Fic: Beauty and the Beast
Title: Beauty and the Beast
A/N: Written for Charlie and V, as a small thank you for being so lovely and supportive at any and all times. I would get each of you a puppy if I could. Instead, I give you non-angsty fic in April. This fic contains nods to all sorts of things, including Charlie’s brilliant Princess Bride fic, Desperate Housewives, Stardust, and birch trees. But the latter only a little.
Warnings: Filthy language. Don’t tell my mother.
***
There once was a forest, a forest full of magic, in a land known as... oh, let’s not get into details, they are so cumbersome. The point is: there once was a forest full of magic.
In the forest, a little hut stood. Now, you would expect a hut in a forest full of magic to be just a little bit crooked, wouldn’t you? In the image you conjure in your mind, the shingles are perhaps covered with moss, and there is some ivy crawling up the walls, maybe even covering a corner of a window? The ankle-high wall surrounding the hut is overgrown with grass and wildflowers, and there is no clear path leading to the small abode?
Well... wrong.
This hut is in tip top condition, thank you very much. All the shingles gleam in the sunshine, a perfect, sunny red. The walls of the hut are ivy-free, the small garden path is laid out in an utterly straight line, as if someone had measured it with a ruler, and I think by now you know that the grass is meticulously trimmed and the wildflowers only grow in flowerbeds.
And the windows are clean, not a single smear on them, no romantic dust anywhere. The ivy would never dare to grow over them either. In fact, while ivy covers a lot of the tree trunks around the hut, the small garden and the hut itself are ivy-free. That’s because ivy is rather smart, you know, and doesn’t relish the prospect of being ripped off the surface it clings to and being tossed into the fire.
Because he would, he absolutely would. Who is he, you ask? The beast, of course. Didn’t you know already? Oh, you were expecting the beast to live in a castle, didn’t you, with enchanted clocks and candelabras and singing and dancing crockery. It is a rather common misconception, but I assure you, this beast would snap the lilting candelabra in two, set the admonishing clock on fire, and bury the singing crockery in a shallow grave right next to the carrots he is growing for winter.
By now you must be curious. I would be too. Our beast, he used to be a man. Now, well, now he is just a grumpy man. Who knows what happened to him, and honestly, who cares. He never had his own castle to begin with, but once upon a time, there might have been a princess, but the noble ladies of today are so flighty and unpredictable that the much-beloved happy ever after has become nothing more than a distant memory. And for God’s sake, don’t mention it in front of the beast! He’s tetchy about this sort of stuff.
Ah, now there he is. Can you see him, stomping towards the hut, two dead pheasants dangling from his belt? Look, all the trees are shrinking back from him, lifting their branches out of reach, and twisting their trunks just a liiiiiiiiittle bit to the side to avoid coming in touch with him. They’re afraid, and reasonably so. Winter is not too far away, and the beast is thorough: he may look like he is chipped from the eternal ice of the north, with his granite eyes and white hair, but he does not like to be cold and has already done the math. Twenty trees to get him through winter, and twenty trees he will have.
So here he is, walking down the garden path, with all the flowers and the trees shrinking away from him. He once had a horse, a fearsome creature, but at some point, it couldn’t stand the gloom and doom and misery anymore and ran away. I heard it went to a land far away, a land whose name is only whispered, and almost forgotten. It’s the land the beast came from, once upon a time, but he cannot go back. If you ask him, he will tell you that he does not want to go back, but that, of course, is a lie.
***
“Do you think he even wants to come back?” Helios asks, and Endymion sighs. The two men are sitting in a gazebo in Elysion, and around them, the birds twitter, the fairies dance, and the unicorns play catch. “No.”
“Shouldn’t we leave him then?”
The king gets up and walks to the balustrade. Outside, the sky is blue, the grass is green, and the sun is golden. It always is in Elysion. In the non magical part of his kingdom, autumn has arrived, bringing rain and coldness with it it. Kunzite always hated being cold, Endymion remembers. He’s also prone to frost-bite, which is a bit ironic, given how (ooooh, nifty pun coming your way!) frosty the man was most of the time. Endymion chuckles, quite impressed with his own wit. But then he remembers that being happy goes against his character, and - while watching one unicorn chase another - sighs dramatically once more. Helios wants to drown himself in the Mermaid Bay then and there.
Leaning against the white painted wood, the king turns to his younger companion, looking far more world-weary than a man whose pregnant wife is horny as hell and who governs the most beautiful place in all the universe has any right to look. Also, he’s been eating from the bowl of sweet, red, dark cherries all morning, and eating cherries and being sad really don’t go together, Helio thinks. “He was my friend,” Endymion says and gives Helios a long, sad, puppy dog look, and then reaches for another cherry, popping it in his mouth. Those really are delicious.
“Yes, was,” the priest reiterates carefully, and wonders why they are still discussing this, and also, why he doesn’t get offered one of those damn cherries. If this were the 21st century and the methods of psychoanalysis were already well-established, Helios would diagnose Endymion with chronic depression and secretly mix happy pills into the prince’s orange juice every morning. However, they have not been invented yet, so all that remains to do is to listen to Endymion whine and whine about the shitennou and not get a single cherry for all of his efforts. Of course, their story is a sad one (and as such, a clear favourite of the minstrel singers), yes, yes, but you know that already. Strong men, fierce men, good men, but also, unfortunately, (as men are wont to be) blind men. When Endymion revealed his gooey, glittery, ardent love for the Moon princess and proposed that their kingdoms be united in a flurry of love and peace, his warriors exploded in rage, but honour bound as they were, could not block the way to their liege’s happiness, and also, could not compete with whatever Serenity did to Endymion in the bedroom. So they gave him an ultimatum: the Golden Kingdom with its four protectors, or the Moon without them. Endymion, choosing Serenity, let them go, and they haven’t been seen since. They simply rode out of the castle once Serenity arrived for good, each setting off in a different direction. Those men have sulking down pat.
“I need a godfather for my child, Helios. Who could be better than a man who stands up for his belief?”
“Oh gee, if only I could think of someone.” He waits a second for Endymion to catch the drift, even arching his brow, but nothing happens and the priest rolls his eyes. Fine. Who wants to be godfather anyway. Not him, oh no. Don’t be ridiculous. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he decides to point out the obvious flaw in Endymion’s logic. “You mean a man who abandoned you. And who is nowhere to be found.”
“He could have done worse, you know. He left, and they left, and in between all that leaving, Beryl disappeared, and the revolt died down. Had they stayed, it would have become a bloodbath.”
“Excuse me if I cannot applaud them for that. They abandoned you because you made a decision they did not support. But you are their king, you knew better. Serenity brought happiness and prosperity to the kingdom.”
A smile spreads over Endymion’s face, and he looks as goofy and stupid as those in love do. “She did.”
“Can’t you just make all of her guardians godmothers?”
“They are still up there,” Endymion says and waves his hand in the general direction of the sky, “and they disapprove. They are not as kind and forward-thinking as their princess.”
“Sounds like they’d be a good match for your men.”
The king snorts and tosses a cherry in his mouth. “Hooray.”
