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monaboyd Apr. 22nd, 2006 12:40 am)
darkfaery1.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Apr. 22nd, 2006 12:40 am)Title: My Immortal
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkfaery1
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: NC-17 for slash sex, strong violence including torture and execution (past lives).
Summary: Billy and Dom are the best of mates, but strange dreams cause Dom to question the true nature of their relationship. As Dom attempts to prove that these intense 'dreams' are real past life memories, Billy is plagued by nightmares of his own.
Disclaimer: This tale is just for fun, no money has changed hands. It is a complete figment of my imagination.
Author's Notes: The title of this story as well as any quotes used are taken from the haunting ballad, My Immortal by Evanescence.
Links to all chapters can be found here.
i'm so tired of being here
suppressed by all of my childish fears
and if you have to leave
i wish that you would just leave
because your presence still lingers here
and it won't leave me alone…
Southern France, Late Summer, 1096 A.D...
It is bitterly cold. The sky is gray, and the dark clouds spread a mist over Count Raymond's household as we march. My bones ache with each step. I indulge in a grimace, believing my face hidden by my cowl.
"Take my horse, Brother, I beg of you." I start, turning to see the young knight at my side. He has dismounted his dun war horse and walks beside me.
"I prefer to walk, Étienne."
His smile lights up his fair features as if the sun has finally broken through the clouds. "You remember me, then?"
"Of course I do, though I have not seen you since you were a boy."
"You are hardly more than a boy yourself, Guillaume." Étienne lowers his head. "Forgive me. You look as if you have not aged a day; that is what I meant."
"There is nothing to forgive," I reply, meeting his gaze. "Please, mount your horse. You are the very picture of a brave Christian knight. The sight of you gives me courage."
"Bishop Adhemar rides a horse and carries a sword," Étienne tells me. "There is no reason why you cannot."
I uncross my arms and hold my hands out for his inspection. My fingers are twisted from years of transcribing Holy Scripture. "I can barely hold a quill. I must confess that I joined this Crusade in part because I have been told that the Holy Land is warm and dry and would ease the pain in my hands."
He stops and removes his gloves. "Take these, they will keep your hands warm."
They are made of the finest hide, lined with fur. I shake my head. "I thank you for your kindness, but I do not need them."
His handsome brow furrows and my pain is reflected in his blue-gray eyes. "Surely God would not wish you to suffer."
"We cannot know God's will, Étienne"
"Precisely, Guillaume," he answers with an impish grin. "It is as likely as not He too wishes your hands to be warm."
I laugh lightly and accept his gift with good grace. His stormy eyes twinkle as he mounts his steed. My heart leaps as I watch him gallop away with the exuberance of youth.
That evening at camp, he comes to me again, this time with a small jar. As he uncorks it, the sweet, pungent smell of peppermint drifts to my nostrils.
The feel of his strong, callused hands rubbing my fingers so gently stirs something in me I have never felt before. To me he is as beautiful as an Archangel; St. Michael himself sent to us to destroy the infidel.
I kiss his brow in thanks, but my lips linger there. I withdraw and shyly meet his gaze. His fair face is both fey and masculine at once. He has the smile of a mischievous child, but his eyes are that of a man. What I see there frightens me more than the sight of a thousand Saracens guarding the gates of Jerusalem would:
There in his eyes I see only love…
"Holy shite." Billy opened his eyes wide then shielded them against the sun emerging from the clouds. He had been sitting outside in his back garden when he nodded off. The script he'd been reading fell from his lap to the ground. He picked it up and tossed it on the glass table. He rubbed his forehead, then got up to get a beer.
It had been a fortnight since Dom's last Crusader dream and his frantic phone call. The first time Dom had mentioned the possibility of them sharing some sort of past life memory was while they were filming The Two Towers. From the beginning, Billy had rejected the idea as daft. But this last time had been particularly difficult to dismiss. As Dom tried once again to convince Billy to at least consider the possibility, Billy had felt a tightness grip his chest. Guilt didn't manifest itself like that for him. A hollow pit in his solar plexus was the unmistakable sign of guilt.
In any event, he felt badly. That could be the only explanation for the daydream. The most fucking real daydream he'd ever had in his life. He grabbed his mobile.
