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dimity_blueTitle: Best Laid Plans: Blore
Author: Dimity Blue
Rating: mature
Genre: Alternate reality, slash
Characters: William Blore, James Landor
Word Count: 705 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Bill Blore and his encounter with James Landor.
This is going to be a series of stories about why the events on Soldier Island didn't happen as expected. When you think about it, it could all so easily have gone wrong. Each story will be a standalone.
Warning: Extreme homophobia.
Some lines are from the miniseries.
On AO3.
Best Laid Plans: Bill Blore
by Dimity Blue
Bill scowled to himself at the sight of the arrested man. Landor wasn't a short man but, with his floppy hair and rumpled collar, he had an air of vulnerability.
"I mean, look at you, there's nothing of you. You're soft, hey?" Bill pushed Landor's shoulder and something inside him twisted at the small noise Landor gave. "Like a peach or something." In a shadowy, long-ignored corner of his mind, Bill could see him as a peach. The pale skin invited a firm grasp. Soft flesh would yield so sweetly...
He continued his lecture. Those other thoughts and wants were ignored as Bill decided to turn a blind eye. Some people said homos were more to be pitied, that they couldn't help themselves being attracted to other men. Bill knew of a few coppers who'd administer a slap as a warning to be more careful and send the poor beggar on his way.
Londor stood and thanked him, and Bill caught the knowing, sidelong glance as if Landor thought he, Bill, was like him. Or liked him.
Bile rose in his throat. Bill planted a hand in the middle of Landor's chest, shoved him away from the doorway, and pulled the door shut. The dirty bastard with his filthy thoughts, reading Bill's kindness as lust. It just showed how they couldn't be trusted, how they'd turn decent men into filthy animals like them. Filthy, rutting animals who met in dark corners to spill their seed. Dirty, disgusting, not fit to be near good men. Bill grabbed at Landor and shoved again and again, sending him sprawling. Those small sweet sounds filled with pain and fear as Bill's fists and feet made contact.
Landor raised his head and blood sprayed across the blanket as he sobbed a, "Please!"
Sweat dripped into Bill's eyes and he blinked at the sting and stepped back.
For a moment, he stared as his mind automatically analysed the scene. The blood splatters on two walls and the floor showed this was where most of the attack took place. A clump of hair on the floor. A bloody handprint on the blanket. A blood stained tooth. The victim had suffered a continuous, vicious attack.
From him. Bill Blore. A copper.
It took a few minutes for Bill to get himself moving but he did. He hauled Landor onto the bed, then ran to find the duty officer.
Of course it was officially rugswept as an accident. Landor didn't say anything different, which didn't surprise Bill; the poor sod was probably used to being beaten. It was a black mark on Bill's record though, which he deserved. He was lucky; it could have been worse. He might have been kicked out of the force. As it was, Bill had been transferred. Not demoted, precisely, but a sidesways transfer into another department.
He'd even contemplated leaving for a while and setting up on his own as a private detective. Everyone said it was chancy work, lots of married couples spying on each other, though he'd already had an offer of employment guarding some rich woman's jewels on an island. Bill's parents had been poor though. Bill wasn't about to abandon a steady wage for something far riskier.
His new Superintendent was right though about Bill needing to get away for a bit. Just to clear the cobwebs and come back as a new man.
Bill thought about taking that job on Soldier Island as a one off, but he already knew where he needed to be: his allotment.
Bill propped his feet up on a large plant pot and regarded the callouses on his hands from his week of spending every day there. Honest, that's what gardening was. It only paid off if you put the work in honestly. No cutting corners or cheating. Or lying. His hard work had led to this little bit of paradise. Here, he could breathe. Here, he was himself again.
His eyes fell on the peach tree, its fruit just starting to ripen to a deep gold with no blood or bruises in sight, and Bill shook his head as his mind slid back to Landor. It was no good; the tree would have to go.
The end.
9th September 2021.
Author: Dimity Blue
Rating: mature
Genre: Alternate reality, slash
Characters: William Blore, James Landor
Word Count: 705 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Bill Blore and his encounter with James Landor.
This is going to be a series of stories about why the events on Soldier Island didn't happen as expected. When you think about it, it could all so easily have gone wrong. Each story will be a standalone.
Warning: Extreme homophobia.
Some lines are from the miniseries.
On AO3.
Best Laid Plans: Bill Blore
by Dimity Blue
Bill scowled to himself at the sight of the arrested man. Landor wasn't a short man but, with his floppy hair and rumpled collar, he had an air of vulnerability.
"I mean, look at you, there's nothing of you. You're soft, hey?" Bill pushed Landor's shoulder and something inside him twisted at the small noise Landor gave. "Like a peach or something." In a shadowy, long-ignored corner of his mind, Bill could see him as a peach. The pale skin invited a firm grasp. Soft flesh would yield so sweetly...
He continued his lecture. Those other thoughts and wants were ignored as Bill decided to turn a blind eye. Some people said homos were more to be pitied, that they couldn't help themselves being attracted to other men. Bill knew of a few coppers who'd administer a slap as a warning to be more careful and send the poor beggar on his way.
Londor stood and thanked him, and Bill caught the knowing, sidelong glance as if Landor thought he, Bill, was like him. Or liked him.
Bile rose in his throat. Bill planted a hand in the middle of Landor's chest, shoved him away from the doorway, and pulled the door shut. The dirty bastard with his filthy thoughts, reading Bill's kindness as lust. It just showed how they couldn't be trusted, how they'd turn decent men into filthy animals like them. Filthy, rutting animals who met in dark corners to spill their seed. Dirty, disgusting, not fit to be near good men. Bill grabbed at Landor and shoved again and again, sending him sprawling. Those small sweet sounds filled with pain and fear as Bill's fists and feet made contact.
Landor raised his head and blood sprayed across the blanket as he sobbed a, "Please!"
Sweat dripped into Bill's eyes and he blinked at the sting and stepped back.
For a moment, he stared as his mind automatically analysed the scene. The blood splatters on two walls and the floor showed this was where most of the attack took place. A clump of hair on the floor. A bloody handprint on the blanket. A blood stained tooth. The victim had suffered a continuous, vicious attack.
From him. Bill Blore. A copper.
It took a few minutes for Bill to get himself moving but he did. He hauled Landor onto the bed, then ran to find the duty officer.
Of course it was officially rugswept as an accident. Landor didn't say anything different, which didn't surprise Bill; the poor sod was probably used to being beaten. It was a black mark on Bill's record though, which he deserved. He was lucky; it could have been worse. He might have been kicked out of the force. As it was, Bill had been transferred. Not demoted, precisely, but a sidesways transfer into another department.
He'd even contemplated leaving for a while and setting up on his own as a private detective. Everyone said it was chancy work, lots of married couples spying on each other, though he'd already had an offer of employment guarding some rich woman's jewels on an island. Bill's parents had been poor though. Bill wasn't about to abandon a steady wage for something far riskier.
His new Superintendent was right though about Bill needing to get away for a bit. Just to clear the cobwebs and come back as a new man.
Bill thought about taking that job on Soldier Island as a one off, but he already knew where he needed to be: his allotment.
Bill propped his feet up on a large plant pot and regarded the callouses on his hands from his week of spending every day there. Honest, that's what gardening was. It only paid off if you put the work in honestly. No cutting corners or cheating. Or lying. His hard work had led to this little bit of paradise. Here, he could breathe. Here, he was himself again.
His eyes fell on the peach tree, its fruit just starting to ripen to a deep gold with no blood or bruises in sight, and Bill shook his head as his mind slid back to Landor. It was no good; the tree would have to go.
The end.
9th September 2021.