#ikemenlibrary gift exhange

[bluejay-writes]

Writer's Block

This is a fic that I have written for the gift exchange hosted by @ikemenlibrary.

This lovely little fic is for Yozzie (@ikeromantic). I hope it brings you joy.

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Rated: T (for kisses and implied antics)

Pairing: Shakespeare x Vincent

Wordcount: 1612

AO3 link

“And where are you off to this afternoon, Brother?” Theo said, looking up from his chess game with Arthur.

“Dinner in town with Will, just as I told you yesterday.” Vincent said, turning his sunshine smile on his younger brother.

“Mind yourself around that one, I don’t trust him.” Theo said, grumbling.

“Don’t you worry. I can take care of myself these days. Don’t wait up, if it gets too late, I may simply stay in his guest room.”

“Stay out of the man’s bed, Vincent.”

“Why would I use his bed? He has a guest room, and I’d sooner come home late than make Will sleep on his own floor.” Vincent turned a confused look on his brother, while Arthur stifled his laughter.

“Nevermind, just be safe.” Theo said, turning his glare on Arthur who himself was turning an interesting shade of red.

“Of course.” Vincent said, and headed out to the waiting carriage.

Theo continued to mutter under his breath, but didn’t try to stop his brother from leaving. That was, of course, how it always was with Theo. He was distrustful of Will, simply due to his decision to live apart from the rest of the manor. Vincent didn’t see a problem, really, the playwright just wanted to be near the theatre district, rather than needing to take a carriage into town every time. If it weren’t for the views and the fresh air that the Manor provided, (and his brother, to be entirely honest), Vincent would love living in the city. Being closer to his best friend would simply be a bonus.

As the carriage arrived at Shakespeare’s home, Vincent had a moment of pause. He’d not really considered his brother’s words previously, because he trusted Will, had had seen no reason to shake that trust, but his feelings for his friend tended to run deeper than simple friendship could explain, not that he himself could put words to the phenomenon he was experiencing.

——

Dinner was lovely, and the wine took the edge off of the unexplained anxiety that Vincent was feeling, allowing him to be more relaxed than he’d managed the last few times he’d visited Shakespeare for tea.

“Vincent, are you quite alright? Your cheeks have a flush to them that is unusual for you.” Shakespeare said, and Vincent reached up absentmindedly to touch his own cheek.

“Ah. That’s probably the wine.” He said, and then thought to himself, Or your company.

Shakespeare cleared his throat, and Vincent looked up to see that the man was offering him a hand.

“Shall we adjourn to the parlor for a nightcap before I send you back to the manor?”

“Certainly.” Vincent placed his hand in his friend’s, and allowed him to be led into the more comfortable parlor, where he relaxed onto a sofa while Shakespeare got them brandy.

“Will, I’d love to hear more about your current play. You said it was a romance?”

Shakespeare chuckled, handing Vincent a glass before settling next to him.

“Ah, well.” Shakespeare sighed. “Yes, but I believe it is destined to be a tragedy. The path to righting the plot eludes me.”

“How so? I am no writer, and surely speaking with Arthur or Dazai would suit your work better, but I’d be happy to lend an ear should it help you.”

Vincent shifted so that he was facing his friend, and took a sip of his drink, looking expectantly at Shakespeare. The playwright looked tense, more tense than Vincent had expected, and on impulse he reached out a hand to take Shakespeare free hand.

Shakespeare looked up at him, eyes wide, before clearing his throat. Despite his friend’s surprise, Shakespeare didn’t move his hand away, and Vincent smiled.

“Maybe you have some insight that I do not, after all. My experiences with love are rather limited.” Shakespeare said, breaking eye contact before continuing. “In my story, the hero has spent the majority of his life being very good friends with his love interest, but in all of that time, despite the quality of their friendship, he has been given no sign from the love interest that his feelings are reciprocated. It is, from his perspective, and entirely unrequited love. In addition, his desired’s family dislike him, despite the tenure of their friendship. They believe that he intends nothing but harm. And so, I cannot help but believe that the story must end in a tragedy of unrequited love, as I can see no clear path for the hero that does not end in heartbreak.”

Vincent was silent for a time after Shakespeare finished his explanation. The story that Shakespeare was telling felt familiar somehow, but he’d caught on something that he thought might help.

