The Price of Moonlight (Szentivánéji álom, Lysander/Oberon)
Title: The Price of Moonlight
Fandom: Szentivánéji álom (Midsummer Night's Dream musical
Rating: PG-13
Description: Lysander/Oberon, slash, post-musical. This is with second cast Lysander and Oberon and so quite separate from my previous Lysander/Oberon fic.
Not beta-read, so do tell me if I left in anything exceedingly stupid that should be corrected.
The Price of Moonlight
When the summer is at its bloom and the air over the meadows vibrates from warmth, it’s easy to forget your secret longings to other worlds and be happy with what you’ve got. But Lysander quickly discovered that when the autumn has shed its coloured leaves, when the nights have turned long and dark and the days become gray, it takes a stronger mind to forget the words and passionate glances exchanged in an enchanted forest. Even when you don’t know if they were anything but dream. Perhaps especially then. After all, what danger is there in yearning after a dream?
But when Lysander began to give in to the longing, he noticed that it seemed to be requited. Or did he only imagine that, as he had imagined the whole meeting in the forest that summer night? Then why did Oberon’s stolen glances wake in him half forgotten memories - and a very real burning that destroyed his concentration and made him turn his eyes away from Oberon?
And why did Oberon also avert his gaze as though Lysander’s eyes had burnt him?
Lysander didn’t know, but he dared to guess that sooner or later he would find out - and would know if the dream had been anything but a dream.
****
One day he was helping Oberon fix a door in his and Titania’s house. As it turned out, Oberon needed a lot of help, for he could scarcely hold the hammer the right way. Though he kept on bravely trying, and only allowed Lysander to help if there was no way out of it.
“No, just a moment, I’m sure I’ll get it this time,” Oberon said, staring intently at the hinge he was trying to nail in, as though it were a puzzle worthy of a Sphinx.
Lysander sat back and held his tongue, but he couldn’t help grinning with amusement. After a while Oberon caught it, stopped what he was doing and put his hands on his hips. “Okay, what is so funny?” he asked, trying to sound stern.
“I just find it surprising that a man like you would move into the middle of the woods like this, and still not know how to do stuff like that,” Lysander replied, trying to sound as light about it as possible. He didn’t want to offend Oberon, but it was odd.
Oberon frowned. “Is it something you’re supposed to know how to do?”
“Normally, yes. As are quite a few things you’ve sometimes wanted to know.”
The frown deepened. “Like what?”
“Like how to cook... Or how buying things from the market works.” Somehow, it had been very confusing for Oberon and Titania that here you couldn’t barter for things with, say, one week’s dreams or the colour of moonlight. “Or why women bleed every month.” He smirked.
Oberon looked confused. “Where I come from, you didn’t need to know those things,” he said, a tad uncertainly.
“That’s very unusual.”
“Really?” Oberon looked worried.
“Really,” Lysander said and nodded, as straight-faced as he could.
“How unusual?”
“Really, really unusual. As in, almost everyone knows them. Except maybe if you’re a prince or a noble lord or something.”
“Oh.”
“Are you?”
“Umm...” Oberon seemed to be thinking hard.
“Princes and noble lords are really rare around here,” Lysander added.
“Are they?”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen one. So it’d be cool if you and your wife were princes or something… But really, really rare. And actually, I think you’d normally still have to know the thing about women.”
“Oh.”
Lysander leaned across and looked deep into Oberon’s eyes. The man looked back unflinchingly, and despite his amusement with the situation, Lysander felt that familiar jolt which sometimes tossed his insides when he was alone with Oberon. But he focused on the task at hand. “Tell me,” he said quietly, trying to make pleading eyes. He had been told he could make really good pleading eyes if he tried, and he suspected Oberon wasn’t quite immune to them. “Tell me where you really came from. I know there’s some kind of a secret there.”
“There isn’t anything worth knowing, really,” Oberon tried.
“Oh, but there is. I know.” Lysander moved a little closer and leaned in even more. He wasn’t sure if it was going to help, but he might as well try. At least it made Oberon lay his hammer aside and hold his gaze steadily. He seemed to be considering something. Perhaps he was falling victim to the pleading eyes. But he said nothing, and so Lysander finally decided to ask: “What happened to your cape?”
