{D}eceptions
Title: Deceptions
Author: arora_kayd, sappho_cried
Beta: sappho_cried
Fandom/Pairing: Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas, Sinbad/Proteus
Disclaimer: Owned by Dreamworks
Summary: I WROTE SINBAD FIC! *bwa ha ha* But it sucked, so sappho_cried made it better, so much better. And we loves her for it, yes we do. But, seriously, have people just not seen this movie? I mean, it's just like Road to El Dorado. So gorram slashy! But there's like no fic for it. Why?
Warnings: None
A little background: Tension had risen in recent years despite the Book of Peace, spurred by underground factions that had found something disagreeable with the treaty.
“Sinbad? What are yo-?” Proteus’ question was cut short as Sinbad kissed him. It was an act so familiar that Proteus didn’t think of resistance. The years spent apart disappeared, all but bad dream; he spared no thought for Marina, or his determination to move on.
They broke apart and Proteus dared a small smile. It was if they were teenagers again; Proteus felt caught up in the same near overpowering emotions of companionship and joy. The hope he had tried hard to extinguish, sustained the past years by bittersweet loyalty, flared to life. Sinbad’s hand lifted from it’s spot on Proteus’ hip and brushed across his bared stomach before moving left towards his own hip.
Time slowed for Proteus; even though his heart beat as if to escape his chest, his movements were sluggish, as if through sand. He dimly registered a sickening noise as Sinbad’s sword was pulled from his stomach.
Now stuck in a strange flow of time, where seconds felt like hours and days were minutes, Proteus saw the blankness in Sinbad’s eyes. The question of why was never vocalized; all the same, Eris’ answer rang in his head and echoed in his gut.
“Chaos, my handsome Prince.” She laughed low and delighted. “Nothing like the age old pairing of scandal and politics to get things started.” Proteus could almost hear a the smirk in her voice as she added, “and who can say no to a bit of revenge thrown in.” Opening eyes he had unconsciously closed, Proteus came back to himself. The pain he now felt immediately seized his attention and he couldn’t hold onto his thoughts.
Proteus wrapped his arms around Sinbad’s neck while he strength and clarity of mind to move them. “…you,” he whispered, “I forgive you.” He initiated the kiss this time and pressed himself close to Sinbad for as long as he could; eventually the numbing cold that had seeped from Sinbad’s sword became to much and he slumped to the floor.
Sinbad stood of him for a moment, looking down, uncaring of the blood on his tunic. A ghost of a smile passed over his face-one that was not his own, but some twisted, bitterly amused imitation. He left Proteus’ body lying in the hallway, intending on working the rest of the palace into an uproar.
Hours later, Sinbad sat, hunched in a dark alley near the shore. He had been well away from the palace when Eris left him, and yet he remembered. He knew the blood on his hands, the fierce triumph and malicious pleasure as Proteus died in his arm as if the memories were truly his own. And so he ran; hadn’t stopped running, trying to keep the demons at bay.
When his ship came into view, he ducked between the nearest buildings. He leaned against a wall, panting harshly, throat tight; he slid down the wall before his legs would no longer hold him. He buried his head in his hands, dug his nails into his scalp, while he both thought and tried to keep from thinking.
Sinbad’s choices were simple, but at the same time extraordinarily difficult. He could run now, run and never look back; never to return to Syracuse, and let the kingdom plunge into power struggles- let Eris have what she wanted, and damned to all else.
Or he could do what Proteus would have done; the noble thing, the honorable thing. He could face that his actions were real, irreversible; he could turn himself in and spend his final days counting down to his execution, alone with the memories.
Twilight came and Sinbad rose from the ground; he had made his choice. The news had likely spread far; he had no time to waste, lest some overzealous guard kill him before he could be properly arrested. Under Eris’ control or no, Proteus was dead, and by his hand.
It was too late say a proper farewell to the crew, to Marina; it was perhaps for the best, as they would only try to stop him.
Kale would understand, he thought. He would explain it to them well.
He started back into the city, keeping to the shadows, where he remained undetected on his death march towards the palace; towards his end.