“What of conflict? Could you introduce a villain they must overcome together, or a competing love interest?”

Shakespeare laughed.

“Perhaps! Could you imagine, then, a woman that neither of them expected arriving, and both thinking the other man was interested in her rather than him? Oh, the drama that would come from that would be precious.”

“Oh, was the hero’s love interest another man? That explains the family’s issues a bit, I’d think. Do you think Paris is ready for something so forward?”

Shakespeare blinked. “Ah, I see you noticed my ruse. Yes, they were both to be men. Have you an objection to the idea yourself, Vincent?”

Vincent blushed and looked down at his glass.

“No, I have no issue with the concept of men being in love. After all, I’m—“ Vincent clapped a hand over his mouth to stop the traitorous thought from sneaking out. That was too close! He thought, looking anywhere but Shakespeare’s eyes. “I’m sure you could write it as a piece about the values of friendship if the theaters pan the love between male leads.”

“Certainly it would be foolish if they did.” Shakespeare said, scoffing. “I’ve had men kissing on stage for ages at this point because they would not allow women on the stage. Would you like another glass, Vincent?”

Vincent looked down and realized he’d finished his brandy.

“Ah. I’d best not, everything has a pleasant blur as it is, more would make me a poor conversationalist”

“Feeling the alcohol, hm?” Shakespeare said, setting both glasses aside before settling back down on the sofa.

Is he closer to me? Vincent thought, but then lost track of that thought as Shakespeare continued their earlier conversation.

“Insofar as Paris may not be ready for two men to be in love on a theatre stage, what of you, Vincent? How would you handle the situation were you the hero in my story?”

“I am not certain that I would know love were it staring me in the face, Will. But presuming I were that hero, who knew he was in love and simply did not know how the other felt… well, I…”

Shakespeare was looking at him with avid interest, and Vincent chuckled. Why did he feel like this was more than just a theoretical exercise? Alas, he only had this odd feeling in his chest, as though butterflies had taken up residence there and threatened to burst out.

“Well, Vincent?”

“I think, if I could not work up the courage to simply ask his feelings on the matter, or if I could not trust him to know how to answer, I would kiss him, let him know he was mine, and let fate and our friendship take it from there.”

“Ah, is that it, then?” Shakespeare said, and when Vincent turned, Shakespeare’s face was so incredibly close to his own.

“Will…?” Vincent said, and then Shakespeare’s brows knit together in a silent question. Vincent nodded, just barely perceptibly. He wasn’t sure what Shakespeare was asking, but he trusted his closest friend.

And that was when Shakespeare leaned in and kissed him. His lips were soft, and the kiss tentative, as though he expected Vincent to push him away or recoil in horror. Vincent of course did neither of these, but simply froze for just a moment as he was startled by the action, but not disinterested. When Shakespeare started to pull away from him, Vincent reached out and pulled the man back in for a real kiss, with none of the tentative concern of their first.

——

The light of early morning shone through the gap in the curtains, falling exactly across where Vincent’s head lay on the pillow. When he went to roll over to avoid the day’s burning gaze, he found himself pinned by arms around his waist.

Eyes snapping open, Vincent looked around him, recognizing in an instant Shakespeare’s bedroom. Why was he in Shakespeare’s room?

Ah, yes. Last night, they’d—

Vincent felt his cheeks heat up, just as Shakespeare’s arms tightened around him.

“Good morning, Will.”

“Good morning, dearest.” Shakespeare mumbled into his shoulder. “Was this how you expected our evening to end?”

Vincent paused, and considered. “With a morning? Do they not all end with a new day’s dawn?”

Shakespeare chuckled, the bard’s breath against his neck made Vincent shiver. “Tis too early for jests and riddles. Shall I arise and prepare us some tea before you return to the manor?”

Vincent grumbled and stretched, very much disinterested in leaving the comforting warmth of Shakespeare’s bed. Will’s Bed. This is what Theo meant when he said…

“You’ve gone still, Vincent. Is everything alright?”

“Theo warned me before I left to stay out of your bed. I was too naïve, I think, to take his meaning at the time.”

“Ah.” Shakespeare’s expression darkened slightly, and then a mischievous smirk graced his features. “Next time we attempt such an evening, shall we adjourn to your room instead?”