Oberon jolted back as though he’d touched a hot stove. “What??”
“Your cape. Why don’t you have it?”
“There isn’t any cape.”
“No, there doesn’t seem to be now, so where is it?”
After a few seconds of gaping, Oberon gave up. “All right. How much do you remember?”
“Not everything.” Lysander moved a bit closer again. He noticed Oberon’s eyes flicker up and down him, and he smiled to himself. “Not enough. You must tell me.”
“It’s better if you don’t know everything.”
“That’s what you said then, too.”
“So you remember that.”
“I remember there was you, that I was looking for something else but I found you, and there was a cape, and when I put it on I seemed to see wonderful, wonderful worlds...” Lysander closed his eyes and remembered the heady feeling that was as though from a dream, but still not quite a dream. “And you told me I shouldn’t. I couldn’t understand -”
“It would have been dangerous for you,” Oberon interrupted.
“There was something we both wanted, yet you told me we shouldn’t.” Lysander opened his eyes and looked at Oberon. Oberon turned away, a faint trace of a blush seeming to creep up his cheeks.
“I deserve to know,” Lysander continued. “Something, at least. Who are you and what was it all about? And why don’t I remember everything?”
“Because I made it so that you wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I said it. It would be better for you not to know.”
“Who are you to decide what I should know and shouldn’t?”
Oberon stood up and started pacing about the room. Finally he sat down near Lysander again, looked at him and took Lysander’s hands into his. His hands were steady and warm and their pressure on his made Lysander’s head swim just a little. “I suppose I owe you some kind of an explanation,” Oberon said. “But some of these things... I shouldn’t tell so much. If the word got out...”
“I won’t tell.”
“Not anyone?”
“Not anyone.”
“Even if you will be shocked by what you hear?”
“I don’t think I will be.” When Oberon was holding his hands like this, he could have told Lysander anything, Lysander thought.
Oberon took a deep breath and looked away. Then he said: “Okay. Don’t laugh. I am - I was - the King of the Fairies.”
As soon as he said that, Lysander remembered how he had said it in the woods. He knew now it had been in the woods. But Oberon's way of putting it was curious.
“You were?” he repeated. “How can you stop being that?”
“Titania wanted it.”
“Why?”
“Damned if I know. Women are strange. I suppose it was a new game for her to play.”
“So she made you give up being King?”
“And herself being Queen. And we became human.”
“How can you do that?”
“We gave up our capes, and we just... became human.”
“You become human without them?”
“Not entirely. But giving them up is a necessity for becoming human. The capes are the symbol of our kingship and queenship and tie us to the fairy world. So when you tried to wear my cape, it connected you with the fairy world... But because you’re human, you couldn’t fully understand it or use its power. Yet you could feel something...”
“I could,” Lysander said. Oberon’s eyes seemed to bore deep into his. Lysander wondered if Oberon was trying to hypnotise him into something. Oddly he felt that he would have gladly allowed it...
Oberon reached his hand towards Lysander’s face. But then he stopped and withdrew the hand.
“It would have broken you, letting that cape fully connect you to the fairy world. I couldn’t allow that,” Oberon said, his voice very soft. His eyes felt oddly like a caress.
Lysander swallowed. It seemed difficult to get any sound out, or even know what to say. Finally he just asked: “Why?”
“I don’t know, I only know that it is.”
“Why is something that you want always wrong?”
“It isn’t always. But sometimes. Why would you want it?”
“Why did you or your wife want to become human?”
“She was, I suppose, attracted by something different. And I have always found humans fascinating...”
“Well, there you have your answer,” Lysander said. “I can’t say why, I don’t know, but something in me was calling... has always been... to something different. And there it was in my reach for once… Why did you take it away?”
Oberon seemed to hesitate at his question. “I couldn’t allow the damage it would cause,” he said defensively. “I didn’t want you hurt. Our worlds don’t mix.”
“Yet here you are. In my world.”
“Yes.” Oberon cast a glance at the door and the hammer and smiled sadly. “And even so you see they don’t mix.”
“You can learn.”
