Spiderweb Thread
Christmas card for underlucius
Spiderweb Thread
Abraxas/Lucius
Merry Christmas!
Lucius shivers. The dungeons are no place for the family's heir, particularly on a frozen late evening in the Advent calendar, when the icy wind whispers and howls against the ceilings of the low stone corridors. His lush robes are already wet and stained in places with dirt and limestone, and there is a small scratch on his hand where he nearly fell, and caught himself on the harsh stone features of one of his forebears. It is hardly bleeding at all.
He kneels just past the last amphitheatrical hollow of the oubliette, his keen eyes seeking out his prey in the darkness. This spider is not particularly large, but its venom is virulent and painful. The swollen albino body sits in a maze of thread that shines like tinsel. Lucius slips his wand out of his pocket and points it, carefully, well aware that this spider can leap.
He mutters the Killing Curse and watches the rainbow refractions of light dance along the spiderwebs as their inhabitor twitches toward its final rest. Having completed the recipe, Lucius then twists the webs into a bundle and begins the long ascent back to the manor proper.
+++
Abraxas smiles. In the laboratory, the bloody lights of another successful rite play over his chiseled features, reflecting in the endless worlds within his dark grey eyes. He rises from the scarred table and removes his stained apron, returning the heavy layers of his black mantle over his shoulders. One deft flick of his wrist at the nape of his neck pulls his long jet hair to spill over its top, cascading silk shot through with haunting silver. The red light suits him. It suits the curve of his smile, as dark and secret as the oldest mysteries of the moon.
As he turns, his eyes glide warmly over the tall straight figure of Lucius in the doorway, his own platinum hair gleaming in the warm wash of the hellish luminescence. "Father," he says softly, his own eyes glowing, "I have a gift for you."
Lucius does not know where this confidence comes from, but it is darkly thrilling and rests within his blood, dragon-fierce and content as a cat with cream, as if it should always have been there. It moves within his body with a grace that is pure beauty, beauty he can feel as he moves- and the old man, for all his incredible richness, his loveliness that can take the breath, is moving more slowly these days. Lucius sets his fingertips at the base of his father's too-slender back and guides him.
He knows full well that the delicacy is part of the danger.
"How far is this gift of yours, my darling?" Abraxas murmurs.
Lucius smiles. "Not far." He guides Abraxas to a seat in the nearest parlor, where a fire is already roaring and warming the walls so the slick black wallpaper glimmers like volcanic glass. "Close your eyes, please," he murmurs, his lips so near Abraxas' ear that they touch the incredible softness of his thick straight hair.
Abraxas smiles and veils those dizzying depths, and Lucius leans in, letting his long and beautiful fingers move as they will, with deft elegance through Abraxas' silver-touched hair. The tips of his fingernails massage the scalp, touching just as he loves to be touched, rubbing the temples to alleviate the vision headaches of hours spent squinting at strange sigils in the dimness. A light kiss to the cartilage of the ear.
Then Lucius spreads the crystalline strands of the metal he has made, wrapping Abraxas' hair around it so that it gleams against the raven and the white, the thousand colors of a glass prism forever subtly and mutably trapped within strands like wire. Here and there he had added a jewel, something to gleam scarlet like a drop of blood against the skin or hair of his Blancneige, his Pater.
Abraxas opens his eyes, and catches a glimpse of the cold fire woven into his hair, where it is mirrored in the sleek expanse of nearby marble. He laughs softly and turns, his own long and much-abused fingers cup Lucius' cheek. A gentle kiss for Abraxas, firm enough to bruise.
"You never fail to surprise, my Lucius," he says, though the wicked laughter in his eyes give this the lie, and prove that it is impossible, in the end, to surprise the old man. "I think that is why I love you."
Lucius' heart feels dead in his chest. He cannot know what to think or how to react. He digs his own nails into the cut in his palm and smiles. "You said that love is for fools in love with their own weakness."
"It is. But I did love the look in your eyes."
