Fanfic: Necessity's Mother (American Gods)
Title: Necessity’s Mother
Author: Amethyst Hunter
Rating: PG-13 (talk of implied m/m sex, language)
Word count: 1526
Warnings/Spoilers: See above.
Notes: Based on a springkink prompt - “prison sex”/“Circumstances rule men; men do not rule circumstances.” (Herodotus)
Disclaimer: American Gods and its characters Shadow and Low Key belong to Neil Gaiman, not me. No profit is being made and no infringement is intended from their use; all fic is strictly for fun.
Summary: One's actions may be dictated by that which rules him most.
--
“If necessity is the mother of all invention,” said the grizzled man sitting across from him, “then who gave birth to necessity?”
Shadow shrugged. Two years in jail and he was long used to his cellmate’s philosophical ponderings. “Dunno.” He wasn’t terribly interested in debate anyway. It was a gray day, mainly in regards to the weather outside but also in reference to his present state of mind. He had learned, with practice, how to keep the worst of the doldrums at bay but there were times when he still felt the acute claws of time raking down his back. Today he drew heavily from his reserves to stay level. Keep focused. He had to, for Laura’s sake…
“I’ll tell you,” Low Key drawled, leaning forward as if he were a courtyard official about to impart the juicy meat of gossip to a fellow socialite. “Circumstance. Circumstance is what gestates the necessity, and the necessity creates the invention.”
“This another Herodotus anecdote?”
“You remembered,” Low Key replied, looking pleased. “Told you it was good stuff, didn’t I?”
“It was cooler than I expected,” Shadow admitted.
“And your circumstances led you to the necessity of exploring a dead man’s words,” the other man pointed out. “Prison time is slow time, Shadow. Man’s gotta have something to do to keep his brain from dissolving into Jell-O.”
He couldn’t argue that; it was one of the reasons he’d learned coin tricks. “So what’s your circumstance?” Shadow asked.
Low Key scratched his stubble-dotted head; he purposely kept his orange hair cropped as short as possible. “Wanna fuck?”
It could have come as a bigger surprise to Shadow, were he not used to the ways of the world he was currently ensconced in. As it was his voice remained even when he answered. “Can’t,” Shadow pointed out. “Where’d we get any privacy?”
“Aw,” Low Key sniffed. “Half the guys in here’ll jack off right before breakfast, whether or not anybody’s around. Circumstance. There’re ways of getting around the privacy barrier. Blankets piled on high. Human walls. Necessity dictates invention, kiddo.” He grinned, and his own presence was transformed into a patchwork quilt of scars. “So. Y’wanna?”
“Whatever happened to beating one off in the john?” Shadow wondered aloud.
Lyesmith gestured to the open toilet situated in one corner of the cell. “Ain’t the same thing, now, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“Whoever said prisons were conjugal paradises was full of shit. The city politicians, they see more conjugal visits in a week than I have in a year, and you know how often those guys get laid by the dried-up husks they end up married to.”
“Depends on the level of office,” Shadow said. “And what’s in it for the constituent.”
“True, true.” Low Key smiled grimly and quoted one of his favorite passages from Herodotus. “’Circumstances rule men; men do not rule circumstances.’ Hell, the last dude in the Big House on the east coast probably had the cream spilling out of his cup. Or rather, the interns servicing him did.” He snorted loudly. “The nutsack that’s in there now, he’s so tightly wound I bet he can’t even get it up.”
Shadow shrugged. Politics weren’t his forte any more than they were Lyesmith’s. To ones such as them, all politicians were inherent manure factories. “Can’t imagine anybody who’d want to, with him,” he said. “Can you?”
Low Key laughed, a low, gravelly rustle. “Naw. ‘Cept maybe a fellow or two down on the south block here. But then, they have a thing for those blueblood good-‘ol-boy types, you know? They like ‘em soft. Easier to break.” His grin flashed feral for a second. “Me, on the other hand, I’m not so picky. All I ask is that they’re clean, don’t have any creepy-crawlies, and don’t ask for a kiss and a cuddle afterwards.” As an afterthought, he added, “And that they can carry on a half-decent conversation. Nothing sucks worse than having to explain the difference between Aristotle and Plutarch.”
