Imaginary Worlds

[x_losfic]

Title: Imaginary Worlds

Author: x_los 

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Theta/Koschei, (with a hint of Five/Ainley!Master)

Summary: Koschei can't just ask if Theta fancies him. That'd be far too easy. In which there is some dubious consent and a lot of mind sex.

Beta: versaphile  made the tone and the characterization not suck. deborah_judge  called me on my inconsistent imagery level/unconscious Castrovalva parallels and made me actually do something about them. Both were fabulous betas, and I thank them muchly.

A/N: edited request for best_enemies  Anon Meme: if you'd like, here's the original version.

Imaginary Worlds

The Master has good reason to think this will work. He’s made servants and a castle and a bower and a potion, and it’s all as quaintly pretty as a fairy tale. The picturesque quality alone would tip the Doctor off that something isn’t quite as it should be, were he in any position to evaluate the Master’s handiwork. Theta taught him to appreciate the strange, fantastic literature of Earth centuries ago, when they were children. Castrovalva is drawn from sources the Doctor would recognize.

The Master had always liked the stories’ images, especially in the early versions, where swords still dripped with blood and power, and fortresses were choked with twining vegetation, buried for an age, everyone inside ensnared in dreams. In medieval versions of Sleeping Beauty, the prince takes the princess in her slumber. She awakens with a ring on her finger. She knows the man who ruined her. Her body corrupted, she is delighted to be his.

He wonders just how deeply the Doctor sleeps.

In his youth the Master had considered mentally crafting a single, perfect room a triumph. Now, funneling block-transfer computations through a secondary processor (how convenient, the Doctor dragged someone suited to the purpose around the universe with him), he could make a whole world to trap the Doctor in, as complete in its detail as waking life.

And surely here they could decide their struggle. Kill each other at last or reach a consummation of a different nature. The Master has high expectations of this confrontation. After all, entrapment had gotten him such exquisite results the first time. The two of them did well in imaginary worlds.

***

Koschei tells him he needs to practice harder. It sounds lewd, the way he says it. But then half the things Koschei says sound explicitly sexual to Theta, who is tuned to the other boy’s frequency like an exceptionally sensitive radio.

They sit with their legs crossed on Theta’s bed, fully clothed, a foot away from each other, conspicuously not touching. Koschei’s never so much as touched him, never so much as hinted he might want to. Theta persists anyway. A hand on Koschei's shoulder, a nudge to his back, one feather-light punch, another playful shove. He's careful to keep to what's appropriate between friends. But Koschei never even seems to mark it. To Theta their position on the bed seems painfully incidental.

The two engage in a peculiar staring contest. Theta imagines his will growing like a vine—one strand, two, and more and more. When he has a good amount of them he lets them roll into and through and under Koschei’s barriers, which seem like little more than fine netting.

Still, so still, refusing to close his eyes until Theta’s won properly, Koschei smirks and arches an eyebrow just to show he still can. He’s not terribly impressed just yet, and Theta’s going to have to do something about that, isn’t he?

Theta’s lines sink deeper, squirming their way in through narrow straits, wiggling past Koschei’s natural defenses, which are formidable because Koschei is absolutely built for this sort of thing. Koschei, rewarding Theta’s advance, gives him a room in his mindscape to /be/ in.

The room begins as a sketchy, crude assemblage of walls, but the walls evolve from vague forms to ultra-real detailed structures, down to the flocked fleurs-de-lis pattern of the wallpaper. It’s like watching super-rapid time-lapse holography of plants growing in a nature program. The transition is so fast that Theta is seethingly jealous. When he tries for ‘room’ he ends up with a shifting Escher nightmare.

Koschei lets Theta coalesce a mental image of himself into a form, until pop! Theta’s standing --on a marble floor no less-- and rolling his projection’s eyes at the persistence of Koschei’s need to have the best of everything. Outside the presentation of a form, Theta’s vines continue to drip down, further, closer to the core of the other boy. If they were in Theta's mind such a probe would scramble for purchase, slipping off uselessly. Theta doesn’t want to be known and so he isn't. His tendency to clamp his mind shut frustrates their professors, makes him impossible to work with. He's going to fail the module if he can't work through it.

