Standard disclaimers: this is a work of fiction. These characters don't belong to me, they belong to Volks. Don't sue me, I'm poor, I just love Cecile and Reisner (and Williams, and Sylvie, and...) very much. ^^
The story itself, however, belongs to me. Don't post, steal, or do anything nasty to it. If you want to post this story somewhere, please ask me first. I'll most likely say yes, but I'd like to know.
This story contains yaoi; that's m/m love and sex. If that offends you, go read something else and stop wasting my time. ^_^ This story also contains incest, which may be a squick for you, so please stop if it is.
Any comments or constructive criticism are most appreciated! Just email me at cassiel@crysania.com
Note: This fic is based off the character backstories created for several of Volks' Super Dollfies; most particularly, those involved in the story arc called "Oath of the Silver Coin". If you're unfamiliar, please read the story info for: Cecile the Scarface 1, Cecile the Scarface 2, Reisner, Williams, Cyndy, and Lady Sylvie.
by Cassiel Kelner
Side I: the Shadow of Captain
Reisner rolled over and blinked, peering up into the darkness that surrounded him. He sensed more than saw the figure that was leaning over him, hand shaking his shoulder gently.
"Reisner, wake up." The voice was soft and plaintive. He sighed.
"Sylvie. What is it?"
She let go of his shoulder. "Cecile's drunk again."
Reisner sighed for the second time, and sat up, reaching for his shirt. Sylvie's hand met his in the dark, stopping him.
"Don't bother. He'll probably appreciate you better this way." Her voice was half-mocking. Reisner pulled away from her hand and ran his fingers through his hair, wondering for the millionth time whether he dared slap her one for the way she talked about them. But he knew better than that -- Sylvie was a strong girl, and a well-practiced fighter, and she could give as good as she got. Even Cecile was leery of going up against her.
"Fine, whatever." He climbed out of bed and looked down at her, squinting in the dark, wishing he could see her expression better. "Where is he?"
"At the wheel, where else? I already talked Enrico into taking over for him, all _you_ need to do is get Cecile back to his room."
"You make it sound so easy," he mocked, reaching down to pull on his boots.
"For you, he'll do anything," she retorted, and he heard the edge of bitterness in her voice. He glanced up, then dismissed it. It wasn't as if the situation they were in was his fault any more than it was hers.
He stood up, stamping his feet in his boots.
"Get some sleep, you'll need it to deal with him tomorrow," he told her, and walked briskly out of the room before she could reply. But he heard her muttering something as he moved up the hall, and he had no doubt there were more than a few insults aimed at him in there somewhere. Sylvie could swear with the best of them when she wanted to.
The breeze up on desk was brisk, and Reisner, still bare-chested and wearing only loose, low-slung cotton pants, shivered as it brushed past him and fingered with his hair. The few men still on deck nodded as he walked past, and one or two gave him knowing looks as he headed for the bridge. He sighed, wondering how long Cecile had been drunk for, and what exactly he'd been saying or doing. Cecile was usually a fairly quiet drunk, given to morose brooding, but he was also aggressive, and if his temper was sparked, he could be volatile and boisterous.
And mocking and bitter though she may have been, Sylvie was right; Reisner was the only one who could deal with him when he was like that.
He trudged up the steps to the bridge, his boots thudding loudly against the wood. By the time his head cleared the level of the deck, both Enrico and Cecile were looking his way. Enrico looked relieved; Cecile was harder to read. His expression was flat, his eye narrow and wary, and it narrowed further as Reisner cleared the top of the stairs and halted, his hands resting loosely on his bare hips.
He looked silently at Cecile. Cecile looked back. In the darkness of night, broken only by the few lanterns spaced across the ship, his one good eye was a black hole in his pale face. His normally full mouth was set in a hard, thin line. His hair was a tangled mess about his shoulders, the front locks obscuring his scarred eye almost completely from view. He reached a hand up almost unconsciously, as if to touch the scar, and then finally he looked away.