“Aristotle was an optimist,” Shadow said.
“Better believe it,” Lyesmith said. “Why do you think I’m asking you? You may not be the next rocket scientist, but you can hold your own.”
“I’m liable to ask for a kiss and a cuddle, though,” Shadow told him.
“No, you’re not. You know better.” Low Key’s beady eyes regarded him with a hawk’s sharpness. “I believe you when you say you want the smushy stuff, but your circumstance says quite clearly that asking for it in here won’t get you anything but a busted jaw at best. So - necessity’s breathing down your neck, ‘I need to blow some steam off.’ Invention’s telling you that a little clusterfuck between cellmates is nothing.”
Shadow said nothing.
Low Key picked at a corner of his teeth. “It’s not really cheating, if that’s what you’re worried about. Extramarital affairs are based far more on the emotional than the physical. Not like you have to tell your wife anything anyway, if you think she’d take it bad.”
“It’s not that,” Shadow said, although secretly he admitted to himself that it was a factor, to him. The idea of Laura and him keeping secrets from each other was so alien to him as to be unthinkable, in the sense that he honestly couldn’t imagine it at all. “Even taking circumstance and everything else into consideration, it’s just not my interest. No offense to you if it’s yours,” he added, in case Lyesmith did have inclinations along that line.
“It isn’t,” Low Key assured him. “I’m no more interested in taking a plunge down the chocolate bunny drop chute than you are. I’m just saying that a good hand job from an experienced stranger can be an acceptable temporary substitute for the real deal.”
“And I suppose I’d pound yours after you were through with mine,” Shadow said.
Lyesmith’s grin returned. “Two-way street. It’s the only way to do business.”
Shadow considered the offer. It was tempting, in a weird sort of way. Not that he'd ever really been curious as to the mechanics between two men. More like it was something new to try, an idle amusement for the brain, and, as his cellmate had pointed out, an easy way to blow off some ill-gained tension. Even on the best of days prison life simmered in its pot.
“We do it both at the same time, or take turns, or what?” he finally asked.
“Whatever floats your boat, man. Personally, if privacy's your thing I'd opt for slap-and-switch, that way one guy can keep a watch for the fuzz while the other gets off.”
“Works for me,” Shadow agreed. “But who goes first?”
Lyesmith grinned and pulled out a shiny piece of contraband, which he handed to Shadow. “Flip ya for it.”
Shadow looked at the forbidden coin. Turning it over, he saw that it was double-sided: the same image on both faces. He wondered where the man had gotten it. “Senior always gets choice pick, eh?”
“That's the way it is in the big world, that's the way it is in here,” Low Key chuckled. “If it's any consolation, I don't stiff my business partners. Not the way you're thinking of, anyway.”
“Nice to know I'd be doing business with a pro,” Shadow replied wryly.
The other man's eyes seemed to glow for a second in the washed-out lighting, a vivid sizzling of power that couldn't be adequately named but hinted at fathomless secrets. “You have no idea how pro I am, man.”
Shadow had the funny feeling that Lyesmith was referring to a good deal more than just his criminal history or his sexual expertise. It weirded him out if he spent too long on it, so he thought of Laura, and of the folly that had landed him in here, and of possibility and destinies and Herodotus. He rolled the two-faced coin around in his big fingers for a few minutes. Then he passed it back to Low Key without tossing it.
“I think my necessity tells me I can hold out a little longer. I've made it this far, to see what invention has waiting for me down the road. Why not travel just a little more?” he told the other man. “That's my circumstance as I see it, anyway.”
Low Key squinted at the coin, holding it up to the light as if trying to discern some kind of runes on its surface. He lowered his hand and stuck it back in his pocket. He seemed...pleased.
“So mote it be,” he said at last, nodding his head. “So mote it be. You're all right, Shadow. You got guts, anyway, ruling your path instead of letting it rule you. Even if that path might be a one-way ticket to dead-endsville. Power is its own illusion, don't forget. But hey, that's just personal observation speaking. Don't take it seriously, it'll blow your mind trying to work it all out.” He winked. “Nobody's perfect.”
“Except Herodotus, of course,” Shadow pointed out, and the would-be trickster Lyesmith grinned.
