lilacsigil (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lilacsigil) wrote2006-04-03 01:10 pm
lilacsigil) wrote2006-04-03 01:10 pm
Remix revelations.
The remixes are revealed. I was assigned ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mofic, which was a big challenge because she writes multiple novel-length movieverse fics, all in one long series. It centres around a rather tumultuous Scott/Logan relationship, but travels from the ethics of adoption to PTSD to international espionage to the challenges of mentoring troubled students. Her canvas is enormous, and it was very difficult to snip out a section small enough to remix.
In the end, I chose this chapter from Canadian Nights, called The Demon Lover because it was a very intense chapter and something of a turning point in Scott and Logan's trust issues. Even so, I had to leave out the last few paragraphs that tied into the bigger plot. The remix was an easy choice, because Logan's thoughts are so impenetrable to Scott at this point in time, and Scott is carefully assessing him by his actions. I wanted to swing the POV around to show Logan unable to think coherently, and yet hanging on to someone that all his senses tell him he can trust, hence "Scents and Sensuality" remix. It's here. And now I can friend her without spoiling the remix! Yay!
Thank you toscoured for an lucid and understanding beta. Your help shaped this pile of words into something coherent of which I could feel proud.
In other news, today is the first anniversary of having access to broadband.st_aurafina and I had it connected on the first day it was available, and despite it being far from what citizens of other nations call fast, it has been a lifeline from the Land of Cows (at about 14.4-30.2 kbps) to the Land of Geeks. We can download music. Buy books. Make icons. See other people's icons before the entire page of text has been read. See animations. Watch trailers. It's bloody great.
The Demon Lover (Scents and Sensuality remix)
Remix Author: lilacsigil
Original Story: Canadian Nights: The Demon Lover by Mo
Summary: Logan's demons can be held in check.
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse
I know he's here even before the car stops. Couldn't pick just anyone over the sound of an engine, but I know Scott inside out. His breathing is even and plain, whether he's happy, stressed out, whatever. Unless he's thinking about me, when it sounds a little like desperation. My breathing is getting just the same as his.
All the others are clustering around him, touching him, shaking hands or kissing his cheek. They're leaving little bruises of their scent all over him. Words are everywhere, echoes of inane echoes. I can't understand any of it and I don't care. All I can hear is that catch in Scott's sweet, serene breath.
There is a silence, and eyes flicker towards me. Time to go. Scott follows me up the hollow stairs. For a moment, I'm hardly sure of where I'm going, and almost turn and grab Scott there and then rather than be a step away from him for a moment longer. But my own scent leads me true, into my thick-walled, quiet bedroom.
He's mine. My hands on him erase not just their touches but the time we were apart. Scott speaks to me and I can't hear his voice over our pulses, over our hot breath, but he speaks again and I must listen to him. He asks me a question, but my voice mutters something and he quietens. My mouth is on his, and I can taste him, clean and strong.
Scott's clothes smell of other people, public places, Jean, Heather and Jean-Paul. My hate for them surges out of me along with the claws, and his shirt tumbles away from his beautiful skin. Under the remnants of soap and foul-tasting, metallic deodorant, I can still smell where I touched him last, on his neck, on his ribs. He speaks again and his breath smells so good that I kiss him again and again, taking his breath into me. Greedy for more of him, I slice away his belt, his boxers, his jeans, everything tying him to the regular world, everything that isn't me.
His heartbeat is fast and heavy, and his dick and balls smell like nothing but Scott, his own odour trapped thick and sweet in his rough pubic hair. I pull him deeply into my mouth, obliterating ... something ... something that isn't even here. Scott is here, standing over me so I am in his safe, strong shadow, his scent and taste and sounds overpowering me. My hands hold him hard, fingers digging into his muscles, and I know there is nothing and no-one in his world but me. I twist my tongue along his dick, dragging gasps and thrusts from his body, until his load fills my mouth and he collapses over me.
My eyes close, then open, and he has knelt down in front of me, dragging his fingers over my stubble. He unbuttons my shirt and says my name, which is the only thing that lets me stay still as he tugs off the rest of my clothes. The whole room smells like him now, him and me, except for one scent. It's something familiar, thick and concentrated, that seduces me closer, even though my stomach is clenching in terror and my legs are telling me to run, now, before it's too late. But Scott is here, and no wrong is possible under his level, hidden gaze.