***
Many, many miles away, there is a mountain. It is the highest mountain in all the world, and on its very top, in a tower made from the rock it sits upon, sits a.... well, let’s call him a gargoyle. He does not have wings and does not turn to stone when the sun shines upon his face, but that is because the sun never does. Don’t believe me?
Look closer. The mountain is so high, it pokes right into a cloud. Predictably, it’s a rain cloud. And it rains on the mountain, all the time. And there is mist and thunder and a lot of mud, so all the sunshine is either caught by cloud, hidden by rain, or swallowed by mud. The gargoyle does not see the sun during the day, and because of the cloud, he does not see the stars at night either. That’s a good thing, you see, because that cloud wasn’t always there. When the gargoyle moved up the mountain and into the tower, he saw the stars, twinkling on the midnight sky, laughing and teasing and jesting as stars are wont to do. And the gargoyle left the balcony, went inside and walked to his game bag, pulled out his crossbow, returned to the balcony, and then tried to shoot the stars, one by one. The saving grace? Oh, he was drunk as a skunk. One bottle of finest rum; that wreaks havoc with even the best warrior’s aim.
But this little incident served to deliver a warning, and sun, stars, and moon had a quick emergency meeting, and the fiercest rain cloud there ever was was sent to guard the tower, wrap it up in grey and mist, and prevent the gargoyle from shooting the stars.
Works like a charm, but that’s magic for you.
Of course, clouds are easily distracted. When the wind comes out to play and tugs at them, they sometimes cannot resist. It is not in their nature. Clouds are travellers, it is unnatural for them to stay in one place too long, and when the wind whispers something of a desert just itching for rain, the cloud becomes giddy and bats it lashes at the wind and obligingly, he huffs and puffs and its halfway around the world two minutes later.
Unfortunately, our gargoyle is sober today. And it’s evening. And the stars twinkle and shine because they do not know any better, and then he gets the crossbow, slow and deadly grin spreading on his face, takes aim, and----
“Take that, motherfuckers,” Nephrite whispers, shoots, and watches the brightest star tumble from the sky.
***
The beast is having a bad day. Of course, being a beast, all he does is have bad days, but today is particularly bad. He woke up with the sun this morning, and for one second, forgot that he was not in the palace, not heading for duty, not serving his prince.
So you see, bad day.
Which means that today is the day he goes to cut down those twenty trees.
***
In a clearing not far from the hut, in a large and thorny rose bush (which is actually an enchanted evil sorceress, but that’s another story), something is going on.
“Ouch,” a miserable voice exclaims, “ouch, ouch, ouch.” The bush rustles and bustles, its branches moving, but whoever is caught inside it, the bush is not willing to let go. Instead, it digs its thorns deeper into the skin of the creature it has caught, while the creature tries to wrangle itself out of it.
Just then the beast walks into the clearing, axe over his shoulder, frown (as always) on his face. He is in so bad a mood today that he doesn’t even notice the white hand that peeks out between the roses, waving frantically.
Instead, he just walks up to the first tree, takes a mighty swing with his axe and----
“Hey, you! A little help would be nice!”
He whips around, axe almost flying out of his hands.
***
She is naked. Naked, and caught in a ridiculously big and thorny rose bush. This is beyond humiliating, but it’s not as if can get any worse, as soon as whoever walked past actually bothers to help her, she will teleport back home, no harm done.
A shadow falls upon her, and when she cranes her head backwards, thorns digging and scraping with renewed vigor, her pretty mouth drops open.
“Kunzite?”
He towers over the bush, and by extension her, staring down with a mildly confused and majorly annoyed expression. “You. Are. Naked.”
“Oh really?” She looks at her breasts, crosses her legs, twirls her left foot in the air, and feigns a surprised look. “I hadn’t even noticed.” A second passes, he still looks down at her, she looks up at him, and then somewhere, something snaps, and Venus shouts. “OF COURSE I AM NAKED.”
A part of him wants to ask why, but then remembers that time Venus set half the curtains in Endymion’s room on her fire with sparkly golden twinkle lights, and politely turns his back to her. Clearing his throat, he wonders why his life is so utterly, utterly vexing. Venus of the Moon Kingdom naked in a bush in his forest. The forest he had come to after Endymion had chosen Serenity over his people. And now here is the next best thing to Serenity, her annoying, and - if memory serves correctly - pushy head guardian interrupting his tree destruction day. These people will never ever leave him alone.
In the bush, thorns still digging into places where you really do not want thorns to dig, Venus groans. “For fuck’s sake, help me out of here!”
He frowns, and peers over his shoulder, trying very hard to only look at the bits of her that are rose bush-covered. Of course he fails and promptly catches an eye-full of nipple. “Can’t you just burn the leaves and thorns off?”
Venus, frustrated, closes her eyes and tries to count to ten. She makes it to five. “If I am in the bush, and then I burn the bush, do you not think that would be a bit counter-productive?” Her voice takes on a slightly manic quality, going one to three octaves higher than normal.
He blinks. Well. He hadn’t thought of that. Those Moon people are normally so annoyingly omnipotent.
Setting his axe down, he turns back to her and extends his arms.
“Grab my hands.”
She laughs. “And then you will pull me out of the bush?”
Gritting his teeth, he replies: “Yes.” All he wanted was to cut some trees. All he wanted was to get away from those evil, annoying, meddlesome Moon people. All he wanted was ---
She shakes her head, and another thorn makes the most of the movement by happily digging into her neck while another scrapes her cheek. “No way. This will only hurt more.”
For a moment, he seriously considers leaving her there. Forever. In that rose bush. But then he remembers that he once swore an oath to help any and all beings, do his best to change the world for the better, and unfortunately, that means he has to get her out of that damn bush because the world (meaning Earth in general and his forest in particular) would not be a better place if it was forced to deal with that annoying woman for all eternity. With her inane chatter, she would drive the squirrels to commit mass suicide in a week.
“So what exactly do you propose?”
“Well, cut me out of it. Twig by twig.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? Kunzite! Cut me out of the bush!”
“No.”
“But it hurts!” she whines, her voice quivering a little.
He gives her a disapproving look, and she blushes. “You are a warrior princess, Venus. A few cuts should be nothing to you.”
“But----”
“This bush is not actually a bush.”
“Feels like one to me. A pointy one!” Trying to prove her point, she breaks off one of the twigs and throws it at him.
“I hope that was only a finger,” he murmurs, and then without further ado, bends down and pulls the naked, scratched, squirming and cursing Venus out of the enchanted rose bush.
***
And so he carries her through the woods, and the little gate and down the perfectly straight garden path and over the threshold and sets her down on his neatly made, narrow bed, and it’s kind of only then that he realises that he just carried a naked girl through the woods, and the little gate and down the perfectly straight garden path and over the threshold and set her down on his neatly made, narrow bed, where she still sits. Naked.
“Put that blanket around you,” he mutters gruffly, and Venus does so, pouting.
“I am all scratched!”
“Go back where you belong then and let one of your minions heal you.”
“Min--- MINIONS? They are citizens, Kunzite! You should really try to be a bit more politically correct.” She opens the blanket again, and looks down at her breasts. “Oh dear, would you look at me?”
