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schizoauthoress_libraryTitle: A Wreath of Clover and Bay Leaf
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: R
Spoilers: based on "Treehouse of Horror IV", the "Bart Simpson's Dracula" segment
Warnings: canonical AU, vampires, infidelity, blood, character death
Prompt/Fill: none
Word Count: 682
Summary: How Mr. Burns became a vampire.
Word of the Day: syndic, noun:
1. A person chosen to represent and transact business for a corporation.
2. A civil magistrate having different powers in different countries.
Note: according to Language of Flowers the four-leafed clover means "be mine", and bay leaf means "I change but in death". (Thank you to Daggerpen for coming up with the title, based on the title I came up with for the chronologically first part.)
A Wreath of Clover and Bay Leaf
He thinks he's dreaming when she comes for him. People can't fly, after all. She perches on the edge of his bed and, smiling, rasps in that alluring voice, "How's it going, Chuck?"
Monty scowls at the unwelcome nickname and Marge giggles impudently.
"Oh, now... don't look like that! I'm only teasing."
"I can't abide by teasing, madame," Monty informs her, in the most severe tone he can muster at the moment.
"A man of action, hmm, Mr. Burns?" Marge inquires. She leans forward, the robe she's wrapped in slipping off one shoulder and revealing the beribboned strap of her lingerie beneath. "I like that."
And he knows then that he must be dreaming, because Marge Simpson would never talk to him like that. She's a faithful wife and a devoted mother, after all, and even the adoration of an obscenely wealthy man such as himself will not turn her from that chosen path. Since it's a dream, he sees utterly no risk in locating the cord of her robe and undoing the knot.
She laughs again. She's floating over his prone body and lets the robe fall to one side of his bed. She had a body that would, as Raymond Chandler once put it, "make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window". Monty reaches out and frames her hips with his hands, and the lace edging of the silky black camiknickers she's wearing tickles his palms. Her fingers, slim and cool, stroke his cheek.
"You can do more than look at me, you know."
"Yes, I intend to."
****
He really should have been paying closer attention. He might have realized that despite the way Marge was defying gravity, what was happening to him happened in a logical sequence -- without the fade out of dreaming, the stutters in time and space. But the whole premise seemed so impossible, so dream-like, that he made his assumptions and went forward.
He doesn't even question when she smiles at him and shows long, pearly-white fangs instead of human teeth.
Marge nuzzles at his neck and Monty tips his head back, but instead of the press of soft lips, he feels his flesh part -- as though by needles, or perhaps knives. Monty cries out, or tries to. One of her hands grasps the side of his face, palm pressing into his mouth and thumb forcing his jaw closed. He doesn't have the strength to fight her off, even as his pleasure-filled languor dissipates into terror.
He's bleeding, he knows it -- her mouth on his neck is too hot, too wet. He feels lightheaded. When she groans against his skin, he feels only the faintest flicker of desire, that sensation drowned out by confusion and fear.
Monty realizes now that he's been made into a prey creature at her hands.
He tries to shove her off, but Marge is immovable now -- as though her substance were steel or stone, rather than the airy matter it had seemed before. He tries to call for Smithers, but the muzzle of her impossibly strong hand makes the name incomprehensible. His vision dims.
He has no idea when the pain at his neck subsides. He feels heavy, more than half blind. And she speaks again, her softly rasping voice transmuted into a growl more animal than human.
"Do you want to live forever?"
It's a question that's burned in him ever since the death of his wealthy grandfather -- ever since he saw proof that money could not truly buy more time than was allotted to humans on this earth. He would wonder how she knows to ask the question, but he thinks -- in thoughts that form almost intolerably slowly -- 'She is not Marge. She cannot be. She is some devil that knows my heart.'
Her hands are gentle on him now, and she repeats, "Do you want to live forever?"
He draws a breath, tastes iron and ashes, and whispers in reply, "Yes."
He can say no more. There is blood on his tongue, there is blood filling his mouth, and he swallows it like a sacrament.
