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kinkfestTitle: and thinking bliss is just on the other side of this
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reversedhymnal
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: abuse of greek myth?
Word count: 1424
Summary: Persephone is going insane.
A/N: Sorry, ): I would have loved to have pulled off porn, but it's...well, it's been a rough couple of days, and I've been fighting with this fic for about three weeks anyway, and this is the best I could make it amount to. I hope you still like it, ♥ ;;
He gives her presents, things he thinks she'll miss or yearn for or like. He gives her smiles as gentle as he can mimic, and they empty his face, like in order to be the god he thinks Persephone would need, he has to drain away the shadows and anger inside of him, all the parts that are most intimate to Hades.
Persephone thinks she'll go crazy; darkness is the only real thing here, darkness and death, and Hades can play maker all he wants, but he doesn't get life, doesn't get the opposite of his power well enough to fully create it, and Persephone can't love a man who doesn't exist, and it's making her sick. She's never felt so alone before, where even her jailer is a prisoner trapped within his assumptions and blinded desires.
He floods the underworld with light, but she can't feel the warmth. He makes pretty illusion birds sing, but she can't hear the music in them.
Finally, she tells him, "Stop pretending. You can't be so close to death and know nothing of life, surely."
Hades looks at her and she sees a flash, an instant of something that's dark and dangerous and flickers like fire and it makes her bones warm for its duration. It ends too quickly, and she wants to cry at the way the smile almost cracks his face like an empty mirror.
"I'm trying to learn," he says, "for you. Doesn't that make you happy?"
She shakes her head and runs away, runs away as far and deep as she can and follows slow rivers of fire and dark depths until she's lost the fake cold light behind her and breathes and smells and feels darkness and shadows and hard rock around her, a place where ghosts shift restlessly on a plain.
She stops, breathes; waits. There, a soft sound, a phantom bird singing a mournful tune. Over there, a subtle shift of grays and fluttering images, a ghost dancing to a rhythm of death and mourning. Persephone swallows her tears, chokes down this sense of loss that makes no sense as Hades never gave her anything real to miss anyway.
She throws her head back, and dances with ghosts; pale fingers that spark against her skin, that shiver in the goddess glow of her eyes and soft mouth and twisting curls. There’s the sad song of phantom birds twining around them, lifting them, for one brief moment.
And this- this is the beauty of death and life, juxtaposed. Persephone wishes she could teach this to Hades, wishes he really knew how to learn; would he bend enough, to listen? She desperately needs him to.
In her chest, Persephone's heart aches.
They're laying in bed, and Persephone wants to hurt him viciously for the way his hands are soft and tender and safe around her stomach and the way he holds himself so carefully against her back, so as not to put too much weight on her, as if afraid that she'll break.
He doesn't understand.
"What do you want?" she asks between the sheets and the fall of her hair, against the tangle of her fingers she has pressed over her mouth so that she doesn't scream.
"What?" Hades asks, softly, a little sleepy. His voice is rough and smooth and unpolished, and Persephone closes her eyes and wishes it was always this way, without him trying to sound like he is harmless. Persephone is not afraid of him, is not afraid of danger - what else is life? Death is almost easy, there is nothing more to fear; it is only consequence, and living in the moment is much harder. She wishes he would stop, oh please, please just stop-
Very carefully she turns around in his arms and stares at him with wide eyes and says in a voice too clipped and clear, "What. Do. You. Want?"
Hades blinks at her, frowns a little- tries to smooth it into a smile, and Persephone thinks she hates the angle of his eyebrows when he's pretending to be gentle and unaffected by the darker touch of emotions.
"I want your happiness," he says, "I want you to be happy."
Inside, something snaps.
Persephone hears those words and something just shatters for her, her last tenuous grasp on calm rationality disappearing like smoke on the wind, and she claws her way out of his arms in a tangled rush of violent movement, kneels like she's barely keeping from throwing herself off the bed, her fingers curled into claws at her sides not sure what to maim first. "No," she says in a strangled whiplash cry, "No, no, no! What do you want?!"
She's gone crazy; she's breaking under his kindness because she doesn't believe it and it's all she has.
"What are you-?" Hades voice is a rough growl, and it makes Persephone's heart beat fast and wild and something like relief floods her veins hot and delirious. She raises her hands and he takes her wrists before she has a chance, and she makes a cut off noise of outrage, lashes out with one slender leg and he has her pinned in a viciously tight roll, his body tensed and his eyes cold, distant but not detached, and very angry. Emotions roil across his face and he's frowning, an angry slash that makes shadows deep at the ends of his mouth.
"Oh," Persephone says from beneath him. "I knew you were beautiful. You just wouldn't let me see it."