Stupidly, he does. Looking at the naked woman on his bed, blanket merely covering her shoulders, the rest of her inviting touch and attention, he remembers that he is a man. A manly man. A manly man who hasn’t gotten laid since he left the palace three long years ago. Oh, he and Jadeite might not have seen eye-to-eye on a great number of things, but the milkmaids... he had a favourite, her name was-- well, you can’t expect him to remember her name, they didn’t talk much, except for the predictable “oooh yeah” and the more practical “turn around”.
“Don’t you have a healing potion for me? I can’t teleport like this.” She cups her breasts in her hands and pushes them up, trying to get a better picture of the scratches.
Kunzite too gets a better picture, and an erection to boot. He must not sleep with Venus, he must not sleep with Venus he must not sleep with hot, naked, breast-cupping Venus----
Then his brain catches up with his penis, and he blinks. “What do you mean, you can’t teleport like this? You can’t stay here,” he adds, voice panicky.
“But Kunzite! I am wounded!”
“You’re scratched. Work your magic, and get going.” She can’t stay here, he thinks, arousal fleeing as quickly as it came. People like her is why he’s here in the first place!
She looks up at him, and then her bottom lip begins to quiver. Oh great. Women in his bed he doesn’t object to. Venusians in his bed he doesn’t either, not on principle. He once had a very interesting diplomatic encounter with one of Venus’s handmaidens, but if the woman in question is not only naked, but also crying, and not any Venusian, but the Venusian, then he objects. Oh yes. He Objects, with a capital O. She will make his life hell, and you have to take into account that he already lives in exile, in a forest, and most importantly, far away from Endymion.
“Stop that... that,” he finishes lamely and gestures at her face. She sniffs.
“I am so ugly.” Holding up a scratched arm for him to examine, a tear rolls down her cheek.
“Primarily, you are naked and full of self-pity,” he growls, feeling very put out with her tears and her sadness and most of all, that it makes him want to do such utterly awkward things like stroke her cheek or give her a hug. He doesn’t hug people. Ever. Hugging is bad, everybody knows that. The most contact Kunzite is willing to engage in is a handshake, and even that only when he’s forced. But everyone who has ever read a fairytale knows that beasts are big old softies inside, and ours is no exception, which is why he moves to a chest at the foot of the bed and retrieves a white linen shirt. It’s perfectly pressed, and I cannot even begin to tell you how he managed that, given that a) his hut is in the forest, b) this is even pre middle ages and most people don’t even own a comb, and c) his hut in the forest. That bears repeating, don’t you think?
She looks at the shirt, and then at her hands, where some scratches still bleed. Then she looks at him, and at the shirt again, and then at her hands, and at the shirt, and at him, and at the shirt, until he groans and fetches some ointment. “Here.”
Sniffling, she accepts it, and begins to put the stinking salve on the cuts. Kunzite begins to realise that any second now, the naked woman on the bed is going to smear white gooey stuff all over her breasts.
He swallows. “I’ve... got to cut some trees,” he murmurs, and hurriedly makes for the door.
***
One tree, two trees, three trees, a naked Venusian--- no, Kunzite angrily thinks, and resumes his angry hacking. He is on the fourth tree by now, swinging the axe with vigour.
Predictably, the whole forest is terrified.
***
Five hours later, he returns to his hut in the evening twilight. Walking through the little gate, and across his garden path, taking in the magically over-flowing flower bed. Wait---- the over-flowing flower bed? Nothing around here ever over-flows, he maintains a life of perfect moderation. He doesn’t even allow himself a second helping of rhubarb pie on Sundays because life needs order, damn it!
He slams the door open. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY FLOWERS?” he hollers, and Venus, nibbling on a carrot while sitting on his bed wearing no shirt but only his long winter underpants, blinks. “Nothing. I plucked one,” she says, and turns her head so that he can see where she put the flower in her hair. Hair that is just about covering her breasts.
“Are you allergic to shirts?” he barks, and she flinches.
“I couldn’t get the ointment on my back, so...” her voice trails off, and she gestures to the shirt still folded on the chest. “I didn’t want to get blood on it.”
That is... unusually considerate, he thinks. He used to be considerate. Been some time. Before Beryl popped up and Endymion betrayed them and before Princess Poseida of the summer seas, his favoured lady and once-soon-to-be-wife, turned out not only to be a spy from the distant planet Neptune, but also a lesbian. Wasn’t that fun.
“Fine, turn around,” he says and snatches the tin of ointment from the bedside table, and then he remembers that the last time he said something like this to a half-naked woman perched on his bed, the circumstances were decidedly different. He blushes.
“Are you blushing?” Venus asks, her voice full of disbelief. “You are, you are blushing!”
“Shut up and turn around,” he adds, and winces. Yep, he has said that before too. That milkmaid was really chatty.
With a giggle, Venus does, and presents her scratched back to him. Bending down, he begins to apply the salve. Nothing sexy about that. Those thorns really dug deep, which brings him to a question he’s been mulling over for a few hours now.
“Why were you naked in my bush?” he asks, and Venus giggles some more.
“Be serious,” he tries to command her, but as a result, she only turns around, dips her finger in the ointment and smears some right across his cheek.
For a moment, he wishes it were possible to punch a woman in the face. So he does the next best thing. Leaning really close, he puts his face right in front of hers. “Stop that,” he glowers and glares. This look used to scare troops into submission, enemies into defeat, and caused his own fucking horse to run away from this god forsaken place. But with Venus, it has an entirely unwelcome effect. She tilts her head.
“You have really nice eyes,” she whispers and inches closer, bringing them almost nose to nose. Unbidden, his heartbeat speeds up.
He doesn’t say anything, but instead watches a wicked gleam enter her eyes. She leans over, steadying herself on his shoulder and her lips brush against his ear and goosebumps dance all over his skin.
“I know you fucked my handmaiden.”
“What?” He tries to move away, but she still holds onto his shoulder, refusing to let go.
Still whispering in his ear, Venus gives a throaty little giggle. “She said you were terrific.”
This time, he manages to pull away, prying her hands away from him and gently pushing her back on the bed before taking a big, fat step away from her. “I think all of your cuts are taken care of now.” He looks down, and has to resist, very hard, not to brush her hair behind her shoulders to reveal her breasts again. His fingers even twitch once. “I think you should get dressed now, and then leave.”
She frowns. “Are you serious?”
He stares at her, uncomprehending. He needs her gone, or she is not going to be the only person with scratches on her back in this room.
“Kunzite, I am half naked on your bed, whispering about your stellar reputation in the sack, and you want me to get dressed and leave? Did one of the trees you were felling hit you on the head?”
“It is only appropriate that you leave now,” he replies, “I extended more hospitality to you than you deserve and now---”
She slaps him. Hard. Huh. He did not see this coming. “More than I deserve?” she snaps, and jumps off the bed, reaching for his shirt and slipping it on. “More than I deserve!” she repeats, this time with more volume. “We were never anything but nice to you and your oafy men, and to Endymion, and what do you do? YOU LEAVE THE PALACE. Oh, and also, you fuck my maid! And then, AND THEN, Nephrite begins to shoot at us with a crossbow and I get hurt and fall out of the sky and land in a rose bush AND THEN YOU ARE MEAN TO ME! Talk about hospitality!”
