changehistory: (Bright smile)
The puppy got a puppy. It's fantastic. No, really. See:

1) He can no longer bitch and moan about being called the puppy.

2) Clearly there need to be more of us running around making your world better, yes?

I think this one's going to need a lot of training, though, for all that he looks good with a gun.
changehistory: ([Sark] Double Trouble)
[ooc: Companion piece to this.]

All of his life he's prided himself on being unique, one of a kind, a god among men. He walked through them, untouched as time slid by, watching as rulers rose and fell, and an empire crumbled, and a new power came to stretch its shadow across the Earth like an eagle spreading its giant wings. It, too, would fall, crumbling to dust as men and monarchies had before it, and he would stand in the ashes as always. This time, however, he wouldn't be alone. Others had come whose blood copied his, blood of his blood, or DNA rearranging itself to match in a complicated process none of them fully understood. Three of them, by their very natures, stood by his side, and where once he would have resented his loss of uniqueness, centuries of loneliness had taught him the price of being a god, and he found he welcomed their arrival.

Then there was the boy and his project and the vials of his blood and the slices of his skin all filed away in the geneticist's lab. They moved through the streets together and a convenient lie started to form on their lips at curious looks, for all he'd denied it at the wedding. The resemblance was more than a passing one, more than one a second glance would dispel. With a care to the variation in their accents, they could step into each others' lives and pass one for the other, just as they were now, but for two things. The boy bore scars under his well tailored clothes that Adam would never share and should a blade or a bullet pierce the boy's skin, he wouldn't heal, but find himself with new scars, or taking that walk into a darkness Adam would never know.

When the geneticist said he could do it, that he'd gotten the apparatus built, the formula worked out, and had been able to alter some of the boy's donated tissue using Adam's samples, the seeming that had been a trick of fate stood before them as a possibility, something they could make true in all but timing of birth. Suresh had even managed to figure out how to remove the deliberate flaw pressed into the design to tell one from the other, though he thought it likely wouldn't have mattered anyway, given they were changing the boy at a cellular level, but not a structural one. It was really a far smaller, and yet far more profound, code rewriting than it would have been had he put say, himself, into the chamber. He went on talking, explaining, as Adam ran his fingers along the cold metal, and looked up to meet the boy's eyes across it. He'd given his own assent, his willingness to allow this when he gave the Indian his tissue to test, but now he watched the boy with a question in his eyes, and the full enormity of what it meant, of what they would create, the three of them, through this would mean washed over him.

The boy swallowed, and there was a flicker of fear in his eyes, as he, too, grasped what it would and could, entail, and life stretched taut, moments culling down to heartbeats and stilling, before he nodded and they snapped back into place and began passing at their normal speed once more.

"Let's do it."

Something queer twisted in Adam's gut, and he smiled, and the boy across from him echoed the smile back at him, identically manic and ambitious as they rewrote destiny.
changehistory: (Seriously?)
Go to Google image search and type in your name. Post an image from the first page of results along with your commentary about that image.



My commentary?

Not me.

Puppy.

Seriously--I google for images of me, and I get the puppy. Whatever is the world coming to?
changehistory: (Touched)
[ooc: Sylar is [livejournal.com profile] heroslayer, Peter is [livejournal.com profile] youngerpetrelli and Claire is [livejournal.com profile] girl_ofsecrets and all are used with the kind permission of their muns. Mohinder is [livejournal.com profile] witnessof_fate and Sark is [livejournal.com profile] elementof_risk and both are mine to use and abuse as I please for purposes of the prompt. ;-)]

"My home is not a place, it is people." - Lois McMaster Bujold

Sark had chosen the restaurant after Adam insisted--repeatedly--that he didn't care where they ate, and that it had been Sark's choice was frighteningly obvious. Dear god, but his puppy had expensive and extravagant tastes. But they had his favorite wine, though the sommelier tried to tell them that they didn't until Sark either dropped a name or a threat and then they suddenly had not just one bottle of the 1982 Château Pétrus Bordeaux, but two, and Adam had to chuckle at just how smug the puppy looked, the frightening chill in his blue eyes melting away as it it had never been. He insisted on pouring for everyone even Claire, and the restaurant was the sort not to have to worry about their liquor license, or whatever Sark had murmured either kept the eyebrows from being raised, at least.

Adam had worried, a little, about this first gathering in such an intimate setting. True, they'd all been at the party, but this was Peter and Sylar and Claire and Mohinder all at the same dinner table, with blood under it, metaphorically, between them, soaking their history together, all of them with their pasts. He'd done his best to assure Claire she was safe, and it was a testament to her trust in him that she'd come, that she seemed to be enjoying herself. That she was here meant more to him than he could say, more than he had said to any of the rest of them--their little secret. Sylar knew and Peter knew what the girl was to them, of course, but what she was to him they kept between the two of them for fear of how Peter would react. Secret upon secret laced tighter inside of the blood between them all, but it bound them, too. They weren't just his friends, then. They were his family, too. And that, he was finding, was a precious thing.