The smell is almond oil, in a bottle by the bed and seeping from my own body from the massage Ororo gave my neck and head yesterday. I don't know how it's affecting me so much, why smooth, warm odour means helplessness, antiseptic, imminent pain. All I want is to be here, away from the knives and needles, wrapped in Scott's warm body. I pull him over to the bed and lay him across it. He stretches out in front of me, trusting, and I still hear that catch of desire in his breath.
The oil is cool on my fingers, but quickly warms as I rub it into Scott's skin. down his back and over his ass. He is passive beneath me and I pull my hand away for no reason that I can think of. Then his naked ass pushes back against my leg and I know where I am. There is no fear here, not with Scott. My oiled fingers slide inside him, and he makes a noise that is something like my name.
The moment I enter him, my mind and body are in focus. The fear that had locked my tongue and swirled my senses vanishes. His moans are quiet, and I push, slowly, all the way into him, and rest there, pure of intent. He is mine without doubt.
"Can I start now? You ready?"
I've started talking and can't stop, and I don't have to. We move together, muscle on muscle, and I tell him stupid, true things as I thrust into him and he holds me tight. Who he is to me, what he means, why he's so damn necessary to me. Even words from those weird poems he loves spill out of me, words I didn't even know I remembered. I'm inside him, and his words flow from me and for a second everything can be perfect.
Afterwards, we lie on the bed together and my sweaty skin begins to cool. Fear grabs me again, and my body is shaking, uselessly, reacting to something that's not even here. Scott is holding me, but he's not close enough to make my senses unlock and let go. Asking him to rub my back with more of the oil makes me a little better, his fingers digging into me with compassion, releasing the responses that I can't get free of by myself, but it's not enough. I need to have his world flowing around and through me, to be here with him and not be dragged back to that other place.
"Say something. A story or a poem. Something far away and not about us or anything we know."
His voice, his body, his words, his scent, the blood in his veins, the sweat on his skin; the poem he murmurs, something about an impossible place with sacred rivers and measureless caves and sun shining on ice. He holds me here, even when it is impossible, even when all that they left of me is crawling backwards, away into the dark.
Edit: Oh yes, and daylight savings is over! My lost hour has returned. Life could not be better.
mofic, which was a big challenge because she writes multiple novel-length movieverse fics, all in one long series. It centres around a rather tumultuous Scott/Logan relationship, but travels from the ethics of adoption to PTSD to international espionage to the challenges of mentoring troubled students. Her canvas is enormous, and it was very difficult to snip out a section small enough to remix. In the end, I chose this chapter from Canadian Nights, called The Demon Lover because it was a very intense chapter and something of a turning point in Scott and Logan's trust issues. Even so, I had to leave out the last few paragraphs that tied into the bigger plot. The remix was an easy choice, because Logan's thoughts are so impenetrable to Scott at this point in time, and Scott is carefully assessing him by his actions. I wanted to swing the POV around to show Logan unable to think coherently, and yet hanging on to someone that all his senses tell him he can trust, hence "Scents and Sensuality" remix. It's here. And now I can friend her without spoiling the remix! Yay!
Thank you to
scoured for an lucid and understanding beta. Your help shaped this pile of words into something coherent of which I could feel proud.In other news, today is the first anniversary of having access to broadband.
st_aurafina and I had it connected on the first day it was available, and despite it being far from what citizens of other nations call fast, it has been a lifeline from the Land of Cows (at about 14.4-30.2 kbps) to the Land of Geeks. We can download music. Buy books. Make icons. See other people's icons before the entire page of text has been read. See animations. Watch trailers. It's bloody great.The Demon Lover (Scents and Sensuality remix)
Remix Author: lilacsigil
Original Story: Canadian Nights: The Demon Lover by Mo
Summary: Logan's demons can be held in check.
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse
I know he's here even before the car stops. Couldn't pick just anyone over the sound of an engine, but I know Scott inside out. His breathing is even and plain, whether he's happy, stressed out, whatever. Unless he's thinking about me, when it sounds a little like desperation. My breathing is getting just the same as his.
All the others are clustering around him, touching him, shaking hands or kissing his cheek. They're leaving little bruises of their scent all over him. Words are everywhere, echoes of inane echoes. I can't understand any of it and I don't care. All I can hear is that catch in Scott's sweet, serene breath.
