Fic: When In Mourning
E-mail: the_smooth_one910@hotmail.com
Rating: R to NC-17.
Warnings: There is non-consensual sex. That's right. NON-CON BETWEEN TWO MEN. Dark themes, people. You've be warned.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairing: Mina/Tom, Tom/Skinner, implied interest between Tom/Mina/Dorian.
Summary: A ritual of mourning is infiltrated.
Notes: Supposed to be for the Invisible Man/Anyone challenge at lxg_slash. Not exactly sure if it exactly fits, but it was supposed to, anyway.


It was only during the darkest hour of the night that Mina pulled all the curtains back.

It had become a ritual since they agreed to join Nemo aboard the Nautilus, a ritual that they kept to themselves. It was not something they could easily share with the others and expect them to understand their motives for it and the emotions that warranted such a ceremony. Half the time Mina didn’t understand what caused Tom to sit for hours on knees as if in worship, and half the time Tom didn’t understand what caused Mina to take it with her in the first place.

Yet when she lifted the curtain off and there it was, it did not matter to them, the motives and the justifications. All that mattered was their rites, their bowed heads, their hands and mouths all over each other’s bodies, their eyes set solely on the portrait on the wall, looking at them as if it needs their sadness, their pain, their mourning.

Yet tonight, when she lifted the curtains back and removed the soft silk from the portrait, there was a shift in the air that both of them noticed immediately. They looked at each other warily, green on hazel, clashing like an artist’s palette, but they said nothing of it, simply walked over to the bed and kissed with the usual pain and longing they both reserve for another.

One would think such a thing would be tired, hanging on to a love that is dead, but it is not for them, for while some aspect of the love is dead, the emotion was not. No one would understand this if they tried to explain, that they needed this time, they needed each other, they needed this so the emotion would not kill them.

Yet there was something different, this night, and it was not just the shift in the air. There were too many sounds in the room, aside from their panting and the rustling of their clothes as Tom pulled Mina’s skirts down to the floor and Mina ripped the buttons off Tom’s shirt. No, there was more than that, although Tom could not hear them himself. Not that he could; he was merely human.

But Mina was not, and as she laid sprawled across the length of Tom’s body, mouth latched on to one of his nipples, she stopped and looked up at the air, as if waiting for something to drop from the sky. “What?” Tom asked, breathless and hoarse.

Mina was quiet for a moment as she raised herself up onto her knees, strands of her hair falling out of the bun and laying against her cheeks. She glanced around the room for a few moments, and for a moment Tom thought she had looked up at the portrait, as if it held the answers to her unsaid questions. Finally she smiled and leaned down, her mouth right above his. “We are not alone,” she murmured.

And before Tom could say another word she was off the bed, hands outstretched and a snarl on her lips. She seemingly bumped into the dresser and had her hands against the wall, as if she were trapping something. From the smirk on her face, she had.

“Are we, Mr. Skinner?”

With a start Tom bolted up, pulling the sheets up to his exposed chest, and he blurted out, “Skinner? What the blazes are you doing here?”

“Wanted to know what you two were up to,” Skinner’s Cockney accent seemed to float on the air, leaving a bitter taste in Tom’s throat. “Was worried about you, all holed up in here and not coming out for a bit of fun.” If they could see Skinner, Tom suspected he would have had a smirk on his face. “Didn’t realize that you two were REALLY having fun.”

“I don’t recall inviting you into my room, Mr. Skinner,” Mina said in a harsh tone. She grabbed Skinner’s wrists (or at least Tom thought this was what she was doing), and held his hands behind his back, pushing him towards the bed.

“I don’t recall you ever mentioning you were into bondage, Mrs. Harker,” Skinner retorted, his laugh lingering like a plague.

Mina snarled at him and motioned for Tom to move. As he did she shoved Skinner onto the bed (Tom could only tell by the way the sheets rustled under Skinner’s body) and ordered, “Tom, the handcuffs, please.”

“Handcuffs? Now Mrs. Harker, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m quite willing, if you know what I mean,” Skinner told her.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Mina said as she climbed on top of him, pinning him to the bed with her legs. Tom could not help but marvel at how strange it looked; it looked as if Mina was hovering in the air. “But I doubt you will be so willing, once you see what I plan to do. Hence the handcuffs,” she snapped. She took the handcuffs from Tom’s trembling hands and clicked one ring onto Skinner’s hand, the other on the bed post. She leaned down, and she smiled against Skinner’s ear, letting one of her canines graze against the edge of his ear. “I rather suspect that you will be…begging…for us to stop,” she said coyly.

“What are you doing? And where did you get handcuffs?” Tom could hear the slight tint of worry in Skinner’s voice.

“Not that it is your concern, but these handcuffs are for when I am unable to control my urges,” Mina answered. She climbed off the bed and walked over to Tom, stepping behind him and letting her fingers twist in his hair. “And as far as YOU’RE concerned, Mr. Skinner, Tom and I do not appreciate being spied upon in our personal time. It is my intentions that you will not do this sort of thing again.”

“Really, am I supposed to be intimidated, because-“ his voice seemed to die, and suddenly he gasped loudly. “My God. Why do you have THAT thing?”

“What thing?” Tom asked.

If they could see Skinner, they could see how wide his eyes were and how pale his face had went. “Why the hell do you have Gray’s portrait, Harker?” he whispered.

