“but what if there are no gods?”
Apr. 23rd, 2010 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
windhoverTitle: Birth of Palaemon
Fandom: Kichiku Megane (not really)
Word count: ~700
Warnings: allusions to sex, but nothing too graphic.
Summary: prelude to Ocean Wide. Nothing is gained without sacrifice or pain.
Notes: I blame Gene entirely for getting me interested in writing more of this weird not-really-Kichime-but-close-enough headcanon universe. /shakes fist
Long after Arthur had been overcome by climax, Quenby continued to rock into him, as he always did. The only sign that he had finally spent himself was the only sound he ever made: a long, low hiss of satisfaction pressed against Arthur’s neck, followed by short, biting kisses. All were mere echoes of affection, ones that he would not receive from any other—never again.
“Well done.”
Arthur whimpered his gratitude and attempted to slide off Quenby’s lap, but he was held fast by an arm around his waist. His mind was too far gone for him to make anything other than a small noise of confusion.
“Stay a bit longer, won’t you? You’re always so quick to leave.”
He trembled, but remained. Quenby’s words could do nothing if not bind him.
“Good.” He nuzzled against Arthur’s neck in another play at affection. “So beautiful… It always pains me so to watch you leave.”
Arthur curled his neck, drawing himself closer against Quenby. However hollow the flattery, it was all that could keep him aloft through this mental haze.
“You are so beautiful,” Quenby repeated, pressing another kiss to him. “The most beautiful of any youth I have ever seen… What a terrible tragedy it would be to allow such beauty to fall victim to time.”
As he spoke, Arthur could vaguely detect him reaching for something in the nearby desk drawer. When his hands returned to where Arthur could see them, they busied themselves with two large vials—one empty, and the other filled with an amber substance.
“Have you learned much of the ancient Greek tradition, Mr. Rowland?”
Arthur continued to say nothing in response, his hazed mind enraptured by the shimmering, golden swirl in the vial before him.
“It was said that when a god was struck down, it was not blood that spilled from his wounds, but rather ichor—that which gives the deities their strength and immortality.”
Arthur watched the amber flow from one vial to the other, like some liquid hourglass. His wits slowly began to return to him, and he wondered—
“Your beauty is far too great a thing to waste,” said Quenby with another soft, too soft kiss. “I will not let you wither and die like the others. For all eternity, I will keep you at my side.”
“Eternity—?”
By the time Arthur realized that the other vial was no vial, but rather a syringe, it was too late. He could do nothing but scream as pain wracked his body and fire flooded his veins.
“Arthur?”
He’d been caught. Arthur smiled lightly, without a trace of bitterness, as he turned to face the voice’s owner. “Yes, Elizabeth?”
His sister responded by nearly tackling him in a hug. “I was so worried—you’re so late, I thought you might not be coming home at all—”
Arthur’s body flinched, reminded too suddenly of the pain from earlier, but the cool frames against his face kept his mind calm. “Easy, there,” he said with a soft laugh, hugging her just as tightly. “I’m just fine. You’ve no reason to worry.”
“But, Arthur…” She drew back to look up at him, her eyes wide with concern. “You’ve been spending all your time at that strange man’s business, and those glasses… Even Mr. Palmer is—”
“Mr. Palmer has no reason to worry, either,” Arthur quickly interrupted, with yet another smile. “He has his fiancée to tend to, after all.”
“But he is worried!” Elizabeth remained adamant. “Everyone’s worried, and—and you should be, too! Mother is ill, you know that, and Miss Walker—no one’s seen Miss Walker in days…!”
“I’m sure she is just fine,” Arthur answered soothingly, petting her hair. “Everything is going to be just fine. But I’ll need your help to make it so.”
Elizabeth still looked dubious, but she seemed to be slightly calmer. “How?”
“I’ll need to borrow one of mother’s cooking knives.”
Fandom: Kichiku Megane (not really)
Word count: ~700
Warnings: allusions to sex, but nothing too graphic.
Summary: prelude to Ocean Wide. Nothing is gained without sacrifice or pain.
Notes: I blame Gene entirely for getting me interested in writing more of this weird not-really-Kichime-but-close-enough headcanon universe. /shakes fist
Long after Arthur had been overcome by climax, Quenby continued to rock into him, as he always did. The only sign that he had finally spent himself was the only sound he ever made: a long, low hiss of satisfaction pressed against Arthur’s neck, followed by short, biting kisses. All were mere echoes of affection, ones that he would not receive from any other—never again.
“Well done.”
Arthur whimpered his gratitude and attempted to slide off Quenby’s lap, but he was held fast by an arm around his waist. His mind was too far gone for him to make anything other than a small noise of confusion.
“Stay a bit longer, won’t you? You’re always so quick to leave.”
He trembled, but remained. Quenby’s words could do nothing if not bind him.
“Good.” He nuzzled against Arthur’s neck in another play at affection. “So beautiful… It always pains me so to watch you leave.”
Arthur curled his neck, drawing himself closer against Quenby. However hollow the flattery, it was all that could keep him aloft through this mental haze.
“You are so beautiful,” Quenby repeated, pressing another kiss to him. “The most beautiful of any youth I have ever seen… What a terrible tragedy it would be to allow such beauty to fall victim to time.”
As he spoke, Arthur could vaguely detect him reaching for something in the nearby desk drawer. When his hands returned to where Arthur could see them, they busied themselves with two large vials—one empty, and the other filled with an amber substance.
“Have you learned much of the ancient Greek tradition, Mr. Rowland?”
Arthur continued to say nothing in response, his hazed mind enraptured by the shimmering, golden swirl in the vial before him.
“It was said that when a god was struck down, it was not blood that spilled from his wounds, but rather ichor—that which gives the deities their strength and immortality.”
Arthur watched the amber flow from one vial to the other, like some liquid hourglass. His wits slowly began to return to him, and he wondered—
“Your beauty is far too great a thing to waste,” said Quenby with another soft, too soft kiss. “I will not let you wither and die like the others. For all eternity, I will keep you at my side.”
“Eternity—?”
By the time Arthur realized that the other vial was no vial, but rather a syringe, it was too late. He could do nothing but scream as pain wracked his body and fire flooded his veins.
“Arthur?”
He’d been caught. Arthur smiled lightly, without a trace of bitterness, as he turned to face the voice’s owner. “Yes, Elizabeth?”
His sister responded by nearly tackling him in a hug. “I was so worried—you’re so late, I thought you might not be coming home at all—”
Arthur’s body flinched, reminded too suddenly of the pain from earlier, but the cool frames against his face kept his mind calm. “Easy, there,” he said with a soft laugh, hugging her just as tightly. “I’m just fine. You’ve no reason to worry.”
“But, Arthur…” She drew back to look up at him, her eyes wide with concern. “You’ve been spending all your time at that strange man’s business, and those glasses… Even Mr. Palmer is—”
“Mr. Palmer has no reason to worry, either,” Arthur quickly interrupted, with yet another smile. “He has his fiancée to tend to, after all.”
“But he is worried!” Elizabeth remained adamant. “Everyone’s worried, and—and you should be, too! Mother is ill, you know that, and Miss Walker—no one’s seen Miss Walker in days…!”
“I’m sure she is just fine,” Arthur answered soothingly, petting her hair. “Everything is going to be just fine. But I’ll need your help to make it so.”
Elizabeth still looked dubious, but she seemed to be slightly calmer. “How?”
“I’ll need to borrow one of mother’s cooking knives.”
