[Brotherhood of the Wolf] L'eau Vivante
Title: L'eau Vivante
Fandom: Brotherhood of the Wolf
Rating: R
Pairing: Fronsac/Mani
Words: 2000
Originally written: December, 2005
Summary: A pastoral interlude.
L'eau Vivante
They had followed the game trail for hours, deeper into the forest than the chevalier had ever been. They had changed direction several times, cutting through the tangle of trees and undergrowth. At times, the trail had disappeared entirely beneath the carpet of leaves, but the chevalier's companion didn't even slow. He led on, his silent sure stride never breaking.
If it wasn't for that companion, the chevalier would have been quite concerned by now.
He stepped over a black puddle that lay across the path and said, "We'll have to spend the night out here if we don't find this place soon..."
Mani glanced back, loose dark hair making a portcullis in front of his face. He should have slipped when he took his eyes from the path; should have caught his foot on an outstretched branch and stumbled to his knees. But he didn't.
"We will find it soon."
He said nothing more, but Fronsac had expected nothing less. After the long winter they had passed together in silence, he was surprised - even pleased - when Mani said anything to him that he didn't have to.
That strange, musical accent had become like a reward for a job well done.
Mani would never lose that accent, and Fronsac would never ask him to.
The Perusian had picked up French quickly, and it had become apparent to Fronsac that he knew more than he was letting on. Teaching him the language hadn't been the impossible task he had feared it would be.
When they had brought Mani to him, dragged him into Fronsac's barracks in the dead of winter, his leathers were dark and stiff with blood; his boots dripped red-tinged snow on the freshly scrubbed floor. Broken fingers clutched at broken ribs.
His head was down, long black hair curtaining his face.
But the first thing Fronsac had noticed was that the searing fire in the Perusian's eyes. Part hot intelligence, but mostly immolating hatred.
Fronsac had found that the most striking thing of all. He had been disliked in the past. Distrusted, misunderstood, defamed, unfashionable, and out of favor... but he had never been truly hated.
He remembered the way Mani had watched him all through the winter. How sometimes his eyes had flicked to the bolted door, or sometimes to the unloaded pistol mounted on the wall above the bed, but then always back to the chevalier.
Until Fronsac could feel the heat of that stare, even when his back was turned. Even in his sleep.
It had driven him back, and it wasn't until shortly after the last snow of the season that he had dared to meet Mani's eyes again.
He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but by then that quiet hatred had vanished. Smothered beneath a blanket of cool resignation.
It had made Fronsac feel a little better, but not much.
He had smiled, just barely, ruefully, and set a hand on Mani's shoulder.
The Perusian hadn't pulled away, and Fronsac remembered how, despite the chill in the air, his body had been warm to the touch.
A few steps ahead of him, Mani parted the tangle of bushes growing low to the forest floor, swung his body beneath a hanging branch.
He paused, pointed.
Fronsac stepped forward, and his breath caught.
The break between clearing and woods was abrupt, as sharp as if it had been made by a razor. The tight press of the forest fell away before him, giving way to a green meadow, dotted with small indigo flowers, shaped like cathedral bells.
The north side of the meadow butted up against a cliff face, and from a nest of rocks at the top, a waterfall cascaded down, into a clear stream that cut through the center of the meadow and into the woods, out of sight.
Fronsac turned to look at his companion, but Mani was already gone. As he walked out into the meadow, a few birds hidden in the grass cackled irritably and scattered.
"How did you find this place?" Fronsac called.
Mani glanced back. His expression didn't change, but it was clear all the same what he thought of a question like that.
Fronsac lifted an eyebrow, folded his arms and leaned back against a tree. He crossed one ankle delicately over the other and watched as Mani knelt and unlaced his boots. He toed them off, stuffed his stockings inside, and pushed them aside with a bare foot.
"What are you doing?" Fronsac called.
Mani didn't look back. His words floated over his shoulder like scraps of paper. "Come out here."
Fronsac took a few steps forward, and with his back still to the chevalier, still facing the water, Mani unbuttoned his coat and let it fall to the muddy bank.
His shirt followed a moment later, and Fronsac stopped again, watching the quick, darting movements of his hands, the flex and coil of sleek muscles between his bare shoulder blades.
"What are you doing?" he called again.
Mani didn't answer; his hand glanced over his belt buckle and he pushed his pants down, past his hips. They slide the rest of the way down his legs, and he stepped out of them unselfconsciously.
His body swayed slightly, lithe and serpentine, as he waded out into the stream.
