Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

BY : JackHawksmoor
Category: DC Verse Comics > V for Vendetta
Dragon prints: 1931
Disclaimer: I do not own V for Vendetta, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

By Jack Hawksmoor


Evey was standing in his doorway framed in light.

He fought the urge to scramble upright, to move swiftly to cover his face. It was dark in his room. More light in the hallway. She wouldn't be able to see him well. He barely touched the mask on the night table beside him, considering. He was between her and the lamp.

His heart sped up as he fought his instincts, fought to remain still.

“Evey, what is it?” he asked, managing to sound calm. Politely interested. Good evening, miss. Fancy meeting you here in my bedroom.

Evey cocked her head at the sound of it, her lack of hair giving sharp focus to the motion. She turned gracefully in the block of light, narrowing it with a touch of her hand to the door, a magician blotting out the moon with a wave of her fingers.

She didn't answer him, and he kept that in mind as she moved toward him.

He did not jump when she crawled onto the bed. He was proud of that. He did not bolt. It was, after all, his bed. She moved like a god, to see her dancing would split his heart wide open...

She hadn't answered him. He had to remember that. But when she...

She crept up close to him and

and she was laying herself...

V hissed in a breath.

She was...pressing

pressing close to


Had he been standing, he would have fallen. As it was, his vision flickered, roaring in on him, spiraling down as blackness licked at the edges.

She smelled like everything that had ever been good in the world.

Evey slid an arm around him, tentatively, and it felt like flying. He made the barest involuntary noise as he felt the slight weight of her arm rest across his abdomen.

She had to notice. He was gasping for air like he'd just run a mile in armour. She had to know.

“I wanted to come in here and kill you.” Evey Hammond said in her sweet voice. She said it like she was discovering the words as she said them, like rain falling on roses, drop by drop.

“I know.” V replied, and he still must have sounded desperately out of breath. The shock of her nearness was sharp and upsetting, like the whomp the heart gives after a significant jolt of electricity.

His arm was around her and he didn't know how that had happened. Oh, and she melted into him at the slightest pressure of his hands, just the slightest squeeze and she was turning her head to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

He realized that he was aching, and was abruptly, humiliatingly presented with a problem. He shifted his legs, turned his hips a little, trying to prevent her from coming into contact with something distasteful.

“There was a rifle.” She sniffed against him, her voice thick with tears.

Winchester 1886, 45 -60 caliber, 26" octagon barrel. Lyman #2 tang sight.

“I know.”

“In the hall...”

He had to stop this. He cupped her cheek, lifted her head to look at him. He couldn't see her face. She couldn't see his. Just the slightest shine from her eyes.

“I know, Evey.” He said firmly. The tiny, starved frame shivered in his arms, under the desperate press of his mutilated fingers. He didn't tell her he'd taken the ammunition before he'd released her. And the knives behind 'Ophelia', and the axes in the hall by the loo.

Her cheek was warm and wet against the palm of his hand. He felt her, settling against him and set his teeth against it. A wild animal allowing itself to be petted, her muscles relaxed under the skin. Impossibly, she calmed under his touch.

The thought of that threatened his equilibrium, started his world teetering. V pulled back against it, against his own mind, knowing somehow that if he let himself think about it he wouldn't be able to help himself...

Her heart beat evenly against his side. She wasn't afraid. She relaxed against him, her little body going slack at his side, she was touching him, she was...

Evey tilted her head, the faint reflection in her eyes betraying the movement. She was staring at him calmly. She couldn't see him. She couldn't possibly see, and be so...look so...

His groin was so full and tight it was burning a fist up into his abdomen. With the first brush of her lips on his mouth the feeling spiked, twisting, up and in.

It was barely a kiss, the lightest touch of mouth to mouth, wet and shaking and tasting of tears.

V froze, as stunned as if he'd been shot in the face.

Sweet...his numb mind fumbled with words. How could it be so sweet...

Evey's lips parted from his and he tensed, so far gone that even a moment without touching her sent him into an irrational down spiral of want and doubt and panic.

A faint sound slipped unintended from his lips. Raw longing.

“Oh,” She sighed, bare inches away. He felt her breath spread warmly over his face, filling his nose, chilling the sheen of saliva the quick press of lips had left upon his mouth.

The first tendril of alarm just had time to creep in,

-would she, could she possibly-

before Evey returned her mouth to him, pushing against him more forcefully, hands tugging at his shirt.

His mind was reduced to incoherent gibbering, but his body was roaring, singing, swept up in a joy so sharp and clean it nearly cut him in two. He clutched at her and she rewarded him, graced him with a soft little moan. Just the sound of it was enough to leave him completely undone.

How could...she...likes it...she, oh...