She watches as Hades eyes go wide, his face slackens and the emotions there scatter, but don’t disappear, because this time he's not trying to empty himself for her. She's shocked him, and she hopes so fiercely that maybe he really is listening she can't breathe for a moment, and then he narrows his eyes and they're sharp and bright and viciously dark, the weight of an eternity in the hells of the earth there behind them.
He says, "What do you want?"
Persephone laughs breathlessly; "I asked first!"
His fingers curl like cold manacles around her wrists, and his thumb strokes along the delicate play of veins there thoughtfully, slow like a predator, and he's fighting inside himself, she can see it, but his grin is sharp for once, not dulled down for her benefit, and her breath hitches at the sight of it.
"Tell me anyway," he says, voice rough and mocking and coaxing.
And here, here Persephone thinks: this is what it means for Hades to be tender, for Hades to be softer is not to eradicate the darkness. That isn't possible. It is through a skewed brilliance; a blackness that shimmers gorgeously and is dangerous and is all the warmer for it.
Persephone whispers, words catching on her lips and breathing lightly against him. "I want you. I want it rough, I want it sharp, I want it dark. I want it how you are. You would make me sick of the light, taking away all meaning. There isn't light without true darkness and you sought to hide it from me, how could you-"
Hades presses her beneath him into their bed and presses his lips against hers, swipes her tongue into incoherency with his own and a deep groaning growl, and then he pulls back to say, "Be quiet woman, before you drive me to madness with your chatter."
Persephone laughs, slides one leg up along his side; tilts her head and thinks maybe she's still insane for all of this and wanting it, but at least she's not alone anymore. Her heart is beating with delight and brilliance and life thrown into focus. This is what made her fingers curious enough to curl around the pomegranate in the beginning; what makes her begin to count the time by the falling of leaves and wait for the bitter tears her somber-robed mother lets go with the first snowfall.
“Perhaps,” Persephone manages to say on a stuttering breath, “I can drive you to madness in other ways.”
Hades’ smile is a slow curve, deliberate and bold and warm; and Persephone feels it smooth through her and make her burn. “Shall we see,” he murmurs against the soft skin of her neck, “my wife,” and Persephone trembles at the newness, the raw vitality and dark carnality and it is- everything she didn’t understand but knew at least enough to want. Something new born and shared between them, and Persephone finally believes that this can work, that they can work.
Author:
reversedhymnal Rating: PG-13
Warnings: abuse of greek myth?
Word count: 1424
Summary: Persephone is going insane.
A/N: Sorry, ): I would have loved to have pulled off porn, but it's...well, it's been a rough couple of days, and I've been fighting with this fic for about three weeks anyway, and this is the best I could make it amount to. I hope you still like it, ♥ ;;
He gives her presents, things he thinks she'll miss or yearn for or like. He gives her smiles as gentle as he can mimic, and they empty his face, like in order to be the god he thinks Persephone would need, he has to drain away the shadows and anger inside of him, all the parts that are most intimate to Hades.
Persephone thinks she'll go crazy; darkness is the only real thing here, darkness and death, and Hades can play maker all he wants, but he doesn't get life, doesn't get the opposite of his power well enough to fully create it, and Persephone can't love a man who doesn't exist, and it's making her sick. She's never felt so alone before, where even her jailer is a prisoner trapped within his assumptions and blinded desires.
He floods the underworld with light, but she can't feel the warmth. He makes pretty illusion birds sing, but she can't hear the music in them.
Finally, she tells him, "Stop pretending. You can't be so close to death and know nothing of life, surely."
Hades looks at her and she sees a flash, an instant of something that's dark and dangerous and flickers like fire and it makes her bones warm for its duration. It ends too quickly, and she wants to cry at the way the smile almost cracks his face like an empty mirror.
"I'm trying to learn," he says, "for you. Doesn't that make you happy?"
She shakes her head and runs away, runs away as far and deep as she can and follows slow rivers of fire and dark depths until she's lost the fake cold light behind her and breathes and smells and feels darkness and shadows and hard rock around her, a place where ghosts shift restlessly on a plain.
She stops, breathes; waits. There, a soft sound, a phantom bird singing a mournful tune. Over there, a subtle shift of grays and fluttering images, a ghost dancing to a rhythm of death and mourning. Persephone swallows her tears, chokes down this sense of loss that makes no sense as Hades never gave her anything real to miss anyway.
She throws her head back, and dances with ghosts; pale fingers that spark against her skin, that shiver in the goddess glow of her eyes and soft mouth and twisting curls. There’s the sad song of phantom birds twining around them, lifting them, for one brief moment.