Fronsac tilted his head to the side, but came forward, rescuing Mani's clothes from the mud and tossing them further up the bank.
When the water was above his thighs, Mani abruptly dived forward.
Fronsac glanced back, but he was quick as a fish and only a few ripples remained where he had disappeared beneath the surface.
He reappeared again, a few yards downstream, water dripping from his long hair. Droplets glistened on his shoulders and rolled down his chest.
"Good for the blood," he called back.
Fronsa's lip curled. "That water must be freezing."
"Not if you don't want it to be."
"All the same," Fronsac replied. "I think I'll just watch."
Mani shook his head, wet hair battering the sides of his face. He came forward, seemed almost to glide through the water, as though it offered no resistance at all.
Fronsac folded his arms as Mani strode up the bank towards him. He stopped, less than a breath away, and looked annoyed.
"I'm warning you..." Fronsac said, but he was smiling.
Mani snorted, seized the chevalier's collar in both hands and began to back toward the water's edge.
"We'll freeze together," Fronsac said, but he allowed himself to be led, shedding his coat and the belt with his pistol and saber as he went.
Mani dragged him out to his ankles, then to his knees, and the water began to slosh over the tops of his boots.
"You said the water wasn't cold..." he muttered.
Mani rolled his eyes, tossing his hair elegantly. Even in water up to his thighs he moved silently. Spun on his heels, bringing Fronsac around so his back faced the deeper water. He hooked a heel behind the chevalier's knee, and, in one swift movement, jerked his feet out from under him.
Fronsac made a little surprised noise in the back of his throat, and then he was on his back, icy water soaking through his clothes.
He glanced up. Mani's lips were pressed into a tight smile.
"That's not funny," Fronsac muttered.
He began to sit up, but a hand in the center of his chest stopped him.
Fronsac opened his mouth, but if he had ever had any intention of saying something, it was quickly forgotten as Mani knelt over him. As he leaned in close.
Fronsac tilted his chin back slightly, meeting him in a kiss.
They went under. Fronsac's eyes were closed, but he felt himself sinking, warm skin and cold water closing in above him.
He couldn't breathe, but he didn't need to.
Mani dug one foot into the river bottom, pushing them out toward deeper water, further from the shore.
Fronsac's heels scraped the bottom, they weren't too far out yet that he couldn't dig in, couldn't call an end to this.
But he didn't want that, not when he was finally beginning to truly understand this place.
Even something like a forest stream, which had seemed so straightforward, so uncomplex, from the bank took on a different dimension when seen from here, from within.
Above him, the light receded. The afternoon sun was no further away than the length of his arm, but it was darker beneath the water than any oubliette. He knew, though, that all he needed to do was stretch out his hand and it would break the surface of the water, bring him back to the world of men.
But his hands were occupied with other matters.
One had crossed Mani's back, tangling in his hair. The other had fallen over Mani's wrist. He had already tugged his belt open, and was working now at the front of his pants.
It took Fronsac a long moment to realize that the ache in his chest was his lungs fighting for air.
Mani dug his feet into the sand, wheeled back, dragging the chevalier behind him.
His head broke the surface, and Fronsac broke their kiss, gasping for air. The water was as high as their chests out here, but Mani had led them to a smooth white rock that jutted out above the water.
One hand was still curled in the front of the chevalier's pants, but with his free arm braced across Fronsac's shoulders Mani pushed him back against the rock.
Fronsac inched his hands around the other man's waist, pulling him close. Mouth against mouth, chest against chest, thigh against thigh.
The leather cord that held his hair out of his face came loose, and the current carried it away, but Fronsac didn't try to reach for it.
It was better this way, yes, with the cold water to make the naked skin against his feel hotter. The gentle tug of the current to make the movement of mouths and hips and bone-rough hands even harsher.
Because they were not fish, not plants or snakes or beetles. They were warm bodies, flesh and blood, racing heartbeats and kisses so hard that teeth cut into lips.
Breath by breath, taking the biology out of sex.
Fronsac couldn't remember getting back to shore after they were finished, but it must have been a humbling undertaking. He felt so weak in the knees that even walking on dry ground seemed impossible at the moment.
He lay on his back on the shore now, wet clothes strewn about him carelessly, warming himself in the sun like a lizard. He didn't turn to look at his companion, but he knew Mani was close. He could hear him breathing.
In a while, he knew, they would have to rise. Collect wood - enough to last the night - and build a fire.
But there was no need to do it just yet. For the moment, the sun was still high and he had all he needed.
*****
A/N: Yuletide 2005. I forgot I had even written it until this year, so it was the story that prompted me to start archiving my stuff.