Kunzite stares at her, a little dumbfounded. His version of their history differs ever so slightly from hers. This is typical of those Moon people, always pretending that they are sweet and adorable and sexy and then they go all world domination on you. “You were trying to wrestle control of our planet away from us!”
She snorts. “Yeah, sure. That’s why Serenity is down here playing house instead of up there, sitting on the interplanetary council, actually controlling things.”
And suddenly, for the first time in years, and certainly the first time since he moved into this hut, he wonders whether he really did have everything figured out when he left. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying - and I hate to disappoint you here - that nobody in the Silver Alliance cares about your precious planet Earth. We didn’t want it, we don’t want it, and we won’t ever want it. We only ever came here to retrieve Serenity, and find out whether this is a safe environment for her.”
“What about Poseida? You sent a spy here!”
She groans. “Of course I did! I needed to see whether you are capable of spotting ruses and seeing traps and protecting Serenity! I didn’t expect you to get engaged to Neptune, for crying out loud!”
He really doesn’t know what to say to that.
“You passed the test, by the way. Barely, but you passed. Took you a lot longer to suss out that there is no Poseida of the Summer Seas, but you got there eventually.”
“So there was never any plan to assimilate Earth?” he asks slowly.
“Not even a little bit!”
“Then why did you always linger around in the palace?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Kunzite, which part of the palace did I always linger in?”
“Well, my quarters,” he answers.
“And why do you think that is?” she prods in a mock patient tone.
“Because you wanted to spy on me and read the secret documents I keep my in desk?”
“Or?”
“I don’t know.”
A moment of silence passes. You do of course know why Venus was always hanging around in Kunzite’s room. You know even though you didn’t see her there in her tight little gown, artfully letting the sleeves slide off her shoulders to expose smooth skin, perched up on his desk or leaning against a pillar.
Finally, Kunzite says “oh”. And then again, “Oh!” But this is Kunzite, and he’s been living in a hut in the forest for years, and he has many talents, many, many of them, and some even involve the ladies, but when it comes to talking to them, he... ah, what’s the word? Right. He sucks. Completely.
“You like me.”
“I do,” Venus says, and begins to smile. Finally, they will get somewhere, she thinks, and there is a warm feeling spreading in her tummy and... elsewhere. The bed is a bit narrow, but it’ll do.
“Then you never tried to oust us.”
“No,” Venus confirms, and takes another step towards him. It would be nice if he’d get a move on as well, but she’s not exactly old-fashioned, she can be the one to get this party started. Kunzite stares off into space, and it’s lovely that the revelation of her feelings for him has this effect on him, Venus thinks, watching a smile equally relieved and ecstatic spread over his face. That does it, and she bridges the remaining distance between them. Pressing her body against his, she lets her hands travel over his broad chest.
He is still smiling. “This is the day best day of my life.”
Venus, who’s secretly been itching to have Kunzite whispers sweet nothings in her ears for years, giggles. “And why is that?” she asks, fishing for compliments, wondering how poetic he will make his declaration, how kind and how raunchy this is going to get, how---
“Because I can go home to Endymion,” he says with feeling, and pats her on the shoulder.
***
There once was a forest, a forest full of magic, in a land known as... well, we’ve been there, and done that, and you already know that there is a little hut.
Now, when this story began, you would have expected the hut in our forest full of magic to be just a little bit crooked, wouldn’t you? In the image you conjured in your mind, the shingles were covered with moss, some ivy crawled up the walls, even covering a corner of a window. The ankle-high wall surrounding the hut was overgrown with grass and wildflowers, and there was no clear path leading to the small abode. This was the image the erstwhile beast destroyed, but time does pass, and things do change, and now the hut looks exactly like this.
The wildflowers, once upon a time contained in pebble-lined flower bed, are now spreading all over the garden, and the wall has lost a few bricks. There is also a crack in the window, but it’s not really a problem because the ivy has grown over it anyway and did you know that ivy provides excellent natural insulation?
From the distance, the beast advances. She is a fearsome creature, and doesn’t only cut down trees in winter. She cuts down trees all year long because she’s a beast, hear her roar. Every time she feels particularly vindictive, she goes to the rose bush in the clearing, takes some pruning shears and makes snip-snap noises at it for an hour or two. If she has just received a messenger from Elysion or the Golden Kingdom, then she goes and cuts some of the red roses off the bush.
(Don’t worry: she’s only giving Beryl the equivalent of a really bad haircut.)
Venus has been here for a year now, and it’s once again autumn. Serenity has already given birth to a little girl, a carrier pigeon brought her news of the birth in spring. Apparently, the little girl, who wasn’t born in the royal birthing chamber in the palace but instead on the pixie meadow in Elysion, has pink hair. Serenity loves it, and says it because of all the love and happiness in the air now that the shitennou are back. Mercury and Jupiter, the old traitors, have joined the Queen at court, and unless the carrier pigeon was a dirty, dirty liar, then it even was Jupiter who went to fetch Nephrite from his tower of drunkitude.
Of course Venus could have returned to the stars and her planet after Kunzite ran to Endymion like a child to the ice cream van, but she felt morose and disappointed and angry at the world, and it’s easier to be mad in the wilderness than in the luxury of a star palace. So she stayed in the hut, and let the ivy and flowers grow because... well, for one, flowers are pretty, and also, it would have pissed Kunzite off. Not that he cared. And not that she still wanted him to. Oh no. Venus was DONE. Done, you hear me?
(Except for the moments where she looked out at the starry sky and remembered those few times where he hadn’t glowered at her in the palace, but had looked like he wanted to kiss her. Those moment she unfortunately, and despite a lot of trying, couldn’t distance herself from, and her cheating beating heart clenched painfully every time she thought of them.)
Throwing open the front door, Venus skids to a stop. On her bed, wearing his uniform, sits Kunzite, twirling the jar of ointment in his hands that she still keeps by the bedside.
“Evening,” he greets her, and her breath catches in her throat when she looks into his eyes. Then she remembers that this is not on, and that he ran to Endymion, and this is her hut, and her jar of ointment, and that---
“I want to apologise.”
She drops the chopped wood she is holding because she feels like she needs to cross her arms in front of her chest. The logs roll around on the floor, and Kunzite follows them with his eyes until they stop moving. Then he looks back up at her.
Most uncharacteristically, Venus doesn’t say anything at all.
“I realise now that I did you and your fellow senshi a great injustice. I am here on behalf of all the shitennou, asking you to return with me to the palace.”
She arches a brow, and he puts the jar away. Getting up, he walks over to her, and actually looks contrite. She has never seen him look contrite. Suits him.
“And of course, I also owe you an apology of a more personal nature.”
“Do you now?” she asks, acid in her voice and venom in her eyes.
“I do.”
“Well? Where is it, then?”
He bends down and kisses her on the lips. It’s very tender, very chaste, and if you’re Venus, and haven’t gotten laid in YEARS, ever so slightly disappointing. She harrumphs, but smiles anyway and entwines her hands in his. There is a question mark in his eyes, and she can tell that he is worried she will send him away.
So she shrugs her shoulder. “Doesn’t live up to my handmaiden’s report at all.”
He chuckles, and remembers the moment on the bed where Venus had made him blush. “Oh yeah? In that case, shut up and turn around.”
