Wind of Heaven 1
Title: Wind of Heaven, Chapter 1
Pairing: Mooka (Matty x Phooka) M/M
Summary: This was supposed to be a one-shot about Matty and Phooka going to a horseshow and it kind of . . . . grew.
The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.
--Arabian Proverb
Matthias wiped his eyes with his free hand.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
Phooka smiled and squeezed the blonde’s hand gently.
“Don’t be; it’s my fault, annsachd,” he murmured comfortingly. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt bad,” Matty murmured, rubbing his sore shoulder. “I’m really sorry; I lost you money! I got us disqualified! I made us lose! I’m sorry!”
Phooka stopped walking, took a brief look up and down the aisle of the stable, then slung the saddle he was carrying off of his shoulder and took Matty’s shoulders in his hands.
“Hush now, luv! You know that money was as phony as Jack’s hair color! And I’m not upset about losing that competition. Three months ago you had never so much as sat on a horse; I’m the one who’s pushing you too hard. I shouldn’t have entered us in jumping.”
“I’m sorry I fell off,” Matty repeated.
The beautiful Irishman scowled.
“Matthias Conway, if I hear you apologize one more time, I shall - I shall - do . . . . something . . . . . . really horrible,” the kelpie floundered. Anything he could think of was either too weak or too unspeakable.
A tiny smile fought to surface on Matty’s face.
“I shall . . . . not stick my nose in your ear while we sleep for a whole week!” Phooka finally declared.
Matty dissolved into laughter.
Phooka grinned and hugged his young master tightly.
“Don’t apologize for anything, Matthias. This is the thrill of competition; I haven’t experienced the fun of this for many years and I am grateful for the opportunity to do so now.”
“As drop dead gorgeous as your horse form is, nobody’s ever tried to show you before?” Matty asked, craning his head to look up at his lover.
For a moment, Phooka’s smile faded.
“No; no, I have been shown before. But as I said, I was not allowed to enjoy it.”
Concern flickered across Matty’s features.
“What?”
Phooka stepped back and picked up the discarded saddle, taking Matty’s hand again.
“It’s not important. Come, luv; you need to change for the dressage competition.”
The blonde youth allowed himself to be led towards the stall and dressing room assigned to him and his mount, but didn’t let his blue eyes stray from his lover for a second.
“What do you mean; you weren’t allowed to enjoy it? Phooka? Tell me,” he ordered, his fall completely forgotten.
The water elf sighed, giving his master a sidelong look. A sharp sparkle in those pretty blue eyes assured him he wasn’t getting out of this particular order.
Phooka sighed again.
“You know nothing of horse competition, Matthias,” he began softly. “And in some ways that is a very good thing; when people’s greed is aroused; they can become very cruel. Even normal horses are beaten - or worse - for losing.”
Matty gasped at the thought, but Phooka continued.
“I was Bound by a German equestrian in the early 1960s. The man was a competent rider, but nothing special. When he came into possession of me, I think the power drove him a little mad. Since I was a fairy horse, I was ordered to win at every competition, yet I was not allowed to train. I wasn’t pastured or treated as an athlete and I was only fed enough to keep the other horse owners from calling the authorities. Needless to say, I was not allowed to hunt my normal prey. I went into the ring half-starved and half-mad, my muscles locking up from disuse even as I forced myself over jumps and through patterns . . . . the fool even had me reining. Reining! Like a Quarter Horse!” Phooka’s lip curled in a sneer.
Matty didn’t know what reining was or was a Quarter Horse was, but he already had a lump in his throat at Phooka’s recitation of his former show experience.
“How’d - how’d you get away?” Matty squeaked, tears already pooling in his eyes as he imagined Phooka’s pain, his hunger, the torture his beloved had gone through.
A dark smile twisted Phooka’s lip.
“The fool came to a show drunk and got on the wrong black horse. That horse had no problem throwing the bastard to the ground and breaking his neck for the way he was ridden. And I was free.” Phooka gave a happy little sigh. “I blessed that beast for the rest of his days.”
A choked sob interrupted Phooka’s little happy moment. The kelpie looked back to see his lover crying hysterically. These weren’t the sniffling tears of a youth who had fallen from his pony and sustained an ouchie, but wracking, violent sobs, as if his heart were being rent asunder.
