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polyarmory2010-02-21 07:22 pm
shortitude.livejournal.com) wrote in polyarmory2010-02-21 07:22 pm
FIC: Walking On Wires Without Safety Nets [Fruhling/Magato] 1/1
Title: Walking On Wires Without Safety Nets
Author: Cella [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shortitude]
Fandom: DOGS
Ship: Fruhling/Magato
Rating: R
Summary: Magato: smooth operator, he is not. MAGATO. FRUHLING. It’s a bit like twisted courtship.
Spoilers: Recent chapters
A/N: For Kei [gooziewoozie]; very loose interpretation of ‘wires’. Also—why did I have so much fun with this?
Walking On Wires Without Safety Nets
Sometimes, he calls her. It takes him two months to find a way of contacting the woman after she leaves them there, two men in a warehouse. It also takes the torture of three of her favourite allies to get her number. So after all that effort, it’s only logical that he’s going to use the smoothest, sexiest ‘hey come back and live with us again so I can bend you over the kitchen table, because we’ve never touched that so far’ line. Which is to say:
“Hey, sexy, do you miss me?”
At twenty, Magato is not the smoothest operator alive. She hangs up on him, and sends fifteen of those dogs she loves giving demerits to kill him. He sends back their heads with a ‘thanks for the puppies, but you know I prefer pussies’ note attached.
--
He figures that the bitch likes power, and those who like power also look for powerful bedmates. And although while she stayed with them he was pretty powerful, she’d advanced faster than him. He’d remained completely oblivious to that until she caught him by surprise one night.
“Demerit, Magato,” she said, pulled her coat back on, and left the warehouse for good, leaving behind only a few broken chairs, scratches on the walls, and a turned on and naked psycho.
“Bitch, I’ll get you.”
So he’s trained himself, left the old man’s care—because there’s nothing more gay than two guys living together and working out with their swords, you know—not that he had ever cared much about Magato (except maybe that one time when he’d been young and innocent and hiding the knife behind his back).
Somewhere along the line, it stops being training so he can impress the girl, and turns into training to overthrow their mentor. He’s a power hungry beast, too; she’s made him this way.
But he’d still bend her over the kitchen table, no doubt.
--
“Hey, sexy,” he salutes, right after the phone is answered. “Before you hang up on me and send your bitches over for tea time, I’ve news for you.”
“You have five seconds.”
His glee is palpable as he delivers the news. “Old man’s found another Naoto.”
Silence.
“Babe?” More silence. “Don’t worry, you have better hair.”
“Five seconds are over.” She hangs up.
It’s thirty assassins after this time. He likes to think of it as twisted courtship.
--
He never thought it’d take almost dying to get back in her bed again. Except she pushes him down onto the couch instead of the bed, and isn’t merciful as she sews his wounds up.
“Can’t believe the kid actually fell for the ‘dying alone’ line,” he chuckles, fingers idly playing with her hair until she slaps his hand away. “If that were you, you’d have killed me.”
“If I had been in her place, I would have castrated you for the grope alone,” she hisses, and ties the bandages around his chest tightly. “How is she?”
“Like a lost kitten,” he drawls, toying with her hair again. “I’ll love drawing out her death. It’ll be glorious. You should join me, it’ll be like the old times.”
“Pass.” She stands up. “You’re done. Now get out of my house. If you come back here again, I’ll kill you myself.”
He pouts slightly and stands up to leer in her face. “One day, you’ll need me. I know things you don’t.”
She doesn’t seem interested, so he leaves to lick his wounds elsewhere. He still dreams of her licking them, though.
--
“Loved the fireworks,” he says into the phone, fingers tapping against the glass of the booth. “But I’m hurt. You didn’t send them off to kill just me this time.”
“What do you want?” she hisses, patience pulled tight.
“A bit of compassion would be appreciated. Some exercise…if you know what I mean.”
“I won’t dirty my sword on you, Magato.”
He bites his tongue, tasting her own disgust at him there. “But I wanna dirty my sword inside you, Fruhling.”
“Sweet.”
He knows she’s about to hang up on him, but he won’t allow it. He wants more, more of her jabs and more of her disgust, because the more it piles up the better it will taste when she finally gives him the time of his life. “Wait. I know something that’d interest you. Your little clone’s spotting a familiar scar.”
“I know,” she says, and hangs up.
Magato bristles, slams the phone down, and growls. “Bitch. I’ll get you one day.”
--
When the door opens, her blade touches his neck and he grins. “Hey, sexy. Did you miss me?”
“I told you not to return.”
“I bring news, babe. It’s about your mini-you.” He smirks when she lowers the sword, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat. “She’s found out where the breadcrumbs lead to.”
“How close?”
“Oh, I figure she’ll be here any day now.” They share a moment of silence, in which the ghost of the old man probably flies between them cackling madly in revenge. Or at least that’s what Magato sees. “Kitten’s gonna kill us both in the end.”
She’s still got that imperious arch of the eyebrow figured out. “Maybe you.”
He tsks, tilting his head to the side. “You still have a low opinion of my skills, babe,” he drawls, leaning against the doorway. “It’s hot.” There’s a grin on his face as an answer to her blank stare. “So, wanna fuck?”
She slams the door shut in his face.