*** The End ***
A/N: Written for Charlie and V, as a small thank you for being so lovely and supportive at any and all times. I would get each of you a puppy if I could. Instead, I give you non-angsty fic in April. This fic contains nods to all sorts of things, including Charlie’s brilliant Princess Bride fic, Desperate Housewives, Stardust, and birch trees. But the latter only a little.
Warnings: Filthy language. Don’t tell my mother.
***
There once was a forest, a forest full of magic, in a land known as... oh, let’s not get into details, they are so cumbersome. The point is: there once was a forest full of magic.
In the forest, a little hut stood. Now, you would expect a hut in a forest full of magic to be just a little bit crooked, wouldn’t you? In the image you conjure in your mind, the shingles are perhaps covered with moss, and there is some ivy crawling up the walls, maybe even covering a corner of a window? The ankle-high wall surrounding the hut is overgrown with grass and wildflowers, and there is no clear path leading to the small abode?
Well... wrong.
This hut is in tip top condition, thank you very much. All the shingles gleam in the sunshine, a perfect, sunny red. The walls of the hut are ivy-free, the small garden path is laid out in an utterly straight line, as if someone had measured it with a ruler, and I think by now you know that the grass is meticulously trimmed and the wildflowers only grow in flowerbeds.
And the windows are clean, not a single smear on them, no romantic dust anywhere. The ivy would never dare to grow over them either. In fact, while ivy covers a lot of the tree trunks around the hut, the small garden and the hut itself are ivy-free. That’s because ivy is rather smart, you know, and doesn’t relish the prospect of being ripped off the surface it clings to and being tossed into the fire.
Because he would, he absolutely would. Who is he, you ask? The beast, of course. Didn’t you know already? Oh, you were expecting the beast to live in a castle, didn’t you, with enchanted clocks and candelabras and singing and dancing crockery. It is a rather common misconception, but I assure you, this beast would snap the lilting candelabra in two, set the admonishing clock on fire, and bury the singing crockery in a shallow grave right next to the carrots he is growing for winter.
By now you must be curious. I would be too. Our beast, he used to be a man. Now, well, now he is just a grumpy man. Who knows what happened to him, and honestly, who cares. He never had his own castle to begin with, but once upon a time, there might have been a princess, but the noble ladies of today are so flighty and unpredictable that the much-beloved happy ever after has become nothing more than a distant memory. And for God’s sake, don’t mention it in front of the beast! He’s tetchy about this sort of stuff.
Ah, now there he is. Can you see him, stomping towards the hut, two dead pheasants dangling from his belt? Look, all the trees are shrinking back from him, lifting their branches out of reach, and twisting their trunks just a liiiiiiiiittle bit to the side to avoid coming in touch with him. They’re afraid, and reasonably so. Winter is not too far away, and the beast is thorough: he may look like he is chipped from the eternal ice of the north, with his granite eyes and white hair, but he does not like to be cold and has already done the math. Twenty trees to get him through winter, and twenty trees he will have.
So here he is, walking down the garden path, with all the flowers and the trees shrinking away from him. He once had a horse, a fearsome creature, but at some point, it couldn’t stand the gloom and doom and misery anymore and ran away. I heard it went to a land far away, a land whose name is only whispered, and almost forgotten. It’s the land the beast came from, once upon a time, but he cannot go back. If you ask him, he will tell you that he does not want to go back, but that, of course, is a lie.
***
“Do you think he even wants to come back?” Helios asks, and Endymion sighs. The two men are sitting in a gazebo in Elysion, and around them, the birds twitter, the fairies dance, and the unicorns play catch. “No.”
“Shouldn’t we leave him then?”
The king gets up and walks to the balustrade. Outside, the sky is blue, the grass is green, and the sun is golden. It always is in Elysion. In the non magical part of his kingdom, autumn has arrived, bringing rain and coldness with it it. Kunzite always hated being cold, Endymion remembers. He’s also prone to frost-bite, which is a bit ironic, given how (ooooh, nifty pun coming your way!) frosty the man was most of the time. Endymion chuckles, quite impressed with his own wit. But then he remembers that being happy goes against his character, and - while watching one unicorn chase another - sighs dramatically once more. Helios wants to drown himself in the Mermaid Bay then and there.
Leaning against the white painted wood, the king turns to his younger companion, looking far more world-weary than a man whose pregnant wife is horny as hell and who governs the most beautiful place in all the universe has any right to look. Also, he’s been eating from the bowl of sweet, red, dark cherries all morning, and eating cherries and being sad really don’t go together, Helio thinks. “He was my friend,” Endymion says and gives Helios a long, sad, puppy dog look, and then reaches for another cherry, popping it in his mouth. Those really are delicious.
“Yes, was,” the priest reiterates carefully, and wonders why they are still discussing this, and also, why he doesn’t get offered one of those damn cherries. If this were the 21st century and the methods of psychoanalysis were already well-established, Helios would diagnose Endymion with chronic depression and secretly mix happy pills into the prince’s orange juice every morning. However, they have not been invented yet, so all that remains to do is to listen to Endymion whine and whine about the shitennou and not get a single cherry for all of his efforts. Of course, their story is a sad one (and as such, a clear favourite of the minstrel singers), yes, yes, but you know that already. Strong men, fierce men, good men, but also, unfortunately, (as men are wont to be) blind men. When Endymion revealed his gooey, glittery, ardent love for the Moon princess and proposed that their kingdoms be united in a flurry of love and peace, his warriors exploded in rage, but honour bound as they were, could not block the way to their liege’s happiness, and also, could not compete with whatever Serenity did to Endymion in the bedroom. So they gave him an ultimatum: the Golden Kingdom with its four protectors, or the Moon without them. Endymion, choosing Serenity, let them go, and they haven’t been seen since. They simply rode out of the castle once Serenity arrived for good, each setting off in a different direction. Those men have sulking down pat.
“I need a godfather for my child, Helios. Who could be better than a man who stands up for his belief?”
“Oh gee, if only I could think of someone.” He waits a second for Endymion to catch the drift, even arching his brow, but nothing happens and the priest rolls his eyes. Fine. Who wants to be godfather anyway. Not him, oh no. Don’t be ridiculous. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he decides to point out the obvious flaw in Endymion’s logic. “You mean a man who abandoned you. And who is nowhere to be found.”
“He could have done worse, you know. He left, and they left, and in between all that leaving, Beryl disappeared, and the revolt died down. Had they stayed, it would have become a bloodbath.”
“Excuse me if I cannot applaud them for that. They abandoned you because you made a decision they did not support. But you are their king, you knew better. Serenity brought happiness and prosperity to the kingdom.”
A smile spreads over Endymion’s face, and he looks as goofy and stupid as those in love do. “She did.”
“Can’t you just make all of her guardians godmothers?”
“They are still up there,” Endymion says and waves his hand in the general direction of the sky, “and they disapprove. They are not as kind and forward-thinking as their princess.”
“Sounds like they’d be a good match for your men.”
The king snorts and tosses a cherry in his mouth. “Hooray.”
***
Many, many miles away, there is a mountain. It is the highest mountain in all the world, and on its very top, in a tower made from the rock it sits upon, sits a.... well, let’s call him a gargoyle. He does not have wings and does not turn to stone when the sun shines upon his face, but that is because the sun never does. Don’t believe me?
