Sightless [Estonia/Sweden]
May. 5th, 2009 05:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Sightless
Characters/Pairing: Estonia/Sweden
Rating: 15+
Length: ~1000
Summary: During a sleigh ride, Estonia reflects on the progression of their relationship. ~17th century.
Other: Written for Fyre. Posted in my personal journal. (Original entry).
Sightless
The air was cool and crisp. The sky was bright, but the sun gave little warmth, covered as it was by thin clouds that let loose fluffy, drifting flakes upon the still world. They fell lazily, setting on the ground and in the branches of tall black pine trees. Occasionally a breeze would stir them from their place and make them rise into the air again before trailing downward.
Amid the snow and the trees a sound could be heard. At first it took the form of faint, barely audible thuds, but soon it could be distinguished as the sound of hoof beats.
A jay heard the approaching noise from his perch on a pine bough. He looked up, called out, then took wing as the source came into sight: a black horse going at a brisk pace, pulling a small sleigh containing two men. Though they were bundled against the cold the air nipped at their bare faces and left their cheeks flushed.
The smaller of the two lazily watched the trees go by from where he rested curled up next to his partner, who held the reigns. He could tell by the growing familiarity of the scenery that soon their outing would come to an end. Shifting a bit, he turned his head to look at the man beside him. His partner glanced at him, then wordlessly looked again at the road ahead. Once he would have found the silence troubling, but now he was familiar enough with his quiet companion that he could see the tenderness in those cool, pale eyes and the unspoken affection that rested there. Pleased with this, he nestled closer to him and pressed his face against his shoulder, burying his face in the heavy black coat, not caring that the action made his spectacles press uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose.
Very soon the hours would draw short and the world would be dark, but by that time they would have arrived at their destination and would have made their way inside, away from the chilly air. Outside it would be black, and inside they would have their own darkness. For them, blindness was a matter of gestures, regardless of light or dark. It took the form of two pairs of spectacles, side by side on the night-table, carefully folded and just barely touching.
He remembered that there was once a time he would not have trusted him, would not have willingly blinded himself. The cold stares and low, rumbling voice had frightened him, and in those days he shrank away from the tall, dark figure.
Time’s work changed things. Somehow they came to understand each other. He listened to him speak, when he did chance to speak, and slowly all became clearer. He looked at him in earnest and eventually could detect the subtleties: a twitch at the corner of his lips, a faint softness in his eyes, tiny hints of inviting warmth. His companion observed him, too, and eventually learned to temper his coldness, to soften his expression, to enunciate. They grew attached to each other, the both of them, and from that the threads of trust were spun, soon woven into a fabric of affection.
The first night he had offered himself up to that tall, silent man his trust was not complete. The fabric was thin and the fibres imperfect. He slipped off his lover’s glasses but was unwilling to be blinded himself, protesting when he tried. When they were finished he cursed the fog that covered the lenses.
The second time, he slid off his spectacles only after instructing his lover to do so first. He refused to allow him to touch his face. He insisted they do it during the day, when the daylight made everything clearer, and by lingering close they could see each other, though all was blurred by their shared imperfect vision.
The third night that he gave himself over to him, his heart seemed to stop beating and for a moment he stopped breathing as those careful hands slid off his glasses. His own hands shook when he reached up and removed the spectacles from his lover’s face. When warm, rough lips closed over his own, he found himself trembling, though the source was not fear, but something else.
Now all had changed. Their connection was entirely different. As he rested against his lover’s side, he reflected that those days when he had been so nervous and so easily startled seemed an eternity away. Tonight in the dim fire’s light he would give in to weathered, gentle hands as he had so many times before, and they would both be silent, as they needed no words. Time and care had been taken in weaving the fabric of their closeness, that thing without a name, and there was no need to speak when the brush of fingertips could tell so much. Tonight, as every night, they would weave their trust anew. He would slide his lover’s glasses from his face, and allow him to do the same. Sightless, they would share each other, and once again he would give himself over.
A gust of cool air in his face made his eyes fly open and ripped his thoughts from him. They hadn’t arrived, not yet. They still moved through the black pines at a lively pace, the snow crunching beneath the horse’s hooves, swishing as the sleigh rushed over it. He sighed, thinking, nearly there. They were nearly there. Already the sky was already beginning to dim.
When his partner glanced at him, responding to the quiet sound, he only offered him a small smile. It broadened upon seeing the faint twitch at the corner of his lover’s mouth which hinted at a smile, a gesture as good as a grin on that one. No need to tell what he had been daydreaming about, he decided.
