Title: An Ill Omen
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Characters/Pairing: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Rating: M
Length: 1200ish words
Summary: Sydney had never shown interest in Hardin's boot knife before. Neither had Hardin, at least in this context.
Notes: Mentions and suggestions of bloodplay, knifeplay, and other associated kinks. For context, Sydney has prosthetic arms with metal claws for fingers, and the two of them (in my timeline) have made use of them consensually for years by this time.

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Of all the times and places Hardin might have expected such things to happen, late in the evening as he was preparing for bed was not one of them. Even so, he was startled to alertness at a sudden swift motion, an arm wrapped tight around his shoulders from behind, the unmistakable sensation of sharpened steel against his neck just beneath his chin.

Yet his alarm passed quickly. There was only one in Valendia - nay, doubtless the whole of the world - who had arms like those that held him fast. "You should be more careful when you divest yourself of your weapons, my dear Hardin," came the teasing murmur. "Were I one of our order's many enemies, you would be dead by now."

Hardin could hear the smirk in the familiar voice - so familiar he need not scrye to see the expression within his mind. He scryed anyhow, so that he need not imagine the sight of Sydney standing behind where he had knelt to remove his nightclothes from the wooden chest - leaning down to hold him fast, his pale hair spilling over Hardin's shoulder, not quite obscuring the curve of chin and lower lip as his mouth did more than merely murmur in Hardin's ear. And indeed, the knife at Hardin's throat was his own dagger, the one he kept concealed inside a boot - which he'd removed a few minutes prior and set aside while he removed the rest of his clothing.

True that he had turned his back to the door, but... "Were you one of our order's many enemies," Hardin felt obligated to point out, "you would not have appeared out of thin air behind me in our room, and I would have heard you coming well before you drew near." Already his initial surprise was changing to a different sort of tension, for by this time he was... not exactly accustomed to Sydney's sudden appearances, but it was far from the first time Sydney had surprised him in this way. Usually for a specific reason - and given how and when Sydney had chosen to surprise him, as he had just finished undressing, Hardin suspected this time was no different.

"Perhaps... perhaps not." Sydney did seem to have more interesting things to do than chastise Hardin for his supposed inattention, but he was capable of doing both at once. "As some of the cardinal's flock have partaken of our dark fount, there may be one among them with such a talent..."

"Possible, but I think it unlikely. If so, they should have made use of it by now." The edge of the dagger was slim and well-honed, falling just barely upon the skin of Hardin's throat. He would have thought it would feel similar, but in fact it felt very different from the blades that usually lingered in such a way. Yet it too was...

It hadn't escaped Sydney's notice, the thoughts of Hardin's heart. "I dare say you enjoy having a blade to your throat, my dear Hardin."

"Were it in the hands of any other, I doubt it would be so inviting." He was accustomed to Sydney pressing steel against his skin, though a different steel than his dagger. "It was these hands that caused me to learn of such pleasures," Hardin said, raising his own hands to caress just above the joints of Sydney's wrists. "And might I point out that they have little need for a knife."

"Ah, but the man to whom they are attached may have need for a bit of novelty."

Hardin knew better, but teased back nonetheless, straightfaced. "Am I to take that to mean you've come to find our nights together dull?"

"Most certainly not," Sydney whispered his assurances against Hardin's jaw. The edge of the blade was pulled lightly across Hardin's neck; though the weapon was well-maintained, there was neither force or pressure sufficient to draw blood. But in fact Sydney did know how to use such a blade, made to pierce rather than cut - and Hardin felt the tip press into the hollow at the base of his throat. Yes... Sydney certainly did know how to use a blade, and for more than one purpose.

Sydney's enjoyment of wordplay, of course, might have surpassed even his affinity for this sort of play. "Yet while one may overwork a blade when it is not terribly dull to begin with," he continued, "I don't believe there would be any harm in some additional... sharpening... between the two of us."

"I'm not sure that's the best way to phrase it," Hardin said, somewhat distantly as he settled back against Sydney at the welcome coercion of his embrace, forged arms cold against the bare skin of Hardin's chest - though soon to warm from the heat of his own body. "There will indeed be harm done tonight."

"None of it lasting," Sydney said dismissively, and casually drew the blade down further to graze over Hardin's collarbone, causing Hardin to draw in a sharp breath. "Nor unwelcome - or am I mistaken?"

"Not at all. Although," Hardin added as something occurred to him, "we should not make a habit of this."

"And why not...?" Sydney's lips brushed against Hardin's neck, then pressed more firmly in a lingering kiss. The softness was a striking contrast to the dagger's tip that now hovered at the center of Hardin's chest, also pressing in - the promise of blood drawn, soon, but not just yet...

"...It might be an ill omen to have you use my own blade in such a way," Hardin managed, in spite of the anticipation that was already overcoming him. The slightest of smiles was also managed; it seemed they were both in good enough spirits for levity tonight. "If you do so too often, when it comes time for me to use it for its intended purpose, I might... find myself distracted at the sight of it."

The laughter against the back of his neck was breathy, near-silent. "Indeed... we shall try it just this once, then." But there was another pause, and Hardin felt the quiver of Sydney's quiet laughter against him. "...If we enjoy it, surely there is something else in the armory that would suit the crimson bloom of your blood so well. Something in silver, perhaps..."

An intriguing thought, but only mildly. "I think that no blade in the armory," Hardin said, his voice quiet and fond, as his hands slid down over the metal joints to slip his own mortal fingers carefully between Sydney's, "could suit me so well as these."

It was more sentimental than their usual - and largely because it was more sentimental than Sydney preferred. When Sydney hesitated, for a moment Hardin wondered if he'd said too much, spoken too honestly...

Or perhaps not; Sydney drew Hardin tighter against his chest, and there was a soft clink as the knife fell to the stone floor beside his knee.