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sga_flashficChallenge: Telepath
Title: Charmed Sleepers
Rating: Fully Adult
Author: Brighid
Summary: There will be only silence
Pairing: Elizabeth/Male
Note:
In the beginning when the sun was lit
The maze of things was marshalled to a dance,
Deep in us lie forgotten strains of it,
Like obsolete, charmed sleepers of romance.
And we remember, when on thrilling strings
And hollow flutes the heart of midnight burns,
The heritage of splendid, moving things
Descends on us, and the old power returns.
– Quoted by Jane Harrison: Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion
Charmed Sleepers
by Brighid
After the first thousand years, Janus comes to visit. There is light and sound and something fluid, floating and bright and it touches her. She feels her pulses trip up, and her breath grow sharp in her lungs. She closes her eyes and when she opens them Janus is standing before her.
"You've ascended," she says, and he smiles at her, the same bold smile he had when he was flesh and blood.
"Well. Theoretically speaking, yes," he says. "It sounds much more noble the way you put it, much grander. Mostly I just feel like a galactic medusae, but there you are." He smiles and it is still his smile. "I get to time travel, now. I still can't do anything with it, but it's been fun looking around." He reaches out, brushes a non-existent palm over her cheek. The small hairs prickle and rise at his ghost touch.
"So why are you here?" Elizabeth asks, returning her gaze to the window, watching the flash-bright-turn of a school of fish.
"I thought ... you might be lonely," he said at last.
Elizabeth does not look at him, but she smiles. "You mean you were lonely," she says finally. A thousand years has stripped away enough of her diplomacy that she enjoys the bluntness of the words and does not flinch from them.
Janus grins. "Well, that, too."
Elizabeth turns and looks at him. "I am, too. Lonely, that is. It's so damned quiet here when I'm up. And when I go back down again ... you never told me that I'd dream." It's almost an accusation. Not quite, but almost.
"I can visit you there as well," Janus says, his body shifting, brightening. Elizabeth, quite suddenly, thinks of Danae under Zeus. Her heart stutters slightly, and her breath hitches, and she thinks, god. Oh, god. When he brushes against her, into her, it's a thousand butterfly kisses.
"I've thought about you a lot," and the voice is in between her ears, in her chest and her belly and a pool of bright between her legs, glowing and molten, and god. Elizabeth feels full to bursting, and then she does: like ripe fruit split, like a star shearing apart. When she can see again Janus is a foot away from her and watching with guarded eyes.
"I missed you, too," Elizabeth says finally, when her breath slows. She holds out her hand and he reaches back and the air; it crackles around them as she walks them back to the stasis chamber, as they walk the long corridor together.
*0*
She tastes his mouth in her dreams. "How long since the last time?" she says, and he smiles at her.
"A hundred years," he replies. The landscape of the world ripples around her, and she is standing on a jagged mountain, thousands and thousands of metres high, and the seething ocean below here is teeming with small greenness. "I found this place, and wanted you to see it," he says, and he's somewhere between a boy with a lightning bug in a jar and a man with diamonds in his pocket. His smile is so wide it makes her heart hurt.
So she sits beside him and holds his hand and watches as the crimson sky suddenly sinks into dark purple, and above them there is a vortex of swirling orange and green and colours beyond her ability to sense, but still she knows they are there. She can feel them against her skin, taste them on the back of her tongue.
She watches as slowly, slowly, the brilliance compresses only to flare outwards again.
"That's a star being born, isn't it?" she asks.
"That's our star," Janus says, both serious and mocking.
"Then I'll name her," Elizabeth said. "Cardea."
She could feel him watching her, a slow, long look. "I had a daughter named that," he says finally.
"I thought you might," Elizabeth watches the sky contract and pulse, like a child's heartbeat. "I never had a daughter." She closes her eyes against the dizzying sky.
Janus pulls her against his body and when she opens her eyes again there a clean cotton sheets under her bare back, and Janus is the sky above her.
*0*
He brings flowers, once or twice. She opens the door to him, and his fist is full of stalks and blooms, something vivid like heliconias. He touches her breasts with the painted red tips and her nipples harden beneath them. When they are done the bed smells of warm and wet and lush.
Sometimes, he brings music that he hums against her skin, against the curve of her hip and hollow of her pelvis. His tongue is like his first touch, a thousand butterfly kisses all at once. When he sinks into her, she it utterly subsumed in him, in the song that he brings.
*0*
"They're here, aren't they?" she asks after ten thousand years. She feels soft cotton against her back, and he is above her.
"Yes."
"I have to wake up," she gasps as he sinks into her, as he touches her a thousand ways all at once. She traces the curve of a bicep, the softness of his belly, and knows that in his mind he is still flesh and bone and that ascension was the worst possible thing for him to have chosen.
"Why did you do this?" she asks, for the very first time, a final first time between them.
"Because I found myself missing you," he answers at last, before dipping his head to kiss her. It's simple and sweet and she can taste the memory of what could have been, might have been, had the universe worked differently.
"I have to wake up," she says again, finally.
Janus rolls away, rises to his feet, and he stands there in bare skin watching her. "Yes, you do." He pulls her to her feet, kisses her one last time, almost chastely.
"You're not asking me to go with you," she says.
"You wouldn't come," he says at last, his eyes sad, his mouth quirked in familiar smile.
"No, I wouldn't," she agrees. "But you make it ... very tempting."
He touches his fingers to her forehead, and he does not say he loves her but she can feel it everywhere all around her.
When she opens her eyes he is standing silent behind the others, and he smiles at her and then he's gone. Elizabeth, for the first time in nine thousand years, truly feels alone.