“Perhaps. But you couldn’t learn how to live in the fairy world.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. But humans have hardly ever fared well there. I have sometimes... Titania too... taken humans into our world. But if we allow them to stay for long and become a part of our world, they’re forever changed and can’t return to the life they were in. And because that’s where they belong, it hurts them and destroys them. I didn’t want that to happen to you.”
“Why not? Why me?”
At that, Oberon looked away. There was a long, silent pause before he finally looked back at Lysander and said: “Just believe me. It was better so.” His voice sounded odd, like he was holding something back.
“You’re just saying that because you want to believe it.”
“Perhaps. Aren’t humans like that? Maybe I’m learning some of your ways.”
Lysander leaned towards him, took a breath for courage, and took hold of Oberon’s shoulders, looking into his eyes. “I would give you something for moonlight. Or for dreams.”
A smile played at the corners of Oberon’s mouth. “What would you give?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?” He paused, pulled his hands to himself and sat back. “No, wait, I know better than to trade with fairies like that… But tell me what you want and I will tell you if it’s an acceptable price.”
Oberon studied him carefully - from head to feet, Lysander noted with a held-back smile. Finally he said: “I will tell you. Come here tonight after the sun has set. Meet me in the garden, don’t come inside. Then I will tell you what I want, and if you accept, I will give you moonlight.”
“All right.” Lysander nodded in agreement. He held out his hand. Oberon grasped it and squeezed it very solemnly. Lysander felt tingles going down his body.
Oberon held his hand perhaps a moment longer than he would have needed to, but then let it go, turned around and took up his hammer again. “Okay, now, I’ll try this once more, and if I don’t get it right then you’re allowed to show me. But I will try to do the other one myself.”
Lysander grinned. “Fine. I’ll be here cheering you on.”
****
The night sky was getting dark when Lysander stood in Oberon’s garden. As the shadows of the night were stealing over the village, so did the cold. The moon was rising slowly above the forest, big and round and soft. Lysander shivered a little despite his warm coat, but he didn’t know if it was the cold or something else. He felt a mixture of excitement and fear. He knew there were many reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this, but at the same time he felt compelled to. He felt it was only the continuation of what had begun in the forest all those months ago. It was as though that night an enchantment had been laid that even Oberon had not noticed, or had not known how to remove, and now they were compelled by it. And Lysander decided it was just better to let such magic have its way.
Then there were footsteps, a familiar figure in the dark. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Oberon wearing a cloak - was he back in his dream? He wanted to be. But then Oberon came closer and he saw in the dim light that it was an ordinary travelling cloak for cold autumn evenings. But the warm hand that Oberon laid on his shoulder was very much real.
“You came,” Oberon said.
“Of course.” There was a silence. Unsure of how to listen to it, Lysander finally asked: “What do you want?”
Oberon hesitated for a fraction of a moment, then said: “A kiss.”
Lysander closed his eyes and smiled. So. It would be. He felt a sweet shiver at the thought. “I can give you that,” he said quietly. But there was no kiss after that. Instead, Oberon took his hand.
“Come.”
He led Lysander into the woods, how else. On the way he spoke little, only occasionally said something about how he knew the way of old but had not been there for some time. “My powers over the woods are not what they were, but I can still give you something,” he said as he led Lysander through a thicket that he would never have thought to pierce on his own. Lysander was glad for the warm and thick clothing that protected him from the worst of brambles. Likewise he was glad for the sturdy shoes that kept his feet from getting wet and cold. As little appropriate as this outfit was for a secret moonlit rendezvous with a fairy king - but then, Oberon was only an ex-fairy and an ex-king, and so they had to cope with the laws of the real world. The human world, anyway - he supposed the fairy world had been every bit as real when Oberon had lived in it.
Quite a bit later they came upon a clearing with an exquisitely beautiful little pond in it. Oberon led Lysander to its shore and then stood by, letting Lysander take in the view. The moon had now risen above the trees and shone its silvery light on the quiet waters. The pond was framed by bare trees raising the silhouettes of their branches towards the night sky. Magnificent white willows, which had not yet lost all their leaves, were leaning their silvery forms over the waters, touching the surface. Some of their leaves had fallen over the pond and pooled into its edges and between the rocks jutting out of the surface, and their paleness became one with the moonlight. It was quiet, no occasional bird was singing in the trees like it would have in the summer. But the reeds and the abandoned nests in the water gave off the air of hopes and dreams past, laying dormant and waiting for the time when yearnings could, perhaps, be realized. All this bathed in a moonlight that somehow seemed richer than any that Lysander had ever seen. Or was it just because he was alone in a forest at night with Oberon who had requested a kiss of him?