Phooka put the saddle down again and embraced his lover.
“Matty, love, no, no, don’t cry!”
A series of sounds that might have been words tumbled from the blonde’s lips.
“Please! It’s in the past! I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t enjoy competing! That was one bad experience! I haven’t told you of the other times; the times I had fun! Why, I trained at the Royal Spanish Riding School, with the Lipizzaners! I learned dressage like it was an art!”
Matty’s sobs slowed slightly and another series of sounds that might have been a sentence, with a questioning lilt to it.
“Yes, it’s true. You had a terrible experience with sex, but you didn’t let that ruin it for you, did you?” Phooka nuzzled Matty’s head gently. “You make love like an artist, annsachd. I can only hope to be as skilled in the ring as you are in the bedroom.”
Matty drew in a shaky breath and blushed, a pleased smile fighting it’s way to the surface despite himself.
“F-Flatterer,” he stammered, wiping at his eyes. “Don’t think you can sweet-talk your way out of me crying over your pain.”
Phooka sobered for a moment and looked down at the slim youth who was struggling to get himself under control. His master; his lover, who wept over the stains on the kelpie’s past as if they had just been committed against him, personally. Matty, his beloved, who cared for him so deeply he shed tears over injuries long past. Phooka gathered the beautiful youth up and held him close.
“I would not dream of it, annsachd. It is such an honor for you to shed tears for me. Every drop you cry fills me with pride.” Phooka pressed a kiss to the top of Matty’s head. “But if you don’t change soon, we won’t be ready for the dressage competition,” he whispered.
Matty gave a sniffling giggle.
“You really want to compete in this, don’t you?”
“Ye-es!!!” Phooka whined, stamping his foot.
Matty laughed, wiping at his eyes.
“Okay, okay! I give! Let’s get changed!”
Phooka gave his lover one last kiss, then took his hand, snatched up the saddle and rushed back to the stall/dressing room.
~~~~~~~
Chase Young relaxed in his private box, a glass of white wine in his hand and a tray of fresh fruit within easy reach.
“The state of modern horsemanship saddens me,” he informed his companion.
There was silence from the other occupant of the box; deep, profound, I’m-not-speaking-to-you silence.
“You would think some of these fools had never sat on a horse before,” Chase continued.
The silence grew a bit colder.
“You know how to ride, don’t you, Pet?”
“Of course I’ve ridden a horse before,” Jack informed him icily. “But I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of competing in any competition like this. Matty must being doing great if he can do it after three months.”
“Having a sentient horse helps, I would imagine,” Chase said dryly, sipping his wine.
“He stayed on until the last jump in that jumping class!” Jack protested.
“Until the last jump,” Chase observed, picking up a strawberry. “And then he fell. If he were on the battlefield, he would have been run down and slaughtered by the enemy.”
“And that’s why you laughed?” Jack pressed.
One elegantly sculpted eyebrow arched.
“Yes,” Chase smoothly.
Jack pointedly turned his attention back to the empty arena.
“It is adorable to see you becoming defensive over another,” the warlord chuckled. “Have a glass of wine, Jack.”
The albino youth pouted, but took the glass of Riesling offered to him. He sipped it thoughtfully.
“I’d like to see you turn into a horse,” he said quietly. “I’ll hop aboard and take you over some jumps and you can see how funny it is when I fall off.”
Chase paused in chewing his strawberry. After a moment, he resumed chewing.
“If I were to change into a beast of burden, I would not rush my lover into advanced skills just so I could show off my classical education,” Chase stated coolly. He reached over and took Jack’s hand, rubbing his long fingers over moonstone skin.
He had ordered Jack to dress in a more refined manner for this little outing; the albino youth had pouted, but acquiesced and dressed in black slacks, a black blazer and a deep, black-ish green button down shirt. He had left off his goggles and wore yellow-tinted sunglasses instead. And instead of his normal fingerless gloves, he had left his hands bare.
It was odd, but Chase was so used to seeing those hands clothed except for in the bedroom that seeing them bare now was almost like knowing Jack wasn’t wearing underwear or something else furtive and naughty.
