Fic: One Eye Open Iago/Desdemona PG-13
Title: One Eye Open
For narwhalseason who prompted "Iago/Desdemona, ready and willing"
Pairings/Characters: Emilia(/Iago), Iago/Desdemona, Desdemona/Othello
Summary: You have become so good at lying that you almost believe yourself
Word Count: 1466
You are just a friend of the family, but Brabantio serves better meals than your wife does, so you convince Emilia to join you for dinner with him one night. And let’s face it; she doesn’t want to eat her own cooking so you barely need to lie to her. You do lie, of course, but only a little and only out of habit. She’s so used to second guessing everything you say that it simply wouldn’t be fair to give her the whole truth. What would the woman do with it all?
You discover that he has a fourteen year old daughter that night. Five years you’ve known this man and you never even knew he was married. “She died a long time ago,” he sighs heavily when you ask him about it, and takes another drink.
Now this whole situation makes sense. He must have been so worried for his daughter and obviously didn’t know what to do with a young girl, since he has none of that motherly touch. So he decided to hide her away from the gaze of any man. Maybe he has the right idea. After all, at 34 you were a horny bastard and still courting Emilia. She would have been tainted for hearing your jokes. Now that marriage has changed you, your humour is more refined and suitable for a maiden’s ears.
The man is still a fool though. The longer a woman is kept from such things, the more she will want them when she finally learns of their existence. It is in their nature to want desperately. In fact, some of your greatest lessons in duplicity have come from watching the “weaker” sex. They are wily when they know what and whom they want. You will watch to see how this will all play out.
***
You find yourself making more and more excuses to go to the old man’s house. Emilia is no fool - she saw Desdemona as well as you and understands your taste in women perfectly - but she knows she can’t change your mind once you’ve made it up. You tell her honestly that you have done nothing improper and that she is still as chaste as the day you met her. However, you neglect to tell her how often she finds her way into the same room as you. She never speaks, but when she makes eyes at you they tell volumes.
You do your share as well, leaving her little favors, subtly of course. These are not impressive romantic tokens. They are playthings, small wooden toys, and books, and other things suitable to children. You don’t write poetry to her ever. You’re not some lovesick teenager and you never were in the first place. You begin to think of yourself as an uncle to her, which makes it alright. You insist to yourself that you are not courting her. Maybe you’ll win her over and maybe you won’t. Right now it doesn’t matter as long as you can be near her to make her happy. You have become so good at lying that you actually believe yourself.
***
You worry about her welfare more than you should - she’s really none of your responsibility. But you feel a bit bad for the child. Her father barely looks at her, save when some gentleman’s prying eyes are on her. Perhaps the girl reminds Brabantio too much of his dead wife. You’re only speculating, of course, you never met the woman. But given what you know about human nature it seems likely.
***
And before you know it, it’s been two years and Desdemona is sixteen, an age at which most parents start thinking about finding a husband for their children, especially single children, and especially if the single parent isn’t exactly young. Not so Brabantio! He wants to keep his angel pure and chaste for as long as he can. And despite your own desires you agree that she ought to remain untarnished.
So when Brabantio approaches you and asks for help finding a handmaid for his teenaged girl, the gears begin to turn. You think maybe you love Desdemona. You realize that you’ve been mistaken before - look at your wife! - and this could just be lust, but you want her. Actually, you do look at your wife for the first time in a long time. If she’s the handmaid you’ll have good reason to talk to Desdemona every so often. You promise to do your best and go off to find Emilia.
She looks at you levelly as you explain why she is needed (but not why you need her specifically). When your eyes connect, you realize that you will both have to share the girl. Satisfied that you understand the conditions, she agrees to her new job.
***
You do not tup Desdemona because she is not that kind of girl. You make love to Desdemona in the pale moonlight. She has a wildness about her that makes her nearly as beautiful as your wife used to be. She will win the hearts of many and you will do your best to see that she makes a name for herself. It’s the least you can do.
You teach her to give voice to the inanimate, because it is a man’s world out there and someone has to show her how to defend herself. It turns out that she has quite a good rhetoric already and hardly needs your help. She has a gentle way of lying, not at all like yours. You are loud and violent and like to get men’s blood stirring so you can come in for the kill while they are caught up in such a state. You cannot help but admire how she gets people to trust her before revealing what she wants from them. She will go far, you’re sure of it.