He watched for a while, saying nothing, drowning himself in this nocturnal enchantment, then raised his eyes towards the night sky, where the moon was blotting out the light of the most distant stars, but they still shone in countless multitudes that you could easily get lost in forever. When Lysander turned his eyes back to the shining waters, not knowing how much time had passed, he suddenly found his mouth caught into the kiss he had promised.
The kiss only lasted a moment or two, but when it ended, Lysander felt like a new door in time had finally been opened. When Oberon pulled back a little, Lysander looked levelly into his eyes, then leaned in and kissed him in turn. This kiss lasted longer, and after some initial testing they both abandoned themselves into it sweetly. Oberon’s hand plunged into his hair, with the other hand he pulled Lysander close to himself, closer than they had ever been - except in some accidental situations which Lysander had gladly allowed to happen, except in that dream that was not a dream and that should have gone on to something else... To this... Lysander tasted Oberon’s mouth and felt for his shoulders, his arms, his back under the warm clothes. Kisses became more numerous, Lysander did not count but reveled in the sensation, the taste, the fulfilling of what he had dreamed and fantasized about in so many nights. This was worth any number of should nots, he felt. His heart beat faster with excitement, his blood pulsed louder and seemed to rush in everywhere, and Oberon’s mouth was so very skilled and lovely, his hands too, the hands that stroked the back of Lysander’s neck, his hair, travelled down his back and sides, lower...
After releasing his mouth for a while, Oberon’s lips found his neck and the pulse of his veins, and Lysander arched his head back, his eyes closed, enjoying.
“I can no longer promise dreams,” Oberon murmured. “Such are my limitations now that I have given up my kingdom and my fairy existence. But,” he looked up, tilted Lysander’s head towards him so that Lysander opened his eyes and looked into Oberon’s, “I can give you something worth dreaming about.” He smiled, and in the moonlight, his eyes seemed to glint with promises of every dream, hope and lust Lysander had experienced. Then he bent to kiss Lysander’s neck again the most deliciously. His hand rested on Lysander’s lower back, and the other found its way under his coat and the layers of clothing underneath, touching the skin, creating shivers, hot sensations...
“What’s your price for dreams?” Lysander asked, caressing Oberon’s hair and back.
Oberon lifted his head up again and looked at Lysander. “To have you. You know in which way I mean, I’m sure.” His hand moved lower down Lysander’s body, in order to not leave anything unsaid. Lysander smiled and enjoyed it. “Here, this night,” Oberon continued. “Here, on this moonlit shore.” He bent down to kiss Lysander’s neck again.
Lysander chuckled softly. He stroked the back of Oberon’s neck. Then he said: “No.”
Oberon stopped kissing his neck and lifted his head in surprise. “No?”
Lysander straightened a little and smiled. “You know, it’s late autumn. The ground is wet, it’s dreadfully cold out here and will be even colder. Your cloak would not be enough for us to both lie on and to keep us warm. We’d catch our death of cold.”
“Oh.” Oberon looked crestfallen.
Lysander put his hands on Oberon’s shoulders, kissed the bridge of his nose, and said: “But I tell you what we can do. We can wander back through your lovely forest, find someone’s hay barn and sneak in there. We’ll be wonderfully cozy there in the hay and I can steal... borrow... a blanket from somewhere to keep us warmer.”
Oberon brightened up. “All right. So, I modify my request: I want to have you in someone’s comfortable hay barn, under a borrowed blanket.”
Lysander kissed him. “Sure. A done deal.”
There was a bit more kissing before Oberon disentangled himself and said: “Well, I really think we should be heading towards that hay barn as quickly as we can.”
“Yes, let’s,” Lysander agreed. “And you know, in the summer when it gets warm and dry again, we can spend as many nights here as we want.”
Oberon grinned. “Sounds like a fascinating plan to me.” Then he took Lysander’s hand and started leading him back towards the village, love hastening their steps.
