FIC: Reason
Apr. 9th, 2007 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mharificTitle: Reason
Fandom: Arthurian
Rating: PG-13
Words: 774
Disclaimer: Just borrowing from the collective.
Summary: Gaheris isn't satisfied.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
10_prompts, table 4, #3: Why? 'Ware sibcest.
"Why?" Gaheris says. "Why me?"
"Why you what?" They're sitting in a clearing, where the quick-running stream broadens into a pool and the summer sun pours in. Around them the forest presses in; nothing but trees as far as the eye can see, deeper and deeper shadow. Gaheris finds it unsettling, bred as he is to the cliffs and open meadows of Orkney, but he knows better than to say so. Mordred would scoff at him, would call him coward or superstitious fool, and no doubt profess to find this wilderness pleasant.
Certainly Mordred shows no sign of disquiet himself. He sprawls beside the stream, naked to the waist, rinsing off the sweat and grime of the past several days' travel. His black hair glitters with droplets. Water runs in gleaming trails down his back, collecting in the hollow at his waist. Gaheris swallows.
"You know what."
"Do I?"
"God's blood! Don't play games with me!"
Mordred shrugs, bracing himself on one arm, his back still turned. "You're the one who won't say what he means."
"What is that supposed to--"
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm always stupid," Gaheris says bitterly. "Remember?"
"No, you're not." Mordred stretches, and sits up. "Not as a rule, anyway. It's one of your better qualities." Like a cat, twisting aside from any attempt to hold him, looking back with satiny, amused eyes. Gaheris clenches both hands in the grass to keep from reaching for him.
"Fine," he says. "You do know what I'm talking about."
"I might hazard a guess."
"Then guess, damn you. Why--"
The eyes narrow. "Say it. Or stop plaguing me."
Gaheris flinches. The truth, he knows, is that he is a coward, compared to his brothers: afraid not only of physical hurt but of words. And there's a streak of pure malice in Mordred, and a deftness with words like Gawain's with the sword, brilliant and deadly. He has Gaheris cornered now, no moves possible but the ones he allows. Gaheris swallows again, in a dry throat. "Why do you-- want me?"
Mordred's gaze softens and warms, as if the saying makes it true. "Does there have to be a reason?"
"Yes!"
He shrugs, turning back to the water. "You're a handsome lad. Clever. Amenable."
"I'm your brother."
"Yes. There is that too."
"God, you don't even--" care, he almost says. But why should he? Mordred has always belonged to their mother: Mother who bedded with her own half-brother, which is why Mordred exists at all, and never seemed to repent it. Instead he says, "You don't even like me that well."
"I like you well enough." In a softer tone, the voice he uses at night, in the warm dark.
Gaheris resists it. "Not enough to matter. Not like Gawain. Why not him?"
Mordred rounds on him, serpent-swift and suddenly vicious. "Shut your mouth. Don't ever say that again."
"I didn't-- You're the one who made me say--"
"Shut up!"
He draws breath all the same, and then catches it back, too late; Mordred is quicker, knocking him back into the grass and pinning him there. "I said shut your mouth. Or do I have to shut it for you?"
His hands are cool from the stream, his eyes blazing. Gaheris shivers.
"Try it," he says, knowing his brother; and Mordred kisses him, hard and sweet. It strikes deep, the way no woman's kiss has ever touched him; the best, the truest thing he's ever felt, no matter that Mordred is furious with him. He reaches up, winding his arms around Mordred's shoulders, stroking the damp skin of his back, wanting--
The kiss breaks. Gaheris bites his own lip to stifle a whimper. "As if he'd ever let me do that," Mordred says, and in his voice is a kind of bitter pride that hurts Gaheris more than spite would have done. He wants to cry out in protest -- is that all it is, that I am weak enough, fool enough to let you do what you will? My God, we've been lovers since I was seventeen, we've lain together more times than I can count, there's nowhere my hands haven't touched you, shouldn't that prove something? Shouldn't that mean you love me best?
He says nothing. He knows the answers. There's no use, has never been any use, in whining like a child for what he can't have. He shifts in the soft grass, reaching instead for what Mordred will give him.
Fandom: Arthurian
Rating: PG-13
Words: 774
Disclaimer: Just borrowing from the collective.
Summary: Gaheris isn't satisfied.
Notes: For
10_prompts, table 4, #3: Why? 'Ware sibcest."Why?" Gaheris says. "Why me?"