The second kiss was nothing like gentle.
Spiderweb Thread
Abraxas/Lucius
Merry Christmas!
Lucius shivers. The dungeons are no place for the family's heir, particularly on a frozen late evening in the Advent calendar, when the icy wind whispers and howls against the ceilings of the low stone corridors. His lush robes are already wet and stained in places with dirt and limestone, and there is a small scratch on his hand where he nearly fell, and caught himself on the harsh stone features of one of his forebears. It is hardly bleeding at all.
He kneels just past the last amphitheatrical hollow of the oubliette, his keen eyes seeking out his prey in the darkness. This spider is not particularly large, but its venom is virulent and painful. The swollen albino body sits in a maze of thread that shines like tinsel. Lucius slips his wand out of his pocket and points it, carefully, well aware that this spider can leap.
He mutters the Killing Curse and watches the rainbow refractions of light dance along the spiderwebs as their inhabitor twitches toward its final rest. Having completed the recipe, Lucius then twists the webs into a bundle and begins the long ascent back to the manor proper.
+++
Abraxas smiles. In the laboratory, the bloody lights of another successful rite play over his chiseled features, reflecting in the endless worlds within his dark grey eyes. He rises from the scarred table and removes his stained apron, returning the heavy layers of his black mantle over his shoulders. One deft flick of his wrist at the nape of his neck pulls his long jet hair to spill over its top, cascading silk shot through with haunting silver. The red light suits him. It suits the curve of his smile, as dark and secret as the oldest mysteries of the moon.
As he turns, his eyes glide warmly over the tall straight figure of Lucius in the doorway, his own platinum hair gleaming in the warm wash of the hellish luminescence. "Father," he says softly, his own eyes glowing, "I have a gift for you."
Lucius does not know where this confidence comes from, but it is darkly thrilling and rests within his blood, dragon-fierce and content as a cat with cream, as if it should always have been there. It moves within his body with a grace that is pure beauty, beauty he can feel as he moves- and the old man, for all his incredible richness, his loveliness that can take the breath, is moving more slowly these days. Lucius sets his fingertips at the base of his father's too-slender back and guides him.
He knows full well that the delicacy is part of the danger.
"How far is this gift of yours, my darling?" Abraxas murmurs.
Lucius smiles. "Not far." He guides Abraxas to a seat in the nearest parlor, where a fire is already roaring and warming the walls so the slick black wallpaper glimmers like volcanic glass. "Close your eyes, please," he murmurs, his lips so near Abraxas' ear that they touch the incredible softness of his thick straight hair.
Abraxas smiles and veils those dizzying depths, and Lucius leans in, letting his long and beautiful fingers move as they will, with deft elegance through Abraxas' silver-touched hair. The tips of his fingernails massage the scalp, touching just as he loves to be touched, rubbing the temples to alleviate the vision headaches of hours spent squinting at strange sigils in the dimness. A light kiss to the cartilage of the ear.
Then Lucius spreads the crystalline strands of the metal he has made, wrapping Abraxas' hair around it so that it gleams against the raven and the white, the thousand colors of a glass prism forever subtly and mutably trapped within strands like wire. Here and there he had added a jewel, something to gleam scarlet like a drop of blood against the skin or hair of his Blancneige, his Pater.
Abraxas opens his eyes, and catches a glimpse of the cold fire woven into his hair, where it is mirrored in the sleek expanse of nearby marble. He laughs softly and turns, his own long and much-abused fingers cup Lucius' cheek. A gentle kiss for Abraxas, firm enough to bruise.
"You never fail to surprise, my Lucius," he says, though the wicked laughter in his eyes give this the lie, and prove that it is impossible, in the end, to surprise the old man. "I think that is why I love you."
Lucius' heart feels dead in his chest. He cannot know what to think or how to react. He digs his own nails into the cut in his palm and smiles. "You said that love is for fools in love with their own weakness."
"It is. But I did love the look in your eyes."
The second kiss was nothing like gentle.