FIC: The Gifts of Heaven (Chapters 7-8, NC-17)
Title: The Gifts of Heaven (Chapters 7-8/9, completed fic)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940), but readable as original fiction
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, Jaffar/Zainab, Princess/Sarosh the Sexbot, and the ships without sex scenes are Fadl/Zainab and background Zainab/Lina and Jaffar/Fadl.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Historical Erotic Romance, Het with background slash and femslash, Fantasy.
Warnings: Light BDSM, Anal Sex, robot sex, and a big non-sexual one but it's a major spoiler. See Ao3 for full list of tags.
Length: ~29 000 words
Summary: The heavens themselves resolve to bless Yassamin and Jaffar and strengthen their love. Yet the same cannot be said for Fadl and Zainab, the rift between whom but deepens due to a different kind of heavenly intervention. As Yassamin deserves a rest, Jaffar sets out for New Lesbos alone, hoping to help Zainab settle her score with Fadl once and for all.
("Ah, Zainab, my love!" Fadl cries as he opens the front door; her grim expression tells him immediately that despite Jaffar's magic at her disposal, she cannot have found his emerald yet. This fills him with malicious glee, widening his grin ever further. "What brings me the honour of your visit, madam? Does it concern a set of prize sapphires, perhaps?" He asks, unable to resist twisting the knife a little; she always does look so pretty when she is angry, her eyes so full of frozen ire.
Yet she but stands there before him in the snowy courtyard, quiet, as still as a statue, her face almost as white as the ermine lining her hood.
"Come, come, my dear, why don't you step inside?" he says, holding the door open wide, making a sarcastic gesture of welcome with his hand. "Or is it that you have come to return me my emerald?" He asks, with a mock-astonished expression.
"No, Fadl, son of Yahya," she says, her voice firm, her eyes steady. "I have come to return to you your love."
For a few moments, Fadl fails to understand what she means.
As he finally realises, his heart stumbles over a beat, two, three. He tries to speak, but all of his blood has rushed out of his head and his limbs; just like when a Mongol's sword had once run through him. Just like his life had flashed before his eyes, then, does their love affair now play itself out before his eyes: that first rush of infatuation when they couldn't get enough of each other; all of their fervent joys, all of their wild matings. And then, what had followed after, in increasing amounts, year after year: all of her pettinesses, all of his jealousies, their respective prides and vanities. All of their vicious arguments, all of the blows exchanged between them, blows physical and emotional; all of their violent separations. Neither of them had been an angel to the other, each one pouring out his or her worst into the cup of their love until it had become filled not with sweet wine but bitter poison.
Yet bitterer still in the cup weigh his contributions and he knows it: all of his childish power games, all of his excessive cruelties, all of his petty humiliations, this last one of the emerald being the last drop that had finally toppled over the cup.
She digs into her pocket and lifts out her hand: in her gloved palm lies his emerald brooch.
Her eyes flicker back and forth, searching his. When he still doesn't speak, she clutches her hand into a fist. "It is over now, Fadl. Over once and for all," she says and raises her hand, "and for ever."
With these last words, she casts the emerald into his orchard, amidst the snow-covered orange trees.)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940), but readable as original fiction
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, Jaffar/Zainab, Princess/Sarosh the Sexbot, and the ships without sex scenes are Fadl/Zainab and background Zainab/Lina and Jaffar/Fadl.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Historical Erotic Romance, Het with background slash and femslash, Fantasy.
Warnings: Light BDSM, Anal Sex, robot sex, and a big non-sexual one but it's a major spoiler. See Ao3 for full list of tags.
Length: ~29 000 words
Summary: The heavens themselves resolve to bless Yassamin and Jaffar and strengthen their love. Yet the same cannot be said for Fadl and Zainab, the rift between whom but deepens due to a different kind of heavenly intervention. As Yassamin deserves a rest, Jaffar sets out for New Lesbos alone, hoping to help Zainab settle her score with Fadl once and for all.
("Ah, Zainab, my love!" Fadl cries as he opens the front door; her grim expression tells him immediately that despite Jaffar's magic at her disposal, she cannot have found his emerald yet. This fills him with malicious glee, widening his grin ever further. "What brings me the honour of your visit, madam? Does it concern a set of prize sapphires, perhaps?" He asks, unable to resist twisting the knife a little; she always does look so pretty when she is angry, her eyes so full of frozen ire.
Yet she but stands there before him in the snowy courtyard, quiet, as still as a statue, her face almost as white as the ermine lining her hood.
"Come, come, my dear, why don't you step inside?" he says, holding the door open wide, making a sarcastic gesture of welcome with his hand. "Or is it that you have come to return me my emerald?" He asks, with a mock-astonished expression.
"No, Fadl, son of Yahya," she says, her voice firm, her eyes steady. "I have come to return to you your love."
For a few moments, Fadl fails to understand what she means.
As he finally realises, his heart stumbles over a beat, two, three. He tries to speak, but all of his blood has rushed out of his head and his limbs; just like when a Mongol's sword had once run through him. Just like his life had flashed before his eyes, then, does their love affair now play itself out before his eyes: that first rush of infatuation when they couldn't get enough of each other; all of their fervent joys, all of their wild matings. And then, what had followed after, in increasing amounts, year after year: all of her pettinesses, all of his jealousies, their respective prides and vanities. All of their vicious arguments, all of the blows exchanged between them, blows physical and emotional; all of their violent separations. Neither of them had been an angel to the other, each one pouring out his or her worst into the cup of their love until it had become filled not with sweet wine but bitter poison.
Yet bitterer still in the cup weigh his contributions and he knows it: all of his childish power games, all of his excessive cruelties, all of his petty humiliations, this last one of the emerald being the last drop that had finally toppled over the cup.
She digs into her pocket and lifts out her hand: in her gloved palm lies his emerald brooch.
Her eyes flicker back and forth, searching his. When he still doesn't speak, she clutches her hand into a fist. "It is over now, Fadl. Over once and for all," she says and raises her hand, "and for ever."
With these last words, she casts the emerald into his orchard, amidst the snow-covered orange trees.)