And this- this is the beauty of death and life, juxtaposed. Persephone wishes she could teach this to Hades, wishes he really knew how to learn; would he bend enough, to listen? She desperately needs him to.
In her chest, Persephone's heart aches.
They're laying in bed, and Persephone wants to hurt him viciously for the way his hands are soft and tender and safe around her stomach and the way he holds himself so carefully against her back, so as not to put too much weight on her, as if afraid that she'll break.
He doesn't understand.
"What do you want?" she asks between the sheets and the fall of her hair, against the tangle of her fingers she has pressed over her mouth so that she doesn't scream.
"What?" Hades asks, softly, a little sleepy. His voice is rough and smooth and unpolished, and Persephone closes her eyes and wishes it was always this way, without him trying to sound like he is harmless. Persephone is not afraid of him, is not afraid of danger - what else is life? Death is almost easy, there is nothing more to fear; it is only consequence, and living in the moment is much harder. She wishes he would stop, oh please, please just stop-
Very carefully she turns around in his arms and stares at him with wide eyes and says in a voice too clipped and clear, "What. Do. You. Want?"
Hades blinks at her, frowns a little- tries to smooth it into a smile, and Persephone thinks she hates the angle of his eyebrows when he's pretending to be gentle and unaffected by the darker touch of emotions.
"I want your happiness," he says, "I want you to be happy."
Inside, something snaps.
Persephone hears those words and something just shatters for her, her last tenuous grasp on calm rationality disappearing like smoke on the wind, and she claws her way out of his arms in a tangled rush of violent movement, kneels like she's barely keeping from throwing herself off the bed, her fingers curled into claws at her sides not sure what to maim first. "No," she says in a strangled whiplash cry, "No, no, no! What do you want?!"
She's gone crazy; she's breaking under his kindness because she doesn't believe it and it's all she has.
"What are you-?" Hades voice is a rough growl, and it makes Persephone's heart beat fast and wild and something like relief floods her veins hot and delirious. She raises her hands and he takes her wrists before she has a chance, and she makes a cut off noise of outrage, lashes out with one slender leg and he has her pinned in a viciously tight roll, his body tensed and his eyes cold, distant but not detached, and very angry. Emotions roil across his face and he's frowning, an angry slash that makes shadows deep at the ends of his mouth.
"Oh," Persephone says from beneath him. "I knew you were beautiful. You just wouldn't let me see it."
She watches as Hades eyes go wide, his face slackens and the emotions there scatter, but don’t disappear, because this time he's not trying to empty himself for her. She's shocked him, and she hopes so fiercely that maybe he really is listening she can't breathe for a moment, and then he narrows his eyes and they're sharp and bright and viciously dark, the weight of an eternity in the hells of the earth there behind them.
He says, "What do you want?"
Persephone laughs breathlessly; "I asked first!"
His fingers curl like cold manacles around her wrists, and his thumb strokes along the delicate play of veins there thoughtfully, slow like a predator, and he's fighting inside himself, she can see it, but his grin is sharp for once, not dulled down for her benefit, and her breath hitches at the sight of it.
"Tell me anyway," he says, voice rough and mocking and coaxing.
And here, here Persephone thinks: this is what it means for Hades to be tender, for Hades to be softer is not to eradicate the darkness. That isn't possible. It is through a skewed brilliance; a blackness that shimmers gorgeously and is dangerous and is all the warmer for it.
Persephone whispers, words catching on her lips and breathing lightly against him. "I want you. I want it rough, I want it sharp, I want it dark. I want it how you are. You would make me sick of the light, taking away all meaning. There isn't light without true darkness and you sought to hide it from me, how could you-"
Hades presses her beneath him into their bed and presses his lips against hers, swipes her tongue into incoherency with his own and a deep groaning growl, and then he pulls back to say, "Be quiet woman, before you drive me to madness with your chatter."
Persephone laughs, slides one leg up along his side; tilts her head and thinks maybe she's still insane for all of this and wanting it, but at least she's not alone anymore. Her heart is beating with delight and brilliance and life thrown into focus. This is what made her fingers curious enough to curl around the pomegranate in the beginning; what makes her begin to count the time by the falling of leaves and wait for the bitter tears her somber-robed mother lets go with the first snowfall.
“Perhaps,” Persephone manages to say on a stuttering breath, “I can drive you to madness in other ways.”
Hades’ smile is a slow curve, deliberate and bold and warm; and Persephone feels it smooth through her and make her burn. “Shall we see,” he murmurs against the soft skin of her neck, “my wife,” and Persephone trembles at the newness, the raw vitality and dark carnality and it is- everything she didn’t understand but knew at least enough to want. Something new born and shared between them, and Persephone finally believes that this can work, that they can work.
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