Fandom: Szentivánéji álom (Midsummer Night's Dream musical
Rating: PG-13
Description: Lysander/Oberon, slash, post-musical. This is with second cast Lysander and Oberon and so quite separate from my previous Lysander/Oberon fic.
Not beta-read, so do tell me if I left in anything exceedingly stupid that should be corrected.
The Price of Moonlight
When the summer is at its bloom and the air over the meadows vibrates from warmth, it’s easy to forget your secret longings to other worlds and be happy with what you’ve got. But Lysander quickly discovered that when the autumn has shed its coloured leaves, when the nights have turned long and dark and the days become gray, it takes a stronger mind to forget the words and passionate glances exchanged in an enchanted forest. Even when you don’t know if they were anything but dream. Perhaps especially then. After all, what danger is there in yearning after a dream?
But when Lysander began to give in to the longing, he noticed that it seemed to be requited. Or did he only imagine that, as he had imagined the whole meeting in the forest that summer night? Then why did Oberon’s stolen glances wake in him half forgotten memories - and a very real burning that destroyed his concentration and made him turn his eyes away from Oberon?
And why did Oberon also avert his gaze as though Lysander’s eyes had burnt him?
Lysander didn’t know, but he dared to guess that sooner or later he would find out - and would know if the dream had been anything but a dream.
****
One day he was helping Oberon fix a door in his and Titania’s house. As it turned out, Oberon needed a lot of help, for he could scarcely hold the hammer the right way. Though he kept on bravely trying, and only allowed Lysander to help if there was no way out of it.
“No, just a moment, I’m sure I’ll get it this time,” Oberon said, staring intently at the hinge he was trying to nail in, as though it were a puzzle worthy of a Sphinx.
Lysander sat back and held his tongue, but he couldn’t help grinning with amusement. After a while Oberon caught it, stopped what he was doing and put his hands on his hips. “Okay, what is so funny?” he asked, trying to sound stern.
“I just find it surprising that a man like you would move into the middle of the woods like this, and still not know how to do stuff like that,” Lysander replied, trying to sound as light about it as possible. He didn’t want to offend Oberon, but it was odd.
Oberon frowned. “Is it something you’re supposed to know how to do?”
“Normally, yes. As are quite a few things you’ve sometimes wanted to know.”
The frown deepened. “Like what?”
“Like how to cook... Or how buying things from the market works.” Somehow, it had been very confusing for Oberon and Titania that here you couldn’t barter for things with, say, one week’s dreams or the colour of moonlight. “Or why women bleed every month.” He smirked.
Oberon looked confused. “Where I come from, you didn’t need to know those things,” he said, a tad uncertainly.
“That’s very unusual.”
“Really?” Oberon looked worried.
“Really,” Lysander said and nodded, as straight-faced as he could.
“How unusual?”
“Really, really unusual. As in, almost everyone knows them. Except maybe if you’re a prince or a noble lord or something.”
“Oh.”
“Are you?”
“Umm...” Oberon seemed to be thinking hard.
“Princes and noble lords are really rare around here,” Lysander added.
“Are they?”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen one. So it’d be cool if you and your wife were princes or something… But really, really rare. And actually, I think you’d normally still have to know the thing about women.”
“Oh.”
Lysander leaned across and looked deep into Oberon’s eyes. The man looked back unflinchingly, and despite his amusement with the situation, Lysander felt that familiar jolt which sometimes tossed his insides when he was alone with Oberon. But he focused on the task at hand. “Tell me,” he said quietly, trying to make pleading eyes. He had been told he could make really good pleading eyes if he tried, and he suspected Oberon wasn’t quite immune to them. “Tell me where you really came from. I know there’s some kind of a secret there.”
“There isn’t anything worth knowing, really,” Oberon tried.
“Oh, but there is. I know.” Lysander moved a little closer and leaned in even more. He wasn’t sure if it was going to help, but he might as well try. At least it made Oberon lay his hammer aside and hold his gaze steadily. He seemed to be considering something. Perhaps he was falling victim to the pleading eyes. But he said nothing, and so Lysander finally decided to ask: “What happened to your cape?”
