A/H fic: The Dark
I wrote this in place of my essay. It was going to be a drabble, cos I have several other ideas for true fics, but then this got way longer than 100 words because I like PROCRASTINATING. So, wedding!fic, virgin!fic, and bitchslap!fic are coming up when I am actually purposefully trying to write this stuff.
Title: The Dark
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion, Alexander/Bagoas implied
Rating: PG-13, as usual
Summary: At Zadrakarta, Hephaistion is still battling his insecurities.
A/N: Based on Mary Renault's account of their relationship in The Persian Boy. Set during the days Bagoas is practicing for his dance at the Games.
Disclaimer: The Persian Boy and all therein belong to Mary Renault; Alexander and Hephaistion belong to the great annals of history. I claim nothing. This is fiction.
Feedback: Would be appreciated.
x-posted at epicslash, classics_slash, and historic_slash
If the beautiful boy you caught in a haystack gets to be a general of cavalry at eighteen, and is still your boy, you have not much to complain of. And if he goes on to be Pharaoh and Great King, with the treasures of Babylon, Susa and Persepolis poured at his feet, and the world's fiercest troops adoring him, is it wonderful if he finds he is a boy no longer, and wants a boy of his own? --Mary Renault, The Persian Boy, Chapter 13
Hephaistion dozed fitfully. Though his rooms, second in splendour only to Alexander's, faced the sea, the windows seemed to bring in little of its cool breeze, and Hephaistion felt his hair weigh heavily on his forehead where it clung in thick tendrils. He was fully awake when he heard the king being hailed by the guard outside his own door, and sat up slowly, the muscles in his abdomen tightening. Even the dim light of the lantern spilling in as the door opened made him squint, and he raised his knees to rest his arms on them, shielding his eyes.
"I am sorry to wake you," Alexander said, standing just inside the door as it closed behind him. The white of his robe glowed in the dim moonlight.
"If you were sorry you would not have done it," Hephaistion answered, lowering his arm. When Alexander was silent, Hephaistion relented. "I was not asleep."
Alexander came forward, and it was not the bold step of a conqueror, nor the sure step of an emperor. It was merely Alexander.
"Where is the boy?" Hephaistion could not stop himself from asking.
Again Alexander paused. "Why do you call him boy?"
"Is he not a boy?"
Even in the dark Hephaistion sensed the change in demeanour. "That was unworthy of you."
The silence drew out, Alexander standing haughtily, and yet almost awkwardly, between the door and the enormous bed, hands at his sides. Hephaistion bowed his head briefly, then looked beyond the window.
"I am sorry."
"If you were sorry you would not have said it." Hephaistion laughed shortly at that, an abbreviated caricature of the sound.
"He trains for the Games. I have sent a bed for him there," Alexander continued, but his voice rasped on the last words.
He stepped forward again, and Hephaistion dared not move, afraid on the one hand of scaring him away, and on the other of betraying his own long-checked need.
"You never called me boy," Alexander said slowly, "even when I was younger than he, and less knowing."
"Yet what we did was no less meaningful, for all our ignorance. It is easy enough to forget amongst the luxury of these eastern kings."
"And have I said so?"
Now Hephaistion dared look at his liege. "No. You did not need to."
Alexander's quietude seemed to shatter suddenly. "Why do you begrudge me this? Was not the letter enough? Zeus above, Hephaistion, what more can I do?" He turned on his heel and paced shallowly about the room.
Hephaistion quickly roused himself and went to stand before Alexander, who had paused, leaning one hand against the wall.
"You know I begrudge you nothing. I think the world too little for you."
Alexander turned his head slightly, his profile outlined against the dark of the wall. "Then what is it?"
It was Hephaistion's turn to pace, albeit more slowly. "My own selfishness, I suppose. I know the world should give itself to you, yet I desire that..." his voice trailed off.
"What?"
Hephaistion could not repress a groan of frustration. "You know well!" He grasped Alexander by his shoulders. "I can never have all of you; I would surely perish if I tried, yet this," he touched his forehead to Alexander's, "even this will never be enough, though I cherish it more than my own life."
"Yet you have it, more than anyone; surely you know," Alexander said softly, eyes downcast. His voice was little more than a whisper when he continued. "I will always be your boy, and you mine."
Hephaistion felt as if he might expire in that moment, for never had a relief been so great. He had not looked for such an admission now, so late, and was awed at Alexander's generosity. So consummate was his elation that he was rough, though he knew how much the words had cost Alexander. He kissed Alexander greedily, frantically, taking and taking, knowing that Alexander would keep giving, needed to keep giving even as Hephaistion needed to take.
He pushed Alexander down on the bed, covering his whole body, letting Alexander feel his weight. "Are you mine?" he kept asking, though he knew the answer, the answer Alexander gave readily and often. The final exultation, then, came upon them both in a frenzied composite of doubt and affirmation.
Hephaistion rolled over, breathing hard. "I am rough. For that I am sorry."
"Don't," Alexander said lazily, "you know you are not, and neither am I."
"It compares unfavourably with your Persian pleasure, I have no doubt."