"Mmrph?"
"Hey, Dom, it's Billy."
"Billy, it's--four in the fucking morning," he whimpered.
"Sorry, I'll call back."
"No, no. Hang on, eh, I have to pee."
Dom let out a loud yawn. He must have taken his mobile into the loo because Billy could hear him having his pee. He grinned.
"What's up?"
The tightness in Billy's heart worsened and spread to his throat. "D-did I tell you about my new project?"
"The indie film? Yeah. Something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. I'm heading out to Ayrshire in the morning. I was just going over the script. It's really solid."
"Great," Dom said slowly. "Anything else?"
"Um, not really," Billy lied. "How are you? Had anymore of those daft dreams of yours?"
The sleep suddenly left Dom's voice: "You had one, didn't you?"
"It was nothing; probably just a sympathy memory. No gay sex. No chopping off of heads." Just a simple kindness.
"I wasn't planning on mentioning this, but now that you brought it up--"
"Oh, god, what now?"
"I talked to Orli last week and got in touch with the historical advisor on Kingdom of Heaven. He did some checking for me. Are you sitting down?"
Billy stumbled backward onto his sofa. "I am now."
Dom took a deep breath. "There was a young knight named Étienne Bernard who was a nephew of Count Raymond of Toulouse and accompanied him on the First Crusade. He made it through the siege of Antioch, but was killed during the battle for Jerusalem."
"What about the priest?"
"A monk named Guillaume was executed in Antioch, but it's impossible to know if he and Étienne even knew each other or if Étienne was the one who cut off his head."
Billy chest felt as if it would implode. He was finding it hard to breathe. "Holy fuck."
"Billy, I think you were right when you said it doesn't matter. We're friends now, that's what's important and I don't want to do or say anything that will fuck up our lives."
"Like what, for instance?"
Dom was silent for several moments. "Like, for instance, if after these dreams I found myself strangely attracted to my best mate who happens to be heterosexual, like myself."
Billy laughed nervously as he felt his cock jump. "That would really fuck things up for you--if such feelings were to occur to you. Your legions of female fans would be sorely disappointed."
"I'm not talking about Lost, Billy, I'm talking about our friendship. It's the most important thing in the world to me. It's probably all a bunch of shite, like you said--the past life shite, I mean."
"Yeah, probably," Billy replied unconvincingly. He doubted if Dom believed it either. "Don't worry, you haven't lost me."
Billy could feel Dom smiling with relief on the other end. "When are you going to get your arse out here so we can go surfing?"
~*~
Constantinople, Spring, 1097 A.D…
I have confessed my sin to the Bishop himself. He assigned me penance, but it is not enough to purge the evil from my soul. The sergeant-at-arms takes pity on me and makes a flail to my specifications. Another man, a pious monk, gives me the lend of a hair shirt. I wander far from Count Raymond's pavilion, but still Étienne finds me.
"Why do you stray so far from the fire, Brother?" The young knight's speech is slurred and he stumbles in the dark. I suspect he is well into his cups. I manage to slip my robe over my head before he discovers what I have done, but he sees the flail lying on the ground. He examines the ropes and soon my blood covers his hands. Etienne's face grows red with anger, then he breaks the handle in half over his knee.
His rage turns to confusion and concern. Étienne touches my cheek. "What sin could you have committed that would earn you such a penance?"
I lower my eyes in shame. "The confessional is sacred."
"Confess to me, then." He laughs, but I can see tears filling his eyes. "'Forgive me Étienne, for I have sinned. It has been five minutes since my last confession--' Tell me and I will absolve you."
"You are wicked-- and drunk."
"A little of both, Guillaume," Étienne replies. "I should have heard mass all day while you went into the City in my stead. Let me see your back."
I gently twist from his grasp and back away from him, but I know my struggle is futile. He places his strong hands on my shoulders and turns me around. He slips my robe off my shoulders and gasps. He pulls the hair shirt over my head, ripping it, inadvertently scraping the coarse fabric across the wounds on my back.
"You shall have my best linen, Brother." Etienne removes his own shirt and slips it over my head, despite my objections. I avert my gaze from the sight of his well-muscled chest.