***
You are afraid of the person you can see yourself becoming. You were never this intimate with anyone before, even your own wife. So why, you ask yourself, is this happening now?
You hate that you love her. Long ago you swore you’d never let anyone have that kind of power over you. But for whatever reason, you just can’t help yourself around her. You’d like to say that everything you do is to serve your own turn, but ever since Desdemona came along, someone exists for whom you’d do anything and everything.
***
In not very long the suitors start rolling in, and every one of them a fool. Every day Emilia tells you about a new hotheaded young man who tried to win the hand of Desdemona. Half of them couldn’t get past Brabantio and the ones who did manage to sneak by him were uniformly rebuffed. You smile to imagine the look on Desdemona’s face as they showed up and smile again at her enthusiasm when she herself describes her witty comebacks to their tiresome wooing.
***
You are a soldier; you sleep with one eye open. Because of this force of habit, you see it coming before either of them does. When Othello comes parading in and talks loudly about his exploits, you know Desdemona will be interested. Sooner or later she will come out of the kitchen and ask him to tell her more stories of the land where he grew up and the journey he took to get here. You swear to yourself that it will not happen until later. You even lie to yourself and make believe that she will never fall in love with him. It is a fruitless hope and you know it.
***
You’ve known this was coming from the start. In fact you almost expected it sooner and have spent the past week waiting for the blow to fall. You knew it would happen, so why does it hurt so much when she says she no longer needs you? You should be proud of her, for she is no longer the timid young girl who jumped at her own shadow four years ago.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if she had gone on to become an independent woman using the tools you have given her. Then you could be sad to see her go, but happy for her on the whole. But circumstances being what they are, your reasoning is coarser than that - you lost her to another man.
They’re genuinely happy together and truly enjoy each other’s company. You hate them for it. It occurs to you that you have made a habit of hatred. This is hardly a surprise, for you have found so many things to hate. But as hobbies go, it’s not nearly as interesting as lying.
You imagine what the Moor is probably doing to her right now and are sick in the grass.
For narwhalseason who prompted "Iago/Desdemona, ready and willing"
Pairings/Characters: Emilia(/Iago), Iago/Desdemona, Desdemona/Othello
Summary: You have become so good at lying that you almost believe yourself
Word Count: 1466
You are just a friend of the family, but Brabantio serves better meals than your wife does, so you convince Emilia to join you for dinner with him one night. And let’s face it; she doesn’t want to eat her own cooking so you barely need to lie to her. You do lie, of course, but only a little and only out of habit. She’s so used to second guessing everything you say that it simply wouldn’t be fair to give her the whole truth. What would the woman do with it all?
You discover that he has a fourteen year old daughter that night. Five years you’ve known this man and you never even knew he was married. “She died a long time ago,” he sighs heavily when you ask him about it, and takes another drink.
Now this whole situation makes sense. He must have been so worried for his daughter and obviously didn’t know what to do with a young girl, since he has none of that motherly touch. So he decided to hide her away from the gaze of any man. Maybe he has the right idea. After all, at 34 you were a horny bastard and still courting Emilia. She would have been tainted for hearing your jokes. Now that marriage has changed you, your humour is more refined and suitable for a maiden’s ears.
The man is still a fool though. The longer a woman is kept from such things, the more she will want them when she finally learns of their existence. It is in their nature to want desperately. In fact, some of your greatest lessons in duplicity have come from watching the “weaker” sex. They are wily when they know what and whom they want. You will watch to see how this will all play out.
***
You find yourself making more and more excuses to go to the old man’s house. Emilia is no fool - she saw Desdemona as well as you and understands your taste in women perfectly - but she knows she can’t change your mind once you’ve made it up. You tell her honestly that you have done nothing improper and that she is still as chaste as the day you met her. However, you neglect to tell her how often she finds her way into the same room as you. She never speaks, but when she makes eyes at you they tell volumes.
