Gymnopedie No. 1 (Frasier/Niles)
Title: Gymnopedie No.1
Author: leli_008
Rating: R for m/m, mature themes and angst
Pairing: Frasier/Niles (oh shut up already...)
Summary:Sometimes life isn't perfect. Sometimes it doesn't need to be. Frasier thinks about his relationship with Niles. Frasier/Niles. WARNING - contains slash and mature themes.
Rating: R for mature themes
WARNING!!! This F-I-C-T-I-O-N-A-L story contains non-graphic adult themes, if you aren’t supposed to be here or don’t want to be here then by all means, shoo.
Distribution: by all means, if you’re crazy enough to want this than I want you to have it. Just drop me a line, let me know where it is so I can come visit.
A/N: Ahem. Well, let me begin by saying that I didn’t start out with the intention of turning this into a, well, a slash story.
And yes, I know, not only is it slash, it’s incest slash.
I mean absolutely no harm whatsoever. And no, I’m not some fetish crazy sicko.
I in no way condone incest, be it consensual or otherwise.
It’s FICTION people, you all know that don’t you?
To be honest, I think that their abuse is treated far too lightly on the show.
Sure, it’s a comedy, but there’s room for seriousness at times.
This is… I’m not sure what it is.
A 1st person POV angsty vignette, but then again, what did you expect from me?
Feedback, oh glorious feedback... ambrosia of the god...
Disclaimer: Sure as hell ain’t mine. And even if they were, I’m pretty sure that some nice official from the character rights center would have taken them away by now.
“Gymnopedie No. 1” belongs to the ever brilliant “Sky”.
Listen to it, do yourselves a favor and listen to it.
I have often wondered throughout my career about the ethics of it all.
How can I presume to diagnose and heal the minds of others when I myself am ill?
Had I arrived at one of my own sessions, called into my own show… would I not have thought myself to be disturbed? Sick?
Did a wise man not once phrase “And the blind leadth the blind”?
It is a federal offense, a social malignancy around the globe.
As ancient as the original sin, punishable by the laws of all societies.
And yet it has never truly felt wrong.
As things would have it, it is the only constant in my life that has ever felt right, save for Fredrick.
Perhaps it’s what drew the both of us to become psychiatrists.
Perhaps it’s what will forever prevent us from forming stable, adult relationships.
It would be accurate to assume so, we both married during my years in Boston, finally separated.
Though I wonder about him now.
I am no longer certain that his schoolboy infatuation with Daphne is simply that anymore. He’s shown a remarkable amount of restraint around her lately, but I suspect that one day they will end up together.
I suspect, that he really does love her.
But just as he loved Maris and I Lilith, we have never ceased to love each other.
That’s inaccurate, or at least it sounds inaccurate.
Love each other.
It’s not truly a romantic love, I did not court him or woo him.
We have never been brave enough to define our… relationship.
I think he tried to once, before I left for Boston, but I was too afraid. I needed to go there knowing that back here everything is the same. In retrospect I suppose I was afraid of “loosing” him.
I don’t recall how it started even.
Perhaps I have repressed it.
It had much to do with our childhood abuse at school. Oh, we may laugh about it now, but I assure you, it was very serious when he used to come home bleeding.
I remember in particular one day, he had arrived home before me.
I walked in, a disheveled mess.
Idiot that I was, I had attempted to resist my assailants.
A mistake.
I slammed my bedroom door and sank down against the wall, tears already brimming. The knock came a few moments later.
Predictable as a Swiss watch, my brother.
“Frasier?” His voice had been soft, desperate perhaps.
“Leave me be Niles.”
He came in anyway, always did.
Warm washcloth in hand.
I once tried to count how many times that scenario had repeated itself and failed miserably. Too many times I suppose.
He kneeled before me, gently cleaning the scrape on my cheek. From being thrown onto the cold cement of the courtyard.
I watched him as he worked, could feel the heat in his body rise as his anger grew.
As the shame grew in mine.
I am the eldest.
The strong one.
Both physically and chronologically.
But it is he who surpasses what little strength that I have mentally.
It is he who wrapped me up in his arms, though I resisted at first.