Fandom: Brotherhood of the Wolf
Rating: R
Pairing: Fronsac/Mani
Words: 2000
Originally written: December, 2005
Summary: A pastoral interlude.
L'eau Vivante
They had followed the game trail for hours, deeper into the forest than the chevalier had ever been. They had changed direction several times, cutting through the tangle of trees and undergrowth. At times, the trail had disappeared entirely beneath the carpet of leaves, but the chevalier's companion didn't even slow. He led on, his silent sure stride never breaking.
If it wasn't for that companion, the chevalier would have been quite concerned by now.
He stepped over a black puddle that lay across the path and said, "We'll have to spend the night out here if we don't find this place soon..."
Mani glanced back, loose dark hair making a portcullis in front of his face. He should have slipped when he took his eyes from the path; should have caught his foot on an outstretched branch and stumbled to his knees. But he didn't.
"We will find it soon."
He said nothing more, but Fronsac had expected nothing less. After the long winter they had passed together in silence, he was surprised - even pleased - when Mani said anything to him that he didn't have to.
That strange, musical accent had become like a reward for a job well done.
Mani would never lose that accent, and Fronsac would never ask him to.
The Perusian had picked up French quickly, and it had become apparent to Fronsac that he knew more than he was letting on. Teaching him the language hadn't been the impossible task he had feared it would be.
When they had brought Mani to him, dragged him into Fronsac's barracks in the dead of winter, his leathers were dark and stiff with blood; his boots dripped red-tinged snow on the freshly scrubbed floor. Broken fingers clutched at broken ribs.
His head was down, long black hair curtaining his face.
But the first thing Fronsac had noticed was that the searing fire in the Perusian's eyes. Part hot intelligence, but mostly immolating hatred.
Fronsac had found that the most striking thing of all. He had been disliked in the past. Distrusted, misunderstood, defamed, unfashionable, and out of favor... but he had never been truly hated.
He remembered the way Mani had watched him all through the winter. How sometimes his eyes had flicked to the bolted door, or sometimes to the unloaded pistol mounted on the wall above the bed, but then always back to the chevalier.
Until Fronsac could feel the heat of that stare, even when his back was turned. Even in his sleep.
It had driven him back, and it wasn't until shortly after the last snow of the season that he had dared to meet Mani's eyes again.
He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but by then that quiet hatred had vanished. Smothered beneath a blanket of cool resignation.
It had made Fronsac feel a little better, but not much.
He had smiled, just barely, ruefully, and set a hand on Mani's shoulder.
The Perusian hadn't pulled away, and Fronsac remembered how, despite the chill in the air, his body had been warm to the touch.
A few steps ahead of him, Mani parted the tangle of bushes growing low to the forest floor, swung his body beneath a hanging branch.
He paused, pointed.
Fronsac stepped forward, and his breath caught.
The break between clearing and woods was abrupt, as sharp as if it had been made by a razor. The tight press of the forest fell away before him, giving way to a green meadow, dotted with small indigo flowers, shaped like cathedral bells.
The north side of the meadow butted up against a cliff face, and from a nest of rocks at the top, a waterfall cascaded down, into a clear stream that cut through the center of the meadow and into the woods, out of sight.
Fronsac turned to look at his companion, but Mani was already gone. As he walked out into the meadow, a few birds hidden in the grass cackled irritably and scattered.
"How did you find this place?" Fronsac called.
Mani glanced back. His expression didn't change, but it was clear all the same what he thought of a question like that.
Fronsac lifted an eyebrow, folded his arms and leaned back against a tree. He crossed one ankle delicately over the other and watched as Mani knelt and unlaced his boots. He toed them off, stuffed his stockings inside, and pushed them aside with a bare foot.
"What are you doing?" Fronsac called.
Mani didn't look back. His words floated over his shoulder like scraps of paper. "Come out here."
Fronsac took a few steps forward, and with his back still to the chevalier, still facing the water, Mani unbuttoned his coat and let it fall to the muddy bank.
His shirt followed a moment later, and Fronsac stopped again, watching the quick, darting movements of his hands, the flex and coil of sleek muscles between his bare shoulder blades.
"What are you doing?" he called again.
Mani didn't answer; his hand glanced over his belt buckle and he pushed his pants down, past his hips. They slide the rest of the way down his legs, and he stepped out of them unselfconsciously.
His body swayed slightly, lithe and serpentine, as he waded out into the stream.
Fronsac tilted his head to the side, but came forward, rescuing Mani's clothes from the mud and tossing them further up the bank.
