Black Sun FIC
Title: ‘Black Sun’.
Rating: PG-15 for a single solitary kiss and imagery.
Character(s): The Master/Mr Harold Saxon, Mrs Lucy Saxon.
Pairings: Harry/Lucy.
Spoilers: Season 3, all episodes just in case.
Disclaimer: not mine, too bad, so sad.
I promise to give them back to the beeb,
when I’m done, cross my heart.
A/N: totally un-beta’d so all mistakes are mine alone.
Music that goes with this fic: ‘Black Sun’ by Dead Can Dance.
Summary: at the end of all things
The tree was at the very least the size of a nine story office building if not taller and wider under her solemn gaze, majestic in its full leafy dark green splendour.
The age of it seemed to hum gently in the still air, dancing along the hairs on her body like electrical currents jolting her subtly as she stood before it under its far reaching shadow, at the edge of the universe watching the destruction of all forms of civilization.
He sat perfectly still legs crossed under the ancient tree, with its endless gnarls and wood knots, bumps and dips. A myriad of imprints and maps of all things, running up the dark brown trunk, which could in her estimation span a small football field, he sat in his rumpled black business suit and crumpled white shirt open at the throat, black tie loosened hanging slightly askew.
A tiny figure at the base of a titan, overseeing forever the birth and death cycles up to and beyond infinity, the tree of life grew and resided at his back with an immovable constant presence.
He sat and watched her with an unreadable expression his sphinx face holding everything contained and locked in, only his eyes giving him away burning with such a dark fire. Lucy walked towards him steadily, as each imprint of her small footsteps fell away under her bare soles worlds trembled and dissolved, moons cracked and suns died.
She walked towards the tree of life as it existed, back-lit by the light of countless suns imploding and re-birthing in a continuous never ending pulse, the vibration of far off drums a backdrop to the rushing sound of blood moving thickly through her blue tinge puny human veins.
Those veins the pattern of a tiny life lived under a single solitary sun, an intricate map of her individual existence flowing just beneath the surface of her white English skin, over her frail slender bones.
Lucy stopped when there was no more than a foot of space separating them; still he looked at her, smooth pale sandy hair cropped closely, cleanly to his skull as his head tilted up to her. His feline eyes seemed to absorb all the thoughts and limited human concepts that had ever gone through her brain.
All that could be, all that ever was, and all that will ever be she witnessed in response running through his dark eyes as he looked at her. She watched as her image reflected back at her from inside his pupils, encased inside his eyes reflected constantly back to herself.
“Are they ‘all’ going to die?”
The question was hushed her voice a rich deep sound in the space between them. As the hem of her blood red dress fluttered delicately against the edges of his bare slim tidy feet. The fabric teased by an ominous solar breeze thick with the whispers of endless questions just below the level of her human ability to hear on a sound level just beyond her reach.
The constant drumming in the back of her mind, tickling her consciousness into straining towards some unknown aching mathematical equation, hieroglyphs danced at the edge of her vision, disappearing into the ether when she tried to view them head on.
“Yes.”
His soft, calm, smooth level voice with its faint edge of laughter catches her attention, which had drifted to the sound of some unknown species of bird that had stalked past her like a crane and lifted its long thin neck and narrow head making a call of such utter absolute inconsolable sadness, its bell tone reverberating inside her bones, causing tears to slowly trickle down her pale cheeks.
As she turned to face him, with lithe sinuous feline grace he uncoiled himself and rose, the ancient knowledge etched into his face, as he stared into her eyes from less than a foot away made her wonder again exactly how many people he has killed.
And if he has lost count yet, or if each single beat is etched into his skin, an invisible tattoo for each loss.
With caution he lifted his lean arm and his pale slender hand holding such hidden deceptive strength cradled her jaw tenderly, cupping her strong stubborn fine boned jaw, his thin lips curving in appreciation of her deceptive strength hidden by pale eyes and soft pale ash brown hair. She noticed as if for the first time off to her left, standing a little off to one side a seven feet tall antique grandfather clock, its dark walnut wood glowed softly in the reflected light from the death and rebirth surrounding them.
The constant gong of the grandfather clock, a repetitive rhythm at the back of her throat, time passing through his dark ancient eyes into hers. His reflection forever encased inside her pupils, looking back at him with quiet determination. He holds her there as his thumb, with its slightly roughened pad, caught the tears as they slide down her stoic face.
Slowly he removed his hand and looking down she stared with confusion at the closed fist he held knuckles face down in front of her. She looked up at him waiting for the next test, with a small secretive Cheshire curve to his thin lips she followed his dark gaze once more back down to his fist, as deftly he twisted his hand back up and gently uncurled his long thin fingers.
Nestled in the palm of his hand a small pile of light twinkled up at her, flawless diamonds in varying sizes winked up into her grey gaze, reflecting in their faceted prisms the cold light of the unlimited stars burning over their heads.
“Why?”
