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Raison D'être
folder
G through L › League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
7,171
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
7,171
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
Shiver | Chapter 2
Raison D’être | Chapter 2
A LXG Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko
Pairing: Dorian + Tom
Warning: Slash. Wicked Dreams.
Timeline: Post-movie cannon.
---
“Hey, Skinner.” Tom greeted the invisible man cheerily,
taking his place beside him at the railing, looking out at the horizon where
sky met sea.
The Nautilus floated alone in the middle of the Pacific
Ocean, very still in an immense stillness, the shadows of her spars flung far
westward by the rising sun. There was no sound in her, and around them, nothing
moved. Not a boat in the water, not a bird in the sky, not a cloud in the sky.
In this moment of calmness, their existence stood out, with only the sky and
the sea for judges and spectators.
Tom Sawyer looked to his side. A bond had been forged
between Rodney Skinner and himself after that previous incident with M. Skinner
had saved his life, and with that, the man had earned for himself Tom’s undying
respect and gratitude.
It was strange. Extraordinary gentlemen in extraordinary
situations with extraordinary bonds, they had their taste of uniqueness, it was
normalcy that had became a mystery to them.
“Hey yourself, Tom.” Skinner replied. It was impossible to
see the expression on his face. Had he regretted this invisibility? Had he ever
felt the loneliness of his existence, threatening to consume his sanity every
waking moment?
“You think I can get a tan if I stay out here long enough?
Nothing beats the tropical sun, does it?” Skinner asked.
“I don’t know, Skinner. But you can definitely try.” The American
boy replied.
Tom rested his hands lightly on the ship’s railings, as if
on the shoulder of a trusted friend. When Jekyll lost a vial of his solution,
they had automatically assumed it to be Skinner. The League had no idea if
Skinner was good or evil. Perhaps nobody had any idea either. It was an age-old
stereotype that had almost caused the League’s fall: never trust anyone you
could not see.
Was it the same for Dorian Gray? Tom mused. It was unclear
if the immortal was good or evil. But he was definitely feared among the
League. They all had weaknesses, while Gray was virtually indestructible. As a
result, he was being feared and doubted.
That, by it, had always tended to bring up the worst in
people.
Did he feel lonely too?
“I’m going back in,” Skinner announced. “Don’t want to pull
a chair out here to tan and end up having Hyde sitting on me because he can’t
see me.”
Tom grinned. Skinner could always take things in his stride,
seeing the humor out of any and every situation, good or bad.
The American leaned back against the railing, closed his
eyes, and smiled, enjoying the feel of the sun shining on his face. It felt
good; to be truly relaxed in such troubled times. It almost made him believe
that he could stay like this forever.
st. st.
***
He was back in the library again. This time, however, Gray
was already waiting for him. Tom took his seat, and wondered briefly, what his
dream would be about.
“Good evening, Sawyer. You are early today.” The European
offered his guest a glass of scotch like he had done the night before and
poured out red wine for himself. Tom accepted it politely, but did not drink
it.
“I did not poison it, Tom.” The agent looked up with a
chagrined smile on his face.
“I didn’t say you did.” Tom glanced around the library,
wondering why he ended up here again this time. If he was supposed to be
dreaming of Dorian Gray (although why of all people, he had yet to figure out)
they could be somewhere else. Like the Nautilus, for example; at least he would
feel a little more at ease there.
“Do you paint, Tom?” Dorian suddenly asked. Tom snapped his
head back to face his host, shook his head and looked at the immortal
questioningly. Dorian only smiled.
“I had a painter friend when I was your age.” He paused. There a f a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering something from a long time
ago.
In that split second, Tom Sawyer thought he was looking at a
different man. That thoughtful expression had never crossed the face of the
real Dorian Gray. Yet, this illusory creation sitting before him had a
sensitivity of a poet, noble without the arrogance that came with the package.