Look closer. The mountain is so high, it pokes right into a cloud. Predictably, it’s a rain cloud. And it rains on the mountain, all the time. And there is mist and thunder and a lot of mud, so all the sunshine is either caught by cloud, hidden by rain, or swallowed by mud. The gargoyle does not see the sun during the day, and because of the cloud, he does not see the stars at night either. That’s a good thing, you see, because that cloud wasn’t always there. When the gargoyle moved up the mountain and into the tower, he saw the stars, twinkling on the midnight sky, laughing and teasing and jesting as stars are wont to do. And the gargoyle left the balcony, went inside and walked to his game bag, pulled out his crossbow, returned to the balcony, and then tried to shoot the stars, one by one. The saving grace? Oh, he was drunk as a skunk. One bottle of finest rum; that wreaks havoc with even the best warrior’s aim.
But this little incident served to deliver a warning, and sun, stars, and moon had a quick emergency meeting, and the fiercest rain cloud there ever was was sent to guard the tower, wrap it up in grey and mist, and prevent the gargoyle from shooting the stars.
Works like a charm, but that’s magic for you.
Of course, clouds are easily distracted. When the wind comes out to play and tugs at them, they sometimes cannot resist. It is not in their nature. Clouds are travellers, it is unnatural for them to stay in one place too long, and when the wind whispers something of a desert just itching for rain, the cloud becomes giddy and bats it lashes at the wind and obligingly, he huffs and puffs and its halfway around the world two minutes later.
Unfortunately, our gargoyle is sober today. And it’s evening. And the stars twinkle and shine because they do not know any better, and then he gets the crossbow, slow and deadly grin spreading on his face, takes aim, and----
“Take that, motherfuckers,” Nephrite whispers, shoots, and watches the brightest star tumble from the sky.
***
The beast is having a bad day. Of course, being a beast, all he does is have bad days, but today is particularly bad. He woke up with the sun this morning, and for one second, forgot that he was not in the palace, not heading for duty, not serving his prince.
So you see, bad day.
Which means that today is the day he goes to cut down those twenty trees.
***
In a clearing not far from the hut, in a large and thorny rose bush (which is actually an enchanted evil sorceress, but that’s another story), something is going on.
“Ouch,” a miserable voice exclaims, “ouch, ouch, ouch.” The bush rustles and bustles, its branches moving, but whoever is caught inside it, the bush is not willing to let go. Instead, it digs its thorns deeper into the skin of the creature it has caught, while the creature tries to wrangle itself out of it.
Just then the beast walks into the clearing, axe over his shoulder, frown (as always) on his face. He is in so bad a mood today that he doesn’t even notice the white hand that peeks out between the roses, waving frantically.
Instead, he just walks up to the first tree, takes a mighty swing with his axe and----
“Hey, you! A little help would be nice!”
He whips around, axe almost flying out of his hands.
***
She is naked. Naked, and caught in a ridiculously big and thorny rose bush. This is beyond humiliating, but it’s not as if can get any worse, as soon as whoever walked past actually bothers to help her, she will teleport back home, no harm done.
A shadow falls upon her, and when she cranes her head backwards, thorns digging and scraping with renewed vigor, her pretty mouth drops open.
“Kunzite?”
He towers over the bush, and by extension her, staring down with a mildly confused and majorly annoyed expression. “You. Are. Naked.”
“Oh really?” She looks at her breasts, crosses her legs, twirls her left foot in the air, and feigns a surprised look. “I hadn’t even noticed.” A second passes, he still looks down at her, she looks up at him, and then somewhere, something snaps, and Venus shouts. “OF COURSE I AM NAKED.”
A part of him wants to ask why, but then remembers that time Venus set half the curtains in Endymion’s room on her fire with sparkly golden twinkle lights, and politely turns his back to her. Clearing his throat, he wonders why his life is so utterly, utterly vexing. Venus of the Moon Kingdom naked in a bush in his forest. The forest he had come to after Endymion had chosen Serenity over his people. And now here is the next best thing to Serenity, her annoying, and - if memory serves correctly - pushy head guardian interrupting his tree destruction day. These people will never ever leave him alone.
In the bush, thorns still digging into places where you really do not want thorns to dig, Venus groans. “For fuck’s sake, help me out of here!”
He frowns, and peers over his shoulder, trying very hard to only look at the bits of her that are rose bush-covered. Of course he fails and promptly catches an eye-full of nipple. “Can’t you just burn the leaves and thorns off?”
Venus, frustrated, closes her eyes and tries to count to ten. She makes it to five. “If I am in the bush, and then I burn the bush, do you not think that would be a bit counter-productive?” Her voice takes on a slightly manic quality, going one to three octaves higher than normal.
He blinks. Well. He hadn’t thought of that. Those Moon people are normally so annoyingly omnipotent.
Setting his axe down, he turns back to her and extends his arms.
“Grab my hands.”
She laughs. “And then you will pull me out of the bush?”
Gritting his teeth, he replies: “Yes.” All he wanted was to cut some trees. All he wanted was to get away from those evil, annoying, meddlesome Moon people. All he wanted was ---
She shakes her head, and another thorn makes the most of the movement by happily digging into her neck while another scrapes her cheek. “No way. This will only hurt more.”
For a moment, he seriously considers leaving her there. Forever. In that rose bush. But then he remembers that he once swore an oath to help any and all beings, do his best to change the world for the better, and unfortunately, that means he has to get her out of that damn bush because the world (meaning Earth in general and his forest in particular) would not be a better place if it was forced to deal with that annoying woman for all eternity. With her inane chatter, she would drive the squirrels to commit mass suicide in a week.
“So what exactly do you propose?”
“Well, cut me out of it. Twig by twig.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? Kunzite! Cut me out of the bush!”
“No.”
“But it hurts!” she whines, her voice quivering a little.
He gives her a disapproving look, and she blushes. “You are a warrior princess, Venus. A few cuts should be nothing to you.”
“But----”
“This bush is not actually a bush.”
“Feels like one to me. A pointy one!” Trying to prove her point, she breaks off one of the twigs and throws it at him.
“I hope that was only a finger,” he murmurs, and then without further ado, bends down and pulls the naked, scratched, squirming and cursing Venus out of the enchanted rose bush.
***
And so he carries her through the woods, and the little gate and down the perfectly straight garden path and over the threshold and sets her down on his neatly made, narrow bed, and it’s kind of only then that he realises that he just carried a naked girl through the woods, and the little gate and down the perfectly straight garden path and over the threshold and set her down on his neatly made, narrow bed, where she still sits. Naked.
“Put that blanket around you,” he mutters gruffly, and Venus does so, pouting.
“I am all scratched!”
“Go back where you belong then and let one of your minions heal you.”
“Min--- MINIONS? They are citizens, Kunzite! You should really try to be a bit more politically correct.” She opens the blanket again, and looks down at her breasts. “Oh dear, would you look at me?”
