Schlitzie Ramone (sweetcarolanne) wrote,
Schlitzie Ramone
sweetcarolanne

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FIC: The Internet Has Tentacles, PG-13, Lovecraft slash

Title: The Internet Has Tentacles
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Gift For: Martha for the 2009 Yuletide Fic Exchange
Genre: Slash, Humor/Parody
Pairings: Joseph Curwen/Simon Orne, Cthulhu/Gustaf Johansen, Edward Hutchinson/OMC
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, no profit, suing is futile!
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1, 621
Warnings: Implied sex
Summary: A slashy crossover of some of H.P. Lovecraft’s tales!

Before the steady light of a computer screen, a tall, slim man with pale blond hair, who looked to be around thirty-five years of age but who in reality was much older than he cared to admit, sat calmly typing, a slight frown creasing his brow and a sardonic smirk playing about his lips. As it was a hot summer’s night, he wore nothing more than a thin robe of some silky-textured, light blue material. The windows were open and an electric fan made an artificial breeze waft through the room, and beeswax candles in ornate wrought-iron candelabras lent a delicate honeyed perfume to the atmosphere, but the man at the computer, Joseph Curwen by name, paid no heed to anything other than the words he was composing.

It was very late indeed – technically early morning rather than night-time, and Joseph should have been, by rights, in bed, held close in the arms of his lover, Simon Orne. The man from whom he had been parted for decades due to circumstances beyond the control of both of them, but with whom he was now reunited forever in this more enlightened age. The man he actually planned to marry as soon as the next phase of their great work had borne fruit. Yes, in the place where the two men had made their new home, such a thing was now legally possible! In fact, Joseph would have preferred to be engaged in making wedding plans before joining his beloved between the sheets. Choosing outfits, for example. Both men had agreed that clothing in the style of the eighteenth century would be most elegant and appropriate for their nuptials. Velvet coats, elaborately embroidered waistcoats, satin breeches, silk stockings and the like… Joseph may have appreciated the usefulness of modern technology and the more progressive attitudes held by many in the twenty-first century, but contemporary clothes were in his eyes completely unstylish and detestably plain. Not at all suitable for such a handsome pair as he and Simon Orne made!

After Joseph and Simon had spent most of the evening doing the activities that they had made their life’s work for more years than most mere mortals would ever dare to dream of – to do with alchemical and other occult and esoteric studies, many verging on what would be termed by the majority of the world as black magic – Curwen was now catching up on some important internet reading. When he had finished answering his emails and updating his own blog, he had paused to read and comment at some of the more prominent websites run by modern-day Cthulhu cultists, whose activities were of much interest to him, considering the ambitious plots he had been formulating ever since he, Simon and the man who was their closest friend and mentor, Edward Hutchinson, had been resurrected from what anyone who still knew of the wizardly trio would describe as a more than timely death.

The three ancient occultists had lost much ground thanks to that long demise, but now, with the help of one born in the modern era who was proving to be an assistant of most beneficial skill and acumen, they had new powers and plans at their disposal in their quest for knowledge and for worldly and other-worldly dominance. And who was there to stop them, now that all who had previously tried to thwart their grand schemes were dead themselves?

Curwen sniffed disdainfully, and read over the passage he had just typed. He was making a supreme effort to stay within the bounds of modern idiom, attempting to let no trace of archaism seep into the language he used in the realm of the World Wide Web, but he was not entirely succeeding.

“This entire post of yours, Mr. Gilman, is the most absurd foolishness I have ever read! How could a mere mortal such as yourself, without the benefit of the years of study which make up my background of learning, presume to know each and every thought and desire of the Great Cthulhu? A Being of such longevity and of such intelligence is surely no mere eating machine, seeking to sate only His physical hungers and no more when the stars are right and He is ready to rise and claim the earth as His own once again!

His loves and His hatreds may be well beyond what human beings understand those emotions to consist of, but rest assured, He does have such emotions. And may those who continue to disbelieve that He can love be on the receiving end of His furious wrath when the Rapture is upon us!

I’ll have you know I’ve been in regular email contact with Keziah Mason myself. And you are quite wrong as to her opinion of your online essays. I can tell you now that she’s no admirer of yours at all!