And I surrendered to him like I always did, grasped his dress shirt; seeking his warmth and protection.
We are alone in the house today, no one will disturb us in our haven.
For he is my haven, from the cruelty of adolescence.
“I… I tried to…” but it hurts to speak.
Hurts to look in his eyes. To see what lies in them. So I shut my own.
When we were little he used to kiss my cheek to make me stop crying; so much innocence and love.
He used the same method that day, though his kisses were far less innocent, and yet they still served to pacify me.
His warmth and taste acting as a tranquilizer.
He had often saved me from myself.
At first I had hated myself so for needing it, for needing him.
But needs, I later learned, had a will of their own.
Dad’s at Sherry’s.
Daphne is at her boyfriend’s.
And Niles is here.
We haven’t slept in the same bed since I came home from Boston.
He sleeps like an angel. I want to laugh at the cliché but it’s quite true.
His insecurities, newly awakened by the impending divorce, finally gone from his mind.
That’s what brought him here in the first place.
Drunk.
And spouting nonsense about worthlessness and being a social pariah.
And when Niles gets really drunk, the public schoolboy in him wakes up.
“After meticulous research and testing, I have come to the conclusion that I, am simply unfuckable.”
A sober Niles would have blushed at that word, and certainly would not have made a grammatical error.
Nothing I said seemed to help, and I had had enough of his misery.
So I kissed him.
He tasted of liquor, but his lips were still softer than any girls ever were.
A rational man would have stopped at that, but he persisted.
I never could say no to him.
I’ve never seen him quite so decisive before. I knew him well enough, knew that he needed to feel loved.
I held him as he lost control, saw the demons float away as finally let go.
He lays sprawled across my body now, I sigh and move to stroke his hair.
He mumbles something unintelligible and shivers. I pull the blankets tighter around us and join him in his slumber. At least for now, complete.
___________________________________________________________________
Finite.
Yea, yea, I know.
No flames please, just constructive criticism.
Remember that nobody forced you to read this and it was appropriately labeled with warnings.
“Eat, drink, read slash and be merry for tomorrow You-Know-Who might kill us all.”
Author: leli_008
Rating: R for m/m, mature themes and angst
Pairing: Frasier/Niles (oh shut up already...)
Summary:Sometimes life isn't perfect. Sometimes it doesn't need to be. Frasier thinks about his relationship with Niles. Frasier/Niles. WARNING - contains slash and mature themes.
Rating: R for mature themes
WARNING!!! This F-I-C-T-I-O-N-A-L story contains non-graphic adult themes, if you aren’t supposed to be here or don’t want to be here then by all means, shoo.
Distribution: by all means, if you’re crazy enough to want this than I want you to have it. Just drop me a line, let me know where it is so I can come visit.
A/N: Ahem. Well, let me begin by saying that I didn’t start out with the intention of turning this into a, well, a slash story.
And yes, I know, not only is it slash, it’s incest slash.
I mean absolutely no harm whatsoever. And no, I’m not some fetish crazy sicko.
I in no way condone incest, be it consensual or otherwise.
It’s FICTION people, you all know that don’t you?
To be honest, I think that their abuse is treated far too lightly on the show.
Sure, it’s a comedy, but there’s room for seriousness at times.
This is… I’m not sure what it is.
A 1st person POV angsty vignette, but then again, what did you expect from me?
Feedback, oh glorious feedback... ambrosia of the god...
Disclaimer: Sure as hell ain’t mine. And even if they were, I’m pretty sure that some nice official from the character rights center would have taken them away by now.
“Gymnopedie No. 1” belongs to the ever brilliant “Sky”.
Listen to it, do yourselves a favor and listen to it.
I have often wondered throughout my career about the ethics of it all.
How can I presume to diagnose and heal the minds of others when I myself am ill?
Had I arrived at one of my own sessions, called into my own show… would I not have thought myself to be disturbed? Sick?
Did a wise man not once phrase “And the blind leadth the blind”?
It is a federal offense, a social malignancy around the globe.
As ancient as the original sin, punishable by the laws of all societies.
And yet it has never truly felt wrong.