On and on Theta's vines plummet. They seem small, drawn wire-thin, as they spiral further into inattention. The dark spaces neither of them are focusing on swallow the tendrils. Koschei will stop him when he’s in too deep, won’t he? The mental-Theta frowns.

Around Theta's avatar, the texture of Koschei’s mind turns thick and smooth. The room is warm--very warm--but Theta doesn't feel hot. He feels heady, drawn out. Like the space itself is pressing at him, wants to make him malleable as it is. The air of the room is humid, but there is something inviting to it--almost a taste, nearly a scent, and it pulls Theta along because he wants to catch it, identify it. There's music in one of the other rooms, far away, a regular rhythm pounding like a heart beat. But its as if there are many shut doors between him and the source of the sound, and so it's just a faint trembling that makes the walls, the floor and the muscles of his avatar vibrate deliciously. Helplessly he slumps against the wall, drugged, rubbing his cheek against the paper to better feel the buzz. He spreads his hands out, groping for he doesn't know what. Lets his face soften, thoughtlessly searching for the phantom taste, the haunting scent with a lax, open mouth.

Theta lets his attention leave his vines entirely, and that is enough. They drop loose and spool down, free-falling into Koschei's patient, waiting grasp.

Got you, beats through Koschei’s mind in pulses, and mindlessly Theta leans into the wall hard, trying to catch those sweet, strong bursts. Koschei's victory traces a colored line of fiery light in the dark room, and it tastes substantive and rich, like someone suddenly shoved a bloody bite of prize winning steak in his mouth. Blinking, with a dawning awareness of having let down his guard, of having misjudged this situation entirely, Theta suddenly gets how vulnerable his own position is. Being inside someone, like being trapped in a living building, is infinitely precarious.

His mental projection’s eyes fly wide open. Outside the room he can feel that Koschei has caught and snagged his thought lines, he just can't do anything about it. Koschei runs back up them, which feels like stroking the fur of a cat backwards and like a knife sliding under his skin with no warning. It’s uncomfortable enough that Theta can distantly feel even his physical body (which he can’t quite reach now, deep and lost as he's let himself get) squirming.

Stop! Theta says, embarrassed, horrified by what Koschei will find in there. Theta had no warning, he didn't tidy. Koschei will see everything, most especially the thoughts about Koschei that Theta stupidly left just lying about. The word flows out into Koschei’s deceptively open, receptive mind, soft as an echo, lame weak and quiet, because invasion has stopped feeing uncomfortable and started to feel good. Theta can tell his abandoned body is trembling differently now, and that he’s unbearably hard in the confines of his clothes. He can’t free himself, can’t touch himself, can’t hide it.

Koschei is sorting through his thoughts with arrogant impunity. Finding what he wanted, his impressions clatter in such a way that Theta can tell he'd be laughing if he currently had any use for his mouth or lungs. He presents his findings to Theta, accompanied by a slick-oily sensation that must be self-satisfaction. You want me, oh yes you do, you’ll let me, you’ll have me, you’re gagging for me. Koschei's mental voice comes spilling out in an excited rush. There is relish and drawn-out bubbling amusement (and a quick-smothered trace of relief) carried in it--that voice bears so much information, more than he can monitor and edit or Theta can catch and process. Theta can feel the delight though--the walls hum with pleasure, saturate with a rush of color, going flushed-skin red.

The room Koschei gave him contracts like a coffin in the space of a thought, and Theta, taken by surprise, is gasping for air that doesn’t really exist with a body that doesn’t really need it. The flocked wallpaper rubs up against his skin and the room squeezes him, the raised velvet of the wall pressing, rubbing against the exposed skin of his cheek, pressing insistently against his stomach and thighs and cock through the school robes Theta has given his avatar. The room is curving to fit him with a bit of a clench at his ass, his calves. The electric lines of individual thoughts insinuate themselves between Theta’s legs and fingers and lips.