Mina let out a roar that sounded not like a vampire, but like a lion. “You intrude on matters that are not your concern!” she screamed, lunging at the bed and baring her fangs in what Tom suspected was Skinner’s face. “You are nothing but a scoundrel, and you want to judge me like it is your right?” She pulled back and stepped back, standing in front of Tom, and she grinned, her smile feral and quite ugly. “You will learn your lesson, Mr. Skinner,” she promised. “That we will see to.”

She turned her head towards Tom and smiled, leaning up and kissing the underside of Tom’s jaw. “Tom. I want you to show Mr. Skinner exactly what it is,” she looked at Skinner and smirked. “We do,” she finished.

Tom looked at her and she smiled, patting his cheek. “Just do it, love,” she said, and sure enough he walked over to the bed, gingerly sitting down. Tentatively he reached out his and touched what felt like Skinner’s calf, letting his hand trail up Skinner’s leg.

“What are you doing, Sawyer?” Skinner asked. Even to an untrained professional, the fear in Skinner’s voice was much more pronounced now.

“What we do, Mr. Skinner.” Mina walked around the bed and stood in front of it, kneeling and looking Skinner in the eye. “You were curious to come in and spy on us, so we will show you what it is we do,” she answered.

She nodded at Tom, who then put his hands on Skinner’s hips, surprised at how lean they actually were. “I don’t think I like the looks of this,” Skinner announced. “I saved your life, Sawyer. I even risked mine to save you!”

“Oh, but don’t be afraid, Mr. Skinner. You are not staring death in the eye. Undo your pants, Tom,” Mina ordered as Skinner started to struggle. She reached over and held Skinner’s head in her hands, smiling at him like a mother would. “No, you’re not looking at death, Mr. Skinner.” She turned his head, and forced him to look at the portrait on the wall. “NOW you’re looking at death.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Skinner yelled, still struggling as Tom loosened his belt and started to pull his pants down. “What the hell happened in that room? Why do you have Gray’s fucking portrait?!”

“I had to kill the man WE,” she looked up at Tom and smiled, who gave her a small smile back. “Loved. Of course I wanted to keep the portrait. It is all we have left of him.”

“Gray was mad! Just like you!” Skinner yelled.

“We are not mad,” Mina insisted. She let go of Skinner’s head, walking over to the portrait, running her fingers along Dorian’s face. She closed her eyes for a moment and kissed Dorian’s painted lips gently, faintly, as if he were actually there to feel it. Then she turned around and looked at Tom and Skinner, nodding at Tom, her eyes reddening at Skinner. “We are simply in mourning,” she said.

She was silent as Tom rid himself of his pants and placed a hand on what Mina thought was the small of Skinner’s back. “Mina,” Tom said, looking up at her. She walked over to the dresser and picked up the bottle of lotion, handing it to him with a loving smile.

“No! You are not going to! I’ll scream!” Skinner promised, his voice at an all-time high.

“Go right ahead,” Mina told him. “Scream. Jekyll and Nemo are much too busy with each other to bother themselves with listening to you.”

“You are a monster, Mina Harker!”

Mina clucked her tongue, and looked over at Dorian, who seemed to be winking at her from beyond the canvas. “Yes, Mr. Skinner,” she agreed, murmuring to herself, her voice sounding strangely a lot like Dorian’s. “I am indeed.”

Upon nodding at him, Tom opened the bottle and poured some of the lotion in his hand, placing his hands on both of Skinner’s buttocks, squeezing slightly, as if he were getting a feel for the curves and slopes of Skinner’s body. Skinner, of course, was struggling, flailing his body and his one unbound arm, trying to kick his legs, but the weight of Tom’s legs enabling them motionless. “Sawyer! Stop! This is wrong! You can’t do this, Sawyer!”

“I have to,” Tom whispered in Skinner’s ear, massaging Skinner’s ass, trying to ready him for what was to come. “I’m sorry, but you betrayed our privacy. I. I have to.”

As gingerly as possible he pressed one finger into Skinner’s hole, putting his hand on Skinner’s shoulder and whispering what Tom hoped was soothing words, even as Skinner arched and cried out in pain. Tom looked up at Mina, who did nothing but nod, ordering him to go ahead. “I’m so sorry, Skinner,” he said, putting in another finger.

As Skinner whimpered and kept screaming for him to stop, Tom could only look past Mina and at the portrait, at Dorian’s dancing eyes and knowing half-smile, looking like a debauched Mona Lisa. Tom closed his eyes and all he could see was Dorian’s face, teasing and beautiful and decaying as Tom pushed himself inside Skinner as if the act would push Dorian’s face out of his mind.

“You will come to understand, Mr. Skinner,” Mina said, ignoring Skinner’s soft and pained whimpers. “That mourning is a process. A ritual. You of course could not understand how it is, for Tom and I, living in mourning, in pain and suffering and regret.” Her eyes sparkled as Tom panted against Skinner’s invisible skin and Skinner half-heartedly pleaded for him to stop, as Tom faithfully opened his eyes and stared at the portrait and Skinner simply cried and exclaimed he was sorry. “You know now, don’t you, Mr. Skinner?” she asked. She stood up and walked over to the curtains, looking over at the portrait, closing her eyes and letting the darkness of Dorian’s eyes engulf her, fill into her soul and her words as she let the curtains fall closed.

Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at Skinner, baring her teeth.

“And now you will mourn. Just as we do.”


Wanna stroke Dorian's Boomstick?
This ain't floating my boat!
Home, Jones!


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