[Othello] Iago's memories (slash)
Title: Iago's memories
Writer: lucre_noin
Beta reader: popeiathehippo (<3 thank you)
Rating: PG
Pairings or characters: Othello/Iago
Warnings: slash, sort of AU
Plot: Othello doesn't Iago's dreams and nightmares.
Iago's memories
OTHELLO
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.
IAGO
My lord, you know I love you.
OTHELLO
I think thou dost;
The words were crisp and clear on the white paper; for once the ink had not stained the words with anger and anxiety.
"Oh cursed slave!" they said, "Whip me, ye devils, from the possession of this heavenly sight! Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur! Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire! O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead! Oh! Oh! Oh! "
And yet, piled on the table, "Demand me nothing: what you know, you know: From this time forth I never will speak word." And there were thousand others, words of love and words of hate. They told the story of a jealous traitor and his even more jealous general. The story of the abused innocent Desdemona and the lonely Emilia.
Othello picked up a few fallen pieces of paper on the ground and reassembled them neatly on the table.
Their writer was sitting at the table with his head resting on his arms, sleeping, king of the thousand and thousand ink stains around him. The dark blond hair was cut short and Othello could easily cup Iago's neck with his own hand and feel him breathe.
"Why do you write such nasty and bloody things?" Othello whispered in his ear, bending over him.
Iago opened his eyes, waking up as if he had never fallen asleep, as if his mind had always been active during sleep.
"Why? Aren't my dreams and my nightmares designed so well and with such skill- and if I could, I would have made them real," he said, the words slightly muffled by his arms.
"You are a monster. You really would have planned these things and gone through with them? And who is this Emilia?"
"My wife, my dear general."
"You have no wife, and if you had one, I would now be listening to voices that speak evil of me and her, not of us," said Othello, clutching the other one's neck and pressing his face lightly against the table. "Like this? Was it like this that I strangled Desdemona?"
"You would've done it if her father had let her marry you."
"I would have done it if I was foolish enough to fall for your plots."
Iago did not even try to extricate himself from the grip of Othello. "I assure you that you would have fallen for it. All of you fools."
Othello was tempted to take all those papers and burn them. But he could not do it, because if he did destroy them, he would never understand Iago's nightmares and glares (and he would stay awake for hours wondering about them).
"I prefer you as soldier rather than as a writer," muttered Othello.
"No, my lord, you prefer me as a bed companion rather than as anything else," smiled Iago, and they both knew it was true.
Writer: lucre_noin
Beta reader: popeiathehippo (<3 thank you)
Rating: PG
Pairings or characters: Othello/Iago
Warnings: slash, sort of AU
Plot: Othello doesn't Iago's dreams and nightmares.
Iago's memories
OTHELLO
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.
IAGO
My lord, you know I love you.
OTHELLO
I think thou dost;
The words were crisp and clear on the white paper; for once the ink had not stained the words with anger and anxiety.
"Oh cursed slave!" they said, "Whip me, ye devils, from the possession of this heavenly sight! Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur! Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire! O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead! Oh! Oh! Oh! "
And yet, piled on the table, "Demand me nothing: what you know, you know: From this time forth I never will speak word." And there were thousand others, words of love and words of hate. They told the story of a jealous traitor and his even more jealous general. The story of the abused innocent Desdemona and the lonely Emilia.
Othello picked up a few fallen pieces of paper on the ground and reassembled them neatly on the table.
Their writer was sitting at the table with his head resting on his arms, sleeping, king of the thousand and thousand ink stains around him. The dark blond hair was cut short and Othello could easily cup Iago's neck with his own hand and feel him breathe.
"Why do you write such nasty and bloody things?" Othello whispered in his ear, bending over him.
Iago opened his eyes, waking up as if he had never fallen asleep, as if his mind had always been active during sleep.
"Why? Aren't my dreams and my nightmares designed so well and with such skill- and if I could, I would have made them real," he said, the words slightly muffled by his arms.
"You are a monster. You really would have planned these things and gone through with them? And who is this Emilia?"
"My wife, my dear general."
"You have no wife, and if you had one, I would now be listening to voices that speak evil of me and her, not of us," said Othello, clutching the other one's neck and pressing his face lightly against the table. "Like this? Was it like this that I strangled Desdemona?"
"You would've done it if her father had let her marry you."
"I would have done it if I was foolish enough to fall for your plots."
Iago did not even try to extricate himself from the grip of Othello. "I assure you that you would have fallen for it. All of you fools."
Othello was tempted to take all those papers and burn them. But he could not do it, because if he did destroy them, he would never understand Iago's nightmares and glares (and he would stay awake for hours wondering about them).
"I prefer you as soldier rather than as a writer," muttered Othello.
"No, my lord, you prefer me as a bed companion rather than as anything else," smiled Iago, and they both knew it was true.