Fall of Empires (J/M slash PG-13)
Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 11:00 pm
A/N: This brief piece was written in response to a challenge on ML4E to write a pairing one wouldn't otherwise attempt...it is slash, but it's very non-graphic. Proceed at your own risk.
Fall of Empires
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime….
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
--Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress.”
http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/marvell/coy.htm
Josef leaned back against the headboard of the bed, hands linked behind his neck, and regarded the long, lean form stretched out beside him, face down and still as death. He felt, for the first time in a long while, replete, satiated. The natural olive skin of the arm laid across his torso, even after all this time in the dark, was almost dusky in comparison with the white of his own belly.
He had been patient. No man on the face of the earth could say he had not been patient. The patience of a saint, he’d had, although no one who knew him would ever dare to accuse Josef Kostan of any manner of saintliness. But in the course of 500 years, give or take, you either learn patience or madness.
He had decided, long ago, what he wanted, and based on his desires, through his long life, empires had risen and fallen, wars had begun and cities had been built. That he should get what he wanted was in its own way inevitable, but this had taken longer than he had ever foreseen.
He shifted slightly, smiling at the ruin of the bedclothes that lay twisted and stained with blood and other fluids. When they had come together, finally, it had not been pretty. No, not pretty, but it had held a sort of savage, epic, grandeur that had sent both their souls screaming into the ether with the transcendence of their release.
He reached down and brushed the detritus of dried blood from his chest. The damages they had inflicted upon each other were healed now, the skin below perfect and unmarked, although Josef thought he would bear the painful pleasure of those tokens of passion with him invisibly for the remainder of his existence.
As the night’s blackness faded to the gray of pre-dawn, his at-long-last lover stirred beside him, lifting his hazel eyes to Josef’s whiskey brown gaze. Josef thought he’d never seen those eyes so filled with peace before, and the beloved mouth, that by all rights should be bruised and swollen, was smiling, beautiful, and strong.
“Again, Josef?” Mick asked, his face illuminated by the dawn.
Fall of Empires
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime….
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
--Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress.”
http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/marvell/coy.htm
Josef leaned back against the headboard of the bed, hands linked behind his neck, and regarded the long, lean form stretched out beside him, face down and still as death. He felt, for the first time in a long while, replete, satiated. The natural olive skin of the arm laid across his torso, even after all this time in the dark, was almost dusky in comparison with the white of his own belly.
He had been patient. No man on the face of the earth could say he had not been patient. The patience of a saint, he’d had, although no one who knew him would ever dare to accuse Josef Kostan of any manner of saintliness. But in the course of 500 years, give or take, you either learn patience or madness.
He had decided, long ago, what he wanted, and based on his desires, through his long life, empires had risen and fallen, wars had begun and cities had been built. That he should get what he wanted was in its own way inevitable, but this had taken longer than he had ever foreseen.
He shifted slightly, smiling at the ruin of the bedclothes that lay twisted and stained with blood and other fluids. When they had come together, finally, it had not been pretty. No, not pretty, but it had held a sort of savage, epic, grandeur that had sent both their souls screaming into the ether with the transcendence of their release.
He reached down and brushed the detritus of dried blood from his chest. The damages they had inflicted upon each other were healed now, the skin below perfect and unmarked, although Josef thought he would bear the painful pleasure of those tokens of passion with him invisibly for the remainder of his existence.
As the night’s blackness faded to the gray of pre-dawn, his at-long-last lover stirred beside him, lifting his hazel eyes to Josef’s whiskey brown gaze. Josef thought he’d never seen those eyes so filled with peace before, and the beloved mouth, that by all rights should be bruised and swollen, was smiling, beautiful, and strong.
“Again, Josef?” Mick asked, his face illuminated by the dawn.
I can totally see Josef and Mick having an experience like this one. Very passionate, and holding nothing back. The imagery of this story is very effective.