Stupidly, he does. Looking at the naked woman on his bed, blanket merely covering her shoulders, the rest of her inviting touch and attention, he remembers that he is a man. A manly man. A manly man who hasn’t gotten laid since he left the palace three long years ago. Oh, he and Jadeite might not have seen eye-to-eye on a great number of things, but the milkmaids... he had a favourite, her name was-- well, you can’t expect him to remember her name, they didn’t talk much, except for the predictable “oooh yeah” and the more practical “turn around”.
“Don’t you have a healing potion for me? I can’t teleport like this.” She cups her breasts in her hands and pushes them up, trying to get a better picture of the scratches.
Kunzite too gets a better picture, and an erection to boot. He must not sleep with Venus, he must not sleep with Venus he must not sleep with hot, naked, breast-cupping Venus----
Then his brain catches up with his penis, and he blinks. “What do you mean, you can’t teleport like this? You can’t stay here,” he adds, voice panicky.
“But Kunzite! I am wounded!”
“You’re scratched. Work your magic, and get going.” She can’t stay here, he thinks, arousal fleeing as quickly as it came. People like her is why he’s here in the first place!
She looks up at him, and then her bottom lip begins to quiver. Oh great. Women in his bed he doesn’t object to. Venusians in his bed he doesn’t either, not on principle. He once had a very interesting diplomatic encounter with one of Venus’s handmaidens, but if the woman in question is not only naked, but also crying, and not any Venusian, but the Venusian, then he objects. Oh yes. He Objects, with a capital O. She will make his life hell, and you have to take into account that he already lives in exile, in a forest, and most importantly, far away from Endymion.
“Stop that... that,” he finishes lamely and gestures at her face. She sniffs.
“I am so ugly.” Holding up a scratched arm for him to examine, a tear rolls down her cheek.
“Primarily, you are naked and full of self-pity,” he growls, feeling very put out with her tears and her sadness and most of all, that it makes him want to do such utterly awkward things like stroke her cheek or give her a hug. He doesn’t hug people. Ever. Hugging is bad, everybody knows that. The most contact Kunzite is willing to engage in is a handshake, and even that only when he’s forced. But everyone who has ever read a fairytale knows that beasts are big old softies inside, and ours is no exception, which is why he moves to a chest at the foot of the bed and retrieves a white linen shirt. It’s perfectly pressed, and I cannot even begin to tell you how he managed that, given that a) his hut is in the forest, b) this is even pre middle ages and most people don’t even own a comb, and c) his hut in the forest. That bears repeating, don’t you think?
She looks at the shirt, and then at her hands, where some scratches still bleed. Then she looks at him, and at the shirt again, and then at her hands, and at the shirt, and at him, and at the shirt, until he groans and fetches some ointment. “Here.”
Sniffling, she accepts it, and begins to put the stinking salve on the cuts. Kunzite begins to realise that any second now, the naked woman on the bed is going to smear white gooey stuff all over her breasts.
He swallows. “I’ve... got to cut some trees,” he murmurs, and hurriedly makes for the door.
***
One tree, two trees, three trees, a naked Venusian--- no, Kunzite angrily thinks, and resumes his angry hacking. He is on the fourth tree by now, swinging the axe with vigour.
Predictably, the whole forest is terrified.
***
Five hours later, he returns to his hut in the evening twilight. Walking through the little gate, and across his garden path, taking in the magically over-flowing flower bed. Wait---- the over-flowing flower bed? Nothing around here ever over-flows, he maintains a life of perfect moderation. He doesn’t even allow himself a second helping of rhubarb pie on Sundays because life needs order, damn it!
He slams the door open. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY FLOWERS?” he hollers, and Venus, nibbling on a carrot while sitting on his bed wearing no shirt but only his long winter underpants, blinks. “Nothing. I plucked one,” she says, and turns her head so that he can see where she put the flower in her hair. Hair that is just about covering her breasts.
“Are you allergic to shirts?” he barks, and she flinches.
“I couldn’t get the ointment on my back, so...” her voice trails off, and she gestures to the shirt still folded on the chest. “I didn’t want to get blood on it.”
That is... unusually considerate, he thinks. He used to be considerate. Been some time. Before Beryl popped up and Endymion betrayed them and before Princess Poseida of the summer seas, his favoured lady and once-soon-to-be-wife, turned out not only to be a spy from the distant planet Neptune, but also a lesbian. Wasn’t that fun.
“Fine, turn around,” he says and snatches the tin of ointment from the bedside table, and then he remembers that the last time he said something like this to a half-naked woman perched on his bed, the circumstances were decidedly different. He blushes.
“Are you blushing?” Venus asks, her voice full of disbelief. “You are, you are blushing!”
“Shut up and turn around,” he adds, and winces. Yep, he has said that before too. That milkmaid was really chatty.
With a giggle, Venus does, and presents her scratched back to him. Bending down, he begins to apply the salve. Nothing sexy about that. Those thorns really dug deep, which brings him to a question he’s been mulling over for a few hours now.
“Why were you naked in my bush?” he asks, and Venus giggles some more.
“Be serious,” he tries to command her, but as a result, she only turns around, dips her finger in the ointment and smears some right across his cheek.
For a moment, he wishes it were possible to punch a woman in the face. So he does the next best thing. Leaning really close, he puts his face right in front of hers. “Stop that,” he glowers and glares. This look used to scare troops into submission, enemies into defeat, and caused his own fucking horse to run away from this god forsaken place. But with Venus, it has an entirely unwelcome effect. She tilts her head.
“You have really nice eyes,” she whispers and inches closer, bringing them almost nose to nose. Unbidden, his heartbeat speeds up.
He doesn’t say anything, but instead watches a wicked gleam enter her eyes. She leans over, steadying herself on his shoulder and her lips brush against his ear and goosebumps dance all over his skin.
“I know you fucked my handmaiden.”
“What?” He tries to move away, but she still holds onto his shoulder, refusing to let go.
Still whispering in his ear, Venus gives a throaty little giggle. “She said you were terrific.”
This time, he manages to pull away, prying her hands away from him and gently pushing her back on the bed before taking a big, fat step away from her. “I think all of your cuts are taken care of now.” He looks down, and has to resist, very hard, not to brush her hair behind her shoulders to reveal her breasts again. His fingers even twitch once. “I think you should get dressed now, and then leave.”
She frowns. “Are you serious?”
He stares at her, uncomprehending. He needs her gone, or she is not going to be the only person with scratches on her back in this room.
“Kunzite, I am half naked on your bed, whispering about your stellar reputation in the sack, and you want me to get dressed and leave? Did one of the trees you were felling hit you on the head?”
“It is only appropriate that you leave now,” he replies, “I extended more hospitality to you than you deserve and now---”
She slaps him. Hard. Huh. He did not see this coming. “More than I deserve?” she snaps, and jumps off the bed, reaching for his shirt and slipping it on. “More than I deserve!” she repeats, this time with more volume. “We were never anything but nice to you and your oafy men, and to Endymion, and what do you do? YOU LEAVE THE PALACE. Oh, and also, you fuck my maid! And then, AND THEN, Nephrite begins to shoot at us with a crossbow and I get hurt and fall out of the sky and land in a rose bush AND THEN YOU ARE MEAN TO ME! Talk about hospitality!”