He pulls out the dynamite from his pocket, blows up her door, and bends her over her own kitchen table. It’s not the warehouse, but it’s good enough.
After all, smooth he may not be, but he’s definitely learned to adapt to her whims.
Author: Cella [
shortitude] Fandom: DOGS
Ship: Fruhling/Magato
Rating: R
Summary: Magato: smooth operator, he is not. MAGATO. FRUHLING. It’s a bit like twisted courtship.
Spoilers: Recent chapters
A/N: For Kei [
gooziewoozie]; very loose interpretation of ‘wires’. Also—why did I have so much fun with this?Sometimes, he calls her. It takes him two months to find a way of contacting the woman after she leaves them there, two men in a warehouse. It also takes the torture of three of her favourite allies to get her number. So after all that effort, it’s only logical that he’s going to use the smoothest, sexiest ‘hey come back and live with us again so I can bend you over the kitchen table, because we’ve never touched that so far’ line. Which is to say:
“Hey, sexy, do you miss me?”
At twenty, Magato is not the smoothest operator alive. She hangs up on him, and sends fifteen of those dogs she loves giving demerits to kill him. He sends back their heads with a ‘thanks for the puppies, but you know I prefer pussies’ note attached.
--
He figures that the bitch likes power, and those who like power also look for powerful bedmates. And although while she stayed with them he was pretty powerful, she’d advanced faster than him. He’d remained completely oblivious to that until she caught him by surprise one night.
“Demerit, Magato,” she said, pulled her coat back on, and left the warehouse for good, leaving behind only a few broken chairs, scratches on the walls, and a turned on and naked psycho.
“Bitch, I’ll get you.”
So he’s trained himself, left the old man’s care—because there’s nothing more gay than two guys living together and working out with their swords, you know—not that he had ever cared much about Magato (except maybe that one time when he’d been young and innocent and hiding the knife behind his back).
Somewhere along the line, it stops being training so he can impress the girl, and turns into training to overthrow their mentor. He’s a power hungry beast, too; she’s made him this way.
But he’d still bend her over the kitchen table, no doubt.
--
“Hey, sexy,” he salutes, right after the phone is answered. “Before you hang up on me and send your bitches over for tea time, I’ve news for you.”
“You have five seconds.”
His glee is palpable as he delivers the news. “Old man’s found another Naoto.”
Silence.
“Babe?” More silence. “Don’t worry, you have better hair.”
“Five seconds are over.” She hangs up.
It’s thirty assassins after this time. He likes to think of it as twisted courtship.
--
He never thought it’d take almost dying to get back in her bed again. Except she pushes him down onto the couch instead of the bed, and isn’t merciful as she sews his wounds up.
“Can’t believe the kid actually fell for the ‘dying alone’ line,” he chuckles, fingers idly playing with her hair until she slaps his hand away. “If that were you, you’d have killed me.”
“If I had been in her place, I would have castrated you for the grope alone,” she hisses, and ties the bandages around his chest tightly. “How is she?”
“Like a lost kitten,” he drawls, toying with her hair again. “I’ll love drawing out her death. It’ll be glorious. You should join me, it’ll be like the old times.”
“Pass.” She stands up. “You’re done. Now get out of my house. If you come back here again, I’ll kill you myself.”
He pouts slightly and stands up to leer in her face. “One day, you’ll need me. I know things you don’t.”
She doesn’t seem interested, so he leaves to lick his wounds elsewhere. He still dreams of her licking them, though.
--
“Loved the fireworks,” he says into the phone, fingers tapping against the glass of the booth. “But I’m hurt. You didn’t send them off to kill just me this time.”
“What do you want?” she hisses, patience pulled tight.
“A bit of compassion would be appreciated. Some exercise…if you know what I mean.”
“I won’t dirty my sword on you, Magato.”
He bites his tongue, tasting her own disgust at him there. “But I wanna dirty my sword inside you, Fruhling.”
“Sweet.”
He knows she’s about to hang up on him, but he won’t allow it. He wants more, more of her jabs and more of her disgust, because the more it piles up the better it will taste when she finally gives him the time of his life. “Wait. I know something that’d interest you. Your little clone’s spotting a familiar scar.”
“I know,” she says, and hangs up.
Magato bristles, slams the phone down, and growls. “Bitch. I’ll get you one day.”
--
When the door opens, her blade touches his neck and he grins. “Hey, sexy. Did you miss me?”
“I told you not to return.”
“I bring news, babe. It’s about your mini-you.” He smirks when she lowers the sword, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat. “She’s found out where the breadcrumbs lead to.”
“How close?”
“Oh, I figure she’ll be here any day now.” They share a moment of silence, in which the ghost of the old man probably flies between them cackling madly in revenge. Or at least that’s what Magato sees. “Kitten’s gonna kill us both in the end.”
She’s still got that imperious arch of the eyebrow figured out. “Maybe you.”
He tsks, tilting his head to the side. “You still have a low opinion of my skills, babe,” he drawls, leaning against the doorway. “It’s hot.” There’s a grin on his face as an answer to her blank stare. “So, wanna fuck?”
She slams the door shut in his face.
He pulls out the dynamite from his pocket, blows up her door, and bends her over her own kitchen table. It’s not the warehouse, but it’s good enough.
After all, smooth he may not be, but he’s definitely learned to adapt to her whims.