[nad-zeta]

😳😳😳😳😳😳🔥freaken rip lololol theo ain't ganna be happy 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 unusual pair but i ain't mad hehehe its kinda cute actually 😳😳😳

Writer's Block

This is a fic that I have written for the gift exchange hosted by @ikemenlibrary.

This lovely little fic is for Yozzie (@ikeromantic). I hope it brings you joy.

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Rated: T (for kisses and implied antics)

Pairing: Shakespeare x Vincent

Wordcount: 1612

AO3 link

“And where are you off to this afternoon, Brother?” Theo said, looking up from his chess game with Arthur.

“Dinner in town with Will, just as I told you yesterday.” Vincent said, turning his sunshine smile on his younger brother.

“Mind yourself around that one, I don’t trust him.” Theo said, grumbling.

“Don’t you worry. I can take care of myself these days. Don’t wait up, if it gets too late, I may simply stay in his guest room.”

“Stay out of the man’s bed, Vincent.”

“Why would I use his bed? He has a guest room, and I’d sooner come home late than make Will sleep on his own floor.” Vincent turned a confused look on his brother, while Arthur stifled his laughter.

“Nevermind, just be safe.” Theo said, turning his glare on Arthur who himself was turning an interesting shade of red.

“Of course.” Vincent said, and headed out to the waiting carriage.

Theo continued to mutter under his breath, but didn’t try to stop his brother from leaving. That was, of course, how it always was with Theo. He was distrustful of Will, simply due to his decision to live apart from the rest of the manor. Vincent didn’t see a problem, really, the playwright just wanted to be near the theatre district, rather than needing to take a carriage into town every time. If it weren’t for the views and the fresh air that the Manor provided, (and his brother, to be entirely honest), Vincent would love living in the city. Being closer to his best friend would simply be a bonus.

As the carriage arrived at Shakespeare’s home, Vincent had a moment of pause. He’d not really considered his brother’s words previously, because he trusted Will, had had seen no reason to shake that trust, but his feelings for his friend tended to run deeper than simple friendship could explain, not that he himself could put words to the phenomenon he was experiencing.

——

Dinner was lovely, and the wine took the edge off of the unexplained anxiety that Vincent was feeling, allowing him to be more relaxed than he’d managed the last few times he’d visited Shakespeare for tea.

“Vincent, are you quite alright? Your cheeks have a flush to them that is unusual for you.” Shakespeare said, and Vincent reached up absentmindedly to touch his own cheek.

“Ah. That’s probably the wine.” He said, and then thought to himself, Or your company.

Shakespeare cleared his throat, and Vincent looked up to see that the man was offering him a hand.

“Shall we adjourn to the parlor for a nightcap before I send you back to the manor?”

“Certainly.” Vincent placed his hand in his friend’s, and allowed him to be led into the more comfortable parlor, where he relaxed onto a sofa while Shakespeare got them brandy.

“Will, I’d love to hear more about your current play. You said it was a romance?”

Shakespeare chuckled, handing Vincent a glass before settling next to him.

“Ah, well.” Shakespeare sighed. “Yes, but I believe it is destined to be a tragedy. The path to righting the plot eludes me.”

“How so? I am no writer, and surely speaking with Arthur or Dazai would suit your work better, but I’d be happy to lend an ear should it help you.”

Vincent shifted so that he was facing his friend, and took a sip of his drink, looking expectantly at Shakespeare. The playwright looked tense, more tense than Vincent had expected, and on impulse he reached out a hand to take Shakespeare free hand.

Shakespeare looked up at him, eyes wide, before clearing his throat. Despite his friend’s surprise, Shakespeare didn’t move his hand away, and Vincent smiled.

“Maybe you have some insight that I do not, after all. My experiences with love are rather limited.” Shakespeare said, breaking eye contact before continuing. “In my story, the hero has spent the majority of his life being very good friends with his love interest, but in all of that time, despite the quality of their friendship, he has been given no sign from the love interest that his feelings are reciprocated. It is, from his perspective, and entirely unrequited love. In addition, his desired’s family dislike him, despite the tenure of their friendship. They believe that he intends nothing but harm. And so, I cannot help but believe that the story must end in a tragedy of unrequited love, as I can see no clear path for the hero that does not end in heartbreak.”

Vincent was silent for a time after Shakespeare finished his explanation. The story that Shakespeare was telling felt familiar somehow, but he’d caught on something that he thought might help.

