Fic: Vespertine
Behind the tattoos and piercing, and those deep, dark eyes there was a magic to Nico. Something pure, that made Luke want to believe in love at first sight; that all those bedtime stories his mother used to tell him when he was younger were completely true, that fairies and pillywigs could have whispered in his ears and told bawdy jokes if he had only known the right place to find them, down in the forest.
Tonight the son of Hades wore a smile with pride; like a medal that caught the cricket song scattered around them and flashed Morse messages of moonlight through the trees when he grinned. There was an energy buzzing through the air all around them, and when Nico laughed at his own stumble, Luke decided that he wanted to climb into that smile and live there forever. Nico caught his cuff to steady himself, a snapshot of fingers crumpled in dark fabric, but didn't linger; stepped away once he had regained his balance and continued down the path.
His skin was oddly luminous in the pale blue light -- Nico discarded his shirt somewhere near his father’s house when they had decided to run off together -- and Luke felt oddly mortal and ordinary in comparison. He was so beautifully fluid in the moonshine, in his element, that the son of Hermes was held in awe. Dimly, he realised that he would follow Nico wherever he wanted to go. To Hell and back, fluttered to the forefront of his mind and he smiled to himself. To Hell and back, then, as long as they’re back by morning.
Flying through the green blue, Luke had a stroboscopic view of Nico’s hair and skin and teeth, just flashes burning onto his retinas, each freezing itself in his memory as a twist of collar bone, a mess of hair, the parts of which Nico was more than the sum. It was almost like flying; the sharpness of sensation, the cold. It was the place where he could think, encapsulated and brought onto land by the madness of the boy whose footsteps he was following.
He had always got on alright with Apollo, terrible poetry aside, and Luke knew that the sun suited him. His skin was just the right side of burning, like so much red gold, and Apollo smiled broadly at him, tipping the ends of his hair with light. For the first time, seeing Nico glowing with twice reflected light, Luke envied him the closeness he had with Artemis. She was untouchable, brilliant, dangerous; Nico had taken to her instantly. He remembered the stories of men who had chased Artemis through forests, been torn apart by their own hounds for having the audacity to look at her, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Nico didn’t mind him looking. Had invited him to look. So he looked at him, like a mortal would look at a god, and picked up his pace.
Nico slammed the brakes on so suddenly that Luke didn’t even see him stop, he just felt the whiplash when Nico grabbed him by the back of his jacket. It was only when he looked down that he saw his sneakered feet teetering on the edge of the river. Suddenly there was a whole lot of warmth in his personal space, an arm across his chest holding him flush against a bold, breathless, bare chested Nico.
“Watch your step.” The hot breath in the cold air made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
They had been here before, of course. There wasn’t an inch of these half places that they hadn’t seen on one of their adventures, when they were just boys, just playing, and it was just ground they could conquer. There weren’t enough of them to forget, the overlapping lands, both living and dead, yet somehow neither, and every time he came here Luke wanted to remember. The bend in the river had swept a wide, shallow curve, almost a pond, where the water flow was lethargic enough for plants to grow. Last time Luke had seen it, the plants had been nothing but weeds, a mess of green between him and the water. Now, white flowers floated on the surface of the water, almost lotus like.
They flowered at night. Luke blessed his ADHD for the word vespertine , just don’t ask him how to spell it, drifting across his brain. Tipping his head back onto Nico’s shoulder, he rolled his lips over the exposed skin of his throat. He glowed at night. Luke’s smile imprinted itself on Nico’s jugular vein.
The taste of sweat; young, male, and rapidly chilling in the night air, left Luke reeling. Nico’s hands were moving slowly, competently, tracing the muscles of his abdomen, sliding his t shirt up, taking fingers full of skin. Luke shivered when his jacked slipped off his shoulders, but he surrendered his arms to Nico’s insistence and allowed him to pull his t shirt up and off, fluttering dimly as it fell through his peripheral vision.
Nico had grown, had aged, since the last time they had done this. Luke was wrong-footed, again, when he found himself spun, toes tracking the ground, and pushed none too gently into the black green grass. It might have been the air, after so long in the underworld, but Luke was winded. Nico stood over him, tight as a bow string, shining like a knife.
He always did this; always stood and let Luke catalogue the ways in which he’d changed, when Luke himself had stayed the same. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes, and there was a new tattoo on his right shoulder. Nico closed his eyes, let Luke watch him breathing, breath cooling in wispy summer clouds.
His eyes snapped open when he felt Luke’s cold fingers reaching for his belt. Kneeling in the shadow of him, Luke’s face was delicious; dark and devious with just an edge of desperation. Nico ran his index finger under Luke’s jaw, holding his chin firm between finger and thumb, forcing him to look at his face. His gaze was relentless, stripping Luke more quickly and efficiently than Luke was stripping him. He stepped out of his pants, naked and finally unashamed, and let Luke’s hands paint finger thick stripes from ankles to hips.