Oberon jolted back as though he’d touched a hot stove. “What??”
“Your cape. Why don’t you have it?”
“There isn’t any cape.”
“No, there doesn’t seem to be now, so where is it?”
After a few seconds of gaping, Oberon gave up. “All right. How much do you remember?”
“Not everything.” Lysander moved a bit closer again. He noticed Oberon’s eyes flicker up and down him, and he smiled to himself. “Not enough. You must tell me.”
“It’s better if you don’t know everything.”
“That’s what you said then, too.”
“So you remember that.”
“I remember there was you, that I was looking for something else but I found you, and there was a cape, and when I put it on I seemed to see wonderful, wonderful worlds...” Lysander closed his eyes and remembered the heady feeling that was as though from a dream, but still not quite a dream. “And you told me I shouldn’t. I couldn’t understand -”
“It would have been dangerous for you,” Oberon interrupted.
“There was something we both wanted, yet you told me we shouldn’t.” Lysander opened his eyes and looked at Oberon. Oberon turned away, a faint trace of a blush seeming to creep up his cheeks.
“I deserve to know,” Lysander continued. “Something, at least. Who are you and what was it all about? And why don’t I remember everything?”
“Because I made it so that you wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I said it. It would be better for you not to know.”
“Who are you to decide what I should know and shouldn’t?”
Oberon stood up and started pacing about the room. Finally he sat down near Lysander again, looked at him and took Lysander’s hands into his. His hands were steady and warm and their pressure on his made Lysander’s head swim just a little. “I suppose I owe you some kind of an explanation,” Oberon said. “But some of these things... I shouldn’t tell so much. If the word got out...”
“I won’t tell.”
“Not anyone?”
“Not anyone.”
“Even if you will be shocked by what you hear?”
“I don’t think I will be.” When Oberon was holding his hands like this, he could have told Lysander anything, Lysander thought.
Oberon took a deep breath and looked away. Then he said: “Okay. Don’t laugh. I am - I was - the King of the Fairies.”
As soon as he said that, Lysander remembered how he had said it in the woods. He knew now it had been in the woods. But Oberon's way of putting it was curious.
“You were?” he repeated. “How can you stop being that?”
“Titania wanted it.”
“Why?”
“Damned if I know. Women are strange. I suppose it was a new game for her to play.”
“So she made you give up being King?”
“And herself being Queen. And we became human.”
“How can you do that?”
“We gave up our capes, and we just... became human.”
“You become human without them?”
“Not entirely. But giving them up is a necessity for becoming human. The capes are the symbol of our kingship and queenship and tie us to the fairy world. So when you tried to wear my cape, it connected you with the fairy world... But because you’re human, you couldn’t fully understand it or use its power. Yet you could feel something...”
“I could,” Lysander said. Oberon’s eyes seemed to bore deep into his. Lysander wondered if Oberon was trying to hypnotise him into something. Oddly he felt that he would have gladly allowed it...
Oberon reached his hand towards Lysander’s face. But then he stopped and withdrew the hand.
“It would have broken you, letting that cape fully connect you to the fairy world. I couldn’t allow that,” Oberon said, his voice very soft. His eyes felt oddly like a caress.
Lysander swallowed. It seemed difficult to get any sound out, or even know what to say. Finally he just asked: “Why?”
“I don’t know, I only know that it is.”
“Why is something that you want always wrong?”
“It isn’t always. But sometimes. Why would you want it?”
“Why did you or your wife want to become human?”
“She was, I suppose, attracted by something different. And I have always found humans fascinating...”
“Well, there you have your answer,” Lysander said. “I can’t say why, I don’t know, but something in me was calling... has always been... to something different. And there it was in my reach for once… Why did you take it away?”
Oberon seemed to hesitate at his question. “I couldn’t allow the damage it would cause,” he said defensively. “I didn’t want you hurt. Our worlds don’t mix.”
“Yet here you are. In my world.”
“Yes.” Oberon cast a glance at the door and the hammer and smiled sadly. “And even so you see they don’t mix.”
“You can learn.”