"Why you what?" They're sitting in a clearing, where the quick-running stream broadens into a pool and the summer sun pours in. Around them the forest presses in; nothing but trees as far as the eye can see, deeper and deeper shadow. Gaheris finds it unsettling, bred as he is to the cliffs and open meadows of Orkney, but he knows better than to say so. Mordred would scoff at him, would call him coward or superstitious fool, and no doubt profess to find this wilderness pleasant.
Certainly Mordred shows no sign of disquiet himself. He sprawls beside the stream, naked to the waist, rinsing off the sweat and grime of the past several days' travel. His black hair glitters with droplets. Water runs in gleaming trails down his back, collecting in the hollow at his waist. Gaheris swallows.
"You know what."
"Do I?"
"God's blood! Don't play games with me!"
Mordred shrugs, bracing himself on one arm, his back still turned. "You're the one who won't say what he means."
"What is that supposed to--"
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm always stupid," Gaheris says bitterly. "Remember?"
"No, you're not." Mordred stretches, and sits up. "Not as a rule, anyway. It's one of your better qualities." Like a cat, twisting aside from any attempt to hold him, looking back with satiny, amused eyes. Gaheris clenches both hands in the grass to keep from reaching for him.
"Fine," he says. "You do know what I'm talking about."
"I might hazard a guess."
"Then guess, damn you. Why--"
The eyes narrow. "Say it. Or stop plaguing me."
Gaheris flinches. The truth, he knows, is that he is a coward, compared to his brothers: afraid not only of physical hurt but of words. And there's a streak of pure malice in Mordred, and a deftness with words like Gawain's with the sword, brilliant and deadly. He has Gaheris cornered now, no moves possible but the ones he allows. Gaheris swallows again, in a dry throat. "Why do you-- want me?"
Mordred's gaze softens and warms, as if the saying makes it true. "Does there have to be a reason?"
"Yes!"
He shrugs, turning back to the water. "You're a handsome lad. Clever. Amenable."
"I'm your brother."
"Yes. There is that too."
"God, you don't even--" care, he almost says. But why should he? Mordred has always belonged to their mother: Mother who bedded with her own half-brother, which is why Mordred exists at all, and never seemed to repent it. Instead he says, "You don't even like me that well."
"I like you well enough." In a softer tone, the voice he uses at night, in the warm dark.
Gaheris resists it. "Not enough to matter. Not like Gawain. Why not him?"
Mordred rounds on him, serpent-swift and suddenly vicious. "Shut your mouth. Don't ever say that again."
"I didn't-- You're the one who made me say--"
"Shut up!"
He draws breath all the same, and then catches it back, too late; Mordred is quicker, knocking him back into the grass and pinning him there. "I said shut your mouth. Or do I have to shut it for you?"
His hands are cool from the stream, his eyes blazing. Gaheris shivers.
"Try it," he says, knowing his brother; and Mordred kisses him, hard and sweet. It strikes deep, the way no woman's kiss has ever touched him; the best, the truest thing he's ever felt, no matter that Mordred is furious with him. He reaches up, winding his arms around Mordred's shoulders, stroking the damp skin of his back, wanting--
The kiss breaks. Gaheris bites his own lip to stifle a whimper. "As if he'd ever let me do that," Mordred says, and in his voice is a kind of bitter pride that hurts Gaheris more than spite would have done. He wants to cry out in protest -- is that all it is, that I am weak enough, fool enough to let you do what you will? My God, we've been lovers since I was seventeen, we've lain together more times than I can count, there's nowhere my hands haven't touched you, shouldn't that prove something? Shouldn't that mean you love me best?
He says nothing. He knows the answers. There's no use, has never been any use, in whining like a child for what he can't have. He shifts in the soft grass, reaching instead for what Mordred will give him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-10 04:02 am (UTC)aklfjasdlgjasdlkgjsdalkgjsdlgjsdfklgjsdlg
oh. my. guhhhh. I. guhhh.
...let me post a second comment when I get my brain back.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-10 04:09 am (UTC)I love Mordred. I love his underlying violence and total scaryness, and Gaheris--well, Gaheris is perfect. He doesn't understand anything, doesn't understand why--of course--it's just. Poor lost boy. <3 And poor Mordred, too.
And as always your language is beyond gorgeous, makes me shiver and ache and feel such great joy and devastation. The subtleties in it are beautiful, it's just, it's silly of me even to try to describe it, because it can't be captured and described. It's just amazing.
...Guh.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-11 10:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
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