|revmarsh (revmarsh) wrote in kinkfest,|
@ 2008-03-06 22:30:00
|Entry tags:||a: revmarsh, f: bijou, march 05, p: cobalt/other|
"Missionary Position," Bijou, Cobalt/other
Title: Missionary Position
Author: [The Very Ir-]reverend Marsh
Rating: NSFW, R?
Length: ~1400 words
Prompt: Bijou: Cobalt: religiouskink - devil is in the details
A/N: Late because I was very torn between staying in universe or going AU, and I started writing both.
Under his hands, the brim of the hat was getting just out of shape enough to be slightly annoying. The man worried the hat, sweating unseasonably, as he stood there.
"Maybe this was a mistake," he whispered, and took half a step backwards.
From where he was sitting, Cobalt was only slightly entertained by the sunset, less so by the potential client. In this corner, he saw was the man's dark coat, worn and dusty around the edges; the inclined head, barely turning; and the edges of the hat he was putting all his tension into. The indecision hung in the golden air like a heavy, boring curtain. Cobalt sighed.
The man straighened and pivoted on his back foot.
Cobalt smiled, but not very hard. The traveller looked like he might run off, and money was money. "All this could be yours."
Eyes fixed on his. For half a breath they were hard, but then soft. Soft like Peridot, or Jade.
"I'm sorry?" the traveller whispered.
"For the right price, of course," Cobalt continued, drawing himself up. He inclined his head, taking advantage of the light. What was it he'd said? What exactly? "All this could be yours."
The transaction was slow. Cobalt watched as he walked by, slinking towards one of the rooms that would still have the sunset light. The man made the uncertain motions and slow head-shakes of an inexperienced foreign merchant, still getting used to the coins in his purse. Madame Garnet listened to him, nodded, and sent a serving boy to a back room.
He chose a room on the west side of the main house. There was still some light shining in through the windows, setting the red bed-linens on fire. The servant came in while he was touching up the kohl around his eyes. In the mirror, he saw him leave something white on the bed.
"You're supposed to look 'full of pride,' that man said."
Cobalt shrugged as he went to pick up the costume. The boy scurried away.
Pride? he thought. In this? It looked like Peridot's old choir robe. It gave off the odor of the back of the cabinet, where varnish and paint for the stage were kept. It was white, and tied at the waist, and had almost no tailoring. Pride. Foreigners. He lit the incense pot, and, on a whim, the lone candle in a niche by the door. The musty smell began to lift.
It felt strange, now, to lounge in a chair by the fire, dressed in a robe. Make it out of better fabric, have a girl do some nice needlework on it, and he might pretend this had all been a strange dream.
"I did not tell them," the man said, as he stepped inside. He shut the door with both hands, as if it needed guidance. "But I knew I chose correctly."
He didn't rise to meet the client. He rolled his shoulders, luxuriating in the light from the sun and the fire. "Yes?"
"The details. Of course you knew. It even smells right. But you…you look just like..."
Cobalt had no idea what he said next. It wasn't Casmilian; it wasn't a language he recognized. But the man's garment, the strange beads on his belt, swinging and glittering as he placed his boots by the door, and his fear all began to seem familiar, if just in passing.
"You are a missionary."
"Yes, my Lord," the man said, and fell to his knees in front of Cobalt.
"Your type don't..." and he stopped, correcting himself. The title had unnerved him for a moment, but the client had not noticed, bowed as he was. "Your type aren't supposed to associate with places like the Bijou."
"I, too, have fallen." He lifted his head for a moment. "You appeared to me in the room in the guise of the adversary to the Lord. You have pride in your rebellion, as did the adversary."
"And you worship this enemy?"
"He is supposed to be beautiful.” He looked up, taking his time now, his eyes never flickering away like they did in the antechamber. They seemed to look beyond Cobalt, and he frowned. “The most beautiful, and proud, and cruel. And he makes us sin."
Cobalt tried to recall what he'd heard about these missionaries and their religion; it didn't amount to much. Still, the man wasn’t paying to discuss religion, so Cobalt leaned down and pulled him from his prostrations.
“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” He dusted the man’s robes off and cupped his face. The man blinked the sun away until Cobalt tilted his head towards him again. “What is your name?”
“Jachin,” he replied. He relaxed into Cobalt’s hands. “The more I sin, the more I can be redeemed.”
“You are in very capable hands, Jachin,” he replied, drawing back. He sprawled in the chair; Jachin sank to his knees at the foot of the chair. Cobalt ran his hand through the man’s hair; the color of nuts, a little long on top, needing a trim. His fingers drifted slowly down Jachin’s jawline, smiling thinly at the way he closed his eyes and nuzzled against the touch like a hound.
The top of his robe had an unusual collar, stark white against the dull black fabric, and Cobalt lingered there, tucking his fingertips inside and tugging slightly. Jachin pulled away and he retreated.
He hated asking. He hated not knowing more, though. Cobalt sucked air in and tried to sound world-weary, rather than simply irritated. “What can I give you, hm? What is it you want?” A slight shift in the chair lifted the robe from his right leg. “Ah,” he said, following the man’s gaze. He moved the fabric away and let his fingers graze his cock. “You want beauty.”
“It is a sin,” Jachin replied, and blushed. “One of my favorite ones.”
“Go to the bed.” Cobalt stood suddenly, forcing him to hurry away. Before settling on top of it, the man removed the cord around his waist. Hung on the cord was a strand of beads, links of semi-precious stone and gold chain; Jachin looped it twice around his wrist and it dangled there. He bowed his head, looking at the sheets, and brought his hands together.
As he began to speak in the soft tongue he’d used before, Cobalt reached around him and pulled his hands apart. “That sounded like the beginning of a prayer,” he whispered. “There is none of that sort in this temple.”
“How shall I, then?” In Cobalt’s grip, the man’s pulse quickened. He let go and began to unfasten the buttons of the robe. His own robe was open in front, and his cock pressed into the man’s back.
“Do you usually worship on your knees?”
Jachin shrugged the robe off; the beads remained on his arm. He didn’t answer. Cobalt nudged him forwards, urging him towards the bed.
He turned and sat on the bed, pushing himself backwards onto it. “Do you have oil?” he asked, holding his hand open.
“Of course.” Cobalt plucked a bottle from the table and placed it there. Jachin opened it and poured a few drops into his palm, re-corking the bottle dexterously and dropping it to the bed.
Cobalt took a step forward and looked down at him when he asked him to come closer. Jachin drew two lines on Cobalt’s forehead, leaned forward, and kissed him. He flushed again and closed his eyes.
“Please,” he said. “It must be done.” Cobalt took the bottle and repeated the gesture. Jachin’s breath was hot on his wrist as he anointed him.
“I think a bit more is in order,” Cobalt said, drawing a line down the missionary’s chest. “Here?” he asked, lingering at the base of his cock. Jachin let his breath out, and sucked it in again as Cobalt’s fingers probed farther along.
He cocked his head and looked Jachin in the eye, blue to grey. Cobalt’s cock slid against the man’s thigh, slick with oil. “All this?”
Jachin sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “’All this I will give you, if you will bow down and worship me.’ All that you see,” he continued, and opened his eyes. “Have I not done so, my Lord?”
When he said it a second time, it felt right. The man meant it, meant every word, every contradiction. And at least for the hour, he’d found a lord he could touch; more importantly, that could touch him. Cobalt drank in his need. “And this is your reward, Jachin.”
He counted the beads when Jachin left. Given the stone, they were worth more together, a foreign curiosity. He threaded them between his fingers, passing them back and forth and thinking of the words the man had breathed out in strange prayer.