Thrilled, he urged her closer. Her body shifted restlessly, pressing at him. The briefest brush of her thigh, the slightest application of her weight and he choked in shock

“Wait, I-”

She rubbed up against him with an anxious noise. He wasn't sure what it was, the feeling, or the sound of her pleasure, but the sensation burned outward, making him gasp. His body tensed in delight as his mind blanked out in shock. He stiffened against her in speechless spasms.

Boneless, he slumped back against the bed, feeling the wetness spilling into his trousers with mortified vulnerability.

Evey was looking at him, holding her body from him, wide eyed. Was she appalled? Disgusted? Or perhaps it was worse. Perhaps it was pity.

She opened her mouth, but hesitated to speak. He twitched into motion, needing to move, to stop her from pushing the moment forward. He had to stop her before she said the only thing she could possibly say. He drew himself away, pushing at her shoulders to gain distance.

“V?” Evey ventured, and stopped.

Hands on her shoulders, bracing himself to get the words out, he said something very quietly. Too quietly.

“What?” Evey asked, encouraging, tilting her head forward. Leaning obliviously into the pressure he was exerting against her shoulders to keep her back from him.

He'd said...he'd said he was sorry, and his heart suddenly balked at repeating it. Balked at the lie. He wasn't sorry, couldn't bring himself to approach sorry. Miserably, he had to admit to himself that he was grateful for anything from her, anything she could give him.

Even pity? God help him, even that?

“Did...have you...” She reached out, put a hand on his stomach.

“Evey.” Her name escaped his lips despite his best efforts. She was leaning toward him and he was no longer quite able to hold her back. For a moment he twisted on a pyre of his own self-hatred.

Not pity. Please. Not from HER.

Evey trailed her fingers down over the rapidly softening bulge in his pants like she was petting a cat. He convulsed at the touch and made a wild grab for her wrist. He pulled her arm out to the side, bringing her up against him roughly, chest to chest.

“You're breaking my arm.” She said, her voice very quiet, very calm, absent of tears.

V released her, recoiling. He had to force his fingers to uncurl, realizing too late just how hard he'd grabbed her.

They sat in the dark for a moment. Not speaking, both of them breathing hard. V tried to calm himself, tried to stop shaking, stop thinking, just stop.

No good, too late...Something black and clicking and full of angles was suddenly pushing in at the edges of his thoughts, hissing and licking at him. Making the very texture of the clothes he was wearing strange and sickening to his skin. Feeling an odd horror at the feel of air in his mouth, he realized that he was very close to doing something he shouldn't. To himself, or her. He pressed the palms of his hands tightly against his eyes and focused on his own breathing. Slow. Slow. Better. After a few moments he realized that he'd done it wrong- it was her breathing, not his which had drawn his attention. Her breathing that was unsteady and gasping in the dark.

Concern brought a bright stab of clarity. Finally, far too late to do any good, V spoke.

“Are you hurt?” he managed to ask, sounding sick and monstrous to his own ears. A shuffle of movement on the bed, the slightest sound. It might have been a quickly stifled laugh. It might have easily been a sob as well.

“Am I-” She made the noise again, and it was horrible, an offense to the ear. “Am I hurt? Am I hurt!” She was snarling at him. He heard it, building in her voice, and braced himself a split second before she launched herself at him.

Her weight bore them both back onto the bed. He felt her fingers digging into his neck with furious intent. Trying to push her fingers through cloth and flesh to grip raw bone and crush it to powder.

“Hurt! Does it hurt?” She growled at him. “Does it?!”

He shut his eyes with a shudder of real relief. After a brief moment he let the hands that had been instinctively grabbing her wrists go slack as he got lightheaded. He stroked his hands up her arms and back down in a ludicrous, welcoming caress. She could kill him, oh, she could kill him now and everything would be ruined. He still couldn't quite bring himself to tear her hands away from his throat. Couldn't make his hands convey anything other than gratitude.

'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune'...

She went still against him as he felt himself start to slip, to pull back and fly away somewhere. Under the soft touch of his fingers she broke and let her hands fall away. He heard her, crying, as he came back to himself.

“I wish there had been an easier way.” He found himself saying, over and over. “I didn't know how else to do it...”

“I want you to die.” She said it as if she was no longer certain of it, sounding shaken and desperately sad. She pulled back from him, half sitting on his legs. He pushed himself up.

“I know.” His voice was rough, his throat sore from her grip on his neck. Gingerly, he rubbed at it, his breath rasping.

“Do you.” Her voice was sharp. “You know-”

“YES.” He stopped, had to stop and get hold of himself. He swallowed against the pads of his own fingers, feeling lightheaded and unsteady for more than one reason. He managed to sound calmer after a few moments. “After the fifth, it won't matter anymore.” V lowered his head. He was so tired...

Evey got quiet. After a moment, he heard movement. He was surprised by the touch of her fingers. Brushing his neck, trailing over his hand, rubbing gently at the soreness, right alongside his fingers.

“You think you'll be dead.” She mused, continuing her ministrations.