"What?" he asked accusingly, his voice husky, catching in his throat.
"Captain," and Reisner drawled the word for emphasis, watching Cecile wince in response, "you're needed below deck."
"Oh, I am, am I." It was a statement, not a question, the tone belligerent, and Cecile turned back to stare at him again, challenging him. Reisner sighed, hating it most of all when Cecile was like this.
"Please," he added softly, almost under his breath, and Cecile seemed to shiver in response. Then he took in a deep breath and let it out again. His gaze whipped around to find Enrico, who jumped to attention immediately.
"You have the helm," he said shortly, and even Reisner could not miss the relief on the man's face.
"Sir!" he replied, and moved to take the wheel as Cecile slid off it. Reisner darted forward, catching him before he fell, slipping an arm around his shoulders to hold him up, and making the whole thing seem as natural as possible; as if there had never even been a chance of their esteemed Captain falling over himself due to drunkenness.
"C'mon, let's get you downstairs," he murmured softly, and he felt Cecile's arm wrap around his waist, felt Cecile's head nestle against his shoulder.
"Please, Reisner..." Cecile's voice was almost a whisper, but the desperate, lonely neediness of it struck Reisner to the core, and he shivered, almost unable to walk for a moment.
"Yes, Captain," he replied softly.
Reisner shut the door to Cecile's cabin behind them and leaned against it for a moment. Cecile nuzzled closer against him and murmured something incoherent against his neck. It sounded like a name, and it wasn't his own.
Reisner sighed, and pushed them away from the door and towards Cecile's bed. The boat rocked and creaked, making their journey across the room far more awkward than it needed to be. But at last they reached the bed, and Reisner hefted Cecile onto it. The younger man half-slithered down onto its surface, but his hand reached up and caught Reisner around the neck as he fell, pulling him down with him.
Reisner landed half-on, half-off the bed, and grunted as the side of it dug into his ribs. Cecile's face, somewhat smushed against the covers, blinked at him devilishly, and he laughed suddenly.
"How drunk are you really?" he asked.
Cecile rolled slowly onto his back, and tucked his hands behind his head. His good eye studied Reisner, and his lips tilted upwards in the beginnings of a smirk.
"I'm drunk," he admitted. Then, after a moment's thought, "but not as much as Sylvie would think."
"So this was all a ploy to get me into your bedroom?"
"No," replied Cecile, looking affronted. "It was a ploy to get _her_ to get you into my bedroom."
Reisner laughed again. "Move over then, I'm half on the floor here."
Cecile acquiesced, sliding across on the narrow bed so that Reisner could at least get the half of him that was on the floor off it. He was a good head taller than Cecile, but every bit as lean; he knew from experience that there was just enough room in the bed to fit them both. Just.
Cecile remained on his back, his gaze on the ceiling, his hands behind his head. Once Reisner was comfortable, he found himself studying Cecile's profile for a long moment.
"It wasn't all an act though, was it?" he asked softly, and Cecile flinched slightly. Then he sighed, and closed his eye.
"I'm... tired, brother," he said softly.
"Of what?" Reisner asked, but Cecile shook his head, his lips pursed.
Reisner hesitated, then reached out, slipping his arms around Cecile's warm body, pulling him closer, so that Cecile's head was cradled against his bare shoulder, so that their bodies were pressed fast against each other; as if they could maybe melt into each other and become one. Cecile screwed up his face, shutting his eye tighter still, almost as if he were afraid to open it, afraid of what he might see.
Reisner leaned in close, his lips hovering over Cecile's scarred eye. He remembered his brother, much younger, when he had still had both eyes; when he had still smiled without irony, still laughed without bitterness. He regretted everything that that foggy morning had stolen from them, that that angry blade had taken away in a single moment, but most of all, he regretted the loss of Cecile's happiness. His brother had never been happy again, not truly, since that morning. No matter what he did for him.