As things would have it, it is the only constant in my life that has ever felt right, save for Fredrick.
Perhaps it’s what drew the both of us to become psychiatrists.
Perhaps it’s what will forever prevent us from forming stable, adult relationships.
It would be accurate to assume so, we both married during my years in Boston, finally separated.
Though I wonder about him now.
I am no longer certain that his schoolboy infatuation with Daphne is simply that anymore. He’s shown a remarkable amount of restraint around her lately, but I suspect that one day they will end up together.
I suspect, that he really does love her.
But just as he loved Maris and I Lilith, we have never ceased to love each other.
That’s inaccurate, or at least it sounds inaccurate.
Love each other.
It’s not truly a romantic love, I did not court him or woo him.
We have never been brave enough to define our… relationship.
I think he tried to once, before I left for Boston, but I was too afraid. I needed to go there knowing that back here everything is the same. In retrospect I suppose I was afraid of “loosing” him.
I don’t recall how it started even.
Perhaps I have repressed it.
It had much to do with our childhood abuse at school. Oh, we may laugh about it now, but I assure you, it was very serious when he used to come home bleeding.
I remember in particular one day, he had arrived home before me.
I walked in, a disheveled mess.
Idiot that I was, I had attempted to resist my assailants.
A mistake.
I slammed my bedroom door and sank down against the wall, tears already brimming. The knock came a few moments later.
Predictable as a Swiss watch, my brother.
“Frasier?” His voice had been soft, desperate perhaps.
“Leave me be Niles.”
He came in anyway, always did.
Warm washcloth in hand.
I once tried to count how many times that scenario had repeated itself and failed miserably. Too many times I suppose.
He kneeled before me, gently cleaning the scrape on my cheek. From being thrown onto the cold cement of the courtyard.
I watched him as he worked, could feel the heat in his body rise as his anger grew.
As the shame grew in mine.
I am the eldest.
The strong one.
Both physically and chronologically.
But it is he who surpasses what little strength that I have mentally.
It is he who wrapped me up in his arms, though I resisted at first.
And I surrendered to him like I always did, grasped his dress shirt; seeking his warmth and protection.
We are alone in the house today, no one will disturb us in our haven.
For he is my haven, from the cruelty of adolescence.
“I… I tried to…” but it hurts to speak.
Hurts to look in his eyes. To see what lies in them. So I shut my own.
When we were little he used to kiss my cheek to make me stop crying; so much innocence and love.
He used the same method that day, though his kisses were far less innocent, and yet they still served to pacify me.
His warmth and taste acting as a tranquilizer.
He had often saved me from myself.
At first I had hated myself so for needing it, for needing him.
But needs, I later learned, had a will of their own.
Dad’s at Sherry’s.
Daphne is at her boyfriend’s.
And Niles is here.
We haven’t slept in the same bed since I came home from Boston.
He sleeps like an angel. I want to laugh at the cliché but it’s quite true.
His insecurities, newly awakened by the impending divorce, finally gone from his mind.
That’s what brought him here in the first place.
Drunk.
And spouting nonsense about worthlessness and being a social pariah.
And when Niles gets really drunk, the public schoolboy in him wakes up.
“After meticulous research and testing, I have come to the conclusion that I, am simply unfuckable.”
A sober Niles would have blushed at that word, and certainly would not have made a grammatical error.
Nothing I said seemed to help, and I had had enough of his misery.
So I kissed him.
He tasted of liquor, but his lips were still softer than any girls ever were.
A rational man would have stopped at that, but he persisted.
I never could say no to him.
I’ve never seen him quite so decisive before. I knew him well enough, knew that he needed to feel loved.
I held him as he lost control, saw the demons float away as finally let go.
He lays sprawled across my body now, I sigh and move to stroke his hair.
He mumbles something unintelligible and shivers. I pull the blankets tighter around us and join him in his slumber. At least for now, complete.
___________________________________________________________________
Finite.
Yea, yea, I know.
No flames please, just constructive criticism.
Remember that nobody forced you to read this and it was appropriately labeled with warnings.
“Eat, drink, read slash and be merry for tomorrow You-Know-Who might kill us all.”