Theta’s projection narrows its eyes. He is being had, belittled and taken in. He can't stand the idea, and so in the tight confines of the room he sinks to his knees and comes up with a plan. He starts from the bottom. He sets his fingers drumming along the wainscot. He spends an aching while fingering the edge where wood panel meets soft, fabric-coated wall proper, as if the transition is some liminal, delicate barrier. Theta draws his palms up and strokes, gentle and restrained, like he would handle a dear pet. Then he uses both hands, fingernails scratching at the velvet, fingertips playing with the raised pile. Compressing all of it into an instant, because Theta's figured out that his avatar can still work with time in this space. While he’s distracting his captor he sneaks up through the path Koschei used to get back into his own mind, and from there his own body. Spurred by need, he manages it quick enough to see Koschei’s physical eyes slam closed and his head drop back and his mouth gape open to rasp out “Do that again, all of it, again.”

Slowly, Theta gathers up the threads of his probe, which Koschei had ensnared, by the roots. With a quick, violent snap he jerks them out, and winces because that hurts. Koschei mentally flails in bemusement. That distraction is all Theta needs, and he rams in, shoving his way down the path he used to come up, but deeper, going further than he would have dared if he weren’t angry.

Theta makes a door for his avatar to leave the closet of a room with. He opens a way for himself to run through, following the vines, throwing open doors. Koschei manages an avatar of his own that shimmers into being in front of Theta’s and throws its arms in front of a door that Theta suddenly realizes is important, must be, because Koschei is trying so hard to keep its contents from being seen. Theta draws the vine’s strength into the avatar, because he’ll need to be as coherent as possible if he’s going to outflank Koschei’s projection.

“Got Blackbeard’s wives in there, Kosh?” Theta sneers, “Not nice being broken and entered, is it?” Theta grabs at the handle, evading the darting mental-Koschei and hisses, draws his hand back. He stares at the bright red-purple welt on his skin where the metal burned him and feels betrayed. His head jerks up and he stares at Koschei, whose face is bone-white, and who says nothing.

“Koschei?” Someone calls from the other side of the door, and there’s the sound of scraping against the wood, of someone casually, sensually drawing their fingernails down the length of the panel. The light glinting between the door and the lintel is the throbbing-purple of want, and the air smells like sex.

“Koschei,” the voice drawls, and whoever’s behind the door laughs, the sound throaty and quite grown up. There is something familiar in it, something Theta can almost make out, and when his expression flickers with puzzled recognition and Koschei trembles as if terrified. Suddenly Theta recognizes his own laugh, his own voice, only re-imagined through the perspective of someone who thinks about him in quite a different way than he thinks of himself.

“Oh,” Theta murmurs, voice devastatingly soft, realizing that he was emphatically not being toyed with. “I thought—I thought you were just laughing at how much I—” He doesn’t know how to finish.Theta suddenly understands this as a seduction. How much effort, how much planning has culminated in this? Theta never would have thought to lay such a trap. Koschei felt he needed to invade Theta's mind, just to make sure he was wanted. Koschei's been playing with some sort of doppelganger of him, that's how much he's craved this. He's so concerned about how Theta sees him he's standing in front of the door, panicked as Koschei is never panicked, barring his way. He's made the door handle white-hot, just out of his fear. Theta rubs at his wounded skin, thumb dragging over the angry red patch, and it's Koschei who winces, just a touch. Theta sees that he may not be the one with the most at stake here.

Koschei’s avatar swallows. “I needed proof. I thought you might—and if there was any chance, I had to know.” Koschei's tone is firm, nearly icy, but there is an earnestness in his eyes that Theta doubts he realizes is there. "I shouldn’t have,” Koschei says, which is unthinkable. Koschei never admits he was wrong.

"Tell me you're sorry," Theta says, but Koschei looks confused, uncomprehending. Theta holds out his burned hand, makes sure Koschei is looking him in the eye. "If you say you're sorry, I'll forgive you. If you don't I'm going to leave. And that'll be the end of it."