Author: arora_kayd, sappho_cried
Beta: sappho_cried
Fandom/Pairing: Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas, Sinbad/Proteus
Disclaimer: Owned by Dreamworks
Summary: I WROTE SINBAD FIC! *bwa ha ha* But it sucked, so sappho_cried made it better, so much better. And we loves her for it, yes we do. But, seriously, have people just not seen this movie? I mean, it's just like Road to El Dorado. So gorram slashy! But there's like no fic for it. Why?
Warnings: None
A little background: Tension had risen in recent years despite the Book of Peace, spurred by underground factions that had found something disagreeable with the treaty.
“Sinbad? What are yo-?” Proteus’ question was cut short as Sinbad kissed him. It was an act so familiar that Proteus didn’t think of resistance. The years spent apart disappeared, all but bad dream; he spared no thought for Marina, or his determination to move on.
They broke apart and Proteus dared a small smile. It was if they were teenagers again; Proteus felt caught up in the same near overpowering emotions of companionship and joy. The hope he had tried hard to extinguish, sustained the past years by bittersweet loyalty, flared to life. Sinbad’s hand lifted from it’s spot on Proteus’ hip and brushed across his bared stomach before moving left towards his own hip.
Time slowed for Proteus; even though his heart beat as if to escape his chest, his movements were sluggish, as if through sand. He dimly registered a sickening noise as Sinbad’s sword was pulled from his stomach.
Now stuck in a strange flow of time, where seconds felt like hours and days were minutes, Proteus saw the blankness in Sinbad’s eyes. The question of why was never vocalized; all the same, Eris’ answer rang in his head and echoed in his gut.
“Chaos, my handsome Prince.” She laughed low and delighted. “Nothing like the age old pairing of scandal and politics to get things started.” Proteus could almost hear a the smirk in her voice as she added, “and who can say no to a bit of revenge thrown in.” Opening eyes he had unconsciously closed, Proteus came back to himself. The pain he now felt immediately seized his attention and he couldn’t hold onto his thoughts.
Proteus wrapped his arms around Sinbad’s neck while he strength and clarity of mind to move them. “…you,” he whispered, “I forgive you.” He initiated the kiss this time and pressed himself close to Sinbad for as long as he could; eventually the numbing cold that had seeped from Sinbad’s sword became to much and he slumped to the floor.
Sinbad stood of him for a moment, looking down, uncaring of the blood on his tunic. A ghost of a smile passed over his face-one that was not his own, but some twisted, bitterly amused imitation. He left Proteus’ body lying in the hallway, intending on working the rest of the palace into an uproar.
Hours later, Sinbad sat, hunched in a dark alley near the shore. He had been well away from the palace when Eris left him, and yet he remembered. He knew the blood on his hands, the fierce triumph and malicious pleasure as Proteus died in his arm as if the memories were truly his own. And so he ran; hadn’t stopped running, trying to keep the demons at bay.
When his ship came into view, he ducked between the nearest buildings. He leaned against a wall, panting harshly, throat tight; he slid down the wall before his legs would no longer hold him. He buried his head in his hands, dug his nails into his scalp, while he both thought and tried to keep from thinking.
Sinbad’s choices were simple, but at the same time extraordinarily difficult. He could run now, run and never look back; never to return to Syracuse, and let the kingdom plunge into power struggles- let Eris have what she wanted, and damned to all else.
Or he could do what Proteus would have done; the noble thing, the honorable thing. He could face that his actions were real, irreversible; he could turn himself in and spend his final days counting down to his execution, alone with the memories.
Twilight came and Sinbad rose from the ground; he had made his choice. The news had likely spread far; he had no time to waste, lest some overzealous guard kill him before he could be properly arrested. Under Eris’ control or no, Proteus was dead, and by his hand.
It was too late say a proper farewell to the crew, to Marina; it was perhaps for the best, as they would only try to stop him.
Kale would understand, he thought. He would explain it to them well.
He started back into the city, keeping to the shadows, where he remained undetected on his death march towards the palace; towards his end.