Hello Heartache (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} vicedriven) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} bds_drabble,@ 2004-02-09 01:11:00 |
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The Divine Burn
Author: Vice.
Disclaimer: Characters are property of Troy Duffy (I wonder if he’s willing to sell).
Rating: PG.
(So sue me, I've absolutely never written a fanfic before.)
***
An arm is extended towards his head, languidly, with practice and conviction. Out of his peripheral vision he catches a glimpse of the word ‘Veritas’ tattooed across a trigger finger. He has no conception of it’s meaning, but his mind quickly associates the word with the searing barrel pressed to his temple. Heat, one of the more honest sensations a person can know, is reintroducing itself like a treacherous friend. The Irishman prods his head with the end of the gun, pressing against skin already fevered with fear. A man of science would tell you that brushed metal is burning from having recently delivered death to another. However, this particular Goodfellla would tell you that the fire is coming off Conner’s skin, originating from something devout and pious woven deep into this man. The divine burn fills and overflows the Saint's being, spilling out his fingertips, blazing the mouth of the weapon coiled in his hand.
‘Aequitas’ joins his brother, a twin barrel applied at a kindred angle. Murphy stifled a snicker as the villain shuddered beneath the warm kisses of matching bullets. A virtuous, cleansing fire pierces flesh and muscle, transcending bone and brain matter, relieving the man’s body of tainted blood. The deceased bows to the Saints, heartbeat hushed in a crimson flood. The heat is dispelled, dissipating from a body that could never hope to possess such a warmth. With a secret prayer smoldering on their mouths, the brothers each draw a cent from their coat pockets, placing the two copper tokens over quiet, chill eyelids.
Author: Vice.
Disclaimer: Characters are property of Troy Duffy (I wonder if he’s willing to sell).
Rating: PG.
(So sue me, I've absolutely never written a fanfic before.)
***
An arm is extended towards his head, languidly, with practice and conviction. Out of his peripheral vision he catches a glimpse of the word ‘Veritas’ tattooed across a trigger finger. He has no conception of it’s meaning, but his mind quickly associates the word with the searing barrel pressed to his temple. Heat, one of the more honest sensations a person can know, is reintroducing itself like a treacherous friend. The Irishman prods his head with the end of the gun, pressing against skin already fevered with fear. A man of science would tell you that brushed metal is burning from having recently delivered death to another. However, this particular Goodfellla would tell you that the fire is coming off Conner’s skin, originating from something devout and pious woven deep into this man. The divine burn fills and overflows the Saint's being, spilling out his fingertips, blazing the mouth of the weapon coiled in his hand.
‘Aequitas’ joins his brother, a twin barrel applied at a kindred angle. Murphy stifled a snicker as the villain shuddered beneath the warm kisses of matching bullets. A virtuous, cleansing fire pierces flesh and muscle, transcending bone and brain matter, relieving the man’s body of tainted blood. The deceased bows to the Saints, heartbeat hushed in a crimson flood. The heat is dispelled, dissipating from a body that could never hope to possess such a warmth. With a secret prayer smoldering on their mouths, the brothers each draw a cent from their coat pockets, placing the two copper tokens over quiet, chill eyelids.