When the water was above his thighs, Mani abruptly dived forward.
Fronsac glanced back, but he was quick as a fish and only a few ripples remained where he had disappeared beneath the surface.
He reappeared again, a few yards downstream, water dripping from his long hair. Droplets glistened on his shoulders and rolled down his chest.
"Good for the blood," he called back.
Fronsa's lip curled. "That water must be freezing."
"Not if you don't want it to be."
"All the same," Fronsac replied. "I think I'll just watch."
Mani shook his head, wet hair battering the sides of his face. He came forward, seemed almost to glide through the water, as though it offered no resistance at all.
Fronsac folded his arms as Mani strode up the bank towards him. He stopped, less than a breath away, and looked annoyed.
"I'm warning you..." Fronsac said, but he was smiling.
Mani snorted, seized the chevalier's collar in both hands and began to back toward the water's edge.
"We'll freeze together," Fronsac said, but he allowed himself to be led, shedding his coat and the belt with his pistol and saber as he went.
Mani dragged him out to his ankles, then to his knees, and the water began to slosh over the tops of his boots.
"You said the water wasn't cold..." he muttered.
Mani rolled his eyes, tossing his hair elegantly. Even in water up to his thighs he moved silently. Spun on his heels, bringing Fronsac around so his back faced the deeper water. He hooked a heel behind the chevalier's knee, and, in one swift movement, jerked his feet out from under him.
Fronsac made a little surprised noise in the back of his throat, and then he was on his back, icy water soaking through his clothes.
He glanced up. Mani's lips were pressed into a tight smile.
"That's not funny," Fronsac muttered.
He began to sit up, but a hand in the center of his chest stopped him.
Fronsac opened his mouth, but if he had ever had any intention of saying something, it was quickly forgotten as Mani knelt over him. As he leaned in close.
Fronsac tilted his chin back slightly, meeting him in a kiss.
They went under. Fronsac's eyes were closed, but he felt himself sinking, warm skin and cold water closing in above him.
He couldn't breathe, but he didn't need to.
Mani dug one foot into the river bottom, pushing them out toward deeper water, further from the shore.
Fronsac's heels scraped the bottom, they weren't too far out yet that he couldn't dig in, couldn't call an end to this.
But he didn't want that, not when he was finally beginning to truly understand this place.
Even something like a forest stream, which had seemed so straightforward, so uncomplex, from the bank took on a different dimension when seen from here, from within.
Above him, the light receded. The afternoon sun was no further away than the length of his arm, but it was darker beneath the water than any oubliette. He knew, though, that all he needed to do was stretch out his hand and it would break the surface of the water, bring him back to the world of men.
But his hands were occupied with other matters.
One had crossed Mani's back, tangling in his hair. The other had fallen over Mani's wrist. He had already tugged his belt open, and was working now at the front of his pants.
It took Fronsac a long moment to realize that the ache in his chest was his lungs fighting for air.
Mani dug his feet into the sand, wheeled back, dragging the chevalier behind him.
His head broke the surface, and Fronsac broke their kiss, gasping for air. The water was as high as their chests out here, but Mani had led them to a smooth white rock that jutted out above the water.
One hand was still curled in the front of the chevalier's pants, but with his free arm braced across Fronsac's shoulders Mani pushed him back against the rock.
Fronsac inched his hands around the other man's waist, pulling him close. Mouth against mouth, chest against chest, thigh against thigh.
The leather cord that held his hair out of his face came loose, and the current carried it away, but Fronsac didn't try to reach for it.
It was better this way, yes, with the cold water to make the naked skin against his feel hotter. The gentle tug of the current to make the movement of mouths and hips and bone-rough hands even harsher.
Because they were not fish, not plants or snakes or beetles. They were warm bodies, flesh and blood, racing heartbeats and kisses so hard that teeth cut into lips.
Breath by breath, taking the biology out of sex.
Fronsac couldn't remember getting back to shore after they were finished, but it must have been a humbling undertaking. He felt so weak in the knees that even walking on dry ground seemed impossible at the moment.
He lay on his back on the shore now, wet clothes strewn about him carelessly, warming himself in the sun like a lizard. He didn't turn to look at his companion, but he knew Mani was close. He could hear him breathing.
In a while, he knew, they would have to rise. Collect wood - enough to last the night - and build a fire.
But there was no need to do it just yet. For the moment, the sun was still high and he had all he needed.
*****
A/N: Yuletide 2005. I forgot I had even written it until this year, so it was the story that prompted me to start archiving my stuff.