When Luke leaned in to press a kiss, surprisingly gentle, to the hollow of his pelvis, Nico shifted his weight subtly between his feet. He allowed him to trail his tongue slowly around his cock, to catch the drip of precome on his lower lip, and take the head briefly into his mouth.
The breathless noise Luke made when Nico stepped away, the way he touched his lips and put his finger instinctively into his mouth, lit the fires of hell inside Nico’s belly. He pushed against Luke’s shoulders, toppling him easily onto his back and sliding between his thighs. Luke moved to protest, but Nico pinned him with a black glance and went back to removing his pants; “My kingdom, my rules.”
The kiss was tentative, as if after all that went before it, Luke might still say no; barely pressing their lips together before lifting back. Luke lifted a hand, to Nico’s face, traced the new but familiar lines of his throat, pressing his thumb hard against the vein to feel the life flooding him, flying through him, not sure whether he was jealous of Nico, or of the blood that lived inside him. He slid his hand back, up the nape of his neck, to tangle in the sweat damp mess of hair that curled further around his fingers than he remembered.
With a sharp twist and a flick of his wrist, he tugged Nico’s head down for a real kiss. A kiss that burned in blood and bone, even when blood and bone were no longer relevant. He knew Nico would be gone, and wanted the buzz of Nico, the harmonic resonance of him, to linger as long as it could.
Resting their foreheads together, Nico fished for lube in the pocket of his discarded jeans while Luke admired the bruise red flush of his mouth, swollen and kiss sore. He lifted his legs easily around Nico’s waist, and sighed in relief when he slid his finger into him. Nico rubbed their noses together, an Eskimo kiss, while he gently fingered Luke open, watching his head fall back. The movement of his adams apple was hypnotising, and as he pushed in with his third finger, Nico leaned down to kiss the delicate skin that jumped under his lips.
Perfectly still, letting the air move between them, rolling in the smell of sweat and sex and death, Nico’s voice was shot to pieces. “Luke.” He opened his eyes, and was suddenly full of Nico; his body, his mind, his senses, as though all the worlds had crystallised into that one moment, when Nico was the world.
They moved together, Nico pressing Luke into the cold earth, and Luke lifting him back into the empty sky. The rhythm was hard but lazy, as though they could slow time, and when he came, Nico’s cry shattered into stars.
Holding Nico, back to his chest, Luke lifted his wrist to his lips. He bit down, hard, on the pulse under his tongue, dragging blood into a bruise the size of his mouth. Nico dropped his head back against Luke’s chest, eyes falling closed, and raised his other wrist like an offering.
“Now do you believe that I want this?”
Tonight the son of Hades wore a smile with pride; like a medal that caught the cricket song scattered around them and flashed Morse messages of moonlight through the trees when he grinned. There was an energy buzzing through the air all around them, and when Nico laughed at his own stumble, Luke decided that he wanted to climb into that smile and live there forever. Nico caught his cuff to steady himself, a snapshot of fingers crumpled in dark fabric, but didn't linger; stepped away once he had regained his balance and continued down the path.
His skin was oddly luminous in the pale blue light -- Nico discarded his shirt somewhere near his father’s house when they had decided to run off together -- and Luke felt oddly mortal and ordinary in comparison. He was so beautifully fluid in the moonshine, in his element, that the son of Hermes was held in awe. Dimly, he realised that he would follow Nico wherever he wanted to go. To Hell and back, fluttered to the forefront of his mind and he smiled to himself. To Hell and back, then, as long as they’re back by morning.
Flying through the green blue, Luke had a stroboscopic view of Nico’s hair and skin and teeth, just flashes burning onto his retinas, each freezing itself in his memory as a twist of collar bone, a mess of hair, the parts of which Nico was more than the sum. It was almost like flying; the sharpness of sensation, the cold. It was the place where he could think, encapsulated and brought onto land by the madness of the boy whose footsteps he was following.
He had always got on alright with Apollo, terrible poetry aside, and Luke knew that the sun suited him. His skin was just the right side of burning, like so much red gold, and Apollo smiled broadly at him, tipping the ends of his hair with light. For the first time, seeing Nico glowing with twice reflected light, Luke envied him the closeness he had with Artemis. She was untouchable, brilliant, dangerous; Nico had taken to her instantly. He remembered the stories of men who had chased Artemis through forests, been torn apart by their own hounds for having the audacity to look at her, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Nico didn’t mind him looking. Had invited him to look. So he looked at him, like a mortal would look at a god, and picked up his pace.
Nico slammed the brakes on so suddenly that Luke didn’t even see him stop, he just felt the whiplash when Nico grabbed him by the back of his jacket. It was only when he looked down that he saw his sneakered feet teetering on the edge of the river. Suddenly there was a whole lot of warmth in his personal space, an arm across his chest holding him flush against a bold, breathless, bare chested Nico.