Kunzite stares at her, a little dumbfounded. His version of their history differs ever so slightly from hers. This is typical of those Moon people, always pretending that they are sweet and adorable and sexy and then they go all world domination on you. “You were trying to wrestle control of our planet away from us!”
She snorts. “Yeah, sure. That’s why Serenity is down here playing house instead of up there, sitting on the interplanetary council, actually controlling things.”
And suddenly, for the first time in years, and certainly the first time since he moved into this hut, he wonders whether he really did have everything figured out when he left. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying - and I hate to disappoint you here - that nobody in the Silver Alliance cares about your precious planet Earth. We didn’t want it, we don’t want it, and we won’t ever want it. We only ever came here to retrieve Serenity, and find out whether this is a safe environment for her.”
“What about Poseida? You sent a spy here!”
She groans. “Of course I did! I needed to see whether you are capable of spotting ruses and seeing traps and protecting Serenity! I didn’t expect you to get engaged to Neptune, for crying out loud!”
He really doesn’t know what to say to that.
“You passed the test, by the way. Barely, but you passed. Took you a lot longer to suss out that there is no Poseida of the Summer Seas, but you got there eventually.”
“So there was never any plan to assimilate Earth?” he asks slowly.
“Not even a little bit!”
“Then why did you always linger around in the palace?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Kunzite, which part of the palace did I always linger in?”
“Well, my quarters,” he answers.
“And why do you think that is?” she prods in a mock patient tone.
“Because you wanted to spy on me and read the secret documents I keep my in desk?”
“Or?”
“I don’t know.”
A moment of silence passes. You do of course know why Venus was always hanging around in Kunzite’s room. You know even though you didn’t see her there in her tight little gown, artfully letting the sleeves slide off her shoulders to expose smooth skin, perched up on his desk or leaning against a pillar.
Finally, Kunzite says “oh”. And then again, “Oh!” But this is Kunzite, and he’s been living in a hut in the forest for years, and he has many talents, many, many of them, and some even involve the ladies, but when it comes to talking to them, he... ah, what’s the word? Right. He sucks. Completely.
“You like me.”
“I do,” Venus says, and begins to smile. Finally, they will get somewhere, she thinks, and there is a warm feeling spreading in her tummy and... elsewhere. The bed is a bit narrow, but it’ll do.
“Then you never tried to oust us.”
“No,” Venus confirms, and takes another step towards him. It would be nice if he’d get a move on as well, but she’s not exactly old-fashioned, she can be the one to get this party started. Kunzite stares off into space, and it’s lovely that the revelation of her feelings for him has this effect on him, Venus thinks, watching a smile equally relieved and ecstatic spread over his face. That does it, and she bridges the remaining distance between them. Pressing her body against his, she lets her hands travel over his broad chest.
He is still smiling. “This is the day best day of my life.”
Venus, who’s secretly been itching to have Kunzite whispers sweet nothings in her ears for years, giggles. “And why is that?” she asks, fishing for compliments, wondering how poetic he will make his declaration, how kind and how raunchy this is going to get, how---
“Because I can go home to Endymion,” he says with feeling, and pats her on the shoulder.
***
There once was a forest, a forest full of magic, in a land known as... well, we’ve been there, and done that, and you already know that there is a little hut.
Now, when this story began, you would have expected the hut in our forest full of magic to be just a little bit crooked, wouldn’t you? In the image you conjured in your mind, the shingles were covered with moss, some ivy crawled up the walls, even covering a corner of a window. The ankle-high wall surrounding the hut was overgrown with grass and wildflowers, and there was no clear path leading to the small abode. This was the image the erstwhile beast destroyed, but time does pass, and things do change, and now the hut looks exactly like this.
The wildflowers, once upon a time contained in pebble-lined flower bed, are now spreading all over the garden, and the wall has lost a few bricks. There is also a crack in the window, but it’s not really a problem because the ivy has grown over it anyway and did you know that ivy provides excellent natural insulation?
From the distance, the beast advances. She is a fearsome creature, and doesn’t only cut down trees in winter. She cuts down trees all year long because she’s a beast, hear her roar. Every time she feels particularly vindictive, she goes to the rose bush in the clearing, takes some pruning shears and makes snip-snap noises at it for an hour or two. If she has just received a messenger from Elysion or the Golden Kingdom, then she goes and cuts some of the red roses off the bush.
(Don’t worry: she’s only giving Beryl the equivalent of a really bad haircut.)
Venus has been here for a year now, and it’s once again autumn. Serenity has already given birth to a little girl, a carrier pigeon brought her news of the birth in spring. Apparently, the little girl, who wasn’t born in the royal birthing chamber in the palace but instead on the pixie meadow in Elysion, has pink hair. Serenity loves it, and says it because of all the love and happiness in the air now that the shitennou are back. Mercury and Jupiter, the old traitors, have joined the Queen at court, and unless the carrier pigeon was a dirty, dirty liar, then it even was Jupiter who went to fetch Nephrite from his tower of drunkitude.
Of course Venus could have returned to the stars and her planet after Kunzite ran to Endymion like a child to the ice cream van, but she felt morose and disappointed and angry at the world, and it’s easier to be mad in the wilderness than in the luxury of a star palace. So she stayed in the hut, and let the ivy and flowers grow because... well, for one, flowers are pretty, and also, it would have pissed Kunzite off. Not that he cared. And not that she still wanted him to. Oh no. Venus was DONE. Done, you hear me?
(Except for the moments where she looked out at the starry sky and remembered those few times where he hadn’t glowered at her in the palace, but had looked like he wanted to kiss her. Those moment she unfortunately, and despite a lot of trying, couldn’t distance herself from, and her cheating beating heart clenched painfully every time she thought of them.)
Throwing open the front door, Venus skids to a stop. On her bed, wearing his uniform, sits Kunzite, twirling the jar of ointment in his hands that she still keeps by the bedside.
“Evening,” he greets her, and her breath catches in her throat when she looks into his eyes. Then she remembers that this is not on, and that he ran to Endymion, and this is her hut, and her jar of ointment, and that---
“I want to apologise.”
She drops the chopped wood she is holding because she feels like she needs to cross her arms in front of her chest. The logs roll around on the floor, and Kunzite follows them with his eyes until they stop moving. Then he looks back up at her.
Most uncharacteristically, Venus doesn’t say anything at all.
“I realise now that I did you and your fellow senshi a great injustice. I am here on behalf of all the shitennou, asking you to return with me to the palace.”
She arches a brow, and he puts the jar away. Getting up, he walks over to her, and actually looks contrite. She has never seen him look contrite. Suits him.
“And of course, I also owe you an apology of a more personal nature.”
“Do you now?” she asks, acid in her voice and venom in her eyes.
“I do.”
“Well? Where is it, then?”
He bends down and kisses her on the lips. It’s very tender, very chaste, and if you’re Venus, and haven’t gotten laid in YEARS, ever so slightly disappointing. She harrumphs, but smiles anyway and entwines her hands in his. There is a question mark in his eyes, and she can tell that he is worried she will send him away.
So she shrugs her shoulder. “Doesn’t live up to my handmaiden’s report at all.”
He chuckles, and remembers the moment on the bed where Venus had made him blush. “Oh yeah? In that case, shut up and turn around.”
*** The End ***