There is a silence, and eyes flicker towards me. Time to go. Scott follows me up the hollow stairs. For a moment, I'm hardly sure of where I'm going, and almost turn and grab Scott there and then rather than be a step away from him for a moment longer. But my own scent leads me true, into my thick-walled, quiet bedroom.
He's mine. My hands on him erase not just their touches but the time we were apart. Scott speaks to me and I can't hear his voice over our pulses, over our hot breath, but he speaks again and I must listen to him. He asks me a question, but my voice mutters something and he quietens. My mouth is on his, and I can taste him, clean and strong.
Scott's clothes smell of other people, public places, Jean, Heather and Jean-Paul. My hate for them surges out of me along with the claws, and his shirt tumbles away from his beautiful skin. Under the remnants of soap and foul-tasting, metallic deodorant, I can still smell where I touched him last, on his neck, on his ribs. He speaks again and his breath smells so good that I kiss him again and again, taking his breath into me. Greedy for more of him, I slice away his belt, his boxers, his jeans, everything tying him to the regular world, everything that isn't me.
His heartbeat is fast and heavy, and his dick and balls smell like nothing but Scott, his own odour trapped thick and sweet in his rough pubic hair. I pull him deeply into my mouth, obliterating ... something ... something that isn't even here. Scott is here, standing over me so I am in his safe, strong shadow, his scent and taste and sounds overpowering me. My hands hold him hard, fingers digging into his muscles, and I know there is nothing and no-one in his world but me. I twist my tongue along his dick, dragging gasps and thrusts from his body, until his load fills my mouth and he collapses over me.
My eyes close, then open, and he has knelt down in front of me, dragging his fingers over my stubble. He unbuttons my shirt and says my name, which is the only thing that lets me stay still as he tugs off the rest of my clothes. The whole room smells like him now, him and me, except for one scent. It's something familiar, thick and concentrated, that seduces me closer, even though my stomach is clenching in terror and my legs are telling me to run, now, before it's too late. But Scott is here, and no wrong is possible under his level, hidden gaze.
The smell is almond oil, in a bottle by the bed and seeping from my own body from the massage Ororo gave my neck and head yesterday. I don't know how it's affecting me so much, why smooth, warm odour means helplessness, antiseptic, imminent pain. All I want is to be here, away from the knives and needles, wrapped in Scott's warm body. I pull him over to the bed and lay him across it. He stretches out in front of me, trusting, and I still hear that catch of desire in his breath.
The oil is cool on my fingers, but quickly warms as I rub it into Scott's skin. down his back and over his ass. He is passive beneath me and I pull my hand away for no reason that I can think of. Then his naked ass pushes back against my leg and I know where I am. There is no fear here, not with Scott. My oiled fingers slide inside him, and he makes a noise that is something like my name.
The moment I enter him, my mind and body are in focus. The fear that had locked my tongue and swirled my senses vanishes. His moans are quiet, and I push, slowly, all the way into him, and rest there, pure of intent. He is mine without doubt.
"Can I start now? You ready?"
I've started talking and can't stop, and I don't have to. We move together, muscle on muscle, and I tell him stupid, true things as I thrust into him and he holds me tight. Who he is to me, what he means, why he's so damn necessary to me. Even words from those weird poems he loves spill out of me, words I didn't even know I remembered. I'm inside him, and his words flow from me and for a second everything can be perfect.
Afterwards, we lie on the bed together and my sweaty skin begins to cool. Fear grabs me again, and my body is shaking, uselessly, reacting to something that's not even here. Scott is holding me, but he's not close enough to make my senses unlock and let go. Asking him to rub my back with more of the oil makes me a little better, his fingers digging into me with compassion, releasing the responses that I can't get free of by myself, but it's not enough. I need to have his world flowing around and through me, to be here with him and not be dragged back to that other place.
"Say something. A story or a poem. Something far away and not about us or anything we know."
His voice, his body, his words, his scent, the blood in his veins, the sweat on his skin; the poem he murmurs, something about an impossible place with sacred rivers and measureless caves and sun shining on ice. He holds me here, even when it is impossible, even when all that they left of me is crawling backwards, away into the dark.
Edit: Oh yes, and daylight savings is over! My lost hour has returned. Life could not be better.