You do your share as well, leaving her little favors, subtly of course. These are not impressive romantic tokens. They are playthings, small wooden toys, and books, and other things suitable to children. You don’t write poetry to her ever. You’re not some lovesick teenager and you never were in the first place. You begin to think of yourself as an uncle to her, which makes it alright. You insist to yourself that you are not courting her. Maybe you’ll win her over and maybe you won’t. Right now it doesn’t matter as long as you can be near her to make her happy. You have become so good at lying that you actually believe yourself.
***
You worry about her welfare more than you should - she’s really none of your responsibility. But you feel a bit bad for the child. Her father barely looks at her, save when some gentleman’s prying eyes are on her. Perhaps the girl reminds Brabantio too much of his dead wife. You’re only speculating, of course, you never met the woman. But given what you know about human nature it seems likely.
***
And before you know it, it’s been two years and Desdemona is sixteen, an age at which most parents start thinking about finding a husband for their children, especially single children, and especially if the single parent isn’t exactly young. Not so Brabantio! He wants to keep his angel pure and chaste for as long as he can. And despite your own desires you agree that she ought to remain untarnished.
So when Brabantio approaches you and asks for help finding a handmaid for his teenaged girl, the gears begin to turn. You think maybe you love Desdemona. You realize that you’ve been mistaken before - look at your wife! - and this could just be lust, but you want her. Actually, you do look at your wife for the first time in a long time. If she’s the handmaid you’ll have good reason to talk to Desdemona every so often. You promise to do your best and go off to find Emilia.
She looks at you levelly as you explain why she is needed (but not why you need her specifically). When your eyes connect, you realize that you will both have to share the girl. Satisfied that you understand the conditions, she agrees to her new job.
***
You do not tup Desdemona because she is not that kind of girl. You make love to Desdemona in the pale moonlight. She has a wildness about her that makes her nearly as beautiful as your wife used to be. She will win the hearts of many and you will do your best to see that she makes a name for herself. It’s the least you can do.
You teach her to give voice to the inanimate, because it is a man’s world out there and someone has to show her how to defend herself. It turns out that she has quite a good rhetoric already and hardly needs your help. She has a gentle way of lying, not at all like yours. You are loud and violent and like to get men’s blood stirring so you can come in for the kill while they are caught up in such a state. You cannot help but admire how she gets people to trust her before revealing what she wants from them. She will go far, you’re sure of it.
***
You are afraid of the person you can see yourself becoming. You were never this intimate with anyone before, even your own wife. So why, you ask yourself, is this happening now?
You hate that you love her. Long ago you swore you’d never let anyone have that kind of power over you. But for whatever reason, you just can’t help yourself around her. You’d like to say that everything you do is to serve your own turn, but ever since Desdemona came along, someone exists for whom you’d do anything and everything.
***
In not very long the suitors start rolling in, and every one of them a fool. Every day Emilia tells you about a new hotheaded young man who tried to win the hand of Desdemona. Half of them couldn’t get past Brabantio and the ones who did manage to sneak by him were uniformly rebuffed. You smile to imagine the look on Desdemona’s face as they showed up and smile again at her enthusiasm when she herself describes her witty comebacks to their tiresome wooing.
***
You are a soldier; you sleep with one eye open. Because of this force of habit, you see it coming before either of them does. When Othello comes parading in and talks loudly about his exploits, you know Desdemona will be interested. Sooner or later she will come out of the kitchen and ask him to tell her more stories of the land where he grew up and the journey he took to get here. You swear to yourself that it will not happen until later. You even lie to yourself and make believe that she will never fall in love with him. It is a fruitless hope and you know it.
***
You’ve known this was coming from the start. In fact you almost expected it sooner and have spent the past week waiting for the blow to fall. You knew it would happen, so why does it hurt so much when she says she no longer needs you? You should be proud of her, for she is no longer the timid young girl who jumped at her own shadow four years ago.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if she had gone on to become an independent woman using the tools you have given her. Then you could be sad to see her go, but happy for her on the whole. But circumstances being what they are, your reasoning is coarser than that - you lost her to another man.
They’re genuinely happy together and truly enjoy each other’s company. You hate them for it. It occurs to you that you have made a habit of hatred. This is hardly a surprise, for you have found so many things to hate. But as hobbies go, it’s not nearly as interesting as lying.
You imagine what the Moor is probably doing to her right now and are sick in the grass.