If things started out somewhat awkward, with glances back and forth like everyone was waiting to see if someone would lunge for a steak knife and slit someone's throat, a few dry comments from Sark and a couple of well aimed shots back from Mohinder, the two outside the familial bonds, yet pulled back in by their own ties and twisted up in their own ways, eased it and by the time the waitress cleared the salads, they had eased into a few cautious stories being told around the table. By the time they opened the second bottle of wine and started on their entrees there was even teasing, and by the time dessert was served, outright laughter had broken out more than once. Adam was feeling very warm, and he didn't think it was the wine.

Going back to the flat instead of parting ways seemed almost natural, and looking around, seeing his four favorite people--and Suresh who, really, he had nothing against--Adam couldn't stop the grin. Thirty birthdays passed in cold, sterile rooms with an occasional visit by Elle if she remembered the date and could get past security as the only thing to hope for, and then this...for a moment it didn't compute. It did not seem possible that life could change this drastically in one year, that anything could change this much, could be this different, could be this right.

He was shaken from the reverie by a glass of wine being thrust into his hands along with a pair of sunglasses.

"Sunglasses, puppy?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at Sark.

"Oh, I believe they are de riguer," Sark replied with a smirk, before moving and handing them out.

Sylar was busy rooting through the box with a grin, setting things up and bickering with Peter over the drum set, and Adam watched for a moment to make sure they weren't going to hurl each other across the room and start the blood bath he'd half expected when the evening had been proposed, but Peter finally threw his hands up and shrugged. Mohinder had retreated to the chair with a glass of wine, staying far out of the way, but Sark thrust sunglasses at him as well. "Everybody plays, Suresh."

"I don't sing..."

"Yes, you do," Sylar corrected him.

"Not for this!" Mohinder protested. The two of them held each others' gaze and Adam got the sense there was some sort of silent communication going on--a sense heightened by Peter's sudden blush, and he had to smirk. Sark was watching them, too, before suddenly getting very busy with the Wii. He wandered to join him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You're singing to start."

"I do better on keyboard..."

"There isn't a keyboard. It's Guitar Hero...and you need to learn it first, so...singing for first round, because you can sing... Most of these you're going to have to learn, because they're a bit after your time being out but this..." He cast Adam a smirk, put on his sunglasses and picked up the guitar. "Peter, you're up next with Suresh and Claire. Bad guys against the good guys should work I think, yes?"

Adam laughed, shaking his head. "What are we playing?"

Sark flicked on the TV, and flicked on the game. "Just listen and keep up..."

"Sweet Home Alabama"--very loud--filled the room and Adam grinned, waiting for his cue, and forgot about looking silly, pretending to be a rock star with as much abandon as he could muster.

"Big wheels keep on turning
Carry me home to see my kin..."
changehistory: (Sark: Double Trouble)
[ooc: Sometime after this and this.]

"What did you do?" Adam shot a glance out of the corner of his eyes toward where Julian was slumped in the other corner of the sofa, uncharacteristically glum looking.

"I didn't do anything."

"Oh, clearly. Is this still about the whole...debacle in the graveyard?"

"No. I don't think. Maybe."

Adam whistled slightly, flipping the channel on the television, without really watching. "Puppy, I need to teach you the fine art of apologizing."

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"That has very little to do with anything in marriage. I should know."

"Spare me your overarching wisdom this one time, please?" Sark said with a sigh, "I didn't do anything wrong. I was perfectly safe. I didn't lie to her. I just wanted to go out with a friend and we didn't even...for fuck's sake, we...two of the most dangerous people, no, the two most dangerous people possibly in our entire circle of acquaintance and we were hunting vampires. Making the world a little safer for children and innocent puppies everywhere. How is that wrong?"

"You could have gotten hurt," Adam pointed out, taking a sip of his beer.

"Sylar could have fixed it if I did! Didn't you see to that?"

Adam shrugged. Boy had a point, he had to admit. "And she's still upset?"

"Not about that, I don't think. We talked. I think...then I went out with Sylar again--and, actually, on that point, the giant garden gnome, by the way, is disturbing and like what I'd imagine Hell to be--it all got dredged up..."

"You went to see the gnome?" Adam sat up with a smile. "The one at the mini-golf course I took Claire to?"

"Yes," Sark said, sitting up as well, and looking impatient. "Will you pay attention, please?"

"You're the one who brought up the gnome..."

"Never mind the bloody gnome."

"Right. Go ahead. What did you do, kill someone at the course? It's mini-golf, puppy, no one is supposed to die."

"No one died," Sark snapped. "Baileigh and Suresh went out to the bookstore or something. Sylar and I played mini-golf. Sylar and I came back to loft. Sylar and Suresh went...wherever Sylar and Suresh go, Baileigh and I went back to hotel. No one died, either at the bad guys' hands or the good guys' hands."

