Post by Minuit on Aug 17, 2009 22:23:46 GMT 10
Title: Weiryn's antlers
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1012 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: Numair is inexplicably drawn to (and by) Weiryn, leading to a fateful Beltane night. Or does it?
Peculiar Pairing: Numair/Weiryn
Author's note: I'd imagined this fic differently at first, but it somehow turned out this way. Not quite sure how or why. But I guess I'll stick to it.
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It started in the Divine Realms. The first time Numair laid eyes on him was a moment he’d never forget. He’d clung to Daine during the fight with the Skinners, and felt a great force pulling him through. It left him feeling rather humbled. Rationally, he always knew that there were greater powers than his own out there; but knowing it and feeling it are two entirely different things.
When he woke in the Divine Realms, the first thing he saw was a great big set of antlers, crowning a muscular man towering over him. Power clung to the big antlered man like a second skin. Numair knew he was in the presence of a God. And it excited him.
Even though he’d been so worried about Daine in the Divine Realms, he couldn’t forget the effect Weiryn had on him. He caught himself secretly watching the Hunt God. He didn’t yet understand why. In idle moments, he found his gaze was involuntarily drawn to Weiryn. He was inexplicably mesmerised by the way the steaks of green in the God’s skin seemed to dance over his muscles as he drew that enormous bow of his. He’d been surprised to see, when he finally became well enough to stand up, that he stood eye to eye to the God, only those antlers towered over him.
During his recovery, he found himself thinking of Weiryn more often than he liked. He told himself he was merely watching the God in the hope of learning something of the God’s power, and that his interest was purely academic. Numair gazed surreptitiously at Weiryn as he used his power around the house. Divine magic permeated the air, so thick and potent he could almost feel it wrapped around his skin. It felt so different to his own Gift. His magecraft was learned, and honed through years of academia. Weiryn used his vast powers with barely a thought. It was fluid and effortless, and so much a part of nature. Numair sighed. His Gift was great, but he could never hope to achieve such effortless mage crafting. He was merely mortal after all, and Weiryn a God.
He had been deeply touched when Weiryn gave him that staff. Looking back, it was probably what made him realise that his fascination with Weiryn wasn’t entirely academic after all. When he looked upon his gift, he was filled with wonder and excitement. Such a beautiful and powerful tool now belonged to him. As Numair reverently caressed the staff and the crystal atop it, his raised his eyes and met Weiryn’s heavy gaze. A peculiar feeling ran through him. One he couldn’t quite identify; or one he didn’t dare identify. He realised then, that Weiryn was just as intrigued of the mortal mage, as he was of Weiryn. His heart skipped a beat as he held the gaze. Excitement that had nothing to do with the staff raced up his body. He felt the weight of the God’s gaze on him still, as he forced himself to look away before Daine noticed.
Numair didn’t dare admit to himself how much he missed Weiryn’s presence on the journey to the Dragonlands. But with all that happened to him and Daine, he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
In the months and years after they left the Divine Realms and Ozorne was defeated, Numair found himself thinking about Weiryn at odd times. When a particular spell was frustrating him, he’d remember the ease with which the Hunt God wielded his power. Which led him to remember other things; things that made him feel guilty when he when he thought of Daine. It was wrong to think of her father that way. He loved Daine, without a doubt. But there’s just something about Weiryn, his power, and his strength, that fascinated him. He just couldn’t stop himself. Weiryn was a God after all.
He told himself it was harmless, and that thinking never harmed anyone. But when Weiryn visited Numair and Daine, on the great holidays, thinking led to other things. Weiryn, constantly in nothing but a loincloth, looked magnificent. Those antlers captivated his attention; a symbol of both masculinity and power. Numair caught the God staring at him, with heavy lidded eyes, when no one else was watching. Each time their gazes met, his heart thumped in his chest. No one thought it unusual, when Numair sought Weiryn out, to debate about obscure academic or philosophical issues. But then again, no one else saw the secret looks, nor the way Weiryn breathed the name, “Numair”; seductive and full of hidden meanings. When they accidentally touched, hands would linger on the other’s body, turning an otherwise innocent touch into something that sent shivers down Numair’s spine. He could have sworn that he felt the God’s power caressing his.
This tension building between them erupted on one fateful Beltane eve. Numair was alone in the woods, on a job for Jon. Some instinct made him glance up, and there he was. Weiryn. He walked through the powerful mortal mage’s shield like it wasn’t even there. Numair felt it ripple, the effects echoing through his body. Neither of them spoke. Weiryn still wore only a loincloth and his quiver and bow. The firelight danced up and down his body, causing the shadows to stretch and twist, as if caressing taunt muscles and antlers which appeared bigger than ever.
Weiryn raised his arms to remove his quiver and bow, casting it to one side. The movement broke Numair of his reverie, and tried to speak, his voice a hoarse croak. “Daine, Sarra ...” He trailed off as Weiryn pressed a finger against Numair’s lips.
“No more talking, not tonight. We both knew this was inevitable. Talking will solve nothing.” The God knelt before Numair, large hands framing the mortal’s face. Numair remained silent. After all, how does one deny a God?
He didn’t know who made the first move, but suddenly, lips claimed lips, and hands roamed freely. A flash of heat seared away the last of Numair’s reluctance. Boldly he reached up, and gave in to the temptation to caress those antlers, to find out just how smooth and hard they were. Weiryn shivered at this touch, and drove them both to the ground.
Numair gasped...
... and sat up in his bed, breaking out in a cold sweat. His heart hammered an erratic beat in his chest.
“Numair?” a soft voice murmured beside him.
“It’s alright Daine.” Numair sighed in relief. “Just a dream.”