--
Author: Amethyst Hunter
Rating: PG-13 (talk of implied m/m sex, language)
Word count: 1526
Warnings/Spoilers: See above.
Notes: Based on a springkink prompt - “prison sex”/“Circumstances rule men; men do not rule circumstances.” (Herodotus)
Disclaimer: American Gods and its characters Shadow and Low Key belong to Neil Gaiman, not me. No profit is being made and no infringement is intended from their use; all fic is strictly for fun.
Summary: One's actions may be dictated by that which rules him most.
--
“If necessity is the mother of all invention,” said the grizzled man sitting across from him, “then who gave birth to necessity?”
Shadow shrugged. Two years in jail and he was long used to his cellmate’s philosophical ponderings. “Dunno.” He wasn’t terribly interested in debate anyway. It was a gray day, mainly in regards to the weather outside but also in reference to his present state of mind. He had learned, with practice, how to keep the worst of the doldrums at bay but there were times when he still felt the acute claws of time raking down his back. Today he drew heavily from his reserves to stay level. Keep focused. He had to, for Laura’s sake…
“I’ll tell you,” Low Key drawled, leaning forward as if he were a courtyard official about to impart the juicy meat of gossip to a fellow socialite. “Circumstance. Circumstance is what gestates the necessity, and the necessity creates the invention.”
“This another Herodotus anecdote?”
“You remembered,” Low Key replied, looking pleased. “Told you it was good stuff, didn’t I?”
“It was cooler than I expected,” Shadow admitted.
“And your circumstances led you to the necessity of exploring a dead man’s words,” the other man pointed out. “Prison time is slow time, Shadow. Man’s gotta have something to do to keep his brain from dissolving into Jell-O.”
He couldn’t argue that; it was one of the reasons he’d learned coin tricks. “So what’s your circumstance?” Shadow asked.
Low Key scratched his stubble-dotted head; he purposely kept his orange hair cropped as short as possible. “Wanna fuck?”
It could have come as a bigger surprise to Shadow, were he not used to the ways of the world he was currently ensconced in. As it was his voice remained even when he answered. “Can’t,” Shadow pointed out. “Where’d we get any privacy?”
“Aw,” Low Key sniffed. “Half the guys in here’ll jack off right before breakfast, whether or not anybody’s around. Circumstance. There’re ways of getting around the privacy barrier. Blankets piled on high. Human walls. Necessity dictates invention, kiddo.” He grinned, and his own presence was transformed into a patchwork quilt of scars. “So. Y’wanna?”
“Whatever happened to beating one off in the john?” Shadow wondered aloud.
Lyesmith gestured to the open toilet situated in one corner of the cell. “Ain’t the same thing, now, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“Whoever said prisons were conjugal paradises was full of shit. The city politicians, they see more conjugal visits in a week than I have in a year, and you know how often those guys get laid by the dried-up husks they end up married to.”
“Depends on the level of office,” Shadow said. “And what’s in it for the constituent.”
“True, true.” Low Key smiled grimly and quoted one of his favorite passages from Herodotus. “’Circumstances rule men; men do not rule circumstances.’ Hell, the last dude in the Big House on the east coast probably had the cream spilling out of his cup. Or rather, the interns servicing him did.” He snorted loudly. “The nutsack that’s in there now, he’s so tightly wound I bet he can’t even get it up.”
Shadow shrugged. Politics weren’t his forte any more than they were Lyesmith’s. To ones such as them, all politicians were inherent manure factories. “Can’t imagine anybody who’d want to, with him,” he said. “Can you?”
Low Key laughed, a low, gravelly rustle. “Naw. ‘Cept maybe a fellow or two down on the south block here. But then, they have a thing for those blueblood good-‘ol-boy types, you know? They like ‘em soft. Easier to break.” His grin flashed feral for a second. “Me, on the other hand, I’m not so picky. All I ask is that they’re clean, don’t have any creepy-crawlies, and don’t ask for a kiss and a cuddle afterwards.” As an afterthought, he added, “And that they can carry on a half-decent conversation. Nothing sucks worse than having to explain the difference between Aristotle and Plutarch.”
