melodywilde (melodywilde) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-02 10:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: melodywilde, f: dragon quest viii, p: angelo/the goddess, september 02 |
Story, Goddess (Dragon Quest VIII, Angelo/The Goddess)
Title: Goddess
Author: melodywilde
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,324
Summary: Offering oneself to the service of one’s god...or, in this case, goddess.
A/N: Thanks to my beta, evilmissbecky!
Goddess
by Melody Wilde
The room was small, with no window, no candle, nothing but a pallet on the floor and an ancient statue of the Goddess. Angelo hesitated on the threshold, then glanced sideways at the Templar holding the door open.
“If you don’t wish to do this, then walk away.” Marcello smiled. It was not a friendly smile. “But know this. If you walk away from Her on this night, you will leave the Abbey at daybreak. Forever.”
If any other Templar had been his escort, he would have begged for re-assurance—that all would be well, that he would be found worthy. But Marcello... Marcello would do—had done—nothing to aid him, not even give him more than the most basic of instructions.
“Well?” A dark eyebrow arched.
Without a word, Angelo turned and entered the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Marcello scowl.
“Remember what you must do. I will be back in the morning to fetch you—if you survive.”
The door slammed shut and Angelo heard the bolts being thrown. For one moment, as the darkness closed in about him, he wanted to throw himself at the door and beg Marcello to release him, damn the consequences.
Pride and fear kept him silent. He would not allow Marcello to see him broken. Besides, if he were put out of the Abbey, where would he go?
He stretched out a hand to touch the wall. I can do this. It is a rite of passage that each would-be Templar must undertake. I will not fail.
He pulled off the loose robe that was his only garment, folded it as he had been instructed, and placed it on the floor. Two steps to the right brought him to the pallet. He bent, locating the edges, then knelt upon it, facing the wall where the statue of the Goddess set.
“Merciful Goddess, I come before You to beg Your acceptance and Your blessing.” Marcello had drilled the words into his brain, making him repeat them over and over until they had almost lost their meaning.
“Today I am come of age. I wish to offer myself into Your service, as a Templar. I beg You to use me as You see fit, for Your glory and the glory of Your church. Here, alone and in the dark, I face my fear and conquer it.
“Merciful Goddess, hear my plea and make me Your servant.”
He fell silent. That was all he knew—all he had been told. There had been no hint of what he should say or do next. When he had asked, Marcello had only chuckled and replied, “That will depend upon the will of the Goddess.”
He closed his eyes. It was cool in the room, but Marcello had stressed that he must remain naked until the morning. I wonder if I have to kneel here all night. I wonder if I’ll be able to move by morning if I do. “Alone in the dark I face my fear.” But is there really anything to fear in the place? Marcello was probably just trying to—
“What is your name, supplicant?”
Angelo gulped and looked around, even knowing he could see nothing.
“What is your name, supplicant?”
The voice seemed to come from everywhere. It resonated through very fiber of his being, warm, soothing, cold, terrifying.
“What is—”
“Angelo. My name is Angelo.”
“Ah. Yes. Young Angelo. The legitimate son. You are a favorite of Abbot Francisco, but not of your brother. He does not care for you.”
“Half-brother.”
The silence itself was a question. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that perhaps he shouldn’t have dared to correct the unknown entity speaking to him. His voice faltering, he whispered, “Marcello is only my half-brother.”
“The elder son, the favored son for so long, but, alas, the bastard son.”
At another time and in another place, Angelo would’ve said that Marcello was a bastard in more ways than one. At this moment—here—he felt it prudent to keep silent.
There was a waterfall of laughter, as if the owner of the voice had heard his thoughts. “One day, your brother—your half-brother—will be brought to judgment for his crimes against you and the one he professes to serve. But that is another matter. Tonight, I am here for you, Angelo.”
He shifted again. “I don’t understand. I don’t know...”
“He told you nothing of this night?”
Angelo shook his head, then remembering the darkness, said, “Only what I should do and say at the start.”
There was a soft sound of reproach. Angelo was somehow glad it was directed at Marcello and not him.
“Tell me, Angelo, are you a virgin?”
Belinda’s hands, teasing him erect and teaching him how to pleasure himself. Amelia’s mouth, taking him in, her gaze upturned and wicked. Marcello, catching him alone in the abandoned corridor, shoving him against a wall and filling his ears with words of hate as he...
“Mostly.”
This time, the laughter was tinted with regret. “And so you have done things and things have been done to you. But you have never lain with a woman?”
“No.”
There was a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Do you trust me, young Angelo?”
“I...yes, but I don’t know who...”
“In this place, on this night, who do you think I am?”
“Oh.” He suddenly began to tremble. A bodiless voice, yes, in this land there were enough of those. But to think that this one belonged to...that She...that he was facing Her, speaking with Her almost as if they were equals... The darkness was growing behind his eyes as well as in front. He sagged.
“Angelo.”
Her voice—Her voice—called him back.
“Do not be afraid of me. ‘Alone in the dark I faced my fear.’ Did you mean those words?”
“Yes.”
“Do you truly desire to enter my service?”
“Yes.”
“For love of me, or because you have nowhere else to go?”
He could be nothing less than honest with Her. “Both.”
“Well said, child. Know this. For you, there will be days darker than that which surrounds you now. There will be terrors which will eclipse this moment. But I will be with you, always, here.”
He felt a light touch on his chest, just above his heart.
“I accept you, Templar Angelo. I claim you. And I mark you as my own.”
Hands—somehow both ghostly and substantial—settled on his shoulders. With a gentle pressure, he was turned, pushed backwards until he was sprawled on the pallet.
Fingers slid into his hair, combing through its length, then moving across his face, touching eyes, nose, lips. Lingering there in an almost-kiss.
“You are beautiful.”
Then the touch moved on, downward, exploring the slope of his chest. And lower still. He gasped as the hand grasped him, exactly as Belinda had, and with the same results. His whole body burned with shame.
“Be still, Angelo. All is as it should be.”
Movement, a body across him, sitting astride his hips, as if he were horse and She the rider. And then he was engulfed in moist heat. She sank down upon him until flesh met flesh, until he thought he would be consumed by the sensation.
“Ah...” The sound came from both of them.
And then She moved again, lifting, forcing his withdrawal, lowering to take him deep, lifting, again and again until his back arched and he cried out. She molded herself to him, sealing their bodies together as he spasmed.
As if from a distance, he heard Her murmur, “With the giving of your virgin seed, I have claimed you as my own. May you serve me always as well as you have served me this night.”
And then he slept.
When Marcello opened the door at dawn, he was furious to find Angelo not only alive, but sleeping peacefully, a smile upon his face.