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1012 words
Category: Tortall
Summary: Numair is inexplicably drawn to (and by) Weiryn, leading to a fateful Beltane night. Or does it?
Peculiar Pairing: Numair/Weiryn
Author's note: I'd imagined this fic differently at first, but it somehow turned out this way. Not quite sure how or why. But I guess I'll stick to it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It started in the Divine Realms. The first time Numair laid eyes on him was a moment he’d never forget. He’d clung to Daine during the fight with the Skinners, and felt a great force pulling him through. It left him feeling rather humbled. Rationally, he always knew that there were greater powers than his own out there; but knowing it and feeling it are two entirely different things.
When he woke in the Divine Realms, the first thing he saw was a great big set of antlers, crowning a muscular man towering over him. Power clung to the big antlered man like a second skin. Numair knew he was in the presence of a God. And it excited him.
Even though he’d been so worried about Daine in the Divine Realms, he couldn’t forget the effect Weiryn had on him. He caught himself secretly watching the Hunt God. He didn’t yet understand why. In idle moments, he found his gaze was involuntarily drawn to Weiryn. He was inexplicably mesmerised by the way the steaks of green in the God’s skin seemed to dance over his muscles as he drew that enormous bow of his. He’d been surprised to see, when he finally became well enough to stand up, that he stood eye to eye to the God, only those antlers towered over him.
During his recovery, he found himself thinking of Weiryn more often than he liked. He told himself he was merely watching the God in the hope of learning something of the God’s power, and that his interest was purely academic. Numair gazed surreptitiously at Weiryn as he used his power around the house. Divine magic permeated the air, so thick and potent he could almost feel it wrapped around his skin. It felt so different to his own Gift. His magecraft was learned, and honed through years of academia. Weiryn used his vast powers with barely a thought. It was fluid and effortless, and so much a part of nature. Numair sighed. His Gift was great, but he could never hope to achieve such effortless mage crafting. He was merely mortal after all, and Weiryn a God.
He had been deeply touched when Weiryn gave him that staff. Looking back, it was probably what made him realise that his fascination with Weiryn wasn’t entirely academic after all. When he looked upon his gift, he was filled with wonder and excitement. Such a beautiful and powerful tool now belonged to him. As Numair reverently caressed the staff and the crystal atop it, his raised his eyes and met Weiryn’s heavy gaze. A peculiar feeling ran through him. One he couldn’t quite identify; or one he didn’t dare identify. He realised then, that Weiryn was just as intrigued of the mortal mage, as he was of Weiryn. His heart skipped a beat as he held the gaze. Excitement that had nothing to do with the staff raced up his body. He felt the weight of the God’s gaze on him still, as he forced himself to look away before Daine noticed.
Numair didn’t dare admit to himself how much he missed Weiryn’s presence on the journey to the Dragonlands. But with all that happened to him and Daine, he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
In the months and years after they left the Divine Realms and Ozorne was defeated, Numair found himself thinking about Weiryn at odd times. When a particular spell was frustrating him, he’d remember the ease with which the Hunt God wielded his power. Which led him to remember other things; things that made him feel guilty when he when he thought of Daine. It was wrong to think of her father that way. He loved Daine, without a doubt. But there’s just something about Weiryn, his power, and his strength, that fascinated him. He just couldn’t stop himself. Weiryn was a God after all.
He told himself it was harmless, and that thinking never harmed anyone. But when Weiryn visited Numair and Daine, on the great holidays, thinking led to other things. Weiryn, constantly in nothing but a loincloth, looked magnificent. Those antlers captivated his attention; a symbol of both masculinity and power. Numair caught the God staring at him, with heavy lidded eyes, when no one else was watching. Each time their gazes met, his heart thumped in his chest. No one thought it unusual, when Numair sought Weiryn out, to debate about obscure academic or philosophical issues. But then again, no one else saw the secret looks, nor the way Weiryn breathed the name, “Numair”; seductive and full of hidden meanings. When they accidentally touched, hands would linger on the other’s body, turning an otherwise innocent touch into something that sent shivers down Numair’s spine. He could have sworn that he felt the God’s power caressing his.
This tension building between them erupted on one fateful Beltane eve. Numair was alone in the woods, on a job for Jon. Some instinct made him glance up, and there he was. Weiryn. He walked through the powerful mortal mage’s shield like it wasn’t even there. Numair felt it ripple, the effects echoing through his body. Neither of them spoke. Weiryn still wore only a loincloth and his quiver and bow. The firelight danced up and down his body, causing the shadows to stretch and twist, as if caressing taunt muscles and antlers which appeared bigger than ever.
Weiryn raised his arms to remove his quiver and bow, casting it to one side. The movement broke Numair of his reverie, and tried to speak, his voice a hoarse croak. “Daine, Sarra ...” He trailed off as Weiryn pressed a finger against Numair’s lips.
“No more talking, not tonight. We both knew this was inevitable. Talking will solve nothing.” The God knelt before Numair, large hands framing the mortal’s face. Numair remained silent. After all, how does one deny a God?
He didn’t know who made the first move, but suddenly, lips claimed lips, and hands roamed freely. A flash of heat seared away the last of Numair’s reluctance. Boldly he reached up, and gave in to the temptation to caress those antlers, to find out just how smooth and hard they were. Weiryn shivered at this touch, and drove them both to the ground.
Numair gasped...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
... and sat up in his bed, breaking out in a cold sweat. His heart hammered an erratic beat in his chest.
“Numair?” a soft voice murmured beside him.
“It’s alright Daine.” Numair sighed in relief. “Just a dream.”
A dream!!
Well done!
