twelve pomegranate seeds (11)
anonymous
September 17 2010, 14:29:13 UTC
Francis brushes aside this bit of embarrassment as if it were nothing. That is one thing about Francis, even in the worse faux pas', even in a scandal, Matthieu thinks he would simply laugh it off.
You too, didn't have exactly fatherly feelings towards me. You took to the joke of betrothal, and every time I'd leave you'd wave your little finger at me and say 'don't forget me, Papa Bonnefoy. Wait for me and come back and marry me when I'm old enough'. You got so jealous whenever I'd charm ladies at gatherings. It was quite adorable. You had me all picked out for yourself and were just waiting to grow up and claim me.
And then you found me, Matthieu says.
And then I found you, Francis repeats. He takes Mathieu's hand in his and kisses it, tender and sweet. When he looks at Matthieu, all he sees is love, and not the love of a father.
He left the castle at a moment's notice, no thought to what could happen to him, running away with a stranger in Death's mask.
Death took him, but he came willingly, and has never regretted it, not a moment.
Hades fell for Persephone, but did she love him back? Matthieu thinks that had he been given the pomegranate, he would have eaten twelve, not six seeds, even if it meant the world above would be nothing but constant winter.
Maybe he's loved Francis all along. He tries to look for hints of memory, but there's nothing but the first days he came to the castle.
He reaches out his hand to Francis, offering himself. He looks up at Francis in wonder, the unspoken words teach me on his lips.
Every sensation is new to him. His clothes being peeled off, kisses pressed to flesh. Francis is experienced, and yet he returns each kiss with eagerness, and arches his back to try and feel more of him. He isn't afraid, only inexperienced. He lets Francis lead him to this new place, pushing aside thoughts of sin. The ecstasy Francis brings out from his body with every kiss, every touch and lick of his tongue is too great. He's too in love to think straight
twelve pomegranate seeds (12)
anonymous
September 17 2010, 14:44:20 UTC
In the morning before they leave, Matthieu holds to Francis' arm - for Francis confessed last night between kisses that he always sleeps in the nude and was only clothed for Matthieu's sake - that there was one question left.
Francis, why was I taken? Why did we have to be apart for so long?
That is a mystery I've never quite been able to uncover, mon coeur. Your mother broke a lot of hearts and your father, despite being a gentle man, was a gambler at heart. They must have made powerful enemies. After many years of searching, it was mere chance I spied you off the dance floor, Francis says.
Perhaps he will never know. But Matthieu accepts this mystery, with an end which is happy, if not entirely resolved. He readies himself for breakfast, dresses and washes himself. Francis draws a line across Matthieu's throat with his finger, in a light, promising manner.
Mon amour, if we had any more time... Francis stares at him in a way that is hungry. Matthieu has never known the feeling of being desired before. No one in the castle ever thought him beautiful, and in truth it is something he is thankful for.
Though perhaps it is for the best...I think you kept up the whole inn last night with your cries.... Francis says.
Matthieu flushes. I-It felt good, he mumbles.
At this rate we may have to go far into the country to keep the neighbors from rioting against us, Francis says teasingly. He takes Matthieu's wrists in his hands and holds them as he kisses him once, then with a murmur of oh, only one more twice. Two turns to three and then four, and Matthieu is blissfully pressed to the wall before Francis stops himself.
Tonight, he murmurs. I'll make it up to you - to both of us - tonight.
They walk a little apart to breakfast, because Matthieu thinks that even if their hands brush, they will be against the wall, ripping at clothes and finishing what they started in their rooms.
twelve pomegranate seeds (13)
anonymous
September 17 2010, 14:49:20 UTC
*
Salty sea wind stings at his cheeks.
Do we have to leave her behind? Matthieu says.
I'm afraid so, Francis says.
Matthieu pats her flank sadly. Can we have someone take care of her until we return? I don't want someone riding her into the ground or cutting her up for her soup.
I will tell the horse trader if she ever gets used for such things, I'll hunt him down and cut out his innards for making you cry, Francis says.
Matthieu looks at the lands around him. France is all he has even known, and even that has only been a slice of the world around him.
When the bloodshed is finished, we will find a little house and live happily. By then we will have seen a large amount of the world - or at least, safe places. I do not think I could take losing you again.
Matthieu leans back into Francis. Nor could I. he feels Francis press begin to subtly touch him. He looks up to reproach him, but Francis winks.
I have experience in such matters, Francis says. He moves just so no one can see, and presses a kiss to the back of Matthieu's neck. Against him, he whispers and tonight more lessons, non? You are so very behind on lessons...
His mind flashes to last night, and the new word of sensuality he has just begun to realize. He flushes, remembering the eagerness of last night. He has always guessed with Francis' charming that he would be rather inclined towards this, but he did not realize the same enthusiasm lay within himself, sleeping, and just waiting to be uncovered.
Yes, please teach me well, Papa, Matthieu replies.
He watches the gulls rise through the air. He feels a content settle, like feathers slowly falling down to the water. This is what he wants from his life. Simply to stay with Francis, to be loved and taught, kept and in turn to adore. Perhaps he will meet his remaining relatives while they travel, or when they return. Perhaps not. Either way, he knows that Francis is his home, his raison d'etre.