"Who would be so cruel to demand a flail and a hair shirt?" he demanded angrily. "Was it the Bishop?"
"No," I reply. "He merely forbade me from making my pilgrimage into Constantinople."
"Then why? What mortal sin have you committed?"
I raise my head and meet his earnest eyes. "Lust," I whisper, not knowing why I admit my sin so freely.
"Oh." Étienne's chest heaves as his breath quickens. "For whom do you lust?"
A small whimper escapes my lips. "As if you need ask." I wish silently that he will take his leave of me.
Instead Étienne grins happily. "It is love that you feel."
Try as I might, I can not tear my eyes away from his manly beauty. "But I lust for the body of my beloved."
He leans close and brushes his lips against my ear. "As do I." I close my eyes, instinctively enjoying the flutter in my belly at his words and his touch. I attempt to recall the feeling of repentance I had experienced only a moment before, but the feather touch of his lips on my cheek, then my mouth banish it. He tastes like wine.
I have little experience with such things, so I follow my lover's example. He opens his mouth and I feel his tongue gently prying my lips apart. I surrender and am overcome with the lightening bolt that passes through my belly and down to my cock. "You are wicked, Etienne," I murmur against his lips, pulling him to me and running my twisted hands through his hair, then pressing them against his bare chest. He kisses me more violently now. I respond in kind and soon our mouths are bruised and swollen. His slight beard burns my tender flesh as he rubs it against my cheek. The pain does nothing to dampen my desire.
He raises my shirt and I feel his powerful hands on my slight chest, he gently pulls at the dusting of hair he finds there, then lowers his hand through the hair down my belly. My cock twitches in anticipation. He take me in his grasp and my hips buck forward of their own accord.
I reach for his manhood, fumbling clumsily with his braies. He takes pity on me and brings out his cock for me. I try to grasp it, but the cold will not allow me to grip him tightly enough. Étienne smiles and gently pushes my hand away.
He begins to rub his cock against mine, then takes both our cocks in his callused palm, stroking us as one. My jaw goes slack and my head lolls backwards. His lips and tongue explore my neck, increasing my pleasure until I think I shall die. I regain my senses and take his face in my hands, reclaiming his mouth, thrusting my tongue inside as he had done. Étienne then releases my cock and withdraws.
Before I can beg him to continue, he places his member between my thighs. I had heard of this form of pleasure from a lecherous abbot who would have taken me as his lover. I squeeze my thighs together. Étienne moans as he begins to thrust between my flesh, his cock rubbing against my balls with my need gratefully trapped against his belly. I move as he moves, while we kiss and embrace. I can feel my lust preparing to explode and then I spill my seed over his stomach as I quietly cry his name.
Étienne's lust is inflamed. He thrusts his cock hard between my legs, gripping my shoulders. His eyes are closed, but as he comes he opens them and captures me with his gaze as his heat drenches my thighs, stealing my soul away. I feel faint, and my knees buckle. He catches me in his arms and embraces me, murmuring such sweet and simple words of love in my ear I begin to weep…
"Billy, wake up!"
His eyes snapped open and he thought he saw Dom looking down on him. "Putain de merde!" He blinked, then realized it was her.
"Are you all right, Billy?" she asked as she put her arms around him.
He took her hand and gently extricated himself from her embrace. "Yeah, sorry, love. Didn't mean to wake you."
She stroked his cheek with concern. "You were talking in your sleep."
Billy felt all the blood drain from his face. "What did I say?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. You were speaking French, I think. I didn't know you knew how to speak French."
Billy started to tremble. "I don't."
To be continued…
Author:
darkfaery1Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: NC-17 for slash sex, strong violence including torture and execution (past lives).
Summary: Billy and Dom are the best of mates, but strange dreams cause Dom to question the true nature of their relationship. As Dom attempts to prove that these intense 'dreams' are real past life memories, Billy is plagued by nightmares of his own.
Disclaimer: This tale is just for fun, no money has changed hands. It is a complete figment of my imagination.
Author's Notes: The title of this story as well as any quotes used are taken from the haunting ballad, My Immortal by Evanescence.