Koschei's eyes flare with something that skitters by too fast for Theta to recognize it. The walls have gone ominously pale. How frozen-still the room is. "I'm sorry." Koschei says. If there's no contrition in the words, there's sufficient conviction. Theta is satisfied.

“Then I forgive you.” When Koschei doesn’t move, Theta steps closer and presses into his body and whispers it into his ear, unable to resist giving it a quick lick and adding, “Do you and I have a bed in there, then?” Koschei swallows hard and flushes red, which Theta, rather perceptively, reads as a yes.

This time, when he tries the handle, it’s cool and slick to the touch, and when he raises his hand as the door swings open it’s wet, and coated with something clear and viscous.

“Handy, that,” he grins sunnily at Koschei, who smiles back uncertainly in turn. Perched on the bed with a curious expression is himself as Koschei sees him, with slatted come-hither eyes and sex-mussed hair and a school uniform that looks slightly rather tighter than it should, certainly it clinging in a way that Theta has never noticed it doing. Smiling, delighted by Koschei’s entrance and seeming not to notice anything but him, the Construct Theta scoots back on the bed, his movements effortless and seductive.

“I missed you,” the Construct purrs, and Koschei winces. Coughs.

“Uh uh,” Theta jerks his head towards the door. “Scram. We need the room.”

The Construct cocks it head in a signature Theta way and looks terribly confused. Worries its lip between its teeth like Theta does with working out a tough equation. “But Koschei loves me. He’s always telling me so.” The Construct seems to come to a decision and goes back to playing with his tie with a leer, expression supremely self-assured, like Theta’s at his most exasperating. “He’s not going to kick me out.”

“That’s enough!” Koschei snaps, and the construct blinks out rather than dissolving, which means he’s simply put it away rather than unmade it. Theta hides a smirk at that.

“I, um, couldn’t make him anywhere near as intelligent as you and simultaneously retain enough energy myself to get any use out of him,” Koschei mutters, staring intently at a corner of the bedspread, “Constructs are really advanced. Just so you know. I don’t actually think you’re mentally negligible.”

“Mm. Apparently while I’ve been stewing, you’ve been what, chatting with a doll of me on this lovely king-size? Doing maths, perhaps? Comparing your days?”

“Look—”

"I'm sure his days are very eventful."

"Theta! I said I’m s—"

“Oh no, no, I said I forgave you, and that’s inclusive. But you do owe me a fair bit, don’t you?” Theta lightly pushes back on Koschei’s shoulders, and since this is a mindscape, and he’s really getting the hang of it now, he can manipulate the environment. Theta’s push topples Koschei back onto the suddenly much closer bed.

He runs greedy hands over the other boy’s clothes, and where he touches the fabric melts away and his hand slips from cloth to skin. "Gonna pay up?" Koschei swallows hard again, and Theta is beginning to find that gesture charming.

Theta uses the gelly wetness from the door handle to slick his own suddenly unencumbered cock, giggling at how his hands were dry a second ago, how he doesn’t even really need to do this here. Koschei keeps lube around because he likes steps and forms, gets off on ritual. Theta decides to see if he can’t play with that a little.

“Kiss me,” Koschei demands, eyes narrowing, "You've not done that yet."

Theta smirks and taunts, “I’m not your doll, don’t tell me what to—” and is cut off as Koschei shoves his fingers to Theta’s temples. It feels like acid rain is licking down Theta’s spine, but good, god is it good. Theta’s mouth falls wide open and Koschei slams up into him, tongue fully possessing him.

When I say kiss me, I’m not asking. Koschei’s thoughts pass into Theta without preamble. Theta recovers and Koschei realizes his wrists are now bound with ties.

“I said don’t tell me what to do,” Theta reminds him. Koschei squirms at the ties, opens his mouth to question, and then stops as he realizes the room’s changed. The space is ringed with tall candles on metal candelabras, and he’s not on a mattress, it’s silk draping over something hard and cold. Theta straddles him with a hard bounce that makes Koschei wince and bite his lip with pleasure.