*-*-*-*-*
EDIT: I hadn't realized that it's apparently Monty's grandfather who takes him away from his parents. I've corrected the text. (7 March 2017)
Followed by: Pink Camellia Petals
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: R
Spoilers: based on "Treehouse of Horror IV", the "Bart Simpson's Dracula" segment
Warnings: canonical AU, vampires, infidelity, blood, character death
Prompt/Fill: none
Word Count: 682
Summary: How Mr. Burns became a vampire.
Word of the Day: syndic, noun:
1. A person chosen to represent and transact business for a corporation.
2. A civil magistrate having different powers in different countries.
Note: according to Language of Flowers the four-leafed clover means "be mine", and bay leaf means "I change but in death". (Thank you to Daggerpen for coming up with the title, based on the title I came up with for the chronologically first part.)
A Wreath of Clover and Bay Leaf
He thinks he's dreaming when she comes for him. People can't fly, after all. She perches on the edge of his bed and, smiling, rasps in that alluring voice, "How's it going, Chuck?"
Monty scowls at the unwelcome nickname and Marge giggles impudently.
"Oh, now... don't look like that! I'm only teasing."
"I can't abide by teasing, madame," Monty informs her, in the most severe tone he can muster at the moment.
"A man of action, hmm, Mr. Burns?" Marge inquires. She leans forward, the robe she's wrapped in slipping off one shoulder and revealing the beribboned strap of her lingerie beneath. "I like that."
And he knows then that he must be dreaming, because Marge Simpson would never talk to him like that. She's a faithful wife and a devoted mother, after all, and even the adoration of an obscenely wealthy man such as himself will not turn her from that chosen path. Since it's a dream, he sees utterly no risk in locating the cord of her robe and undoing the knot.
She laughs again. She's floating over his prone body and lets the robe fall to one side of his bed. She had a body that would, as Raymond Chandler once put it, "make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window". Monty reaches out and frames her hips with his hands, and the lace edging of the silky black camiknickers she's wearing tickles his palms. Her fingers, slim and cool, stroke his cheek.
"You can do more than look at me, you know."
"Yes, I intend to."
****
He really should have been paying closer attention. He might have realized that despite the way Marge was defying gravity, what was happening to him happened in a logical sequence -- without the fade out of dreaming, the stutters in time and space. But the whole premise seemed so impossible, so dream-like, that he made his assumptions and went forward.
He doesn't even question when she smiles at him and shows long, pearly-white fangs instead of human teeth.
Marge nuzzles at his neck and Monty tips his head back, but instead of the press of soft lips, he feels his flesh part -- as though by needles, or perhaps knives. Monty cries out, or tries to. One of her hands grasps the side of his face, palm pressing into his mouth and thumb forcing his jaw closed. He doesn't have the strength to fight her off, even as his pleasure-filled languor dissipates into terror.
He's bleeding, he knows it -- her mouth on his neck is too hot, too wet. He feels lightheaded. When she groans against his skin, he feels only the faintest flicker of desire, that sensation drowned out by confusion and fear.
Monty realizes now that he's been made into a prey creature at her hands.
He tries to shove her off, but Marge is immovable now -- as though her substance were steel or stone, rather than the airy matter it had seemed before. He tries to call for Smithers, but the muzzle of her impossibly strong hand makes the name incomprehensible. His vision dims.
He has no idea when the pain at his neck subsides. He feels heavy, more than half blind. And she speaks again, her softly rasping voice transmuted into a growl more animal than human.
"Do you want to live forever?"
It's a question that's burned in him ever since the death of his wealthy grandfather -- ever since he saw proof that money could not truly buy more time than was allotted to humans on this earth. He would wonder how she knows to ask the question, but he thinks -- in thoughts that form almost intolerably slowly -- 'She is not Marge. She cannot be. She is some devil that knows my heart.'
Her hands are gentle on him now, and she repeats, "Do you want to live forever?"
He draws a breath, tastes iron and ashes, and whispers in reply, "Yes."
He can say no more. There is blood on his tongue, there is blood filling his mouth, and he swallows it like a sacrament.
*-*-*-*-*
EDIT: I hadn't realized that it's apparently Monty's grandfather who takes him away from his parents. I've corrected the text. (7 March 2017)
Followed by: Pink Camellia Petals
