Metallic
folder
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,748
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,748
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Pitch Black, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Metallic
Title: Metallic
Author: raven (ravens_slavegirl@yahoo.co.uk)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Riddick/Johns
Series: I hope not, but there could be a sequel if my muses get their wicked way…
Archive: I have a simple philosophy – want, take, have. Just let me know where it is.
Warnings: Fairly graphic m/m, first-time, violence, rape, blood, and some attempt at injecting a plot. Oh, and it’s possibly an AU, since there’s mention of another race of sentient beings, who aren’t human.
Disclaimers: Not mine, don’t sue. All you’ll get is a collection of my trashy fanfic and a used copy of The Sims anyway.
Notes: The whole Centauri thing’s my idea, and while the planet plays a part in the plot, there aren’t any truly significant Centauri characters, thank God. And apologies for my truly, truly awful attempt at writing a Southern accent. I’m English. You’ll have to excuse my peculiarity. hehehe. Oh, and for God’s sake please don’t try to make sense of the title!!
Summary: Set before PB; my explanation of exactly how Riddick gave Johns his scar.
***
Metallic
***
The cold steel of the shiv against the back of his neck stopped Johns in his tracks.
It was raining on Centauri 2. It was *always* raining on Centauri 2, just as it was always dark. The system’s two suns had burned out over three centuries ago, leaving their three satellite planets in perpetual night. And on Centauri 2, the night was cold.
In the never-ending dark, the rain was the one thing keeping the whole planet from freezing over. On Centauri the rain always came in the same unwavering icy stream, regulated by thousands of atmospheric weather stations; it poured ceaselessly from the empty black sky, ran down the monstrous black buildings with their bright, lurid lights, hit the grooved rubber-coated streets and drained away. It never stopped.
And beneath the streets were vast networks of underground reservoirs and canals, all heated to prevent freezing, where the rainwater waited to be re-injected into the atmosphere. It was treated in huge vats by faceless scientists in protective suits who would never set foot outside. Refuse was extracted. Chemicals were added - chemicals known to cause serious illness after prolonged exposure; this was public knowledge, but deemed necessary to the survival of the Centauri planet itself. The system had been refined over many years; some particularly long-lived Centaurans still remembered the day that their suns burned out, remembered the proposal of the rain system, remembered loved ones dying from the wet sickness. But nothing would change on Centauri 2. Ever.
Johns was already soaked to the bone, but he could still feel the water trickling down the back of his neck, pooling on the flat edge of the metal shiv. He shivered and felt the sharp sting as the metal pierced his skin. His blood ran hot on his neck, mixed with the rainwater, drained away. The impurity would be washed from the water. If he died that very instant, if his blood were spilled and drained away, the treatment plants would make it almost as though he’d never set foot on their world. And Riddick would do the rest.
He shivered again. The shiv bit down deeper.
“You keep movin’ like that and I won’t haveta kill ya”, hissed a low voice beside his ear. Johns frowned. It wasn’t Riddick. “Now, I’m gonna turn out yer pockets and you’ll gimme everythin’ you got, y’hear? Don’t move an’ I won’t haveta stick ya”.
The arm that had barred his spine shifted, wandered over his left hip, searching for his pocket. That was all the invitation Johns needed.
He dove right, scraping his forehead painfully along the wall, the shiv slicing thinly at his neck; dropping to his knees in the rubber-coated alley he went for his gun, realising too late that his attacker had grabbed it.
“Fuck”, he muttered. His eyes closed as the butt of the gun came down.
He expected a blinding lightning bolt of pain to flash through his skull. He knew the feeling well. Work for the Marine Military Police long enough, you get intimately acquainted with the feel of steel cracking your l. Hl. He’d been treated for more fractures and subdural haematomas than he could count without referring to his med records. First came the pain, then the disorientation, then the swimming blackness before you passed out. He almost liked the feeling – there was something about the burn of broken skin over a skull fracture that let him know he was still alive.
But none of it came.
He opened one eye experimentally, half expecting to see the gun-butt come smashing down into it. But he didn’t. He opened both eyes, frowning. The guy was gone. And his gun was lying on the ground in front of him.
