Fic: Thee to Me
Title: Thee to Me
Fandom: The Book of Lost Things
Characters: Roland/Raphael
Rating: Light R?
Word Count: 665
Disclaimer: These characters belong to John Connolly, I'm just playing with them.
Also this is totally unbeta'd, so if there's a problem (no doubt) just point and I'll fix it.
This is for the "Backstory" prompt on my cliche_bingo card. It's probably at least slightly understandable if you haven't read the book. If you want to know what becomes of them, you should definitely read it. If not, you should still read it because it's great.
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The first night Raphael came to me he was brash and insolent. He offered himself to me without shame, full of the dangerous overconfidence of a young man breaking the rules. He challenged me like he always had in training or on the battlefield, often knowing what I wanted even before I knew it myself. His impertinence in the face of his superior should have annoyed me, but it only made me want him more.
After that first night Raphael began coming to me in different guises.
Sometimes he was the same bold man, impatient to claim what he knew was his and to prove himself worthy of it. He was a force of nature on those nights, his passion sparked one deep inside of myself - like nothing I had ever experienced before - and together we raged out of control, burning through the night and into the early hours of morning.
Sometimes he was more subdued; he would offer without taking, give without want of his own. On some of those nights he would lay next to me, inquiring after each scar on my battle worn body with a tender caress of lips or fingertips. He would listen to the story of each wound as if he could absorb some of the pain I had long since forgotten, making it his burden, as it had once been mine.
Other nights he would be nearly bursting with liveliness, his head and heart filled with the day’s achievements or some amusing anecdote. His easy laugh would bubble forth in all of the wrong places, but the playful twinkle in his eye was a salve to the sting of any offence he might have caused. Those nights, spent tangled in the bedding or sprawled carelessly across the cold floor, were among my favorites.
But sometimes he would come to me only in sleep, a vivid dream of dark auburn locks, fiery eyes, and taut muscle under smooth skin. Those nights I would wake up with desire throbbing through me, to find myself breathless and utterly, utterly alone.
The first months of our meetings were filled with an elation that ended up being our undoing. Our longing for each other only grew, until it could hardly be contained into the short nights we spent together. Desirous glances and whispers, along with occasional unexplained absences, could only go unnoticed by the others for so long.
I could handle the suspicious looks in people’s eyes and the dimming respect I received from my soldiers, but when Raphael would come to me at night, distanced and distracted, it tore at my heart. That he would be heckled and deemed less a man for our love angered and saddened me. I cursed the people who would treat him so coldly, I cursed the church that preached the law and the kingdom that laid it down - the kingdom that was to one day be my own.
None of it changed a thing, and those nights of dreams and loneliness came more often.
The last night Raphael came to me, he was a mixture of the men he had been on previous nights. Excitement coursed through him as he told me of the adventure he planned to embark on, sure that it would allow him to prove his abilities as a soldier - that it would prove we could be together and still be good men. He refused to listen to me as either his superior or his equal, would not comply when I ordered him to stay or concede when I begged him not to go. Yet when he spoke of the time he would have to spend away from me his expression and voice were solemn and tender.
That night our lovemaking was slow and desperate, and in the morning he was gone.
Weeks upon weeks have passed, and it has been much too long since Raphael has come to me. So tonight I go to him, wherever he may be.
Fandom: The Book of Lost Things
Characters: Roland/Raphael
Rating: Light R?
Word Count: 665
Disclaimer: These characters belong to John Connolly, I'm just playing with them.
Also this is totally unbeta'd, so if there's a problem (no doubt) just point and I'll fix it.
This is for the "Backstory" prompt on my cliche_bingo card. It's probably at least slightly understandable if you haven't read the book. If you want to know what becomes of them, you should definitely read it. If not, you should still read it because it's great.
------
The first night Raphael came to me he was brash and insolent. He offered himself to me without shame, full of the dangerous overconfidence of a young man breaking the rules. He challenged me like he always had in training or on the battlefield, often knowing what I wanted even before I knew it myself. His impertinence in the face of his superior should have annoyed me, but it only made me want him more.
After that first night Raphael began coming to me in different guises.
Sometimes he was the same bold man, impatient to claim what he knew was his and to prove himself worthy of it. He was a force of nature on those nights, his passion sparked one deep inside of myself - like nothing I had ever experienced before - and together we raged out of control, burning through the night and into the early hours of morning.
Sometimes he was more subdued; he would offer without taking, give without want of his own. On some of those nights he would lay next to me, inquiring after each scar on my battle worn body with a tender caress of lips or fingertips. He would listen to the story of each wound as if he could absorb some of the pain I had long since forgotten, making it his burden, as it had once been mine.
Other nights he would be nearly bursting with liveliness, his head and heart filled with the day’s achievements or some amusing anecdote. His easy laugh would bubble forth in all of the wrong places, but the playful twinkle in his eye was a salve to the sting of any offence he might have caused. Those nights, spent tangled in the bedding or sprawled carelessly across the cold floor, were among my favorites.
But sometimes he would come to me only in sleep, a vivid dream of dark auburn locks, fiery eyes, and taut muscle under smooth skin. Those nights I would wake up with desire throbbing through me, to find myself breathless and utterly, utterly alone.
The first months of our meetings were filled with an elation that ended up being our undoing. Our longing for each other only grew, until it could hardly be contained into the short nights we spent together. Desirous glances and whispers, along with occasional unexplained absences, could only go unnoticed by the others for so long.
I could handle the suspicious looks in people’s eyes and the dimming respect I received from my soldiers, but when Raphael would come to me at night, distanced and distracted, it tore at my heart. That he would be heckled and deemed less a man for our love angered and saddened me. I cursed the people who would treat him so coldly, I cursed the church that preached the law and the kingdom that laid it down - the kingdom that was to one day be my own.
None of it changed a thing, and those nights of dreams and loneliness came more often.
The last night Raphael came to me, he was a mixture of the men he had been on previous nights. Excitement coursed through him as he told me of the adventure he planned to embark on, sure that it would allow him to prove his abilities as a soldier - that it would prove we could be together and still be good men. He refused to listen to me as either his superior or his equal, would not comply when I ordered him to stay or concede when I begged him not to go. Yet when he spoke of the time he would have to spend away from me his expression and voice were solemn and tender.
That night our lovemaking was slow and desperate, and in the morning he was gone.
Weeks upon weeks have passed, and it has been much too long since Raphael has come to me. So tonight I go to him, wherever he may be.