Links to all chapters can be found here.
i'm so tired of being here
suppressed by all of my childish fears
and if you have to leave
i wish that you would just leave
because your presence still lingers here
and it won't leave me alone…
Southern France, Late Summer, 1096 A.D...
It is bitterly cold. The sky is gray, and the dark clouds spread a mist over Count Raymond's household as we march. My bones ache with each step. I indulge in a grimace, believing my face hidden by my cowl.
"Take my horse, Brother, I beg of you." I start, turning to see the young knight at my side. He has dismounted his dun war horse and walks beside me.
"I prefer to walk, Étienne."
His smile lights up his fair features as if the sun has finally broken through the clouds. "You remember me, then?"
"Of course I do, though I have not seen you since you were a boy."
"You are hardly more than a boy yourself, Guillaume." Étienne lowers his head. "Forgive me. You look as if you have not aged a day; that is what I meant."
"There is nothing to forgive," I reply, meeting his gaze. "Please, mount your horse. You are the very picture of a brave Christian knight. The sight of you gives me courage."
"Bishop Adhemar rides a horse and carries a sword," Étienne tells me. "There is no reason why you cannot."
I uncross my arms and hold my hands out for his inspection. My fingers are twisted from years of transcribing Holy Scripture. "I can barely hold a quill. I must confess that I joined this Crusade in part because I have been told that the Holy Land is warm and dry and would ease the pain in my hands."
He stops and removes his gloves. "Take these, they will keep your hands warm."
They are made of the finest hide, lined with fur. I shake my head. "I thank you for your kindness, but I do not need them."
His handsome brow furrows and my pain is reflected in his blue-gray eyes. "Surely God would not wish you to suffer."
"We cannot know God's will, Étienne"
"Precisely, Guillaume," he answers with an impish grin. "It is as likely as not He too wishes your hands to be warm."
I laugh lightly and accept his gift with good grace. His stormy eyes twinkle as he mounts his steed. My heart leaps as I watch him gallop away with the exuberance of youth.
That evening at camp, he comes to me again, this time with a small jar. As he uncorks it, the sweet, pungent smell of peppermint drifts to my nostrils.
The feel of his strong, callused hands rubbing my fingers so gently stirs something in me I have never felt before. To me he is as beautiful as an Archangel; St. Michael himself sent to us to destroy the infidel.
I kiss his brow in thanks, but my lips linger there. I withdraw and shyly meet his gaze. His fair face is both fey and masculine at once. He has the smile of a mischievous child, but his eyes are that of a man. What I see there frightens me more than the sight of a thousand Saracens guarding the gates of Jerusalem would:
There in his eyes I see only love…
"Holy shite." Billy opened his eyes wide then shielded them against the sun emerging from the clouds. He had been sitting outside in his back garden when he nodded off. The script he'd been reading fell from his lap to the ground. He picked it up and tossed it on the glass table. He rubbed his forehead, then got up to get a beer.
It had been a fortnight since Dom's last Crusader dream and his frantic phone call. The first time Dom had mentioned the possibility of them sharing some sort of past life memory was while they were filming The Two Towers. From the beginning, Billy had rejected the idea as daft. But this last time had been particularly difficult to dismiss. As Dom tried once again to convince Billy to at least consider the possibility, Billy had felt a tightness grip his chest. Guilt didn't manifest itself like that for him. A hollow pit in his solar plexus was the unmistakable sign of guilt.
In any event, he felt badly. That could be the only explanation for the daydream. The most fucking real daydream he'd ever had in his life. He grabbed his mobile.
"Mmrph?"
"Hey, Dom, it's Billy."
"Billy, it's--four in the fucking morning," he whimpered.
"Sorry, I'll call back."
"No, no. Hang on, eh, I have to pee."
Dom let out a loud yawn. He must have taken his mobile into the loo because Billy could hear him having his pee. He grinned.
"What's up?"
The tightness in Billy's heart worsened and spread to his throat. "D-did I tell you about my new project?"
"The indie film? Yeah. Something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. I'm heading out to Ayrshire in the morning. I was just going over the script. It's really solid."
"Great," Dom said slowly. "Anything else?"
"Um, not really," Billy lied. "How are you? Had anymore of those daft dreams of yours?"
