Ares: The Practical Art of War
So kasugai_gummie and butterflycages have dragged me into a new fandom.
Title: The Practical Art of War
Author: Reston
Summary: Icarus and Mikael, plus Icarus’s idea of pillow talk. Non-canonical campaign, mostly written to service the scenario-forgive me?
Warnings: Suggestions of sex. This is actually pretty tame for me. *g*
They’d already gone at it a second time, and Icarus was lighting a cigarette, making no move to politely usher Mikael out, when Mikael decided to speak up.
“Shouldn’t you be strategizing instead of screwing around?”
Icarus glanced at him over the flame of his match. “What makes you say that?”
Mikael snorted. Icarus looked at him for a moment, clearly puzzled, and then he began to laugh out loud.
“We’re not at a disadvantage, you know,” he said as he shook the match out, tossed it onto the ground. “We’re really not. I can show you-no, don’t get up.” And his untanned hands fell onto the skin of Mikael’s back before Mikael could object.
“Let’s say this is the Nott River,” said Icarus, tracing a winding pattern from the nape of Mikael’s neck to the edge of his left hip. “And the forests we passed two days ago are here.” His hand curled around the left side of Mikael’s ribcage, warm and civilian-soft. “The enemy is located on this ridge.” The swell of Mikael’s right shoulder. “Which would make the plains where we're positioned about, oh, here.” The space between Mikael’s shoulder blades. “The ground here is good-”
“The ground here is crap,” interrupted Mikael.
“Which makes it good,” said Icarus. “Because the enemy doesn’t know that. We’ve engaged them for so long today that they now believe this location is desirable. And when we’re attacked tomorrow-” He drew the path the enemy would take, from Mikael’s shoulder to the median of his back. “-we’ll feign retreat.” Down to the waist. “They will take this ground, and by the time they realize that their heavy infantry and chariots are incapacitated, it will be too late. We will regroup-” And his hands met at the center of Mikael’s back, pantomiming the confrontation. “-and then we will crush them.”
He fell silent after that. When Mikael glanced at his face, he couldn’t be sure what Icarus was looking at, the scars on Mikael’s back or the battlelines he had traced, what the paths he had drawn had become.
Icarus rocked back on his heels, smiling. “All war is deception,” he intoned solemnly, maybe a little sadly, and Mikael sat up. He pinched off the lit end of Icarus’s cigarette, tossed it to the side, and then he grabbed Icarus by the shoulders, rolled Icarus beneath him. Ground against him deliberately, and wiped the control straight off Icarus’s face.
408 words.
Title: The Practical Art of War
Author: Reston
Summary: Icarus and Mikael, plus Icarus’s idea of pillow talk. Non-canonical campaign, mostly written to service the scenario-forgive me?
Warnings: Suggestions of sex. This is actually pretty tame for me. *g*
They’d already gone at it a second time, and Icarus was lighting a cigarette, making no move to politely usher Mikael out, when Mikael decided to speak up.
“Shouldn’t you be strategizing instead of screwing around?”
Icarus glanced at him over the flame of his match. “What makes you say that?”
Mikael snorted. Icarus looked at him for a moment, clearly puzzled, and then he began to laugh out loud.
“We’re not at a disadvantage, you know,” he said as he shook the match out, tossed it onto the ground. “We’re really not. I can show you-no, don’t get up.” And his untanned hands fell onto the skin of Mikael’s back before Mikael could object.
“Let’s say this is the Nott River,” said Icarus, tracing a winding pattern from the nape of Mikael’s neck to the edge of his left hip. “And the forests we passed two days ago are here.” His hand curled around the left side of Mikael’s ribcage, warm and civilian-soft. “The enemy is located on this ridge.” The swell of Mikael’s right shoulder. “Which would make the plains where we're positioned about, oh, here.” The space between Mikael’s shoulder blades. “The ground here is good-”
“The ground here is crap,” interrupted Mikael.
“Which makes it good,” said Icarus. “Because the enemy doesn’t know that. We’ve engaged them for so long today that they now believe this location is desirable. And when we’re attacked tomorrow-” He drew the path the enemy would take, from Mikael’s shoulder to the median of his back. “-we’ll feign retreat.” Down to the waist. “They will take this ground, and by the time they realize that their heavy infantry and chariots are incapacitated, it will be too late. We will regroup-” And his hands met at the center of Mikael’s back, pantomiming the confrontation. “-and then we will crush them.”
He fell silent after that. When Mikael glanced at his face, he couldn’t be sure what Icarus was looking at, the scars on Mikael’s back or the battlelines he had traced, what the paths he had drawn had become.
Icarus rocked back on his heels, smiling. “All war is deception,” he intoned solemnly, maybe a little sadly, and Mikael sat up. He pinched off the lit end of Icarus’s cigarette, tossed it to the side, and then he grabbed Icarus by the shoulders, rolled Icarus beneath him. Ground against him deliberately, and wiped the control straight off Icarus’s face.
408 words.