7 Deadly Sins - Gluttony by Mylodon
AUTHOR: mylodon
TITLE: Soft tack and a softer bed
SIN: Gluttony
RATING: PG 12
PAIRING: Archie and Horatio
WORD COUNT: 301
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine, alas
SUMMARY: Shore leave is a time for indulgence
How much is enough? Is that quantity liquid, ebbing and flowing with abstinence and deprivation? When does satiation end and excess begin?
How could you even measure excess, when you’ve returned from six months at sea and fresh milk had become simply a memory, something that might almost be the stuff of imagination, were it not for the fact you remember the smell and the taste. Like making love.
The inn is warm, dry and quiet. Fresh scones with clotted cream are now nothing more than crumbs on a plate and smears on a knife. The pot of coffee has been drained and the wine opened. Simple pleasures, shared. Soft tack and a softer bed.
Is it greed or necessity to have used the bed first of all, door locked against the world and consciences locked against the Articles? Is it hedonism or hunger-cramping, agonising hunger-to have used it twice since? It’s been twenty four hours since you started to find your land legs; how long until you say, “I have walked too long the paths of lust with you, Archie, and drunk too deeply of the well of your delight. Let me rest.” Tomorrow? The next day? When death does you both part?
And if you speak now, will Archie laugh and say, “We’ll tread more paths and drink more deeply, yet. If music truly be the food of love I’ll play you like a harp, until we’ve both had excess of it.”
As it is, you hold him close and murmur, “Is gluttony not a deadly sin? And are we not condemned for our indulgence?”
He smiles, kissing the hand which embraces him. “And is heaven not the place where you get what you most desired and it is as good as when you only desired it?”
TITLE: Soft tack and a softer bed
SIN: Gluttony
RATING: PG 12
PAIRING: Archie and Horatio
WORD COUNT: 301
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine, alas
SUMMARY: Shore leave is a time for indulgence
How much is enough? Is that quantity liquid, ebbing and flowing with abstinence and deprivation? When does satiation end and excess begin?
How could you even measure excess, when you’ve returned from six months at sea and fresh milk had become simply a memory, something that might almost be the stuff of imagination, were it not for the fact you remember the smell and the taste. Like making love.
The inn is warm, dry and quiet. Fresh scones with clotted cream are now nothing more than crumbs on a plate and smears on a knife. The pot of coffee has been drained and the wine opened. Simple pleasures, shared. Soft tack and a softer bed.
Is it greed or necessity to have used the bed first of all, door locked against the world and consciences locked against the Articles? Is it hedonism or hunger-cramping, agonising hunger-to have used it twice since? It’s been twenty four hours since you started to find your land legs; how long until you say, “I have walked too long the paths of lust with you, Archie, and drunk too deeply of the well of your delight. Let me rest.” Tomorrow? The next day? When death does you both part?
And if you speak now, will Archie laugh and say, “We’ll tread more paths and drink more deeply, yet. If music truly be the food of love I’ll play you like a harp, until we’ve both had excess of it.”
As it is, you hold him close and murmur, “Is gluttony not a deadly sin? And are we not condemned for our indulgence?”
He smiles, kissing the hand which embraces him. “And is heaven not the place where you get what you most desired and it is as good as when you only desired it?”