“Virgin sacrifice,” Theta supplies, grinning hard, “You get off on ceremony, don’t you? Bet you just love the days when we have to dress in full robes." He leans down to whisper into Koschei's ear. "Bet you’d like to fuck in them.” Koschei doesn’t say anything, stays stock still like a surprised deer. Theta's not forgotten the overwhelming proof of how deeply Koschei wants him. And Koschei deserves to be wanted in equal measure to his desire. Theta can give him that, give him exactly what he wants, perfectly tailored to his specifications.

“What makes you think I’ve never done this, then, in my own mind?” Koschei scoffs.

“You’d let me initiate you,” Theta says, confidently, walking his fingers up Koschei’s torso, “But your own Construct, topping? Not a chance. You’re too proud by spades.” Theta bends down, licks and nips the other boy’s neck, letting him tremble in his silk bonds.

“And when you get back in your body proper? I get to do this again. I’m lucky. You’re so fucking pretty, Kosh.” Theta draws his hand down the Koschei’s cock, admires the blood-flushed color and looks back up at the other boy’s dark, lust-bright eyes, delighted. He clenches a hand around Koschei’s cock and strokes it as hard as he strokes himself in his physical body when he imagines his hands are Koschei’s authoritative, demanding ones.

Theta bends down to touch their foreheads together, brings their faces close. “I’m going to take you,” he informs the other boy, as he lifts Koschei’s suddenly unbound legs and positions them, splayed on either side of his shoulders. He ruts against Koschei’s entrance, voice low and tempting, “Trussed up in your own mind, like an offering to your god. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? You’ve wanted me to want you this much?”

Koschei swallows and says nothing.

“Well?” Theta asks, patient but firm, “This can end if you don’t want it. And if you don’t tell me you want it, it will.”

“No!” Koschei panics, bucking up, trying to rub up against Theta without breaking the ties, though it’s his mind and he easily could, “I want this! Please, don’t go.”

“There’s a proper answer,” Theta grins, wickedly, “You just worship me, don’t you? You tell your little fuck doll how much you love me when you’re in it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Koschei whimpers, “Theta, Theta do it, just—”

“Anything for you,” Theta says as he slides in, and in this room Koschei needs no more preparation than that. Theta pushes into his mind as he drives balls-deep into his body. The room shakes, the candles topple unmarked, and Koschei screams, but the sound is triumphant, joyous and rings against the walls of the make-shift temple clear as the peal of a bell. With every thrust of his mind Theta is giving the other boy a burst of the agony that burned in his stomach when he’d thought of how much he loved Koschei and how Koschei wouldn’t ever notice, ever care, but flipped inside out, the pain made exquisite. Theta presses kisses into Koschei’s sweat soaked temples in erratic bursts.

“Aloud!” Koschei moans around the sensation, “And I’m still not asking!”

“Oh, does someone need that? What were you going to do if I didn't?" Theta’s so very thrilled to be exactly where he is, even if it’s not a proper place so much as a little gift to Koschei, “And you love me,” he gasps, would laugh if he had more breath.

“Fucking right," Koschei concedes, panting, "Harder!”

“I’m going to snap your wrists!”

“Not in a mindscape, you’re not! Your concern is touching, but again, not asking here. And I have first crack at your physical body.” Koschei shakes, he’s so close, and he pushes back, arching off the stone, desperate to topple over the edge.

Theta draws all the way out and slams himself all the way in, does it once, twice more. The clench of Koschei’s body when he comes is duplicated by the shudder of the scene around them. The mental world compresses to a point. Theta comes, feeling wrung dry, and has to adjust his definition of ecstasy to accommodate joy like this. They both crash into their physical bodies, gasping and sticky with ejaculate and that same proper, conspicuous foot apart, before falling over on the bed, tumbling into each other half exhausted.

“You’re still going to,” Koschei breaks for a yawn, “Fail the term test,” he remarks, sleepily, and Theta snorts.

“You’re still going to fuck me when we wake up. Guess which I care more about.”

“No one's ever managed to waste more potential than you. I like you against my better judgment,” Koschei insists, already half under.