“Watch your step.” The hot breath in the cold air made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
They had been here before, of course. There wasn’t an inch of these half places that they hadn’t seen on one of their adventures, when they were just boys, just playing, and it was just ground they could conquer. There weren’t enough of them to forget, the overlapping lands, both living and dead, yet somehow neither, and every time he came here Luke wanted to remember. The bend in the river had swept a wide, shallow curve, almost a pond, where the water flow was lethargic enough for plants to grow. Last time Luke had seen it, the plants had been nothing but weeds, a mess of green between him and the water. Now, white flowers floated on the surface of the water, almost lotus like.
They flowered at night. Luke blessed his ADHD for the word vespertine , just don’t ask him how to spell it, drifting across his brain. Tipping his head back onto Nico’s shoulder, he rolled his lips over the exposed skin of his throat. He glowed at night. Luke’s smile imprinted itself on Nico’s jugular vein.
The taste of sweat; young, male, and rapidly chilling in the night air, left Luke reeling. Nico’s hands were moving slowly, competently, tracing the muscles of his abdomen, sliding his t shirt up, taking fingers full of skin. Luke shivered when his jacked slipped off his shoulders, but he surrendered his arms to Nico’s insistence and allowed him to pull his t shirt up and off, fluttering dimly as it fell through his peripheral vision.
Nico had grown, had aged, since the last time they had done this. Luke was wrong-footed, again, when he found himself spun, toes tracking the ground, and pushed none too gently into the black green grass. It might have been the air, after so long in the underworld, but Luke was winded. Nico stood over him, tight as a bow string, shining like a knife.
He always did this; always stood and let Luke catalogue the ways in which he’d changed, when Luke himself had stayed the same. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes, and there was a new tattoo on his right shoulder. Nico closed his eyes, let Luke watch him breathing, breath cooling in wispy summer clouds.
His eyes snapped open when he felt Luke’s cold fingers reaching for his belt. Kneeling in the shadow of him, Luke’s face was delicious; dark and devious with just an edge of desperation. Nico ran his index finger under Luke’s jaw, holding his chin firm between finger and thumb, forcing him to look at his face. His gaze was relentless, stripping Luke more quickly and efficiently than Luke was stripping him. He stepped out of his pants, naked and finally unashamed, and let Luke’s hands paint finger thick stripes from ankles to hips.
When Luke leaned in to press a kiss, surprisingly gentle, to the hollow of his pelvis, Nico shifted his weight subtly between his feet. He allowed him to trail his tongue slowly around his cock, to catch the drip of precome on his lower lip, and take the head briefly into his mouth.
The breathless noise Luke made when Nico stepped away, the way he touched his lips and put his finger instinctively into his mouth, lit the fires of hell inside Nico’s belly. He pushed against Luke’s shoulders, toppling him easily onto his back and sliding between his thighs. Luke moved to protest, but Nico pinned him with a black glance and went back to removing his pants; “My kingdom, my rules.”
The kiss was tentative, as if after all that went before it, Luke might still say no; barely pressing their lips together before lifting back. Luke lifted a hand, to Nico’s face, traced the new but familiar lines of his throat, pressing his thumb hard against the vein to feel the life flooding him, flying through him, not sure whether he was jealous of Nico, or of the blood that lived inside him. He slid his hand back, up the nape of his neck, to tangle in the sweat damp mess of hair that curled further around his fingers than he remembered.
With a sharp twist and a flick of his wrist, he tugged Nico’s head down for a real kiss. A kiss that burned in blood and bone, even when blood and bone were no longer relevant. He knew Nico would be gone, and wanted the buzz of Nico, the harmonic resonance of him, to linger as long as it could.
Resting their foreheads together, Nico fished for lube in the pocket of his discarded jeans while Luke admired the bruise red flush of his mouth, swollen and kiss sore. He lifted his legs easily around Nico’s waist, and sighed in relief when he slid his finger into him. Nico rubbed their noses together, an Eskimo kiss, while he gently fingered Luke open, watching his head fall back. The movement of his adams apple was hypnotising, and as he pushed in with his third finger, Nico leaned down to kiss the delicate skin that jumped under his lips.
Perfectly still, letting the air move between them, rolling in the smell of sweat and sex and death, Nico’s voice was shot to pieces. “Luke.” He opened his eyes, and was suddenly full of Nico; his body, his mind, his senses, as though all the worlds had crystallised into that one moment, when Nico was the world.
They moved together, Nico pressing Luke into the cold earth, and Luke lifting him back into the empty sky. The rhythm was hard but lazy, as though they could slow time, and when he came, Nico’s cry shattered into stars.
Holding Nico, back to his chest, Luke lifted his wrist to his lips. He bit down, hard, on the pulse under his tongue, dragging blood into a bruise the size of his mouth. Nico dropped his head back against Luke’s chest, eyes falling closed, and raised his other wrist like an offering.
“Now do you believe that I want this?”