Tom wondered if this was the Dorian Gray the immortal used to be before his
soul began to corrupt. &nb
It made no sense. Tom had not known anything about the man
before the League. Even then, whatever contact he had with him was nothing
beyond a taunting pat on the shoulders or an occasional dismissing sneer.
“Vampires do not dream. Or else we could have Mina here
too.” Dorian murmured, almost to himself. The American wanted to ask what the
other man meant, until he was distracted by something that was significantly
missing from the room.
“Where is your portrait?”
A true smile spread across Dorian’s face. Tom wished the
courtier had smiled like that more often. It made him look younger, more
approachable…perhaps a little less irritating. He mused. Then again, age could
do irreversible things to someone, physically or not.
Tom thought once again of his men mentor.
“You know where it is.” Dorian answered cryptically. “It’s
with you.”
“You want it back?” Tom blinked curiously. Perhaps this
dream was from the ghost of Dorian, wanting to have his picture back. That
would make this entire hocus-pocus bullshit seemed more conceivable. The immortal
had been ready to deceive the entire League for that single sheet of canvas. It
was perfectly probable for his ghost to want to claim it back, even from his
grave.
The only question was: Would an immortal ever become a
ghost?
“You should leave.” Dorian said abruptly, an almost livid
look was on his face, as if he was truly insulted and mortified by Tom’s
earnest question. Tom nodded and stood up, bracing himself for the darkness
that would soon overwhelm him, just like the way it did when he last dreamt.
“I’m sorry,” hun hung his head guiltily. A shocked
expression spread across Dorian’s face. The English seemed rather disturbed by
the apology.
Then again, it might just be his imagination.
***
Tom woke up once again to the picture of Dorian Gray. He
frowned. There was something very wrong with the painting that morning. He got
up fros bes bed, hastily pulled on his boxers and clambered over to the wall.
The boy squinted his eyes hard; holding his hand out to
touch the canvas lightly and then drew back, as if burnt. He stared at his
fingers, an alarmed look on his face.
The paint was fresh.
End of Chapter 2
Continue to Chapter 3
Raison D’être | Chapter 2
A LXG Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko
Pairing: Dorian + Tom
Warning: Slash. Wicked Dreams.
Timeline: Post-movie cannon.
---
“Hey, Skinner.” Tom greeted the invisible man cheerily,
taking his place beside him at the railing, looking out at the horizon where
sky met sea.
The Nautilus floated alone in the middle of the Pacific
Ocean, very still in an immense stillness, the shadows of her spars flung far
westward by the rising sun. There was no sound in her, and around them, nothing
moved. Not a boat in the water, not a bird in the sky, not a cloud in the sky.
In this moment of calmness, their existence stood out, with only the sky and
the sea for judges and spectators.
Tom Sawyer looked to his side. A bond had been forged
between Rodney Skinner and himself after that previous incident with M. Skinner
had saved his life, and with that, the man had earned for himself Tom’s undying
respect and gratitude.
It was strange. Extraordinary gentlemen in extraordinary
situations with extraordinary bonds, they had their taste of uniqueness, it was
normalcy that had became a mystery to them.
“Hey yourself, Tom.” Skinner replied. It was impossible to
see the expression on his face. Had he regretted this invisibility? Had he ever
felt the loneliness of his existence, threatening to consume his sanity every
waking moment?
“You think I can get a tan if I stay out here long enough?
Nothing beats the tropical sun, does it?” Skinner asked.
“I don’t know, Skinner. But you can definitely try.” The American
boy replied.
Tom rested his hands lightly on the ship’s railings, as if
on the shoulder of a trusted friend. When Jekyll lost a vial of his solution,
they had automatically assumed it to be Skinner. The League had no idea if
Skinner was good or evil. Perhaps nobody had any idea either. It was an age-old
stereotype that had almost caused the League’s fall: never trust anyone you
could not see.