“Perhaps. But you couldn’t learn how to live in the fairy world.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. But humans have hardly ever fared well there. I have sometimes... Titania too... taken humans into our world. But if we allow them to stay for long and become a part of our world, they’re forever changed and can’t return to the life they were in. And because that’s where they belong, it hurts them and destroys them. I didn’t want that to happen to you.”
“Why not? Why me?”
At that, Oberon looked away. There was a long, silent pause before he finally looked back at Lysander and said: “Just believe me. It was better so.” His voice sounded odd, like he was holding something back.
“You’re just saying that because you want to believe it.”
“Perhaps. Aren’t humans like that? Maybe I’m learning some of your ways.”
Lysander leaned towards him, took a breath for courage, and took hold of Oberon’s shoulders, looking into his eyes. “I would give you something for moonlight. Or for dreams.”
A smile played at the corners of Oberon’s mouth. “What would you give?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?” He paused, pulled his hands to himself and sat back. “No, wait, I know better than to trade with fairies like that… But tell me what you want and I will tell you if it’s an acceptable price.”
Oberon studied him carefully - from head to feet, Lysander noted with a held-back smile. Finally he said: “I will tell you. Come here tonight after the sun has set. Meet me in the garden, don’t come inside. Then I will tell you what I want, and if you accept, I will give you moonlight.”
“All right.” Lysander nodded in agreement. He held out his hand. Oberon grasped it and squeezed it very solemnly. Lysander felt tingles going down his body.
Oberon held his hand perhaps a moment longer than he would have needed to, but then let it go, turned around and took up his hammer again. “Okay, now, I’ll try this once more, and if I don’t get it right then you’re allowed to show me. But I will try to do the other one myself.”
Lysander grinned. “Fine. I’ll be here cheering you on.”
****
The night sky was getting dark when Lysander stood in Oberon’s garden. As the shadows of the night were stealing over the village, so did the cold. The moon was rising slowly above the forest, big and round and soft. Lysander shivered a little despite his warm coat, but he didn’t know if it was the cold or something else. He felt a mixture of excitement and fear. He knew there were many reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this, but at the same time he felt compelled to. He felt it was only the continuation of what had begun in the forest all those months ago. It was as though that night an enchantment had been laid that even Oberon had not noticed, or had not known how to remove, and now they were compelled by it. And Lysander decided it was just better to let such magic have its way.
Then there were footsteps, a familiar figure in the dark. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Oberon wearing a cloak - was he back in his dream? He wanted to be. But then Oberon came closer and he saw in the dim light that it was an ordinary travelling cloak for cold autumn evenings. But the warm hand that Oberon laid on his shoulder was very much real.
“You came,” Oberon said.
“Of course.” There was a silence. Unsure of how to listen to it, Lysander finally asked: “What do you want?”
Oberon hesitated for a fraction of a moment, then said: “A kiss.”
Lysander closed his eyes and smiled. So. It would be. He felt a sweet shiver at the thought. “I can give you that,” he said quietly. But there was no kiss after that. Instead, Oberon took his hand.
“Come.”
He led Lysander into the woods, how else. On the way he spoke little, only occasionally said something about how he knew the way of old but had not been there for some time. “My powers over the woods are not what they were, but I can still give you something,” he said as he led Lysander through a thicket that he would never have thought to pierce on his own. Lysander was glad for the warm and thick clothing that protected him from the worst of brambles. Likewise he was glad for the sturdy shoes that kept his feet from getting wet and cold. As little appropriate as this outfit was for a secret moonlit rendezvous with a fairy king - but then, Oberon was only an ex-fairy and an ex-king, and so they had to cope with the laws of the real world. The human world, anyway - he supposed the fairy world had been every bit as real when Oberon had lived in it.
Quite a bit later they came upon a clearing with an exquisitely beautiful little pond in it. Oberon led Lysander to its shore and then stood by, letting Lysander take in the view. The moon had now risen above the trees and shone its silvery light on the quiet waters. The pond was framed by bare trees raising the silhouettes of their branches towards the night sky. Magnificent white willows, which had not yet lost all their leaves, were leaning their silvery forms over the waters, touching the surface. Some of their leaves had fallen over the pond and pooled into its edges and between the rocks jutting out of the surface, and their paleness became one with the moonlight. It was quiet, no occasional bird was singing in the trees like it would have in the summer. But the reeds and the abandoned nests in the water gave off the air of hopes and dreams past, laying dormant and waiting for the time when yearnings could, perhaps, be realized. All this bathed in a moonlight that somehow seemed richer than any that Lysander had ever seen. Or was it just because he was alone in a forest at night with Oberon who had requested a kiss of him?