"Do you regret it still?" he whispered against the scarred flesh, and Cecile shuddered in his arms. He tightened his grip.
"Do you miss him still?" he persisted, and Cecile drew in a harsh, choked breath.
"Reisner, please..." he whispered, his voice as desperate and husky as it had been before.
Reisner closed his eyes, then, and gently kissed the scar beneath his lips.
"I'll always be here for you, brother. I'll always take care of you," he promised softly.
Cecile's arms came up slowly, to grip him; Cecile's fingers dug painfully into his bare back.
"I know," he whispered, and Reisner allowed himself to smile, just a little.
"Then sleep, and maybe dream of me for a change." He reached up, stroking Cecile's hair gently back from his brow, smoothing it with his fingers, trying to soothe the pain he could feel emanating so strongly from his brother. Slowly, Cecile relaxed in his arms; slowly, the death-grip on his waist loosened; slowly, the creases marring his face smoothed and softened; slowly, his little brother fell into peaceful sleep, nuzzled close against him.
Reisner closed his eyes, lodging in his memory the vision of Cecile's face, so peaceful in slumber, and wished silently and fervently that it could always be that way.
Side II: the Captain's Shadows
It never changed. No matter how many times he dreamed it, it was always the same. The morning was foggy, shrouded in mystery and an unknown feeling that had thrummed straight through him, exciting and alarming him all at once.
He had felt breathless in that veiled morning light, as if he had run a hundred miles instead of only two. The grass had been damp, squeaking beneath his feet, and his clothes had been damp, too, all of him coated with tiny droplets that had reached out from the mist, seeking to envelop him and instead merely leaving their mark on the fabric that clothed him.
He had been breathless with anticipation, too; he was young, foolish, headstrong, and seeing only a bright, shining future before him, before all of them. He had only ever seen things the way he had wanted to see them. What he had envisioned was so far from the reality that even now he wondered how he could have been so blind.
He had heard the footsteps, then, coming towards him, and he'd turned, expecting to see her face, catch a glimpse of her long, lace-draped skirts appearing from between the shreds of mist that parted for her.
But instead, it had been Williams who stalked forth from the mist. And his expression was not happy, or relaxed, not amused, or friendly, not any of the expressions Cecile had ever seen it. His eyes had been flashing, burning into Cecile with rage and spite, so much so that Cecile had found himself stumbling backwards under the force of them. His lips, that so often laughed, teased, mocked, or gave him that special smile that was just for him; they had been set in a hard, ugly line, pressed together so tightly they were white. And the sword in his hand... Cecile barely remembered that, but for a flash of silver.
There was the falling, then, and the intense, overwhelming pain. The screaming, that he later came to realise was his own. The blood, that coated his hands, that seemed to be more than a single person should ever be able to bleed. And Williams' voice, raging over it all, so that Cecile could hear him even through the screams.
"How could you, Cecile? How could you?"
And then there was the sound of metal striking metal, grunts of surprise, growls of anger. With what was suddenly his only remaining eye, he had watched through tears that misted his vision, through blood that clouded his vision, through fog that shrouded his vision, and he had seen them pacing back and forth before him, almost like a graceful dance, but for the silver blades striking here, there, now, again, between them. The two people he loved most in the world, fighting because of him. He could almost see their faces, both set in grim, determined hatred, and he screamed again, wordlessly, wanting more than anything to make it stop, to take it all back, to fix it. To undo what he had done.
And then Williams had vanished, somehow, into the mist, and the dance ended. And Reisner's strong arms around his shoulders, even stronger than they had ever seemed before, reassured him that he was still alive, however much he regretted it at that moment.
"We have to go," was all Reisner said, and so they went. And how very little of it he remembered after that.
Cecile woke with a gasp, his body taut and covered with cold sweat. There was a warm heaviness pressing down on half his body, and he strained against it for a moment. Then his senses returned to him, and he relaxed, opening his eye.