Was it the same for Dorian Gray? Tom mused. It was unclear
if the immortal was good or evil. But he was definitely feared among the
League. They all had weaknesses, while Gray was virtually indestructible. As a
result, he was being feared and doubted.
That, by it, had always tended to bring up the worst in
people.
Did he feel lonely too?
“I’m going back in,” Skinner announced. “Don’t want to pull
a chair out here to tan and end up having Hyde sitting on me because he can’t
see me.”
Tom grinned. Skinner could always take things in his stride,
seeing the humor out of any and every situation, good or bad.
The American leaned back against the railing, closed his
eyes, and smiled, enjoying the feel of the sun shining on his face. It felt
good; to be truly relaxed in such troubled times. It almost made him believe
that he could stay like this forever.
st. st.
***
He was back in the library again. This time, however, Gray
was already waiting for him. Tom took his seat, and wondered briefly, what his
dream would be about.
“Good evening, Sawyer. You are early today.” The European
offered his guest a glass of scotch like he had done the night before and
poured out red wine for himself. Tom accepted it politely, but did not drink
it.
“I did not poison it, Tom.” The agent looked up with a
chagrined smile on his face.
“I didn’t say you did.” Tom glanced around the library,
wondering why he ended up here again this time. If he was supposed to be
dreaming of Dorian Gray (although why of all people, he had yet to figure out)
they could be somewhere else. Like the Nautilus, for example; at least he would
feel a little more at ease there.
“Do you paint, Tom?” Dorian suddenly asked. Tom snapped his
head back to face his host, shook his head and looked at the immortal
questioningly. Dorian only smiled.
“I had a painter friend when I was your age.” He paused. There a f a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering something from a long time
ago.
In that split second, Tom Sawyer thought he was looking at a
different man. That thoughtful expression had never crossed the face of the
real Dorian Gray. Yet, this illusory creation sitting before him had a
sensitivity of a poet, noble without the arrogance that came with the package.
Tom wondered if this was the Dorian Gray the immortal used to be before his
soul began to corrupt. &nb
It made no sense. Tom had not known anything about the man
before the League. Even then, whatever contact he had with him was nothing
beyond a taunting pat on the shoulders or an occasional dismissing sneer.
“Vampires do not dream. Or else we could have Mina here
too.” Dorian murmured, almost to himself. The American wanted to ask what the
other man meant, until he was distracted by something that was significantly
missing from the room.
“Where is your portrait?”
A true smile spread across Dorian’s face. Tom wished the
courtier had smiled like that more often. It made him look younger, more
approachable…perhaps a little less irritating. He mused. Then again, age could
do irreversible things to someone, physically or not.
Tom thought once again of his men mentor.
“You know where it is.” Dorian answered cryptically. “It’s
with you.”
“You want it back?” Tom blinked curiously. Perhaps this
dream was from the ghost of Dorian, wanting to have his picture back. That
would make this entire hocus-pocus bullshit seemed more conceivable. The immortal
had been ready to deceive the entire League for that single sheet of canvas. It
was perfectly probable for his ghost to want to claim it back, even from his
grave.
The only question was: Would an immortal ever become a
ghost?
“You should leave.” Dorian said abruptly, an almost livid
look was on his face, as if he was truly insulted and mortified by Tom’s
earnest question. Tom nodded and stood up, bracing himself for the darkness
that would soon overwhelm him, just like the way it did when he last dreamt.
“I’m sorry,” hun hung his head guiltily. A shocked
expression spread across Dorian’s face. The English seemed rather disturbed by
the apology.
Then again, it might just be his imagination.
***
Tom woke up once again to the picture of Dorian Gray. He
frowned. There was something very wrong with the painting that morning. He got
up fros bes bed, hastily pulled on his boxers and clambered over to the wall.
The boy squinted his eyes hard; holding his hand out to
touch the canvas lightly and then drew back, as if burnt. He stared at his
fingers, an alarmed look on his face.
The paint was fresh.
End of Chapter 2
Continue to Chapter 3