He reached out for it; his fingertips grazed the slick metal and caught hold of the trigger guard so he could tug it toward him. He didn’t want to move too quickly or too far, or to turn around without that gun in his hand.
A boot came down on the gun. Johns winced and, slowly, looked up.
Eyes gleamed in the darkness. Riddick.
He kicked the gun away, into a stack of rotting wooden crates and assorted trash, all in varying stages of decomposition. And he smiled, bringing a bloody shiv to his mouth. Johns watched as Riddick’s tongue caressed the sharp metal, licking it clean. Involuntarily, he shivered again. That wasn’t Riddick’s shiv – Riddick’s was in his other hand. That was the mugger’s. That was Johns’ blood.
“You owe me for this, Johns”, he said.
Johns frowned. “Owe you for what, exactly?”
“This”. Riddick tossed him the mugger’s clean metal shiv. It clanged dully on the hardened rubber just before his knees. Johns set his fingers on it, gathered it into his palm, then looked up again. “And this”.
The steady downpour was already washing it clean, but Johns could see the blood dripping from Riddick’s shiv. Then he moved, one muscular arm pointing off to Johns’ left with the shiny metal. Against his better judgement – judgement telling him not to turn his back to Riddick – Johns turned.
The guy was dead, his throat slashed from ear to ear, a great yawning wound below his jaw. For a second Johns couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard it happen. Then he remembered the incessant beat of the rain. It was screwing with his senses. The rain in his eyes and on his skin and pouring all around him almost took his mind off the fact that Riddick had probably saved his life.
He turned back; the sudden pain in his hand as Riddick’s boot stepped down made him groan, and he sucked in a quick breath, head tilting back, teeth baring as he felt the cool edge of the shiv against his throat.
“I want you to remember this moment”, Riddick said, his mouth just beside Johns’ ear, so close he could feel the heat of his body and his breath. Johns closed his eyes, breathing Riddick in on the rain-soaked air.
Then the pain came, a lightning strike through his head as Riddick brought the gun down on the back of his neck. The last thing he saw as his vision swam to blackness was the gleam of Riddick’s eyes before he turned and walked away.
***
Author: raven (ravens_slavegirl@yahoo.co.uk)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Riddick/Johns
Series: I hope not, but there could be a sequel if my muses get their wicked way…
Archive: I have a simple philosophy – want, take, have. Just let me know where it is.
Warnings: Fairly graphic m/m, first-time, violence, rape, blood, and some attempt at injecting a plot. Oh, and it’s possibly an AU, since there’s mention of another race of sentient beings, who aren’t human.
Disclaimers: Not mine, don’t sue. All you’ll get is a collection of my trashy fanfic and a used copy of The Sims anyway.
Notes: The whole Centauri thing’s my idea, and while the planet plays a part in the plot, there aren’t any truly significant Centauri characters, thank God. And apologies for my truly, truly awful attempt at writing a Southern accent. I’m English. You’ll have to excuse my peculiarity. hehehe. Oh, and for God’s sake please don’t try to make sense of the title!!
Summary: Set before PB; my explanation of exactly how Riddick gave Johns his scar.
***
Metallic
***
The cold steel of the shiv against the back of his neck stopped Johns in his tracks.
It was raining on Centauri 2. It was *always* raining on Centauri 2, just as it was always dark. The system’s two suns had burned out over three centuries ago, leaving their three satellite planets in perpetual night. And on Centauri 2, the night was cold.
In the never-ending dark, the rain was the one thing keeping the whole planet from freezing over. On Centauri the rain always came in the same unwavering icy stream, regulated by thousands of atmospheric weather stations; it poured ceaselessly from the empty black sky, ran down the monstrous black buildings with their bright, lurid lights, hit the grooved rubber-coated streets and drained away. It never stopped.
And beneath the streets were vast networks of underground reservoirs and canals, all heated to prevent freezing, where the rainwater waited to be re-injected into the atmosphere. It was treated in huge vats by faceless scientists in protective suits who would never set foot outside. Refuse was extracted. Chemicals were added - chemicals known to cause serious illness after prolonged exposure; this was public knowledge, but deemed necessary to the survival of the Centauri planet itself. The system had been refined over many years; some particularly long-lived Centaurans still remembered the day that their suns burned out, remembered the proposal of the rain system, remembered loved ones dying from the wet sickness. But nothing would change on Centauri 2. Ever.
