The Night Garden (sequel to Incurable)
Title: The Night Garden
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Word count: 600
Rating: R
Warnings: Dubcon
Summary: Sequel to Incurable. Historical AU, gauzy Victorian porn.
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
The Night Garden
At the piano, he'd caught glimpses of God, the merest flashes of transcendence. He'd told himself that he ought to be grateful. That the human mind was equipped to grasp only a fraction of the infinite. But he'd yearned, sitting earthbound at the keys; he'd ached for those shooting-star notes to pierce his everyday skin.
Here he owned them all, an entire heaven’s worth. His body was the instrument of another's, and theirs the song of songs. Grace filled him, swelled in him, breaching the barriers of mortal understanding. World without end, amen. It all makes sense now, he tried to say. The words were swallowed into darkness, and he tasted them rich on his lover's tongue. The two of them played endless variations, until at last he could hold no more; and as he burst and shimmered to earth, spent, the music in his ears was Mine, my mark on you, my seed in you, mine.
He awakened under a blue canopy embroidered with a constellation of curious symbols. Bluer were the eyes that watched over him with an emotion too profound to be gratitude. “Adam,” he said, rasping and uncertain, but not a question for all that. He sat up, discovering with the movement the unaccustomed soreness inside.
“Here, Kris.” Adam held a glass to his lips: water, cool and pure. Kris drank deeply. It didn't distress him that they were both unclothed. He felt no shyness in his study of Adam’s broad chest, or the device like a figure eight stamped on the inside of his wrist, or the mouth he knew to be as soft as it looked. It curved under his gaze, and he smiled back, happy. There was something he should remember beyond this enormous four-poster bed; something perhaps as inconsequential as four walls and a window, perhaps as great as a world with a vacated space awaiting his return.
That mouth, so lush with promise. Irresistibly drawn, Kris ran his thumb over the scattering of freckles, embellishment where none was needed. Stars. He traced the line of Adam’s jaw, the arch of his brows--learning, relearning?--coaxed Adam to blink spiky lashes against his fingertip. Combed through Adam’s thick dark hair, chased a wayward glint to a diamond in his ear. “You always did love shiny things,” he said fondly, then frowned in puzzlement when no memory offered itself. But no matter; there was so much here to occupy his senses, beauty and a faint scent that stirred a physical longing.
“It’s the oil,” Adam told him. He reached for a crystal phial of golden liquid, half empty. Coating his fingers, he held them under Kris’s nose. A blend of jasmine and oranges, delicious, but less so than what it evoked, what his body remembered. Pleasure, dreamlike in its unfolding, beyond the limits of flesh and blood. And then Adam circled one of his nipples, wet, heating instantly, and he gasped and believed, in daylight. “It was all real? So much . . . ”
In answer, Adam pulled away the sheet and put his fingers to the place between Kris’s legs that was tender with use, and Kris felt no shock or shame. “You tightened around me so sweetly in your release, I couldn’t help but follow.” Adam’s eyes held his, ardent, yet they were upturned to that starry night sky. He pressed in to where he'd been, insistent, but gentle, so gentle.
“Can you-- Please, can we-- ?”
Adam found his way deeper inside, with his fingers and with his voice, low and breaking. “Ask me anything but that I should let you go, beloved.”
--End--
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Word count: 600
Rating: R
Warnings: Dubcon
Summary: Sequel to Incurable. Historical AU, gauzy Victorian porn.
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
The Night Garden
At the piano, he'd caught glimpses of God, the merest flashes of transcendence. He'd told himself that he ought to be grateful. That the human mind was equipped to grasp only a fraction of the infinite. But he'd yearned, sitting earthbound at the keys; he'd ached for those shooting-star notes to pierce his everyday skin.
Here he owned them all, an entire heaven’s worth. His body was the instrument of another's, and theirs the song of songs. Grace filled him, swelled in him, breaching the barriers of mortal understanding. World without end, amen. It all makes sense now, he tried to say. The words were swallowed into darkness, and he tasted them rich on his lover's tongue. The two of them played endless variations, until at last he could hold no more; and as he burst and shimmered to earth, spent, the music in his ears was Mine, my mark on you, my seed in you, mine.
He awakened under a blue canopy embroidered with a constellation of curious symbols. Bluer were the eyes that watched over him with an emotion too profound to be gratitude. “Adam,” he said, rasping and uncertain, but not a question for all that. He sat up, discovering with the movement the unaccustomed soreness inside.
“Here, Kris.” Adam held a glass to his lips: water, cool and pure. Kris drank deeply. It didn't distress him that they were both unclothed. He felt no shyness in his study of Adam’s broad chest, or the device like a figure eight stamped on the inside of his wrist, or the mouth he knew to be as soft as it looked. It curved under his gaze, and he smiled back, happy. There was something he should remember beyond this enormous four-poster bed; something perhaps as inconsequential as four walls and a window, perhaps as great as a world with a vacated space awaiting his return.
That mouth, so lush with promise. Irresistibly drawn, Kris ran his thumb over the scattering of freckles, embellishment where none was needed. Stars. He traced the line of Adam’s jaw, the arch of his brows--learning, relearning?--coaxed Adam to blink spiky lashes against his fingertip. Combed through Adam’s thick dark hair, chased a wayward glint to a diamond in his ear. “You always did love shiny things,” he said fondly, then frowned in puzzlement when no memory offered itself. But no matter; there was so much here to occupy his senses, beauty and a faint scent that stirred a physical longing.
“It’s the oil,” Adam told him. He reached for a crystal phial of golden liquid, half empty. Coating his fingers, he held them under Kris’s nose. A blend of jasmine and oranges, delicious, but less so than what it evoked, what his body remembered. Pleasure, dreamlike in its unfolding, beyond the limits of flesh and blood. And then Adam circled one of his nipples, wet, heating instantly, and he gasped and believed, in daylight. “It was all real? So much . . . ”
In answer, Adam pulled away the sheet and put his fingers to the place between Kris’s legs that was tender with use, and Kris felt no shock or shame. “You tightened around me so sweetly in your release, I couldn’t help but follow.” Adam’s eyes held his, ardent, yet they were upturned to that starry night sky. He pressed in to where he'd been, insistent, but gentle, so gentle.
“Can you-- Please, can we-- ?”
Adam found his way deeper inside, with his fingers and with his voice, low and breaking. “Ask me anything but that I should let you go, beloved.”
--End--