so stereotypical that he could easily be overlooked after an initial shake of the head and hand-covered giggle.
If you looked in his eyes, though, you could see it. The Glint. Pestilence knew that glint. If caught from the corner of the eye, you could just think it was fever, but that wasn't the cause. This Glint was the sign of genius. Marie Curie had it. Louis Pasteur. Florence Nightengale. They'd all had it. That was one of the reasons he had agreed to do his 'research' based out of Oxford. The Glint ran rampant here. But in Dr. Turnbin it was practically radioactive.
"It is getting late," Turnbin said, leaning against the counter, taking off his glasses and polishing them on a hanky. Pestilence saw that he was much younger than he had originally though. "You're looking pale. I hope you're not coming down with something. You're here every time I come in. You should get some rest."
"No rest for the wicked," Pestilence returned, leaning against the counter next to his colleague. "And you're hardly one to talk, Dr. You're in here more than is good for you."
Turnbin laughed. "Thats probably true. Killer on the social life. But all in the name of saving lives, eh?" he said, folding his glasses and putting them in his pocket. He turned green eyes onto Pestilence, and the horseman felt a shiver up his back. "And you should call me Jason."
Pestilence swallowed, but reached out. "Albin," he said, but Turnbin didn't shake his hand, merely kept looking into his eyes. Without the glasses, the Glint was even more powerful, intoxicating in its way. Like fire, Pestilence felt drawn to it, but felt that he would be burned long before he even felt warm.
"Albin Weiss? Interesting name."
"Parents had a sense of humor. I was always pale," Pestilence muttered. Usually people didn't know their roots, so he didn't have to answer for his sense of humor often. His colleague's eyes seemed to intensify at his words. Mesmerized, he didn't notice Turnbin moving closer to him, but he jumped when he placed a hand on his cheek. Eyes wide, the horsemand looked around the room. "Doctor," he hissed.
"We've been alone for hours, Albin. Just you and I," Turnbin said, returning his hand to Pestilence's face, and putting his other on the horseman's shoulder. "I'm embarassed to admit this, Albin, but I've sort of been watching you for a while. I find you... very interesting. You know so much in this field. Its almost as if you were, I don't know, one with the diseases," The young doctor leaned closer to Pestilence, whispering against the stubble on his jaw. "I've always found knowledge like that very alluring."
Pestilence wasn't entirely used to having anyone approach him. He wasn't all that bad looking for a mature apocalyptic persoification, but he usually blended into the background, forcing him to make the first moves. It was probably due to this that Turnbin's sudden interest was effecting him so very much. As their lips connected, he couldn't deny that his body was very pleased with the turn of events. His thoughts raced. Imagine having sex surrounded by germs. Imagine having sex with someone whom had devoted their life to the obliteration of all of his creations. Something about the contradiction and danger made the situation impossible to resist, and made him impossibly hard. He pressed himself against the younger doctor, pleased to feel a matching erection hard against his. Turnbin moaned against his lips breaking apart to brush bunsen burners and petri dishes rather joyously to the side. Pestilence smiled at the young doctor's theatrics.
"Something tells me that this goes against school regulations," Pestilence murmered as he pushed Turnbin's lab coat off of his shoulders, pens tumbling out of pocket protectors and sprawling across the floor. The young doctor's hands busily fiddled with Pestilence's buttons, hastily trying to open his shirt and pants.
"Rules were made to be broken, right Albin?" There was something disarming in the question, and Pestilence couldn't help but feel that Jason's show of security was more of an act than he had originally thought. He took Turnbin's hands in his, putting them around his neck, nuzzling the sharp collar bones while wrapping his arms around the small of his back. He heard Jason moan again, this time lower and less controlled, voiced as he pressed his erection into Pestilence's thigh. Pestilence moved his thigh between his legs, attempting to turn him around and bend him over the table. Turnbin resisted, though. "No, not like that. I want to look at you. Want you looking at me. I want to know what you know," he said, the Glint burning brightly. Pestilence slowly brought his pale grey eyes to meet Jason's. Flashes of green. Fiery and untamed.
Just like Uriel's.
Pestilence froze, the breath catching in his lungs. He put his hand to his face, and as though it were a sponge, it absorbed every last bit of lust in his heart. "Oh. Oh. I am so sorry," he muttered, backpedaling until they were no longer touching. With a final "I'm sorry." He ran out of the room, shirt still undone, and didn't stop running he had gotten back to his rooms. He began packing immediately.
Back at the lab, Jason pulled his lab coat back on. Great. Just great. He had been this close. All of the secrets of illness and disease had been right at his fingertips but they had somehow alluded him. 'Know thy enemy,' had been the time tested motto of the medical profession, and how better to know than to know in the Biblical sense.
"Fuck," he mumbled, putting pens and syringes back into his pockets. Looking down at a petri he spit into it. For a moment he smiled as the virus writhed and burned. He turned the lights off and locked the door. In the dark, smoke rose from a perfectly clean petri dish.
Setting: Oxford University
Status: Private (Pestilence and a 'scientific colleague')
Summary: Pestilence feels miserable.
Warnings: Smut, and coitus interuptus...
It wasn't since that damned petri that he'd felt this bad. Nothing cheered him; not the outbreaks of flu, nor the rampant allergens, nor the sting and itch of annonymous sexual partners. He stood, not even looking into the microscope, thinking.
"Excuse me, Dr. Weiss, is something wrong?" Pestilence jumped a little at the voice behind him. Turning around he saw Dr. Turnbin looking at him with concern.