Reisner was asleep on top of him, bare shoulder pressed against his chest, one leg twined with his, arm flung haphazardly across him. His brother's head was tangled in his hair, and buried facedown in the pillow they were sharing.
Cecile closed his eye again. The arm that Reisner slept on top of was almost completely numb, but he couldn't bring himself to wake him, not yet. Almost suffocating though it was, Reisner's warm body was very comforting right now. He took slow, deep breaths, calming himself, trying to slow the adrenaline pumping through his system thanks to the dream.
His hands knotted into fists, and for a moment he let them. Ten years, and the dream was still the same, still as bright and vivid as the day it had happened. Why couldn't he let it go? Why couldn't the past become the past?
He forced his fists to relax and tried to think of other things. Like what exactly he'd done last night. He'd been drunk, but not that drunk. Still, the evening was a bit of a blur.
Reisner's outstretched arm snaked around his waist, clingingly, and Cecile jumped, opening his eye again. Reisner nuzzled against his neck, breath warm and damp against his skin.
"You're awake already?" The question was amused, and Cecile pressed his lips together.
"I wasn't that drunk," he replied, archly, and Reisner chuckled softly.
"You fell asleep in my arms like a baby," he said, and Cecile bristled. He tried to push Reisner off him, but his brother was not only taller, but also heavier. Nothing budged.
"You can't get rid of me that easily, little brother," Reisner mocked, and errant hairs tickled Cecile's neck as Reisner's breath shook them. Cecile felt his lips threatening to curve into a smile. He did his best to suppress it.
"That's Captain little brother to you," he retorted, and Reisner raised his head, finally. His pale eyes, the same clear blue as Cecile's, were twinkling in the early morning light that seeped in through the small window over the bed. His mouth pulled into a lazy, teasing smile.
"Yes, Sir!" Their eyes met, and for a moment, they held each other's gazes, Reisner still smiling provocatively, Cecile still trying to keep his smile hidden. Then in tandem they burst out laughing.
Reisner collapsed back against Cecile, still laughing, and Cecile grunted under the sudden return of his brother's full weight, but it didn't interrupt his laughter for more than a moment. He turned to look at Reisner, draped on the pillow beside him, relaxed and happy, and he was struck with an overwhelming urge to thank him for these all-too-important moments of laughter that always banished the dreams from his mind.
So he did, in the way that he knew best. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Reisner's.
For a moment, his brother's lips remained parted with laughter, and then they were responding, warm and wet, pliable and needy against his. Reisner's arm tightened around his waist again, and he wrapped his arms around him in response, clinging to his bare back, appreciating all over again his brother's presence at this moment.
Their bodies moved together, and Cecile let a different kind of fog envelop him, take control of him, and this one he gave himself over to completely; a fog of passion, of desire, of lust of a kind that only Reisner could instil in him now. A warm, pleasurable fog of touches and caresses, of kisses and seductions, that let him forget completely the other fog that had ruined him so many years ago. And when Reisner thrust deep inside him, warm and hard and penetrating, he arched up against him, craving more, wanting to be ravaged so thoroughly that the passion would maybe burn away all the anger and pain and regret that burned through him the rest of his waking hours.
When the fog receded and he returned to himself again, he was curled in Reisner's arms, naked, covered in sweat, and panting heavily. Reisner's face was mere inches from his, and his brother's fingers were gently stroking errant locks of hair out of his face, away from his scarred eye. A finger brushed against the scar itself, and he flinched. Even now, even after so many years, even if it was Reisner.. still, he couldn't stand to have his scars touched. Reisner's eyes moved to meet his gaze, and there was sadness in them.
"I will give anything, brother, to make you happy again," Reisner's voice was a whisper, but no less poignant for that. Cecile closed his eye, hating to see that sadness in Reisner's eyes, knowing that he was the cause of it. Knowing that until he could let go, his brother, too, would never be happy again.
"I know," he whispered, and buried himself in Reisner's embrace, silently begging his brother not to say another word.
