Fic? *gasp of horror*
Title: nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
Fandom and Pairing: Homer, Troy (movie)-based; Achilles/Patroclus, but whether it's platonic or not is your call
Rating: PG
Prompt: rain; 031. First Time; contrelamontre: "write a story concerning body-language, of any sort and/or interpretation".
Warnings: Physical, familial affection? Just a wee bit.
Notes: Not mine, no profit, just playing. Quote and title from e.e. cumming's somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond.
Summary: His black eyes glitter defiance and admiration and fear.
A boy jumps off the ship.
And that's what he is, a boy, you think. He is tall, and slender, and he does not look weak, but he is young. He is watching you. His curiously straight hair whips in the sea breeze, and he does not back down.
"Patroclus," you say, but there is no doubt; you have heard the stories. He says nothing. His black eyes glitter defiance and admiration and fear.
He remains where he landed, as if loath to approach you. Your face is unreadable as you beckon him closer. His body screams reluctance, but he comes. He comes.
"Welcome, Cousin," you say, and reach out to clasp his arms. He drops his eyes. He has lined them with kohl, to protect them from the sun's glare. He twists his arms in your grip so his hands, too, are gripping your forearms; his mouth opens, and you can feel his breath on your collarbone. So you kiss him.
He doesn't move, doesn't stiffen or fight back or respond. He just breathes into your mouth, and his breath tastes like honeyed wine. You pull away, and you know your companions have seen nothing more than a greeting between cousins. But something has changed in his eyes.
You grin, and he grins back, wild and white teeth gleaming against sun-gold skin. There is food waiting, you tell him, if he is so inclined. Your arm slips easily across his shoulders and his fit just as nicely along yours. He says something witty in response, and you can't remember what, because his voice. You could grow to love this boy, you think.
His arm tightens around you.
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
A ficlet written to:
(1) try to reconcile Patroclus' role in Troy. Because I love Garrett Hedlund, really I do. And have you ever read the script? Slashiness out the yin-yang, and somehow very little of it translated into the movie. Much sadness.
(2) EXPRESS my FRUSTRATION at the FACT that there is SO LITTLE slash of this KIND on the INTERNET. It makes me argh.
Crossposted to troyslash, troy_slash, and greek_love in the hopes that it will revive them a bit, and wordclaim50 and i_am_krazy because that's just what I do. Sorry about spamming, if it occurs.
And PS: the title was totally ganked just so that this could work with my wordclaim50, because I have written SO LITTLE in SO LONG.
Fandom and Pairing: Homer, Troy (movie)-based; Achilles/Patroclus, but whether it's platonic or not is your call
Rating: PG
Prompt: rain; 031. First Time; contrelamontre: "write a story concerning body-language, of any sort and/or interpretation".
Warnings: Physical, familial affection? Just a wee bit.
Notes: Not mine, no profit, just playing. Quote and title from e.e. cumming's somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond.
Summary: His black eyes glitter defiance and admiration and fear.
A boy jumps off the ship.
And that's what he is, a boy, you think. He is tall, and slender, and he does not look weak, but he is young. He is watching you. His curiously straight hair whips in the sea breeze, and he does not back down.
"Patroclus," you say, but there is no doubt; you have heard the stories. He says nothing. His black eyes glitter defiance and admiration and fear.
He remains where he landed, as if loath to approach you. Your face is unreadable as you beckon him closer. His body screams reluctance, but he comes. He comes.
"Welcome, Cousin," you say, and reach out to clasp his arms. He drops his eyes. He has lined them with kohl, to protect them from the sun's glare. He twists his arms in your grip so his hands, too, are gripping your forearms; his mouth opens, and you can feel his breath on your collarbone. So you kiss him.
He doesn't move, doesn't stiffen or fight back or respond. He just breathes into your mouth, and his breath tastes like honeyed wine. You pull away, and you know your companions have seen nothing more than a greeting between cousins. But something has changed in his eyes.
You grin, and he grins back, wild and white teeth gleaming against sun-gold skin. There is food waiting, you tell him, if he is so inclined. Your arm slips easily across his shoulders and his fit just as nicely along yours. He says something witty in response, and you can't remember what, because his voice. You could grow to love this boy, you think.
His arm tightens around you.
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
A ficlet written to:
(1) try to reconcile Patroclus' role in Troy. Because I love Garrett Hedlund, really I do. And have you ever read the script? Slashiness out the yin-yang, and somehow very little of it translated into the movie. Much sadness.
(2) EXPRESS my FRUSTRATION at the FACT that there is SO LITTLE slash of this KIND on the INTERNET. It makes me argh.
Crossposted to troyslash, troy_slash, and greek_love in the hopes that it will revive them a bit, and wordclaim50 and i_am_krazy because that's just what I do. Sorry about spamming, if it occurs.
And PS: the title was totally ganked just so that this could work with my wordclaim50, because I have written SO LITTLE in SO LONG.