Pestilence gave a sickly smile. "No, its nothing doctor. Just lost my train of thought." Pestilence looked at his colleague. They had never really been introduced, no more than a nodding acquaintance. But he knew him by sight. Dr. Turnbin was thin. He wore glasses. He didn't just have one pocket protector, he had three. One in his shirt, the other two in his labcoat pockets. Pestilence guessed that he probably had a closet full of different pocket protectors. He was so stereotypical that he could easily be overlooked after an initial shake of the head and hand-covered giggle.
If you looked in his eyes, though, you could see it. The Glint. Pestilence knew that glint. If caught from the corner of the eye, you could just think it was fever, but that wasn't the cause. This Glint was the sign of genius. Marie Curie had it. Louis Pasteur. Florence Nightengale. They'd all had it. That was one of the reasons he had agreed to do his 'research' based out of Oxford. The Glint ran rampant here. But in Dr. Turnbin it was practically radioactive.
"It is getting late," Turnbin said, leaning against the counter, taking off his glasses and polishing them on a hanky. Pestilence saw that he was much younger than he had originally though. "You're looking pale. I hope you're not coming down with something. You're here every time I come in. You should get some rest."
"No rest for the wicked," Pestilence returned, leaning against the counter next to his colleague. "And you're hardly one to talk, Dr. You're in here more than is good for you."
Turnbin laughed. "Thats probably true. Killer on the social life. But all in the name of saving lives, eh?" he said, folding his glasses and putting them in his pocket. He turned green eyes onto Pestilence, and the horseman felt a shiver up his back. "And you should call me Jason."
Pestilence swallowed, but reached out. "Albin," he said, but Turnbin didn't shake his hand, merely kept looking into his eyes. Without the glasses, the Glint was even more powerful, intoxicating in its way. Like fire, Pestilence felt drawn to it, but felt that he would be burned long before he even felt warm.
"Albin Weiss? Interesting name."
"Parents had a sense of humor. I was always pale," Pestilence muttered. Usually people didn't know their roots, so he didn't have to answer for his sense of humor often. His colleague's eyes seemed to intensify at his words. Mesmerized, he didn't notice Turnbin moving closer to him, but he jumped when he placed a hand on his cheek. Eyes wide, the horsemand looked around the room. "Doctor," he hissed.
"We've been alone for hours, Albin. Just you and I," Turnbin said, returning his hand to Pestilence's face, and putting his other on the horseman's shoulder. "I'm embarassed to admit this, Albin, but I've sort of been watching you for a while. I find you... very interesting. You know so much in this field. Its almost as if you were, I don't know, one with the diseases," The young doctor leaned closer to Pestilence, whispering against the stubble on his jaw. "I've always found knowledge like that very alluring."
Pestilence wasn't entirely used to having anyone approach him. He wasn't all that bad looking for a mature apocalyptic persoification, but he usually blended into the background, forcing him to make the first moves. It was probably due to this that Turnbin's sudden interest was effecting him so very much. As their lips connected, he couldn't deny that his body was very pleased with the turn of events. His thoughts raced. Imagine having sex surrounded by germs. Imagine having sex with someone whom had devoted their life to the obliteration of all of his creations. Something about the contradiction and danger made the situation impossible to resist, and made him impossibly hard. He pressed himself against the younger doctor, pleased to feel a matching erection hard against his. Turnbin moaned against his lips breaking apart to brush bunsen burners and petri dishes rather joyously to the side. Pestilence smiled at the young doctor's theatrics.
"Something tells me that this goes against school regulations," Pestilence murmered as he pushed Turnbin's lab coat off of his shoulders, pens tumbling out of pocket protectors and sprawling across the floor. The young doctor's hands busily fiddled with Pestilence's buttons, hastily trying to open his shirt and pants.
"Rules were made to be broken, right Albin?" There was something disarming in the question, and Pestilence couldn't help but feel that Jason's show of security was more of an act than he had originally thought. He took Turnbin's hands in his, putting them around his neck, nuzzling the sharp collar bones while wrapping his arms around the small of his back. He heard Jason moan again, this time lower and less controlled, voiced as he pressed his erection into Pestilence's thigh. Pestilence moved his thigh between his legs, attempting to turn him around and bend him over the table. Turnbin resisted, though. "No, not like that. I want to look at you. Want you looking at me. I want to know what you know," he said, the Glint burning brightly. Pestilence slowly brought his pale grey eyes to meet Jason's. Flashes of green. Fiery and untamed.
Just like Uriel's.
Pestilence froze, the breath catching in his lungs. He put his hand to his face, and as though it were a sponge, it absorbed every last bit of lust in his heart. "Oh. Oh. I am so sorry," he muttered, backpedaling until they were no longer touching. With a final "I'm sorry." He ran out of the room, shirt still undone, and didn't stop running he had gotten back to his rooms. He began packing immediately.
Back at the lab, Jason pulled his lab coat back on. Great. Just great. He had been this close. All of the secrets of illness and disease had been right at his fingertips but they had somehow alluded him. 'Know thy enemy,' had been the time tested motto of the medical profession, and how better to know than to know in the Biblical sense.
"Fuck," he mumbled, putting pens and syringes back into his pockets. Looking down at a petri he spit into it. For a moment he smiled as the virus writhed and burned. He turned the lights off and locked the door. In the dark, smoke rose from a perfectly clean petri dish.