“In all probability, yes.” It was beyond wonderful, her hands on his skin like that. Touch. His thoughts stopped their unpleasant skittering, stilling in swift contentment. He lifted his head with a shaky sigh. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?” Her hand spread over his, and fell away into darkness.

She didn't answer him.

V waited blindly, unable to see her face, unable to guess what she was thinking. Waiting for her to get off him. Waiting for her to leave, to shove at him, snarl at him and go.

Her kiss, when it came, nearly struck him dead.

Her hands came up, one on either side of his face, cupping his roughened cheeks. The sensation sent such a spike of wonder through him he forgot to breathe. His heart seized in his chest. With a fierce twist of desire, he was suddenly, shockingly hard again.

She leaned into him, her arms sliding up around his neck. Her mouth lingered on his, hot and insistent. Her lips parted from and rejoined him at a pace that shortly had them both panting. She made the softest little contented murmur against his lips and he ate the sound right out of her mouth.

Then they were clutching at each other, embracing roughly, desperately. His hands roamed over her body, touching her, stroking her breasts, smoothing down her back, grasping her by the hips to pull them together.

She was making high little moaning noises at his efforts, those slim white hands of hers fumbling with clasps on black cloth. Pushing his underclothes out of the way, her mouth pressing breathlessly against his. She freed him into the cool air just in time for him to flex himself against her, rubbing against warm flesh and thin, damp cloth.

V made a wounded noise and thrust up, his thoughts soaring up through euphoria and beyond. She cocked her hips in response, searching for a point of pleasure for the both of them. Caressing him with the flexing of her muscles but not allowing him entry past the cloth. Smearing the semen he had already ejaculated on the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“Oh,” Evey cried softly. Her voice was gentle and, god help him, even welcoming. The sound of it sliced him up the front and peeled him open.

With an animal sound he heaved himself off the bed, pressing her flat to the sheets underneath him. His weight bore down on her as he tore at her undergarments.

Once freed, she lifted her knees to either side of him, parting for him.

“Ohhh,” He sighed, suddenly shaky. He touched her thigh, brushing her with his fingers. Just easing, easing her apart for him.

He pressed himself against her, laid flat to her opening but not entering. Rubbing against her, exulting in the anxious little whimpers it brought out of her. Savouring it like old wine.

She lifted her hips to him, legs spread wide. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling at him, urging him closer.

“Yes,” he groaned in response, hearing her though she'd said nothing. “Yes,” He breathed against her mouth. Gently nudging up against the entrance to her body. He kissed her, a light brush across her lips as he eased himself inside her.

They sighed together as they connected. Evey's mouth slid from his as she gasped against the side of his face.

He caught his breath at the new sensation, feeling for all the world like a man suddenly falling from a great height. The world was at right angles to him, spinning away, and he grabbed onto her.

She was the only human anchor he had.

She was pressing her face into his shoulder, crying out softly against him. He touched a sloppy, breathless kiss to the side of her neck, thrilling as she tightened underneath him. Arching herself up into his thrusts. She lifted her legs, locking them around his waist. It changed the angle as they came together.

He was suddenly much deeper inside her and moaned in sweet relief. He clutched spasmodically at her waist, pulling her to him with desperate hands.

“Oh,” Evey said with rising anxiety, “Oh, please...” she twisted her hands restlessly in the fabric of his shirt. Almost too far gone to continue, he thrust into her firmly, twice more, and a third, he couldn't...

She mewled once, as if he'd hurt her badly and her body clenched up against him as she came. She was suddenly squeezing him inside, tight, she was...

He moaned low in his throat as his body seized in joy, spilling inside her.

For a moment he rested himself against her, panting into her neck. Then he felt her body shaking underneath him, just a little. He lifted himself up, shifting to the side, and heard her crying softly. He was still inside her. He-

Oh, no. Oh, no.

He forced himself to pull away from her. For just an instant, he felt...sick, and it was worse, so much worse than the desolate, empty feeling after he slid away. He didn't want to part with her, he realized with a numb crack of lightning.

She hesitated. He let go of her and she froze up for a minute. He was abruptly, blindingly certain she was about to run from the room and had a terrible urge to tear his own heart from his chest just to get away from it. There was a strange, inexplicable vibration in his limbs, he wanted to reach for her but he couldn't seem to get a grip on himself.

I've never, he wanted to say.

“If there'd been an easier way...” He said instead, sounding half-dead to his own ears. She made that noise again, that horrible half-laugh, but when her arms came up this time she was reaching out to hold him and it unraveled him like weak thread.

“Evey,” He sighed, letting his voice caress the word as it ought to. She burrowed deeper into his arms as if he was safe, as if it felt good for her to be there.

It was almost heaven, V thought, savouring the feel of her, the smell of her, trying to burn the moment into his brain. Not quite heaven, but possibly the closest he would ever manage to get. Certainly more than he deserved.

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”-Proverb


Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--

No more--and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to.


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