And yes, you are correct on one point, I will admit. Johansen was indeed married to a woman. But then again, so was I once! What does that have to do with the one I have chosen to share my life with now – a better man and far greater scholar of the occult than you will ever be? Have you ever more than skimmed the pages of the Necronomicon? What do any of your ridiculous hypotheses have to do with anything of cosmic consequence?

I bid you good day, sir!

J.C.”

As Joseph Curwen clicked the mouse and submitted his comment, a deep, guttural voice from the doorway addressed him in stern but affectionate tones.

“Stop that infernal twittering and come to bed, Jos!”

Joseph turned, his facial expression changing from a mocking sneer to a genuine smile of tenderness and slight amusement. He saw Simon leaning against the doorframe, clad in a robe similar to his own but of a wine-red hue, holding a glass of absinthe in one hand. Years of living abroad in Prague had given Simon Orne quite a taste for the “green fairy”, and although Joseph was not so passionate an adorer of the spirit as was his beloved, he rather relished its flavour upon the other man’s lips when they kissed.

“I’m not on Twitter, Simon,” Joseph chuckled softly, unable to prevent a barely audible hitching of his breath as he noticed for what must have been close to the millionth time that week alone what a fine-looking man his lover truly was. “I’ve been reading Everett Gilman’s blog. The man’s an absolute idiot, damn his eyes! More of a bigoted fool than even Marinus Bicknell Willett was! Despite what he claims he knows nothing about the true nature of Cthulhu!”

Simon shook his head and then took a sip of the potent liquor in his glass.

“You ought to stay away from Gilman’s nonsense, Joseph. He always puts you in a rage and you’ve got better things to do. Mr. H. would agree with me, I’ll warrant.”

Joseph uttered another soft laugh. “Well, we know for a fact that Mr. H. has better things to do tonight. Like bedding our dear boy, for instance…”

“Our dear boy” referred to Aaron Eliot, who along with the aforementioned Mr. Hutchinson was a house-guest of Messrs. Curwen and Orne. Aaron Eliot was the young man whose skill in the darker realms of magic had helped to raise Curwen, Orne and Hutchinson from the dead. And he was proving to be what Joseph Curwen had once hoped his own now long perished and unworthy scion, Charles Dexter Ward, could have become – a valuable protégé and most admirable apprentice in the arts of old.

He had also made a discovery of great value to his dark masters – by means of some careful sleuthing, Aaron had come into possession of an old diary that nobody had ever suspected even existed, which had revealed some startling facts about what had truly occurred once upon a time between the Great Cthulhu and a sailor named Gustaf Johansen…

With a gleam in his eyes, Simon walked over to where Joseph sat and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

“Mr. H. and the boy will be asleep now, if they know what’s good for them,” Simon growled softly, sending a pleasurable shiver down Joseph’s spine. “They’ve got a long flight to Norway in a day’s time.”

“And when they return, they’ll be bringing the precious salts with them, so we can say up Mr. Johansen and confirm what we’ve for so long believed to be the truth,” Joseph breathed, his own eyes now as bright as Simon’s. “And then – when the stars are right – and very, very soon they shall be right – we will restore the Great One’s beloved to Him and win His favour!”

Joseph shut down the computer and stood up, wrapping his arms around Simon and spilling a little of the absinthe from the goblet onto the rug,

“All the more reason to not talk to Gilman and his little group of fools,” Simon warned, and bent to gently nip his lover’s throat. “We don’t want them knowing what we’re up to…”

Joseph almost purred at the bite, and pressed closer to Simon, his arousal evident, as was Simon’s.

“On the contrary, my love,” he whispered darkly. “I hope they do find out what’s going on and follow us out on our ocean voyage. Great Cthulhu is going to need something to eat after all that time asleep beneath the waves, and He will doubtless be enraged as well as starving, since it was so-called cultists who took His loved one’s life in the first place!”

Simon laughed out loud at that. “Such brilliance, Jos!” he managed to gasp before capturing Joseph’s lips in a deep and passionate kiss.
Tags: cthulhu, fic exchanges. humor, lovecraftian horror, slash
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