Adam looked faintly disappointed. )
changehistory: (Sark: Double Trouble)
Your hands are on me // I'm pressing hard against your jeans
Your tongue in my mouth // Trying to keep the words from coming out
You didn't care to know // Who else may have been you before


It had been a game of cat and mouse from the start, and Adam got the distinct impression the boy was not used to the mouse role. One dark look, one slap of his hand away, and Adam had learned to dial it back, to press forward a more subtle seduction. That he wouldn't have him never occurred to him, that sort of failure unthinkable to imagine. They were alike in that, as well, setting their sights on what they wanted and letting nothing get in their way until they had achieved it. Somewhere along the way, Sark realized he was what Adam wanted, and the knowledge lit his eyes with a sort of cold amusement that Adam found more erotic than he would have imagined possible. When the boy shifted from resistance to using that knowledge, Adam's breath caught at the master move of manipulation. The dance he wound around others, turned on him, was nearly as sweet as the final surrender would be, because both of them knew that you could only reel something along in this game for so long before you had to yield, give up something of yourself, or you lost the power and effectiveness of the ploy.

* * *

It wasn't as if Sark hadn't had men look at him like that before. While the prison cell in Italy was possibly the most recent blatant attempt, it had happened most of his life. He'd even given in a time or two in school, both out of curiosity and to curry favor, or gain the upper hand. Curiosity satisfied, he thought, by boyish fumbling and rarely any upper hand to be gained in later life that couldn't as easily be gained at the point of a gun with a cold gaze, he found the look in Adam's eyes disquieting. But then, currying favor with the immortal that bore his face had a great deal to be said for it, and attraction was always such a pleasant weapon to wield. He didn't flinch from the looks, meeting them with a half smile that suggested that if Adam played his cards right, perhaps Sark would yield. He could be persuaded, the looks said, with the duck of a head and the curve of a smirk, and the way he'd let his hand linger when leaning over Adam to show him some intel he'd gathered and brought to him. He saw the knowing looks he got back, realized you could only play a player so far, but he had what Adam wanted, and he refused to believe he couldn't win the game.

* * *

It was a night like any other night, wine by the fire as they debated tactics. )

[ooc: The Sark/Adam smut!fic of doom. Sark was reluctant, so it's been months in the making. Definitely NSFW.]
changehistory: (Fingers to lips)
In point of fact, Adam's not sure what to do with the boy. He's the same age, now, that Adam was when he stopped aging, younger than Peter by nearly two years, and the similarity is even more uncanny. They could be twins, until he starts to age, and that thought--the aging one--he finds both fascinating and repulsive. It would be interesting, to see how he ages, and at the same time, he finds himself wanting to retard the process for as long as possible, almost immediately considering daily injections that make Sark give him a slight look of horror. He's quick enough to accept the offer of healing, should he need it, though, Adam notes. He supposes in his line of work, that would be useful.

The line of work provides a way in, an idea of what to do with him until he figures it out fully. He has skills Adam lacks, knowledge Adam needs of the world political climate--the ever shifting alliances and enmities that make up a global world he has not participated in for decades. What he lacks in knowledge of these times, Sark knows with an intricacy that is impressive. He's intense and serious about it as well, sitting up late with Adam tracing patterns around the globe in detail that the older man has to admire.

That he admires other things feels exceptionally narcissistic, but he can't help the curiosity, nor, does he think, he can be blamed. It isn't often you find something new at his age, and this is definitely new. His fingers itch to explore more thoroughly, tracing over skin and finding out if the similarities end there, or run deeper inside of them both. The look he gets when he ruffles the boy's hair, however, makes him keep a more circumspect distance. There's a darkness there that possibly surpasses his own, and though he wants to dance with it, pull it closer, the boy could be too valuable to alienate him on a sensual whim.

So he contents himself with glasses of exorbitantly expensive wine, talking late into the night about information that would make Adam's objectives--at yet undefined--clearer, sharper, and easier to achieve. Sark is quick to discourage the flare of interest Adam shows in Rambaldi, with an almost snarl on those lips that makes Adam wonder if that's how he looks when someone upsets him, too. The discouragement only spikes his interest though, much to Sark's impatient looks and pointed comment about Adam not needing any more doses of immortality. The weapons, Adam argues, have their own uses, and Sark mutters something about always finding the ones with death and destruction and world domination aims, which amuses Adam to no end, given the business the boy is in.

And so they argue, night after night, in person and via encrypted email and phone calls, and if a plan still remains out of Adam's grasp about the boy's future, he decides more and more each day that somehow it has to be tied to his own. The concept of everyone having a twin somewhere has never hit so perfectly before, and he cannot believe it is anything but fate that has brought them together, so perfectly matched in skills and aims, each complementing the other. What to do will come in time. It always does. Until then, bedeviling the boy has its own rewards, and if he plays his cards right, he might find his own in time.
changehistory: (Bright smile)


But don't tell him that, especially after the attitude he was doling out last night.

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Adam Monroe

February 2014

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