Against his better judgment, Jack felt his snit evaporating as Chase rubbed and petted his hand.
“I’m sure they’ll do better on the dressage part. I saw them practicing on the beach,” the youth murmured.
“Now that I would have liked to have seen,” Chase returned, bringing Jack’s hand to his cheek to stroke and kiss the appendage gently. “A beautiful youth astride a beautiful horse, practicing dressage on a secluded beach? It sounds a picture.”
There was a pause.
“You think Matty’s beautiful?” Jack asked.
~~~~~~~
“It’s a good thing I’m already gay,” Matty declared, cinching up his tie. “Or else I’d feel totally queer.”
Phooka snorted as he finished up giving a final polish to the dressage saddle.
“You shouldn’t feel ashamed of being a well-dressed equestrian, annsachd.” The kelpie returned the saddle to its stand and moved up behind his young lover, scooping up Matty’s coat and hat as he did so. “There is no shame in being a fine young gentleman.”
As Matty tucked his white tie into the canary yellow waistcoat, Phooka pressed a kiss to the back of his head and fondled the mortal youth’s breeches-clad rump gently.
“The sight of your backside in breeches would drive a priest to sin,” the kelpie announced.
Matty squeaked in delight.
The youth turned to share more kisses with his captive fairy, but the large black stallion in the stall assigned to Phooka caught his eye.
“God, that thing freaks me out,” he announced, eyeing the beast that even now flicked its ears forward.
“What? Why?” Phooka asked, plunking the top hat on Matty’s head and holding out the coat so the youth could slip into it.
Matthias adjusted the hat on his head and turned so he could slide into the shad belly coat.
“’Cause it’s you, but you’re here. It looks so real.”
“People would ask questions if there wasn’t a horse in your stall while you’re not showing, annsachd.”
“I know, I know. It’s just . . . it’s looking at me . . .”
Phooka grinned.
“It’s supposed to; a normal horse would. Fairy Glamour can be very convincing. You saw the stick horse I used to cast the enchantment.”
“I did, and knowing that it’s just a little Blair Witch Horsie is what’s really freaking me out,” Matty announced.
Phooka laughed heartily. Without another word, he went to the stall divider, gripped the top rung and flipped over the divider with ease, landing next to the horse illusion. The kelpie reached into the animal and suddenly the horse blinked off and Phooka held a little stick horse in his hand.
“Blair Witch Horsie . . . .” he murmured with obvious amusement. “Bring the saddle and bridle around, love.”
With that, Phooka assumed his horse form.
Matty picked up his saddle and bridle and went around the long way to put them on his beloved.
~~~~~~~~
Phooka moved elegantly into the warm-up arena, stretching his muscles in preparation for his performance. Other horses milled around them; long-legged beasts with European pedigrees and dark coats. They performed protracted tests, trying to get some last minute practice in while trying not to infringe on anyone’s space.
Being such a high-level show, there were a great many stallions here, and no one wanted to spark a stallion fight.
Phooka ignored them and started in on his routines.
The half-pass; a diagonal line keeping his body almost parallel with the arena wall while making both forward and sideways steps in each stride. It was an unusual move, to be sure, but Phooka approached it with a dancer’s pride.
The passage; a slow-motion, suspended trot that the kelpie had always felt was quite sensuous when performed properly.
The canter pirouettes; completing a 360 degree turn while remaining, more or less, in place.
Phooka didn’t bother practicing the flying lead changes. Those were easy.
To the kelpie’s delight, Matty remained well balanced and calm throughout the exercises; he even mock-saluted the judge without having to be reminded with a gentle snort.
All in all, Phooka was brimming with confidence when the White Horse entered the arena.
The other, normal horses moved out of the way instinctively as the White Horse stepped out into the arena. Like Phooka, it possessed a long, gorgeous, cascading mane that spilled past the slope of its shoulder. A strangely silver light seemed to surround the beast, leaving contrails in the not-so-bright lights of the warm-up arena. The White Horse’s conformation was flawless. It moved with an alien grace. It took the watchers a minute to realize that there was a rider aboard; a young woman of average countenance, who was dripping with smug.