Johns was already soaked to the bone, but he could still feel the water trickling down the back of his neck, pooling on the flat edge of the metal shiv. He shivered and felt the sharp sting as the metal pierced his skin. His blood ran hot on his neck, mixed with the rainwater, drained away. The impurity would be washed from the water. If he died that very instant, if his blood were spilled and drained away, the treatment plants would make it almost as though he’d never set foot on their world. And Riddick would do the rest.
He shivered again. The shiv bit down deeper.
“You keep movin’ like that and I won’t haveta kill ya”, hissed a low voice beside his ear. Johns frowned. It wasn’t Riddick. “Now, I’m gonna turn out yer pockets and you’ll gimme everythin’ you got, y’hear? Don’t move an’ I won’t haveta stick ya”.
The arm that had barred his spine shifted, wandered over his left hip, searching for his pocket. That was all the invitation Johns needed.
He dove right, scraping his forehead painfully along the wall, the shiv slicing thinly at his neck; dropping to his knees in the rubber-coated alley he went for his gun, realising too late that his attacker had grabbed it.
“Fuck”, he muttered. His eyes closed as the butt of the gun came down.
He expected a blinding lightning bolt of pain to flash through his skull. He knew the feeling well. Work for the Marine Military Police long enough, you get intimately acquainted with the feel of steel cracking your l. Hl. He’d been treated for more fractures and subdural haematomas than he could count without referring to his med records. First came the pain, then the disorientation, then the swimming blackness before you passed out. He almost liked the feeling – there was something about the burn of broken skin over a skull fracture that let him know he was still alive.
But none of it came.
He opened one eye experimentally, half expecting to see the gun-butt come smashing down into it. But he didn’t. He opened both eyes, frowning. The guy was gone. And his gun was lying on the ground in front of him.
He reached out for it; his fingertips grazed the slick metal and caught hold of the trigger guard so he could tug it toward him. He didn’t want to move too quickly or too far, or to turn around without that gun in his hand.
A boot came down on the gun. Johns winced and, slowly, looked up.
Eyes gleamed in the darkness. Riddick.
He kicked the gun away, into a stack of rotting wooden crates and assorted trash, all in varying stages of decomposition. And he smiled, bringing a bloody shiv to his mouth. Johns watched as Riddick’s tongue caressed the sharp metal, licking it clean. Involuntarily, he shivered again. That wasn’t Riddick’s shiv – Riddick’s was in his other hand. That was the mugger’s. That was Johns’ blood.
“You owe me for this, Johns”, he said.
Johns frowned. “Owe you for what, exactly?”
“This”. Riddick tossed him the mugger’s clean metal shiv. It clanged dully on the hardened rubber just before his knees. Johns set his fingers on it, gathered it into his palm, then looked up again. “And this”.
The steady downpour was already washing it clean, but Johns could see the blood dripping from Riddick’s shiv. Then he moved, one muscular arm pointing off to Johns’ left with the shiny metal. Against his better judgement – judgement telling him not to turn his back to Riddick – Johns turned.
The guy was dead, his throat slashed from ear to ear, a great yawning wound below his jaw. For a second Johns couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard it happen. Then he remembered the incessant beat of the rain. It was screwing with his senses. The rain in his eyes and on his skin and pouring all around him almost took his mind off the fact that Riddick had probably saved his life.
He turned back; the sudden pain in his hand as Riddick’s boot stepped down made him groan, and he sucked in a quick breath, head tilting back, teeth baring as he felt the cool edge of the shiv against his throat.
“I want you to remember this moment”, Riddick said, his mouth just beside Johns’ ear, so close he could feel the heat of his body and his breath. Johns closed his eyes, breathing Riddick in on the rain-soaked air.
Then the pain came, a lightning strike through his head as Riddick brought the gun down on the back of his neck. The last thing he saw as his vision swam to blackness was the gleam of Riddick’s eyes before he turned and walked away.
***