The sleep suddenly left Dom's voice: "You had one, didn't you?"
"It was nothing; probably just a sympathy memory. No gay sex. No chopping off of heads." Just a simple kindness.
"I wasn't planning on mentioning this, but now that you brought it up--"
"Oh, god, what now?"
"I talked to Orli last week and got in touch with the historical advisor on Kingdom of Heaven. He did some checking for me. Are you sitting down?"
Billy stumbled backward onto his sofa. "I am now."
Dom took a deep breath. "There was a young knight named Étienne Bernard who was a nephew of Count Raymond of Toulouse and accompanied him on the First Crusade. He made it through the siege of Antioch, but was killed during the battle for Jerusalem."
"What about the priest?"
"A monk named Guillaume was executed in Antioch, but it's impossible to know if he and Étienne even knew each other or if Étienne was the one who cut off his head."
Billy chest felt as if it would implode. He was finding it hard to breathe. "Holy fuck."
"Billy, I think you were right when you said it doesn't matter. We're friends now, that's what's important and I don't want to do or say anything that will fuck up our lives."
"Like what, for instance?"
Dom was silent for several moments. "Like, for instance, if after these dreams I found myself strangely attracted to my best mate who happens to be heterosexual, like myself."
Billy laughed nervously as he felt his cock jump. "That would really fuck things up for you--if such feelings were to occur to you. Your legions of female fans would be sorely disappointed."
"I'm not talking about Lost, Billy, I'm talking about our friendship. It's the most important thing in the world to me. It's probably all a bunch of shite, like you said--the past life shite, I mean."
"Yeah, probably," Billy replied unconvincingly. He doubted if Dom believed it either. "Don't worry, you haven't lost me."
Billy could feel Dom smiling with relief on the other end. "When are you going to get your arse out here so we can go surfing?"
Constantinople, Spring, 1097 A.D…
I have confessed my sin to the Bishop himself. He assigned me penance, but it is not enough to purge the evil from my soul. The sergeant-at-arms takes pity on me and makes a flail to my specifications. Another man, a pious monk, gives me the lend of a hair shirt. I wander far from Count Raymond's pavilion, but still Étienne finds me.
"Why do you stray so far from the fire, Brother?" The young knight's speech is slurred and he stumbles in the dark. I suspect he is well into his cups. I manage to slip my robe over my head before he discovers what I have done, but he sees the flail lying on the ground. He examines the ropes and soon my blood covers his hands. Etienne's face grows red with anger, then he breaks the handle in half over his knee.
His rage turns to confusion and concern. Étienne touches my cheek. "What sin could you have committed that would earn you such a penance?"
I lower my eyes in shame. "The confessional is sacred."
"Confess to me, then." He laughs, but I can see tears filling his eyes. "'Forgive me Étienne, for I have sinned. It has been five minutes since my last confession--' Tell me and I will absolve you."
"You are wicked-- and drunk."
"A little of both, Guillaume," Étienne replies. "I should have heard mass all day while you went into the City in my stead. Let me see your back."
I gently twist from his grasp and back away from him, but I know my struggle is futile. He places his strong hands on my shoulders and turns me around. He slips my robe off my shoulders and gasps. He pulls the hair shirt over my head, ripping it, inadvertently scraping the coarse fabric across the wounds on my back.
"You shall have my best linen, Brother." Etienne removes his own shirt and slips it over my head, despite my objections. I avert my gaze from the sight of his well-muscled chest.
"Who would be so cruel to demand a flail and a hair shirt?" he demanded angrily. "Was it the Bishop?"
"No," I reply. "He merely forbade me from making my pilgrimage into Constantinople."
"Then why? What mortal sin have you committed?"
I raise my head and meet his earnest eyes. "Lust," I whisper, not knowing why I admit my sin so freely.
"Oh." Étienne's chest heaves as his breath quickens. "For whom do you lust?"
A small whimper escapes my lips. "As if you need ask." I wish silently that he will take his leave of me.
Instead Étienne grins happily. "It is love that you feel."
Try as I might, I can not tear my eyes away from his manly beauty. "But I lust for the body of my beloved."
