Spin

Notes and Warnings

The story "Spin" is Rated a strong R for non-explicit scenes. If it's illegal for you, or if you find it personally distasteful, to read something containing male/male sexual situations, then please find some other reading material. Remember, if any of this bothers you, or if you're a minor, then please don't read it.

I don't own these lovely characters. No money is being made, no disrespect intended.

Chronology: Sometime before 'The London Assignment,' (which is also before the movie, for those who haven't seen TLA).

Fandom: Van Helsing

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel Van Helsing, pre-slash relationship implied

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Spin

Chapter 1
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He'd done it.

Carl almost always perfected his designs late at night or early in the morning, in the quiet of an empty room where he could work without prying eyes or questioning stares. Last night was no exception. Now, he stood before the long table, cluttered as it was with his papers, pieces of wood, metal and machinery, and smiled at the device he held in his hand.

Half of the Order doubted it would work. He suspected the other half doubted it, too, but had the good grace to offer positive encouragement.

And now he'd done it! He squeezed the handle, once, twice, a shudder passing down his spine at the satisfying whirr of the blade. He had to test it! He flicked his wrist and cut the corner off the table in one swift motion, and then realized. . . that he'd cut the corner off the table.

He laughed at his recklessness. Would they care about the table when they saw that it worked? He'd known all along that the key to this device was simply merging the proper force with the proper leverage, not, as Brother Caleb had suggested on more than one occasion, the manifestation of a minor miracle. He laughed at the expression Brother Caleb might wear if Carl marched into his room right now and sawed his bed in two.

He stopped the device, and he thought of the person he'd designed the weapon for--Gabriel Van Helsing. "Carl, I expect you to have that working when I get back." Van Helsing had said it loud enough for the entire lab to hear, then he'd smiled and nodded at Carl as he left, off to Sicily to look into the force behind the repeated desecration of three churches. Word was Van Helsing would be back soon, maybe even today, having found only thieves and vandals. Perfect timing, Carl thought.

Far too excited to sleep, Carl sat about tidying up his workspace, and reattaching the sawed-off corner, which would not cooperate. It didn't help that his mind kept straying to thoughts of Van Helsing. He couldn't wait to present him with the working model. He longed to see him use it in action, Carl's device like an extension of Van Helsing's arm. Carl could see him, blade in hand. No, a blade in each hand! Carl reached for the weapon again, his fingers gingerly touching the handle, the same handle Van Helsing would hold. Carl suddenly found that thought curiously erotic.

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Van Helsing heard a low buzz on the other side of the door. He'd come straight to the lab upon arriving, eager to see Carl and tell him about his trip. Talking to Carl after each mission helped him focus the details in his mind before he had to report to the Cardinal. In fact, it relaxed him so much that he never really felt 'home' until he'd had a chance to see Carl, who, not being well traveled, listened to his stories with keen interest. He knew Carl was the only person likely to be in the lab this early, and sometimes Carl startled easily. So Van Helsing didn't knock in case he was working on one of his variations of glycerin.

He walked in just in time to see Carl saw a corner off one of the worktables.

Van Helsing had known all along that Carl would make the hand-blade work, it had just been a matter of time. And he'd fully suspected that Carl would finish it while he was gone--it seemed Carl spent more time in the lab while Van Helsing was away, and almost always had some new weapon to show off when he returned

Carl laughed as he regarded the table, and Van Helsing smiled, sharing in Carl's delight. He didn't want to speak and ruin the moment. He'll see me soon, he thought, and then he'll launch into a discussion of momentum and leverage and the laws of motion. But Carl stacked papers and pushed things into piles, and nailed the table back together. Well, he tried to nail the table back together.

Van Helsing smiled as he watched this man who could make weapons that practically defied physics and yet couldn't seem to master the combination of a hammer and nails. If Carl had raised his eyes once he'd have seen Van Helsing, but he was single-minded. Van Helsing was on Carl's right, amazed that the man hadn't spied him in his peripheral vision, but it was well known that when Carl set his mind to a task, he wasn't easily distracted. As Van Helsing was finally about to speak and announce himself, Carl stopped, seemingly lost in thought, and with his right hand he reached out and stroked the handle of the weapon. He ran his fingers across it, almost lovingly, Van Helsing thought. Carl's body rocked slightly as he closed his eyes and leaned into the table.

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Carl ran his finger up and down the handle, and thought of the fingers that would soon be wrapped around it, squeezing the blade into motion, making it spin. . . . His left hand seemed to move of its own volition, and with a pang of guilt, he touched himself through his robes. He pictured Van Helsing, arms out on each side, a blade in each hand, squeezing, his legs apart as if braced for attack, and Carl leaned forward, pushing his stomach against the edge of the table, as if to hide from himself, from God, what he did underneath. He pressed the ache between his legs, rubbing himself through the coarse material, and he no longer wanted to imagine Van Helsing's hands on weapons. Carl placed his right hand on his chest and closed his eyes.

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Van Helsing shivered as he watched Carl put his right hand on his chest, and moan. He was torn between speaking up immediately as if he'd just walked in and seen nothing, or attempting to leave as quietly as he'd come in. He knew he wanted to avoid an awkward moment, especially one such as this which would undoubtedly embarrass Carl, maybe even cause him shame, but he found himself unable to move. Carl's lips parted, and as his head fell back and he moaned again, Van Helsing felt himself grow hard. Carl's tongue traced his lips and Van Helsing realized his own mouth was open. He wanted to touch himself, but he was afraid to move.

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Rubbing himself harder, Carl let the fantasy play out in his mind. Van Helsing came home early, he couldn't bear to be away any longer. He came in without Carl knowing, and watched Carl test the weapon on the table. He walked up behind him and without speaking, reached around and took the blade out of Carl's hand. Van Helsing pressed his body against Carl's back, and wrapped his arms around him, one hand on Carl's chest, the other touching him now, pleasuring him greedily, desperately, kneading him through his robes, too eager to wait.

"Oh, yes," Carl whispered. He balanced himself against the table and let his head drop back, his eyes still closed. He imagined Van Helsing's breath against the side of his face, Van Helsing's voice in his ear. "Yes, Carl. For me, oh yes."

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"Oh!" Carl bucked his hips forward and let go, his/Van Helsing's hand drawing the sensation out as long as possible, then sliding up his stomach and coming to rest on top of his other hand. He shuddered and tightened his muscles as the pulses subsided. Sated, he opened his eyes.

And saw someone standing in the room.

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End 1/2

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