At that Alexander turned to look him in the eye, and now it was the eye of the monarch. "Do not speak of him that way. His name is Bagoas. And you know it is different."
Hephaistion was quiet a minute before answering. "I know," he said.
Title: The Dark
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion, Alexander/Bagoas implied
Rating: PG-13, as usual
Summary: At Zadrakarta, Hephaistion is still battling his insecurities.
A/N: Based on Mary Renault's account of their relationship in The Persian Boy. Set during the days Bagoas is practicing for his dance at the Games.
Disclaimer: The Persian Boy and all therein belong to Mary Renault; Alexander and Hephaistion belong to the great annals of history. I claim nothing. This is fiction.
Feedback: Would be appreciated.
x-posted at epicslash, classics_slash, and historic_slash
If the beautiful boy you caught in a haystack gets to be a general of cavalry at eighteen, and is still your boy, you have not much to complain of. And if he goes on to be Pharaoh and Great King, with the treasures of Babylon, Susa and Persepolis poured at his feet, and the world's fiercest troops adoring him, is it wonderful if he finds he is a boy no longer, and wants a boy of his own? --Mary Renault, The Persian Boy, Chapter 13
Hephaistion dozed fitfully. Though his rooms, second in splendour only to Alexander's, faced the sea, the windows seemed to bring in little of its cool breeze, and Hephaistion felt his hair weigh heavily on his forehead where it clung in thick tendrils. He was fully awake when he heard the king being hailed by the guard outside his own door, and sat up slowly, the muscles in his abdomen tightening. Even the dim light of the lantern spilling in as the door opened made him squint, and he raised his knees to rest his arms on them, shielding his eyes.
"I am sorry to wake you," Alexander said, standing just inside the door as it closed behind him. The white of his robe glowed in the dim moonlight.
"If you were sorry you would not have done it," Hephaistion answered, lowering his arm. When Alexander was silent, Hephaistion relented. "I was not asleep."
Alexander came forward, and it was not the bold step of a conqueror, nor the sure step of an emperor. It was merely Alexander.
"Where is the boy?" Hephaistion could not stop himself from asking.
Again Alexander paused. "Why do you call him boy?"
"Is he not a boy?"
Even in the dark Hephaistion sensed the change in demeanour. "That was unworthy of you."
The silence drew out, Alexander standing haughtily, and yet almost awkwardly, between the door and the enormous bed, hands at his sides. Hephaistion bowed his head briefly, then looked beyond the window.
"I am sorry."
"If you were sorry you would not have said it." Hephaistion laughed shortly at that, an abbreviated caricature of the sound.
"He trains for the Games. I have sent a bed for him there," Alexander continued, but his voice rasped on the last words.
He stepped forward again, and Hephaistion dared not move, afraid on the one hand of scaring him away, and on the other of betraying his own long-checked need.
"You never called me boy," Alexander said slowly, "even when I was younger than he, and less knowing."
"Yet what we did was no less meaningful, for all our ignorance. It is easy enough to forget amongst the luxury of these eastern kings."
"And have I said so?"
Now Hephaistion dared look at his liege. "No. You did not need to."
Alexander's quietude seemed to shatter suddenly. "Why do you begrudge me this? Was not the letter enough? Zeus above, Hephaistion, what more can I do?" He turned on his heel and paced shallowly about the room.
Hephaistion quickly roused himself and went to stand before Alexander, who had paused, leaning one hand against the wall.
"You know I begrudge you nothing. I think the world too little for you."
Alexander turned his head slightly, his profile outlined against the dark of the wall. "Then what is it?"
It was Hephaistion's turn to pace, albeit more slowly. "My own selfishness, I suppose. I know the world should give itself to you, yet I desire that..." his voice trailed off.
"What?"
Hephaistion could not repress a groan of frustration. "You know well!" He grasped Alexander by his shoulders. "I can never have all of you; I would surely perish if I tried, yet this," he touched his forehead to Alexander's, "even this will never be enough, though I cherish it more than my own life."
"Yet you have it, more than anyone; surely you know," Alexander said softly, eyes downcast. His voice was little more than a whisper when he continued. "I will always be your boy, and you mine."
Hephaistion felt as if he might expire in that moment, for never had a relief been so great. He had not looked for such an admission now, so late, and was awed at Alexander's generosity. So consummate was his elation that he was rough, though he knew how much the words had cost Alexander. He kissed Alexander greedily, frantically, taking and taking, knowing that Alexander would keep giving, needed to keep giving even as Hephaistion needed to take.
He pushed Alexander down on the bed, covering his whole body, letting Alexander feel his weight. "Are you mine?" he kept asking, though he knew the answer, the answer Alexander gave readily and often. The final exultation, then, came upon them both in a frenzied composite of doubt and affirmation.
Hephaistion rolled over, breathing hard. "I am rough. For that I am sorry."
"Don't," Alexander said lazily, "you know you are not, and neither am I."
"It compares unfavourably with your Persian pleasure, I have no doubt."
At that Alexander turned to look him in the eye, and now it was the eye of the monarch. "Do not speak of him that way. His name is Bagoas. And you know it is different."
Hephaistion was quiet a minute before answering. "I know," he said.