“What of conflict? Could you introduce a villain they must overcome together, or a competing love interest?”

Shakespeare laughed.

“Perhaps! Could you imagine, then, a woman that neither of them expected arriving, and both thinking the other man was interested in her rather than him? Oh, the drama that would come from that would be precious.”

“Oh, was the hero’s love interest another man? That explains the family’s issues a bit, I’d think. Do you think Paris is ready for something so forward?”

Shakespeare blinked. “Ah, I see you noticed my ruse. Yes, they were both to be men. Have you an objection to the idea yourself, Vincent?”

Vincent blushed and looked down at his glass.

“No, I have no issue with the concept of men being in love. After all, I’m—“ Vincent clapped a hand over his mouth to stop the traitorous thought from sneaking out. That was too close! He thought, looking anywhere but Shakespeare’s eyes. “I’m sure you could write it as a piece about the values of friendship if the theaters pan the love between male leads.”

“Certainly it would be foolish if they did.” Shakespeare said, scoffing. “I’ve had men kissing on stage for ages at this point because they would not allow women on the stage. Would you like another glass, Vincent?”

Vincent looked down and realized he’d finished his brandy.

“Ah. I’d best not, everything has a pleasant blur as it is, more would make me a poor conversationalist”

“Feeling the alcohol, hm?” Shakespeare said, setting both glasses aside before settling back down on the sofa.

Is he closer to me? Vincent thought, but then lost track of that thought as Shakespeare continued their earlier conversation.

“Insofar as Paris may not be ready for two men to be in love on a theatre stage, what of you, Vincent? How would you handle the situation were you the hero in my story?”

“I am not certain that I would know love were it staring me in the face, Will. But presuming I were that hero, who knew he was in love and simply did not know how the other felt… well, I…”

Shakespeare was looking at him with avid interest, and Vincent chuckled. Why did he feel like this was more than just a theoretical exercise? Alas, he only had this odd feeling in his chest, as though butterflies had taken up residence there and threatened to burst out.

“Well, Vincent?”

“I think, if I could not work up the courage to simply ask his feelings on the matter, or if I could not trust him to know how to answer, I would kiss him, let him know he was mine, and let fate and our friendship take it from there.”

“Ah, is that it, then?” Shakespeare said, and when Vincent turned, Shakespeare’s face was so incredibly close to his own.

“Will…?” Vincent said, and then Shakespeare’s brows knit together in a silent question. Vincent nodded, just barely perceptibly. He wasn’t sure what Shakespeare was asking, but he trusted his closest friend.

And that was when Shakespeare leaned in and kissed him. His lips were soft, and the kiss tentative, as though he expected Vincent to push him away or recoil in horror. Vincent of course did neither of these, but simply froze for just a moment as he was startled by the action, but not disinterested. When Shakespeare started to pull away from him, Vincent reached out and pulled the man back in for a real kiss, with none of the tentative concern of their first.

——

The light of early morning shone through the gap in the curtains, falling exactly across where Vincent’s head lay on the pillow. When he went to roll over to avoid the day’s burning gaze, he found himself pinned by arms around his waist.

Eyes snapping open, Vincent looked around him, recognizing in an instant Shakespeare’s bedroom. Why was he in Shakespeare’s room?

Ah, yes. Last night, they’d—

Vincent felt his cheeks heat up, just as Shakespeare’s arms tightened around him.

“Good morning, Will.”

“Good morning, dearest.” Shakespeare mumbled into his shoulder. “Was this how you expected our evening to end?”

Vincent paused, and considered. “With a morning? Do they not all end with a new day’s dawn?”

Shakespeare chuckled, the bard’s breath against his neck made Vincent shiver. “Tis too early for jests and riddles. Shall I arise and prepare us some tea before you return to the manor?”

Vincent grumbled and stretched, very much disinterested in leaving the comforting warmth of Shakespeare’s bed. Will’s Bed. This is what Theo meant when he said…

“You’ve gone still, Vincent. Is everything alright?”

“Theo warned me before I left to stay out of your bed. I was too naïve, I think, to take his meaning at the time.”

“Ah.” Shakespeare’s expression darkened slightly, and then a mischievous smirk graced his features. “Next time we attempt such an evening, shall we adjourn to your room instead?”