*0*
End
Title: Charmed Sleepers
Rating: Fully Adult
Author: Brighid
Summary: There will be only silence
Pairing: Elizabeth/Male
Note:
In the beginning when the sun was lit
The maze of things was marshalled to a dance,
Deep in us lie forgotten strains of it,
Like obsolete, charmed sleepers of romance.
And we remember, when on thrilling strings
And hollow flutes the heart of midnight burns,
The heritage of splendid, moving things
Descends on us, and the old power returns.
– Quoted by Jane Harrison: Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion
Charmed Sleepers
by Brighid
After the first thousand years, Janus comes to visit. There is light and sound and something fluid, floating and bright and it touches her. She feels her pulses trip up, and her breath grow sharp in her lungs. She closes her eyes and when she opens them Janus is standing before her.
"You've ascended," she says, and he smiles at her, the same bold smile he had when he was flesh and blood.
"Well. Theoretically speaking, yes," he says. "It sounds much more noble the way you put it, much grander. Mostly I just feel like a galactic medusae, but there you are." He smiles and it is still his smile. "I get to time travel, now. I still can't do anything with it, but it's been fun looking around." He reaches out, brushes a non-existent palm over her cheek. The small hairs prickle and rise at his ghost touch.
"So why are you here?" Elizabeth asks, returning her gaze to the window, watching the flash-bright-turn of a school of fish.
"I thought ... you might be lonely," he said at last.
Elizabeth does not look at him, but she smiles. "You mean you were lonely," she says finally. A thousand years has stripped away enough of her diplomacy that she enjoys the bluntness of the words and does not flinch from them.
Janus grins. "Well, that, too."
Elizabeth turns and looks at him. "I am, too. Lonely, that is. It's so damned quiet here when I'm up. And when I go back down again ... you never told me that I'd dream." It's almost an accusation. Not quite, but almost.
"I can visit you there as well," Janus says, his body shifting, brightening. Elizabeth, quite suddenly, thinks of Danae under Zeus. Her heart stutters slightly, and her breath hitches, and she thinks, god. Oh, god. When he brushes against her, into her, it's a thousand butterfly kisses.
"I've thought about you a lot," and the voice is in between her ears, in her chest and her belly and a pool of bright between her legs, glowing and molten, and god. Elizabeth feels full to bursting, and then she does: like ripe fruit split, like a star shearing apart. When she can see again Janus is a foot away from her and watching with guarded eyes.
"I missed you, too," Elizabeth says finally, when her breath slows. She holds out her hand and he reaches back and the air; it crackles around them as she walks them back to the stasis chamber, as they walk the long corridor together.
*0*
She tastes his mouth in her dreams. "How long since the last time?" she says, and he smiles at her.
"A hundred years," he replies. The landscape of the world ripples around her, and she is standing on a jagged mountain, thousands and thousands of metres high, and the seething ocean below here is teeming with small greenness. "I found this place, and wanted you to see it," he says, and he's somewhere between a boy with a lightning bug in a jar and a man with diamonds in his pocket. His smile is so wide it makes her heart hurt.
So she sits beside him and holds his hand and watches as the crimson sky suddenly sinks into dark purple, and above them there is a vortex of swirling orange and green and colours beyond her ability to sense, but still she knows they are there. She can feel them against her skin, taste them on the back of her tongue.
She watches as slowly, slowly, the brilliance compresses only to flare outwards again.
"That's a star being born, isn't it?" she asks.
"That's our star," Janus says, both serious and mocking.
"Then I'll name her," Elizabeth said. "Cardea."
She could feel him watching her, a slow, long look. "I had a daughter named that," he says finally.
"I thought you might," Elizabeth watches the sky contract and pulse, like a child's heartbeat. "I never had a daughter." She closes her eyes against the dizzying sky.
Janus pulls her against his body and when she opens her eyes again there a clean cotton sheets under her bare back, and Janus is the sky above her.
*0*
He brings flowers, once or twice. She opens the door to him, and his fist is full of stalks and blooms, something vivid like heliconias. He touches her breasts with the painted red tips and her nipples harden beneath them. When they are done the bed smells of warm and wet and lush.
Sometimes, he brings music that he hums against her skin, against the curve of her hip and hollow of her pelvis. His tongue is like his first touch, a thousand butterfly kisses all at once. When he sinks into her, she it utterly subsumed in him, in the song that he brings.
*0*
"They're here, aren't they?" she asks after ten thousand years. She feels soft cotton against her back, and he is above her.
"Yes."
"I have to wake up," she gasps as he sinks into her, as he touches her a thousand ways all at once. She traces the curve of a bicep, the softness of his belly, and knows that in his mind he is still flesh and bone and that ascension was the worst possible thing for him to have chosen.
"Why did you do this?" she asks, for the very first time, a final first time between them.
"Because I found myself missing you," he answers at last, before dipping his head to kiss her. It's simple and sweet and she can taste the memory of what could have been, might have been, had the universe worked differently.
"I have to wake up," she says again, finally.
Janus rolls away, rises to his feet, and he stands there in bare skin watching her. "Yes, you do." He pulls her to her feet, kisses her one last time, almost chastely.
"You're not asking me to go with you," she says.
"You wouldn't come," he says at last, his eyes sad, his mouth quirked in familiar smile.
"No, I wouldn't," she agrees. "But you make it ... very tempting."
He touches his fingers to her forehead, and he does not say he loves her but she can feel it everywhere all around her.
When she opens her eyes he is standing silent behind the others, and he smiles at her and then he's gone. Elizabeth, for the first time in nine thousand years, truly feels alone.
*0*
End
