Will You Dance With Me?
Introduction & Disclaimer
Title: Will You Dance With Me?
Spoilers: I suppose none, this is a sort of AU
Date Posted: April 2005
Contact: email@example.com, ladygaladriel.altervista.org
Beta and a big encouragement: Prudeness
Disclaimers: The whole Wraeththu Universe belongs to Storm Constantine, to whom goes my eternal and incommensurable gratitude for creating the Wraeththu and let us write about them.
Dedication: Tess, who lit the fire, Bookofnicodemus who gave me the courage, Nemesi because she is my Wraeththu’s soulmate (even though I know she won’t love the pairing) and, of course, to all Wraeththu worshippers.
Will You Dance With Me?
Nights in Galhea can be painfully long… long and cold. Especially when it snows, and the silence is so deep and suffocating it sometimes hurts. Tyson takes a deep drag from his umpteenth cigarette and when he puffs the smoke outside, his breath chills in the air. He tightens the fur coat around his shoulders and looks at the huge room across the windows’ glass.
Forever shines of lights and happiness, like a red ruby on an immaculate carpet. In the warm and glittering danceroom everybody seems to be having a good time. It is a joyous night, a night of celebration for the imminent birth of the Tigrons’ firstborn. Not him, the bastard son of Calanthe and Terzian, and not even Abrimel, the unwanted son of Pellaz and Caeru, and whom he has never met, but pities nonetheless.
This is the child of true love, or so he was told; the heir Pellaz is hosting from Calanthe’s seed.
With too much food and too much wine, they all seem to be in an exceptional high mood, forgetting for one night, their problems or their grudges, hiding sorrows and regrets behind fake smiles and flamboyant make-up. Even the icy cold Vaysh flirts gracefully while he dances with General Ashmael, while Rue ignores intentionally the two Tigrons. Panthera refills his glass for the third time in a few minutes, his hand never leaving the Tigrina’s waist.
“Mmmhh, the air smells of aruna tonight.” Tyson hums to himself. Cobweb can throw such a hell of a party. Tyson is about to light another cigarette when his eyes fall on a lonely figure. He is dressed in dark red and his raven hair descends like a protective curtain around a lovely and boyish face. There is something familiar in that countenance, but Ty is sure he has never met the har before. He’s younger than him, that’s for sure, and sports a look of total unease.
Who are you, my beautiful and mysterious guest?
In that very moment the har lifts his head and Ty meets the most sensual, beautiful, dark eyes he has never seen. And the most erotic lips someone can ever dream about. Tyson enters the room, bringing a rush of cold air and some snowflakes. In few steps he crosses the dance floor and stands in front of the mysterious har.
“We don’t know each other,” Tyson says, without realizing how much of his hostling there is in his stance. He extends his hand and the other har stands up and looks at him for a while with a puzzled and shy expression. A single wrinkle furrows an otherwise flawless bow. “My name is Tyson.” he goes on, hoping that his hand won’t hang in the air for too long. Luckily, the younger har raises his own and slides it in Ty’s larger one. It is an incredibly small and delicate hand, but everything in this har is small and delicate, though perfectly proportioned. If it wasn’t for those deep, liquid pools, Tyson would think he has not gone through feybraiha yet.
“Hello” the voice is low and a bit unsure. It reminds Ty of a velvet glove caressing his face, and he closes his eyes to better absorb the soothing sensation. “I… my name is Abrimel.”
Ty’s hand snaps away even before he can prevent the compulsive gesture, and when he opens his mouth to apologize he realizes it is too late: The pain and the hurt in the dark eyes is so alive and evident, Tyson has to restrain himself for not crushing that strange, haunted creature in his arm and beg his forgiveness.
“I—I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize!” Abrimel says with a sudden hard tone. He raises his head and Tyson can see how the fierce stubbornness of his father and the proud determination of his hostling are perfectly blended in that furious stare. “I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anybody’s pity!”
Tyson shrugs. “I don’t pity you at all. I was just surprised to meet you for the first time in such a circumstance. We are sharing the same fate, after all.” He looks at the core of the room where his hostling and Abrimel’s father are dancing, completely unaware of the surrounding, so lost in their perfect love and in the radiant wait of the child that Pell is carrying.
“All that love… It makes me nauseous!” Tyson says with a snort. When he turns to Abrimel he is smiling, and something warm and liquid heats his belly. For a brief moment, he wonders if he is dreaming or something. “Will you dance with me?”
Abrimel stares at him for a while, and all the self-confidence disappears under the sudden blush that tinges his cheeks. He looks so young, so incredibly young that Ty wonders again if he has overcome his feybraiha.
When they reach the center of the dance floor the music has changed to a slow, sensual tune. Tyson takes Abrimel in his arms and senses the younger har’s tension. “Please, do not fear me, I could never hurt you.” Tyson murmurs into Abrimel’s temple and he realizes he means every single word.