He watched for a while, saying nothing, drowning himself in this nocturnal enchantment, then raised his eyes towards the night sky, where the moon was blotting out the light of the most distant stars, but they still shone in countless multitudes that you could easily get lost in forever. When Lysander turned his eyes back to the shining waters, not knowing how much time had passed, he suddenly found his mouth caught into the kiss he had promised.
The kiss only lasted a moment or two, but when it ended, Lysander felt like a new door in time had finally been opened. When Oberon pulled back a little, Lysander looked levelly into his eyes, then leaned in and kissed him in turn. This kiss lasted longer, and after some initial testing they both abandoned themselves into it sweetly. Oberon’s hand plunged into his hair, with the other hand he pulled Lysander close to himself, closer than they had ever been - except in some accidental situations which Lysander had gladly allowed to happen, except in that dream that was not a dream and that should have gone on to something else... To this... Lysander tasted Oberon’s mouth and felt for his shoulders, his arms, his back under the warm clothes. Kisses became more numerous, Lysander did not count but reveled in the sensation, the taste, the fulfilling of what he had dreamed and fantasized about in so many nights. This was worth any number of should nots, he felt. His heart beat faster with excitement, his blood pulsed louder and seemed to rush in everywhere, and Oberon’s mouth was so very skilled and lovely, his hands too, the hands that stroked the back of Lysander’s neck, his hair, travelled down his back and sides, lower...
After releasing his mouth for a while, Oberon’s lips found his neck and the pulse of his veins, and Lysander arched his head back, his eyes closed, enjoying.
“I can no longer promise dreams,” Oberon murmured. “Such are my limitations now that I have given up my kingdom and my fairy existence. But,” he looked up, tilted Lysander’s head towards him so that Lysander opened his eyes and looked into Oberon’s, “I can give you something worth dreaming about.” He smiled, and in the moonlight, his eyes seemed to glint with promises of every dream, hope and lust Lysander had experienced. Then he bent to kiss Lysander’s neck again the most deliciously. His hand rested on Lysander’s lower back, and the other found its way under his coat and the layers of clothing underneath, touching the skin, creating shivers, hot sensations...
“What’s your price for dreams?” Lysander asked, caressing Oberon’s hair and back.
Oberon lifted his head up again and looked at Lysander. “To have you. You know in which way I mean, I’m sure.” His hand moved lower down Lysander’s body, in order to not leave anything unsaid. Lysander smiled and enjoyed it. “Here, this night,” Oberon continued. “Here, on this moonlit shore.” He bent down to kiss Lysander’s neck again.
Lysander chuckled softly. He stroked the back of Oberon’s neck. Then he said: “No.”
Oberon stopped kissing his neck and lifted his head in surprise. “No?”
Lysander straightened a little and smiled. “You know, it’s late autumn. The ground is wet, it’s dreadfully cold out here and will be even colder. Your cloak would not be enough for us to both lie on and to keep us warm. We’d catch our death of cold.”
“Oh.” Oberon looked crestfallen.
Lysander put his hands on Oberon’s shoulders, kissed the bridge of his nose, and said: “But I tell you what we can do. We can wander back through your lovely forest, find someone’s hay barn and sneak in there. We’ll be wonderfully cozy there in the hay and I can steal... borrow... a blanket from somewhere to keep us warmer.”
Oberon brightened up. “All right. So, I modify my request: I want to have you in someone’s comfortable hay barn, under a borrowed blanket.”
Lysander kissed him. “Sure. A done deal.”
There was a bit more kissing before Oberon disentangled himself and said: “Well, I really think we should be heading towards that hay barn as quickly as we can.”
“Yes, let’s,” Lysander agreed. “And you know, in the summer when it gets warm and dry again, we can spend as many nights here as we want.”
Oberon grinned. “Sounds like a fascinating plan to me.” Then he took Lysander’s hand and started leading him back towards the village, love hastening their steps.