Rachel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kleenexwoman) wrote2009-10-06 11:50 pm
kleenexwoman) wrote2009-10-06 11:50 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: "Wolfsblood," Man from UNCLE
"Wolf's Blood," the Misfits
It's a gorgeous night, warm and balmy, the scent of fresh hay in the air. The full moon is just visible through a hole in the roof of the barn, and it's being blocked out of Napoleon's view by a laughing girl with tousled black hair and big brown eyes. All they have to eat is stolen apples, but he doesn't think a room at the Ritz and a steak dinner could be any more luxurious. She knows how to kiss, and he knows how to kiss back, and it's all perfectly lovely until she bites him on the shoulder.
Which wouldn't be so unusual--the girls who have clamped down on Napoleon Solo's shoulder in the throes of ecstasy number well into the dozens--but this stings, and when she lifts her head, there's bright red blood on her lips. "God," she growls, "you're making me crazy," and then she dives in for another kiss, coppery-tasting and wet, and that's all he can remember for a long time.
When he wakes up, he's naked and sore, curled around her in a nest of hay. There are feathers all over the floor of the barn, fluffy white and stained red. His mouth tastes like rotting meat and feels like the inside of a pillow. He rolls over and vomits onto the dirt floor, bringing up more feathers, a half-digested chicken claw, shreds of raw meat and apple peel.
Beside him, the girl yawns and snuggles into the hay, whimpering softly in her sleep.
It's a gorgeous night, warm and balmy, the scent of fresh hay in the air. The full moon is just visible through a hole in the roof of the barn, and it's being blocked out of Napoleon's view by a laughing girl with tousled black hair and big brown eyes. All they have to eat is stolen apples, but he doesn't think a room at the Ritz and a steak dinner could be any more luxurious. She knows how to kiss, and he knows how to kiss back, and it's all perfectly lovely until she bites him on the shoulder.
Which wouldn't be so unusual--the girls who have clamped down on Napoleon Solo's shoulder in the throes of ecstasy number well into the dozens--but this stings, and when she lifts her head, there's bright red blood on her lips. "God," she growls, "you're making me crazy," and then she dives in for another kiss, coppery-tasting and wet, and that's all he can remember for a long time.
When he wakes up, he's naked and sore, curled around her in a nest of hay. There are feathers all over the floor of the barn, fluffy white and stained red. His mouth tastes like rotting meat and feels like the inside of a pillow. He rolls over and vomits onto the dirt floor, bringing up more feathers, a half-digested chicken claw, shreds of raw meat and apple peel.
Beside him, the girl yawns and snuggles into the hay, whimpering softly in her sleep.