Phooka’s drill stumbled to a halt as he took in the newcomer, who drifted across the ring towards him like fog over water. Unlike the mortal horses, the kelpie didn’t move out of the way of the great beast. He just stood and stared as the White Horse walked up to him and paused.
“Ex-cuh-yooose me,” his rider said. “You’re in my way.”
Matty reflected that only a real bred-in-the-bone bitch could make ‘excuse’ have three syllables. Before he told the dressage bitch exactly where she could cram her attitude, Phooka screamed in rage and charged forward.
The White Horse pulled back sharply, but quickly reared up to meet the kelpie’s charge and struck out with his forelegs. Phooka took the glancing blow to his chest and snapped at the other beast’s front legs with long yellow teeth. The White Horse went down to one knee as he struggled to protect his front legs from injury. His rider screamed and the animal surged back to his feet. He attempted to slam his shoulder against Phooka and knock him off-balance, but the kelpie reared and met the push with all his weight.
For a moment, white horse and black horse danced on their hind legs, pushing against each other with neck and shoulder.
Matty caught a glimpse of the White Horse’s rider and realized she was just as shocked as he was by his mount’s behavior. For some reason, this goaded him into action.
“Phooka, NO! Stop it! Knock it off!” Matty shouted, taking the reins and pulling back sharply.
Phooka’s ears flicked up from their flattened position and twitched back towards Matty. It was almost as though the kelpie had forgotten he was there, but was now listening again.
“We’re here to compete! Leave him alone!”
“You stupid horse!” The White Horse’s rider screeched. “How are we supposed to win if you’re beaten up?!”
Phooka and the White Horse parted, eyeing each other warily. Matty was relieved to see no blood or welts marring the snow white hide.
“I think he’s okay,” he called to the other rider. “Is mine all right?”
“I’ll sue you!”
Matthias blinked.
“What?”
“If the judges mark me down for having my horse maimed, I’ll sue you for damages!” The dressage bitch announced.
The statement was so ludicrous; all the blonde youth could do was stare.
Throwing her nose in the air, the other rider jerked her mount around to enter the main ring.
Matthias turned his attention to the kelpie fuming between his legs.
“What in hell was that all about?”
~~~~~~~~~~
“First up will be Kirsten Davis, riding Bucephalus,” the loudspeaker announced.
Jack had just enough time to notice the creature entering the ring did not seem to be a normal horse when a loud, rude guffaw broke the respectful silence of the arena. The albino youth looked over in surprise at Chase, who had slapped a hand over his mouth and was now sniggering evilly.
“What?” Jack asked. “What’s so hysterical about naming her horse after Alexander the Great’s horse?”
Golden eyes were lit with unholy glee as Chase looked over at his young lover.
“Named ‘after’?” he questioned.
Jack looked back to the ring, where the White Horse began to prance to Wagner’s ‘Flight of the Valkyries’.
“How would it be the real Bucephalus?” He asked. “I can tell it’s not an ordinary horse, but -“
“That isn’t a horse at all,” Chase corrected. “That prancing kelpie has acquired some true competition. This little outing just got interesting.”
“’Ox Head’” Jack murmured.
“Hmm?” Chase turned his attention back to his affianced.
“That’s what the name Bucephalus means: Ox Head,” Jack answered. “I’m just trying to figure out why and how it’s possible he’s still alive.”
Chase’s hand drifted over to stroke the youth’s bare, white-skinned hand.
“I do so adore it when you show off your mind. I shall give you a hint; take a look at the bridle. What is different about it?”
Jack squinted at the tack on the dancing horse.
“All the other horses have plain bridles, but this one has gold decorations all the way around it. Well, they’re gold-colored. . .”
Chase smirked.
“No, they will be real gold. I’m also willing to hazard that the rider has never known a man’s touch.”
Jack frowned minutely.
A horse said to have a head like a cow, which was linked with a golden bridle and a virgin rider; what did that add up to? His head wasn’t like a cow’s at all. Maybe Jack was thinking about it the wrong way. What did cattle have on their heads that horses lacked? And how did that tie in with the other stuff?
Chase chuckled as Jack’s eyes widened in realization.
“I bet Phooka is fuming,” he declared wickedly.
“It’s a UNICORN?!”