“I do too,” Theta assures him, and they sleep, dreamless and content.

Comments

[prettyarbitrary.livejournal.com]

I love that Theta's the one who's impossible to know here. Most authors have Koschei as the one who intuitively lies and conceals himself, but I suspect that the Doctor had quite a lot to teach him about deception.

And his proud anger when he thinks Koschei is mocking him is pure Doctor too, and something else too many people tend to ignore, not to mention his quick-thinking, positively manipulative plan to get out of it.

And this: “No one's ever managed to waste more potential than you. I like you against my better judgment,” Koschei insists, already half under. Oh, I just love them so much. I love the way you write them; you catch so many things that nobody else quite seems to, or maybe they just don't have room for all the details, but somehow you manage to slip 'em right in there

I spotted some typos left over from the editing. You want I should go over them, or would you rather say done and dusted to this one?

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Most authors have Koschei as the one who intuitively lies and conceals himself, but I suspect that the Doctor had quite a lot to teach him about deception.

I think there's a complex, weird interplay as to who lies/manipulates/plans/conceals, because Seven definitely steals the Master's playbook at some point, and 'Master' is his /name/, whereas 'Doctor' is always a kind of removed signifier, which says something about self-presentation/deception. The Doctor isn't transparent, not by any means.

And his proud anger when he thinks Koschei is mocking him is pure Doctor too, and something else too many people tend to ignore, not to mention his quick-thinking, positively manipulative plan to get out of it.

It's maybe one of the changes I like best. "You want sex with me? Fine, I'll show you sex..."

The ending lines being better is pretty much all Deborah, who insisted they get nastier to each other, and was /right/. But I prevaricated for a long time over whether the verb there was want/like/love, because obviously it is love, but does he say it directly? Especially as Theta's managed /not/ to the entire fic?

I spotted some typos left over from the editing.

Oh fuckstick. *throws up hands* Gimmie the typos, please?

[prettyarbitrary.livejournal.com]

Typos:

Fourth paragraph, you've got 'drug' instead of 'dragged.'

"The two engage in a peculiar starring contest."

Two paragraphs after that: "narrow straights" should be 'straits,' if you mean to evoke narrow sea passages.

"Lets his face soften, thoughtlessly searching for the phantom taste, the haunting sent with a lax, open mouth."

"Theta lets his attention leave the his vines entirely"

Deborah was right. Meanness with these two works. And somehow, 'like' works there, too, even though they say 'love' earlier on, because it's one thing to say it in your head, and quite another to say it in the cold light of reality.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Fixed! Much thanks.

because it's one thing to say it in your head, and quite another to say it in the cold light of reality.

And I think there's something tragic about it, b/c can a relationship that came together in an imaginary world be expected to survive the real world? And then that lends a really sad quality to Ainley!Master sort of offering up an imaginary world, but even in offering it he still can't /ask/, he just has to /trap/, because he can't deal with the idea of being unilaterally rejected that an honest conversation would confront him with.

[prettyarbitrary.livejournal.com]

I've often wondered what exactly goes through the Master's head. Is it a fear of rejection? Did the Doctor actually do something, like abandon him? Does he perceive that the Doctor abandoned him? Did he drive the Doctor away? Does he see the Doctor running about with his pet humans and all as "cheating" on him? I suppose we'll never know, so we'll just have to keep making it up for ourselves.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Oh I SO read previous rejection/abandonment. I think that relationship ended with a bang rather than a whimper.

Well, if their relationship is founded /initially/ on having been best friends who evolved into lovers, then choosing to spend your life companioned by other people /is/ infidelity? Esp. as in that 'meant for each other, womg OTP' sense, they're clearly meant to be running around the universe /together,/ and all those other people are in his spot, and he's left /completely/ alone because he just can't forge emotional connections with people of unequal intelligence/background/character to him. He accepts no substitutes, but the Doctor's capable of it. If he doesn't think of it as cheating, he's not /happy/ about it.