There was no need to speak.
He would show him tonight.
Characters/Pairing: Estonia/Sweden
Rating: 15+
Length: ~1000
Summary: During a sleigh ride, Estonia reflects on the progression of their relationship. ~17th century.
Other: Written for Fyre. Posted in my personal journal. (Original entry).
Sightless
The air was cool and crisp. The sky was bright, but the sun gave little warmth, covered as it was by thin clouds that let loose fluffy, drifting flakes upon the still world. They fell lazily, setting on the ground and in the branches of tall black pine trees. Occasionally a breeze would stir them from their place and make them rise into the air again before trailing downward.
Amid the snow and the trees a sound could be heard. At first it took the form of faint, barely audible thuds, but soon it could be distinguished as the sound of hoof beats.
A jay heard the approaching noise from his perch on a pine bough. He looked up, called out, then took wing as the source came into sight: a black horse going at a brisk pace, pulling a small sleigh containing two men. Though they were bundled against the cold the air nipped at their bare faces and left their cheeks flushed.
The smaller of the two lazily watched the trees go by from where he rested curled up next to his partner, who held the reigns. He could tell by the growing familiarity of the scenery that soon their outing would come to an end. Shifting a bit, he turned his head to look at the man beside him. His partner glanced at him, then wordlessly looked again at the road ahead. Once he would have found the silence troubling, but now he was familiar enough with his quiet companion that he could see the tenderness in those cool, pale eyes and the unspoken affection that rested there. Pleased with this, he nestled closer to him and pressed his face against his shoulder, burying his face in the heavy black coat, not caring that the action made his spectacles press uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose.
Very soon the hours would draw short and the world would be dark, but by that time they would have arrived at their destination and would have made their way inside, away from the chilly air. Outside it would be black, and inside they would have their own darkness. For them, blindness was a matter of gestures, regardless of light or dark. It took the form of two pairs of spectacles, side by side on the night-table, carefully folded and just barely touching.
He remembered that there was once a time he would not have trusted him, would not have willingly blinded himself. The cold stares and low, rumbling voice had frightened him, and in those days he shrank away from the tall, dark figure.
Time’s work changed things. Somehow they came to understand each other. He listened to him speak, when he did chance to speak, and slowly all became clearer. He looked at him in earnest and eventually could detect the subtleties: a twitch at the corner of his lips, a faint softness in his eyes, tiny hints of inviting warmth. His companion observed him, too, and eventually learned to temper his coldness, to soften his expression, to enunciate. They grew attached to each other, the both of them, and from that the threads of trust were spun, soon woven into a fabric of affection.
The first night he had offered himself up to that tall, silent man his trust was not complete. The fabric was thin and the fibres imperfect. He slipped off his lover’s glasses but was unwilling to be blinded himself, protesting when he tried. When they were finished he cursed the fog that covered the lenses.
The second time, he slid off his spectacles only after instructing his lover to do so first. He refused to allow him to touch his face. He insisted they do it during the day, when the daylight made everything clearer, and by lingering close they could see each other, though all was blurred by their shared imperfect vision.
The third night that he gave himself over to him, his heart seemed to stop beating and for a moment he stopped breathing as those careful hands slid off his glasses. His own hands shook when he reached up and removed the spectacles from his lover’s face. When warm, rough lips closed over his own, he found himself trembling, though the source was not fear, but something else.
Now all had changed. Their connection was entirely different. As he rested against his lover’s side, he reflected that those days when he had been so nervous and so easily startled seemed an eternity away. Tonight in the dim fire’s light he would give in to weathered, gentle hands as he had so many times before, and they would both be silent, as they needed no words. Time and care had been taken in weaving the fabric of their closeness, that thing without a name, and there was no need to speak when the brush of fingertips could tell so much. Tonight, as every night, they would weave their trust anew. He would slide his lover’s glasses from his face, and allow him to do the same. Sightless, they would share each other, and once again he would give himself over.
A gust of cool air in his face made his eyes fly open and ripped his thoughts from him. They hadn’t arrived, not yet. They still moved through the black pines at a lively pace, the snow crunching beneath the horse’s hooves, swishing as the sleigh rushed over it. He sighed, thinking, nearly there. They were nearly there. Already the sky was already beginning to dim.
When his partner glanced at him, responding to the quiet sound, he only offered him a small smile. It broadened upon seeing the faint twitch at the corner of his lover’s mouth which hinted at a smile, a gesture as good as a grin on that one. No need to tell what he had been daydreaming about, he decided.
There was no need to speak.
He would show him tonight.
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