She asks the question directly into his trickster face her eyes level and direct, unflinchingly Lucy gazes into his alien eyes. Lurking in the back of his eyes she sees approval amidst the constant drive to poke at everything just to see what will happen. She is once more reminded of the way he gleefully watches destruction burn like the sun, akin to the way he knows she burns for him and he for her, the sound of drums a constant thundering beat in their blood.
“You might say it’s a questionable but not entirely non-existent set of ethics I’m in the process of eliminating.”
Still she gazes into his eyes unswervingly, directly she looks her question refusing to be side stepped by verbal labyrinths. He dips his head like a naughty school boy caught out in a malicious prank. Peaks up at her from under his brow, head still slightly lowered, when she lifts her hand his body stills, a wild animal waiting to see if she will attempt to hurt him or worse try to contain him.
When she merely rests her hand against his chest directly over the twin drumming beat, two beats ahead of the human level, he settles into the contact with a tentative twitch of nervy muscles. As he waits to see witness what she will do next, she registers again the way his skin, even through the clothing, is at least five degrees cooler than normal human levels. Constantly Lucy is amazed by the subtle almost too easy way it is possible to consciously ignore all these little oddities, if she so wished. But she does not wish, Lucy revels instead in the differences, as she revels in his dark madness.
“Where are we?”
She asks the question as she holds her delicately boned hand pressed against his chest, holding him completely with little effort by the fact that she is not attempting to catch him at all.
“The end of the universe, the end of all things, the end of time, the garden of good and evil if you will.”
His delivery is quixotic, his eyes are filled with a dreadful unfinished pain tinged dark splendour, making her lungs involuntarily want to catch and hold inside her the unique alien smell that is constantly drifting off his skin, feeling the way it wantonly wraps around her senses with the promise of all that makes him unique to her. She does not flinch or pause or even start lightly, as he leans towards her without warning and his serpent’s mouth is abruptly centimetres from her soft full lips.
His breath smells faintly of the grass stains she used to get when rolling down the low hills of her old English countryside family manor in her teenage rebellious years.
With firm precision Lucy tilts her head up and closes the minuscule distance it takes to seal their lips, leaning into him as he wraps her face in his lean clever destructive hands. Cradling her entire face as he inhales her air supply, completely sealing her mouth and stealing the breath from her lungs, until she knows she is suffocating.
When she starts to see white spots dance behind her closed lids, he suddenly reverses the motion and air pours into her near empty lungs, now filled with the spicy alien scent of him, filling her completely with the taste and air that is Harry.
End This Part.
Rating: PG-15 for a single solitary kiss and imagery.
Character(s): The Master/Mr Harold Saxon, Mrs Lucy Saxon.
Pairings: Harry/Lucy.
Spoilers: Season 3, all episodes just in case.
Disclaimer: not mine, too bad, so sad.
I promise to give them back to the beeb,
when I’m done, cross my heart.
A/N: totally un-beta’d so all mistakes are mine alone.
Music that goes with this fic: ‘Black Sun’ by Dead Can Dance.
Summary: at the end of all things
The tree was at the very least the size of a nine story office building if not taller and wider under her solemn gaze, majestic in its full leafy dark green splendour.
The age of it seemed to hum gently in the still air, dancing along the hairs on her body like electrical currents jolting her subtly as she stood before it under its far reaching shadow, at the edge of the universe watching the destruction of all forms of civilization.
He sat perfectly still legs crossed under the ancient tree, with its endless gnarls and wood knots, bumps and dips. A myriad of imprints and maps of all things, running up the dark brown trunk, which could in her estimation span a small football field, he sat in his rumpled black business suit and crumpled white shirt open at the throat, black tie loosened hanging slightly askew.
A tiny figure at the base of a titan, overseeing forever the birth and death cycles up to and beyond infinity, the tree of life grew and resided at his back with an immovable constant presence.
He sat and watched her with an unreadable expression his sphinx face holding everything contained and locked in, only his eyes giving him away burning with such a dark fire. Lucy walked towards him steadily, as each imprint of her small footsteps fell away under her bare soles worlds trembled and dissolved, moons cracked and suns died.
She walked towards the tree of life as it existed, back-lit by the light of countless suns imploding and re-birthing in a continuous never ending pulse, the vibration of far off drums a backdrop to the rushing sound of blood moving thickly through her blue tinge puny human veins.
Those veins the pattern of a tiny life lived under a single solitary sun, an intricate map of her individual existence flowing just beneath the surface of her white English skin, over her frail slender bones.
Lucy stopped when there was no more than a foot of space separating them; still he looked at her, smooth pale sandy hair cropped closely, cleanly to his skull as his head tilted up to her. His feline eyes seemed to absorb all the thoughts and limited human concepts that had ever gone through her brain.
All that could be, all that ever was, and all that will ever be she witnessed in response running through his dark eyes as he looked at her. She watched as her image reflected back at her from inside his pupils, encased inside his eyes reflected constantly back to herself.