He stays close and memorizes the last view of what has been his home. And then he looks to Francis, touches his cheek, free of its death's head and thinks this is mine. Francis and him share a secret smile and he thinks that he must be thinking the same.
You too, didn't have exactly fatherly feelings towards me. You took to the joke of betrothal, and every time I'd leave you'd wave your little finger at me and say 'don't forget me, Papa Bonnefoy. Wait for me and come back and marry me when I'm old enough'. You got so jealous whenever I'd charm ladies at gatherings. It was quite adorable. You had me all picked out for yourself and were just waiting to grow up and claim me.
And then you found me, Matthieu says.
And then I found you, Francis repeats. He takes Mathieu's hand in his and kisses it, tender and sweet. When he looks at Matthieu, all he sees is love, and not the love of a father.
He left the castle at a moment's notice, no thought to what could happen to him, running away with a stranger in Death's mask.
Death took him, but he came willingly, and has never regretted it, not a moment.
Hades fell for Persephone, but did she love him back? Matthieu thinks that had he been given the pomegranate, he would have eaten twelve, not six seeds, even if it meant the world above would be nothing but constant winter.
Maybe he's loved Francis all along. He tries to look for hints of memory, but there's nothing but the first days he came to the castle.
He reaches out his hand to Francis, offering himself. He looks up at Francis in wonder, the unspoken words teach me on his lips.
Every sensation is new to him. His clothes being peeled off, kisses pressed to flesh. Francis is experienced, and yet he returns each kiss with eagerness, and arches his back to try and feel more of him. He isn't afraid, only inexperienced. He lets Francis lead him to this new place, pushing aside thoughts of sin. The ecstasy Francis brings out from his body with every kiss, every touch and lick of his tongue is too great. He's too in love to think straight
*
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Francis, why was I taken? Why did we have to be apart for so long?
That is a mystery I've never quite been able to uncover, mon coeur. Your mother broke a lot of hearts and your father, despite being a gentle man, was a gambler at heart. They must have made powerful enemies. After many years of searching, it was mere chance I spied you off the dance floor, Francis says.
Perhaps he will never know. But Matthieu accepts this mystery, with an end which is happy, if not entirely resolved. He readies himself for breakfast, dresses and washes himself. Francis draws a line across Matthieu's throat with his finger, in a light, promising manner.
Mon amour, if we had any more time... Francis stares at him in a way that is hungry. Matthieu has never known the feeling of being desired before. No one in the castle ever thought him beautiful, and in truth it is something he is thankful for.
Though perhaps it is for the best...I think you kept up the whole inn last night with your cries.... Francis says.
Matthieu flushes. I-It felt good, he mumbles.
At this rate we may have to go far into the country to keep the neighbors from rioting against us, Francis says teasingly. He takes Matthieu's wrists in his hands and holds them as he kisses him once, then with a murmur of oh, only one more twice. Two turns to three and then four, and Matthieu is blissfully pressed to the wall before Francis stops himself.
Tonight, he murmurs. I'll make it up to you - to both of us - tonight.
They walk a little apart to breakfast, because Matthieu thinks that even if their hands brush, they will be against the wall, ripping at clothes and finishing what they started in their rooms.
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Salty sea wind stings at his cheeks.
Do we have to leave her behind? Matthieu says.
I'm afraid so, Francis says.
Matthieu pats her flank sadly. Can we have someone take care of her until we return? I don't want someone riding her into the ground or cutting her up for her soup.
I will tell the horse trader if she ever gets used for such things, I'll hunt him down and cut out his innards for making you cry, Francis says.
Matthieu looks at the lands around him. France is all he has even known, and even that has only been a slice of the world around him.
We'll return, won't we? Matthieu says uncertainly.
When the bloodshed is finished, we will find a little house and live happily. By then we will have seen a large amount of the world - or at least, safe places. I do not think I could take losing you again.
Matthieu leans back into Francis. Nor could I. he feels Francis press begin to subtly touch him. He looks up to reproach him, but Francis winks.
I have experience in such matters, Francis says. He moves just so no one can see, and presses a kiss to the back of Matthieu's neck. Against him, he whispers and tonight more lessons, non? You are so very behind on lessons...
His mind flashes to last night, and the new word of sensuality he has just begun to realize. He flushes, remembering the eagerness of last night. He has always guessed with Francis' charming that he would be rather inclined towards this, but he did not realize the same enthusiasm lay within himself, sleeping, and just waiting to be uncovered.
Yes, please teach me well, Papa, Matthieu replies.
He watches the gulls rise through the air. He feels a content settle, like feathers slowly falling down to the water. This is what he wants from his life. Simply to stay with Francis, to be loved and taught, kept and in turn to adore. Perhaps he will meet his remaining relatives while they travel, or when they return. Perhaps not. Either way, he knows that Francis is his home, his raison d'etre.
He stays close and memorizes the last view of what has been his home. And then he looks to Francis, touches his cheek, free of its death's head and thinks this is mine. Francis and him share a secret smile and he thinks that he must be thinking the same.
~fin.
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