Abrimel shivers while Tyson’s warm breath caresses his skin.”You smell of snow,” he says as he inhales the deep scent coming from Ty’s clothes. “Of snow and wood.”
“And you smell of dreams.” While he whispers the words, Tyson can’t help but brush his lips upon Abrimel’s eyelid. Abrimel is shaking now and Ty helps his head to rest over his shoulder, just above the heart, while the music envelopes them like a soft blanket.
They don’t even realize that the whole room is still. Every har is looking at them, some with amusement, some with delight, some with envy, some with fear. For a long moment they dance in silence, with eyes closed, swaying to a melody that is only in their heads. Abrimel’s lithe body is perfect and soft against Tyson’s stronger form. Tyson tightens the grip, a little, around Abrimel’s waist and shoulders and the other har seems to melt in his embrace.
So perfect, so true.
The smoke of a thousand candles and endless cigarettes make the air heavy, and Ty feels his eyes burning. When the music is over he looks at Abrimel, but his vision is blurred from a thin veil of tears. With an unsure hand, Abrimel caresses Tyson’s cheek. “Why are you weeping?” he asks with concern.
“I’m not… it’s…” Tyson realizes that it’s not for the smoke “Let’s go away from here.”
And without even taking a look around, they exit the room in the general astonishment, with Abrimel laced at Ty’s waist and Tyson’s arm closed protectively around Abrimel’s shoulders. The three Tigrons exchange a worried look while, at in a far corner of the room, Cobweb smiles quietly.
They are in Tyson’s room now. There was no need to ask. They simply knew it was there they had to go. Abrimel is lying on the fur carpet near the fireplace, his head resting over a big green cushion. Tyson kneels beside him and looks at him with his violet eyes. For a while Abrimel turns his head to the flames: he feels so inadequate, so unsure… but Tyson’s gentle fingers turn his head again.
“Why won’t you look at me, Abrimel?” He asks with a tone so kind and caring that Abrimel feels the tears rising.
“Bree, call me Bree…” He is almost begging.
“Bree…” repeats Tyson “It is beautiful.”
He helps Bree to a sitting position and their faces are so close that they can almost feel their souls through their breaths.
“Share breath with me, Bree…” The words are a soft whisper against Abrimel’s lips. “I… It was so long…” He wishes he could be stronger, but Tyson is like a slow, inexorable fire, that burns him from the inside and melts the ice that preserves his heart from further damage. “I know…” The last letters die on Abrimel lips.
The first kiss is tentative: Tyson fears that if he pushes too fast he would break the tiny thread that binds them together. He caresses Bree’s mouth with his own and then traces the contours with the tips of his tongue. It is soft, just like he had imagined, and the taste of spicy wine and honey makes the whole experience almost intoxicating. But there is bitterness too. He takes Bree’s lower lip in his own and sucks it slowly. The suffocated moan escaping Abrimel’s throat is the most erotic sound Tyson has heard in ages. The heat in his belly is almost unbearable now and without thinking anymore he crushes the thin body in his arms and the sharing of breath becomes a battle of wills.
The shields Bree has built around his soul are strong and well trained but Tyson is determined to find a point of break… and he knows where to look for it: not in the dazzling lights, nor in the swirling colours, too harsh and blinding, but in a darker place; and finally he finds it: a secluded corner of an empty room. In the corner, a harling, nothing more than a child, cries alone with knees against his chest and the head hidden between small and skinny arms. “Here you are,” murmurs Tyson to the harling, but he is too scared and his cry is too loud that it is impossible to talk to him. And so Ty does the only thing that his instinct suggests: he takes the child in his arms and rocks him, singing a lullaby, the same lullaby Cobweb used to sing for him when he had nightmares.
Slowly, the violent lights and the hallucinatory colours disappear and sequences of confused images dance in front of him, like a movie. The images don’t tell a story but they speak of pain and sorrow, of loneliness and refusal. The harling grows up while the images change and it seems they want to take him with them… eat him. Tyson feels a ravaging sadness breaking his heart and he’d want to cry too and scream against those horrible images but he knows that if he lets go, if he gives up, he will never be able to help Bree. The only thing he can do is lull the limp body in his arms. Then, slowly, very slowly, he breaks the sharing of breath and Abrimel collapses against him like an empty bag, shaking.
“Thank you for letting me in, Bree…” Tyson says, kissing the wet brow. Bree can say nothing, can hardly think: he is totally overwhelmed by the experience. His body is hot and covered in sweat, his hair glued to his neck and face. Nobody before had ever dared to take him so far, nobody before had ever taken care for him so. He grips his fists in Tyson’s shirt. He wants to stay like this forever, held tight in Tyson protective embrace.