[fedorahead.livejournal.com]

It always surprises me exactly how well you tie what seems to be fiction into perfect canon. So many people watch the pair constantly at odds and take it at face value, that is, that the big evil Master hates the Doctor simply because he's evil, and then they decide to write fiction to /push/ the two together, because they can't imagine them doing it on their own. It makes situations awkward and poorly written, because they don't have a proper grasp of the depth of the characters... I suppose what I'm saying is that you have entirely the proper grasp, so anything you write with them automatically fits in like a missing scene or lost episode.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I think it's really a divide of people who're invested in Classic versus people who are not? Because classic Master's quite openly invested, and far from hateful, and if you watch the character evolve from that point on and have that context/background, Simm's dismissive, brusque moments feel more put-on, and a fic!Master who ACTUALLY doesn't want to be kept /at all/ feels less like an appropriate or honest reading of the character.

[bistokids.livejournal.com]

I've read this several times now, and skulked off, because I couldn't think of a comment that would do justice to how wonderful I think this is.

I love how you've represented the Doctor, and the balance of 'power' between him and the Master. I love that you've linked it to Five/Ainley!Master, and certainly the next time I watch Castrovalva I will have this firmly in mind (and regret that it didn't go to plan for the Master!)

But what really stood out is the tangible, visual way that you've created the world inside Koschei's mind, with the little details that bring it so powerfully to life.

Thanks for this. :)

[x-los.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much!

Yeah, I didn't even realize it was all Castrovalva back story until my beta pointed it out.

Telepathy is so interesting to work with--it has the potential to be really fresh/unusual, and what you do with it/how you think it functions is entirely up to your own discretion. I kind of got infatuated with the idea on this one.

Glad you liked it!

[boulette-sud.livejournal.com]

Fantastic, best mindsex ever. And the quality of your style! A pleasure to read.

[x-los.livejournal.com]

Aw, thanks! I'm really fond of teh mindsmexez. I'm glad you liked it.

[daniramble.livejournal.com]

I really can't think of a decent comment for this...

I do like it very very much :D

[daniramble.livejournal.com]

Oh and Theta topping?

*Mind smushes into little smushy pieces*

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Oh and Theta topping?

Does not happen enough! Happy to have been of service, there!

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Thanks, glad you did!

[rusty_halo.livejournal.com]

This is amazing. You capture the nuances of their personalities so well, and you do an amazing job of showing them as equally strong but with different strengths and weaknesses.

Although now I have to watch "Castrovalva" because I have no idea what the reference is. :P

[x-los.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Looking back I am pretty fond of this one. Oh mindsex. Oh bitchy teenage boys agro-ing their way through delicate situations. *shakes head*

The reference is just the beginning bit mostly, because my beta Deborah commented on how I should expand on/make use of how thoroughly I was borrowing imagery/themes: and I was, when I though about it-- mindscapes are the most obvious, but 'space contracting like a coffin,' 'when he tries for room he ends up with a shifting Escher nightmare?' That's flat-out lifted and I didn't even get I was establishing a parallel. It's all Castrovalva backtory, in a way. As she put it, "AS IN, THE MASTER CREATED CASTROVALVA BECAUSE THE ONLY PLACE HE KNOWS WHERE THEY CAN BREAK PAST THEIR HOSTILITY IS IN AN IMAGINARY, DREAM-LIKE LANDSCAPE?" (beta-ing done in caps, she wasn't just randomly faux shouting :p) So obviously ymmv there, but that's what that's all about.

[kate-swynford.livejournal.com]

Loved the story. The mindscape was beautifully done, and the voices felt spot-on.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Thanks very much. :) I'm glad you liked it, esp. as I find these versions v. hard to write re: voices--it's that inability to hear how they sound in your head, which eps and audios usually give you, I think?.

[tweedymcgee.livejournal.com]

This is glorious.

I feel I ought to have a more insightful comment -- but damn, what a gorgeous untidy package of first times and mind games and pent-up boarding school drama and premonitions of the future and searing hotness.

Hot, hot, hot. Friending, K?

[x-los.livejournal.com]

Gosh, thanks! and Obviously K! Though it's more a fic-dump than a Journal Proper.