“Aristotle was an optimist,” Shadow said.
“Better believe it,” Lyesmith said. “Why do you think I’m asking you? You may not be the next rocket scientist, but you can hold your own.”
“I’m liable to ask for a kiss and a cuddle, though,” Shadow told him.
“No, you’re not. You know better.” Low Key’s beady eyes regarded him with a hawk’s sharpness. “I believe you when you say you want the smushy stuff, but your circumstance says quite clearly that asking for it in here won’t get you anything but a busted jaw at best. So - necessity’s breathing down your neck, ‘I need to blow some steam off.’ Invention’s telling you that a little clusterfuck between cellmates is nothing.”
Shadow said nothing.
Low Key picked at a corner of his teeth. “It’s not really cheating, if that’s what you’re worried about. Extramarital affairs are based far more on the emotional than the physical. Not like you have to tell your wife anything anyway, if you think she’d take it bad.”
“It’s not that,” Shadow said, although secretly he admitted to himself that it was a factor, to him. The idea of Laura and him keeping secrets from each other was so alien to him as to be unthinkable, in the sense that he honestly couldn’t imagine it at all. “Even taking circumstance and everything else into consideration, it’s just not my interest. No offense to you if it’s yours,” he added, in case Lyesmith did have inclinations along that line.
“It isn’t,” Low Key assured him. “I’m no more interested in taking a plunge down the chocolate bunny drop chute than you are. I’m just saying that a good hand job from an experienced stranger can be an acceptable temporary substitute for the real deal.”
“And I suppose I’d pound yours after you were through with mine,” Shadow said.
Lyesmith’s grin returned. “Two-way street. It’s the only way to do business.”
Shadow considered the offer. It was tempting, in a weird sort of way. Not that he'd ever really been curious as to the mechanics between two men. More like it was something new to try, an idle amusement for the brain, and, as his cellmate had pointed out, an easy way to blow off some ill-gained tension. Even on the best of days prison life simmered in its pot.
“We do it both at the same time, or take turns, or what?” he finally asked.
“Whatever floats your boat, man. Personally, if privacy's your thing I'd opt for slap-and-switch, that way one guy can keep a watch for the fuzz while the other gets off.”
“Works for me,” Shadow agreed. “But who goes first?”
Lyesmith grinned and pulled out a shiny piece of contraband, which he handed to Shadow. “Flip ya for it.”
Shadow looked at the forbidden coin. Turning it over, he saw that it was double-sided: the same image on both faces. He wondered where the man had gotten it. “Senior always gets choice pick, eh?”
“That's the way it is in the big world, that's the way it is in here,” Low Key chuckled. “If it's any consolation, I don't stiff my business partners. Not the way you're thinking of, anyway.”
“Nice to know I'd be doing business with a pro,” Shadow replied wryly.
The other man's eyes seemed to glow for a second in the washed-out lighting, a vivid sizzling of power that couldn't be adequately named but hinted at fathomless secrets. “You have no idea how pro I am, man.”
Shadow had the funny feeling that Lyesmith was referring to a good deal more than just his criminal history or his sexual expertise. It weirded him out if he spent too long on it, so he thought of Laura, and of the folly that had landed him in here, and of possibility and destinies and Herodotus. He rolled the two-faced coin around in his big fingers for a few minutes. Then he passed it back to Low Key without tossing it.
“I think my necessity tells me I can hold out a little longer. I've made it this far, to see what invention has waiting for me down the road. Why not travel just a little more?” he told the other man. “That's my circumstance as I see it, anyway.”
Low Key squinted at the coin, holding it up to the light as if trying to discern some kind of runes on its surface. He lowered his hand and stuck it back in his pocket. He seemed...pleased.
“So mote it be,” he said at last, nodding his head. “So mote it be. You're all right, Shadow. You got guts, anyway, ruling your path instead of letting it rule you. Even if that path might be a one-way ticket to dead-endsville. Power is its own illusion, don't forget. But hey, that's just personal observation speaking. Don't take it seriously, it'll blow your mind trying to work it all out.” He winked. “Nobody's perfect.”
“Except Herodotus, of course,” Shadow pointed out, and the would-be trickster Lyesmith grinned.
--