“Are they ‘all’ going to die?”
The question was hushed her voice a rich deep sound in the space between them. As the hem of her blood red dress fluttered delicately against the edges of his bare slim tidy feet. The fabric teased by an ominous solar breeze thick with the whispers of endless questions just below the level of her human ability to hear on a sound level just beyond her reach.
The constant drumming in the back of her mind, tickling her consciousness into straining towards some unknown aching mathematical equation, hieroglyphs danced at the edge of her vision, disappearing into the ether when she tried to view them head on.
“Yes.”
His soft, calm, smooth level voice with its faint edge of laughter catches her attention, which had drifted to the sound of some unknown species of bird that had stalked past her like a crane and lifted its long thin neck and narrow head making a call of such utter absolute inconsolable sadness, its bell tone reverberating inside her bones, causing tears to slowly trickle down her pale cheeks.
As she turned to face him, with lithe sinuous feline grace he uncoiled himself and rose, the ancient knowledge etched into his face, as he stared into her eyes from less than a foot away made her wonder again exactly how many people he has killed.
And if he has lost count yet, or if each single beat is etched into his skin, an invisible tattoo for each loss.
With caution he lifted his lean arm and his pale slender hand holding such hidden deceptive strength cradled her jaw tenderly, cupping her strong stubborn fine boned jaw, his thin lips curving in appreciation of her deceptive strength hidden by pale eyes and soft pale ash brown hair. She noticed as if for the first time off to her left, standing a little off to one side a seven feet tall antique grandfather clock, its dark walnut wood glowed softly in the reflected light from the death and rebirth surrounding them.
The constant gong of the grandfather clock, a repetitive rhythm at the back of her throat, time passing through his dark ancient eyes into hers. His reflection forever encased inside her pupils, looking back at him with quiet determination. He holds her there as his thumb, with its slightly roughened pad, caught the tears as they slide down her stoic face.
Slowly he removed his hand and looking down she stared with confusion at the closed fist he held knuckles face down in front of her. She looked up at him waiting for the next test, with a small secretive Cheshire curve to his thin lips she followed his dark gaze once more back down to his fist, as deftly he twisted his hand back up and gently uncurled his long thin fingers.
Nestled in the palm of his hand a small pile of light twinkled up at her, flawless diamonds in varying sizes winked up into her grey gaze, reflecting in their faceted prisms the cold light of the unlimited stars burning over their heads.
“Why?”
She asks the question directly into his trickster face her eyes level and direct, unflinchingly Lucy gazes into his alien eyes. Lurking in the back of his eyes she sees approval amidst the constant drive to poke at everything just to see what will happen. She is once more reminded of the way he gleefully watches destruction burn like the sun, akin to the way he knows she burns for him and he for her, the sound of drums a constant thundering beat in their blood.
“You might say it’s a questionable but not entirely non-existent set of ethics I’m in the process of eliminating.”
Still she gazes into his eyes unswervingly, directly she looks her question refusing to be side stepped by verbal labyrinths. He dips his head like a naughty school boy caught out in a malicious prank. Peaks up at her from under his brow, head still slightly lowered, when she lifts her hand his body stills, a wild animal waiting to see if she will attempt to hurt him or worse try to contain him.
When she merely rests her hand against his chest directly over the twin drumming beat, two beats ahead of the human level, he settles into the contact with a tentative twitch of nervy muscles. As he waits to see witness what she will do next, she registers again the way his skin, even through the clothing, is at least five degrees cooler than normal human levels. Constantly Lucy is amazed by the subtle almost too easy way it is possible to consciously ignore all these little oddities, if she so wished. But she does not wish, Lucy revels instead in the differences, as she revels in his dark madness.
“Where are we?”
She asks the question as she holds her delicately boned hand pressed against his chest, holding him completely with little effort by the fact that she is not attempting to catch him at all.
“The end of the universe, the end of all things, the end of time, the garden of good and evil if you will.”
His delivery is quixotic, his eyes are filled with a dreadful unfinished pain tinged dark splendour, making her lungs involuntarily want to catch and hold inside her the unique alien smell that is constantly drifting off his skin, feeling the way it wantonly wraps around her senses with the promise of all that makes him unique to her. She does not flinch or pause or even start lightly, as he leans towards her without warning and his serpent’s mouth is abruptly centimetres from her soft full lips.
His breath smells faintly of the grass stains she used to get when rolling down the low hills of her old English countryside family manor in her teenage rebellious years.
With firm precision Lucy tilts her head up and closes the minuscule distance it takes to seal their lips, leaning into him as he wraps her face in his lean clever destructive hands. Cradling her entire face as he inhales her air supply, completely sealing her mouth and stealing the breath from her lungs, until she knows she is suffocating.
When she starts to see white spots dance behind her closed lids, he suddenly reverses the motion and air pours into her near empty lungs, now filled with the spicy alien scent of him, filling her completely with the taste and air that is Harry.
End This Part.