“Bree…” Sweetly Ty withdraws and lifts Bree’s chin: the beautiful face is wet with tears and his eyes are red rimmed. They are looking at him with unconditioned trust. Again, Tyson feels a strange sensation at the pit of his stomach.
“Bree… your feybraiha… did you—”
Bree pushes away and shakes his head violently. A lock of hair remains stuck on a damp cheek. “NO! I don’t want to talk about it!”
“OK, OK!” Tyson brushes the lock behind an ear and kisses the tip of his nose.
Then, without a word, begins to disrobe Abrimel from the heavy dark red clothes. The tunic slides slowly over the shoulders, and the skin is so perfect and creamy white that Tyson can’t prevent to kiss the spot where the neck and shoulders join. Bree chuckles at the sensation, but when Ty’s lips keep on nibbling the tender flesh of the neck, up, up to the back of an ear, the chuckling becomes a moan and his heart begins to beat very fast.
When they are both naked, their desire is so strong and vibrant that it seems to impregnate the whole room with a wondrous scent of summer and sea. They remain silent for a long time, without ever moving, just holding hands and keeping their eyes locked; their naked bodies reverberate of the red light coming from the fireplace and for the powerful sensual energy coming from inside. This moment is excruciating: Tyson knows that Bree is reading him, trying to understand how far he can go, so he opens up totally; even the most secret areas are now full of light. He just hopes that what Abrimel may see won’t scare him.
When they share breath again, there is music in the back of their mind and the sound of waves. Any bitterness is gone and Tyson devours Bree’s mouth like a starving animal. This time, when they part, they are booth shaking, but not for fear.
“Be soume for me, Bree?”
The question is unnecessary, Bree is already ready for him, laying on the cushions with his arms open calling him… but Ty believes, no, is sure that nothing, nothing must be taken for granted with such a frail and unsure creature. He wants to worship him. He wants to make amends for all their family’s errors.
He wants to kiss and taste his skin, he wants to touch every single inch. He slips his tongue slowly down Abrimel’s neck, drinking from his whispers and moans; the skin is slightly salty and Ty laps carefully the collarbone, tracing the line with the tips of is tongue, and then slides down…
Bree’s nipples are full and hard and when Tyson takes one in his mouth, sucking on it slowly, the strangled moans become a cry and Bree arches his body against him, silently begging for more. But it’s not time yet. Tyson wants to give him all the pleasure of the Universe, so he resists to his own need and follows his path, down the perfectly shaped chest, over the belly until he rests his cheek against Abimel’s inner thigh, where the skin is smooth and soft like silk. Bree’s soume-lam is swollen and moist and Ty brushes the hot flesh with his lips. There is life coming from here, he thinks. He kisses it reverently and slips his tongue inside, drinking the juicy fluid of Bree’s desire. He can hear Abrimel’s heavy and fast breath, he can feel him clutching his hair and his body moving desperately. He is so close to his release. Tyson wonders for a while if he can make him come just like this, just touching him. But the thought brings him back to reality: this is not what he wants. He wants them to find pleasure together, he wants to be inside Bree when he’ll scream. He wants to hold him when he’ll shudder for his climax.
With an impossible act of will, he parts from that addictive taste and sits on his heals, bringing Abrimel with him: he is in a sort of trance, with his eyes closed and his swollen lips slightly parted, and Tyson has to help him to seat in his lap.
And then, he is inside of him. And everything around them disappears.
When they open their eyes, they are on an empty and white beach, bathed by the moonlight and the only sound comes from the waves.
“What place is this?” Abrimel asks. He is still straddling Tyson’s lap and can feel his ouana-lim pulsating inside of him.
“I don’t know… do you like it?” Tyson rests his hands over his hips and helps him to move. The sensation is overwhelming and Bree cannot hold back a cry.
“Y… yes…” He doesn’t know if he is speaking about the place or about the wonderful, maddening sensation inside his body. They move, together, perfectly matched, kissing with such a passion and tenderness that their faces are very soon wet with tears, but they are tears of joy and their taste mingles with the salty scent of the sea.
And then, something powerful, stronger than a thousand thunders, break the air and the sea grows around them, surrounding them but never touching. The last thing Tyson can see is Abrimel throwing his head back while his body tenses and a prolonged scream breaks through the storm. Then his own orgasm drags him in an extraordinary place where the sea and the sky are mixed together and they have the colour of blood and fire.
They don’t know how much time has passed, if minutes or hours. Time seems so unimportant now. They are still in font of the fireplace and Tyson has enveloped them in a warm blanket. He is holding Bree against his chest, caressing his hair. One of Abrimel’s hands rests just over his heart and Tyson loves the sensation.
The sleepy voice takes Tyson by surprise.
“I thought you where sleeping.”
“I was. What has happened… was it Grissecom?”
Tyson thinks for a while before answering.
“No, I don’t think so…”
“What was it then?”
“I believe… I believe it was love.”