He leans close and brushes his lips against my ear. "As do I." I close my eyes, instinctively enjoying the flutter in my belly at his words and his touch. I attempt to recall the feeling of repentance I had experienced only a moment before, but the feather touch of his lips on my cheek, then my mouth banish it. He tastes like wine.
I have little experience with such things, so I follow my lover's example. He opens his mouth and I feel his tongue gently prying my lips apart. I surrender and am overcome with the lightening bolt that passes through my belly and down to my cock. "You are wicked, Etienne," I murmur against his lips, pulling him to me and running my twisted hands through his hair, then pressing them against his bare chest. He kisses me more violently now. I respond in kind and soon our mouths are bruised and swollen. His slight beard burns my tender flesh as he rubs it against my cheek. The pain does nothing to dampen my desire.
He raises my shirt and I feel his powerful hands on my slight chest, he gently pulls at the dusting of hair he finds there, then lowers his hand through the hair down my belly. My cock twitches in anticipation. He take me in his grasp and my hips buck forward of their own accord.
I reach for his manhood, fumbling clumsily with his braies. He takes pity on me and brings out his cock for me. I try to grasp it, but the cold will not allow me to grip him tightly enough. Étienne smiles and gently pushes my hand away.
He begins to rub his cock against mine, then takes both our cocks in his callused palm, stroking us as one. My jaw goes slack and my head lolls backwards. His lips and tongue explore my neck, increasing my pleasure until I think I shall die. I regain my senses and take his face in my hands, reclaiming his mouth, thrusting my tongue inside as he had done. Étienne then releases my cock and withdraws.
Before I can beg him to continue, he places his member between my thighs. I had heard of this form of pleasure from a lecherous abbot who would have taken me as his lover. I squeeze my thighs together. Étienne moans as he begins to thrust between my flesh, his cock rubbing against my balls with my need gratefully trapped against his belly. I move as he moves, while we kiss and embrace. I can feel my lust preparing to explode and then I spill my seed over his stomach as I quietly cry his name.
Étienne's lust is inflamed. He thrusts his cock hard between my legs, gripping my shoulders. His eyes are closed, but as he comes he opens them and captures me with his gaze as his heat drenches my thighs, stealing my soul away. I feel faint, and my knees buckle. He catches me in his arms and embraces me, murmuring such sweet and simple words of love in my ear I begin to weep…
"Billy, wake up!"
His eyes snapped open and he thought he saw Dom looking down on him. "Putain de merde!" He blinked, then realized it was her.
"Are you all right, Billy?" she asked as she put her arms around him.
He took her hand and gently extricated himself from her embrace. "Yeah, sorry, love. Didn't mean to wake you."
She stroked his cheek with concern. "You were talking in your sleep."
Billy felt all the blood drain from his face. "What did I say?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. You were speaking French, I think. I didn't know you knew how to speak French."
Billy started to tremble. "I don't."
To be continued…
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
From:
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This is such an amazing idea for a fic!
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I raise my head and meet his earnest eyes. "Lust," I whisper, not knowing why I admit my sin so freely.
"Oh." Étienne's chest heaves as his breath quickens. "For whom do you lust?"
Loved that.
I really like how you give Étienne and Guillaume characters of their own, yet allow small hints of Dom and Billy to slip through occasionally- in a scenario such as this, it might be tempting to simply turn them into Billy and Dom stuck in the middle of the Crusades, but, oh... fabulous. Just excellent.
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I really like how you give Étienne and Guillaume characters of their own, yet allow small hints of Dom and Billy to slip through occasionally.
Squee!! What a lovely thing to say, thank you!
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And I do believe this is the first time I've seen this particular manisfestation of frottage in a fic. Kudos!
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I must confess I never knew of the term 'frottage' until I started doing research for this story (and I thought I was a gay porn expert:)). According to several primary sources, frottage was quite the vogue sexual activity between men during the period. The particular manifestation in this chapter was described in detail in a document involving two monks in the 12th Century. Who knew porn could be this educational! ;->
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Poor Guillaume, trying so hard to fight his heart, assigning such a hard penance to himself as if the shame will make a difference. I am glad Étienne is unafraid of his feelings even though we know the consequences will be great. As Tennyson said:
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'T is better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
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