Title:
Breaking of the Lily
Author: Lykotheia
Pairings: GatxHazel
Rating: R
(But if you're a flower, NC-17!)
Summary:
Hazel, Gat, and unadulterated floral symbolism. Hint: It might help if you know
that, traditionally, lilies are a symbol of purity and chastity, and lime
blossoms represent conjugal love. Larkspur indicates an open heart.
Warnings:
Unapologetic and excessive use of metaphors, sex.
Breaking of the Lily
The sun winked overhead through a canopy of
teardrop-shaped leaves, puddling on the warm bracken
in small golden pools. Thousands of tiny coins of light blinked on and off atop
the lake's surface, and the water was warm to the
touch. The circumference of the bank had always been thick with white lilies;
they produced an intoxicating perfume that seemed more potent in the shade.
Beneath his feet, he could feel the sweet dry grasses of summer bending and
snapping, releasing a thick spicy scent. Somewhere there were violets.
"No one has been out here in years," He
assured him, noticing Gat's wary glance at the Greek façade of the plantation
home in the distance. "And it hasn't been used generations."
A quiet grunt served as reply, and a rabbit darted
out from underfoot as they passed the thick brush surrounding the perimeter of
the pond.
"So how do you know about it?" He finally
asked, watching Hazel slip out of his shoes and rest his broad-rimmed hat atop
a sun-dried rock, peppered in moss.
"I used to come here when I was a child to
swim. I remember the waterfall being a bit larger," He admitted with a
chuckle, glancing at the heavy trickle tumbling from a smoothed granite ledge
amongst dew-speckled foliage and thick moss. The lake was naturally formed, and
had been on his family's land for generations, as had been Larkspur plantation.
But cotton hadn't been cultivated in those fields since the end of the Civil
War. The home fell out of use when Hazel's grandfather passed away; his own
father, though he remembered little of him, lived in the city. This was his
inheritance.
"Will you move back in?" Gat drew off his
shirt, and Hazel glanced to the clear waters again, standing clothed save for his outer cloak and shoes atop the bank.
"It would require a great deal of
renovation," Hazel mused, so focused on avoiding Gat's gaze that he
completely missed the lingering appreciation in dark eyes when sunlight glinted
off of silvery hair.
"Hm."
Hazel sat, head tilted up to face a sudden shaft of
heat as the trees overhead made way for a breeze. Fair lashes dusted his high
cheekbones, and the sudden knowledge that he was being observed flushed his
face.
"It's how I learned
to swim."
"I never knew you could."
"Of course I can," Hazel blinked, tossing
him a quirky half-grin. "Can you?"
Gat shucked off his remaining clothing and dove
into the deeper end of the pond, emerging with long hair slicked back against
his shoulders and nape. Hazel watched a crystal bead slide down the centre of
his strong nose, and another as it ran from the corner of his eye. He swam
easily through the still water, with the skill of someone who had trained well
at it. Hazel observed him as though from
behind a curtain, forgetting completely that Gat was probably able to feel
every visual stroke and clutch.
Wind threaded through his fine hair, parting it at
the nape so that it curled at the fringe; his nails found the waxy bud of a
lily, and he pressed the slick petals between his fingers in contemplation.
A splash drew his gaze upward, and the wind shifted
directions, pushing the hair from his eyes and guiding the sharp, citrus scent
of lime blossom into the clearing. Although he couldn't see the tiny curling
petals, he knew they were in bloom.
"There is a grove not far from here."
"I can smell it." Gat agreed, flinging a
dark mop of hair from his face so that it dampened a cluster of white blossoms
in the distance, weighing them down. The sun quickly raised them again, drying
their resilient stems.
"Have you forgotten?" Gat queried. Hazel
blushed, dropping the blossom he had been toying with absentmindedly as he
approached the bank.
"Of course not," He feigned an indignant
expression, drawing back his vest and then, with greater hesitance, his shirt. As
his hands slid to the buckles of his trousers, he could feel Gat's gaze on him,
wholly innocent, perhaps a bit impatient as his dallying, but notably curious.
Hazel was intensely aware of the fragility of his
appearance, the cotton-white color of his skin
flushed beneath with a rosy tinge, like pink streaks through marble. The air
was a shock to his thighs—he never disrobed out of doors—and dark, smiling eyes
brought a blush to the surface of his face and throat. He disappeared below in an instant, creating ripples with the ease of one who
possesses a natural affinity for water. He had never really had to learn to swim; it had come to him as
though out of instinct. Shattering the surface, he emerged farther from the
bank than he had anticipated. Closer to Gat than he had
anticipated.
"So you can." Gat plucked at his hair,
drawing tiny white petals from it—too small to be from the lilies. Hazel
murmured a thank you, and caught the pungent scent of lime in the air again for
a brief moment.
"Yes." Hazel said shakily, tilting his
head up to meet Gat's gaze; he took a step back to lean against the bank and
slipped on the slick stones beneath the water. Reaching for purchase, he heard
the strong stalk of a lily snap beneath his palm; the petals spilled over his
shoulders. Averting his gaze to brush them away, he turned back to find himself
face to face with Gat, close enough to feel the warmth of his body beneath the
water.
"Gat." It sounded foolish, more
stuttered than spoken, and he embarrassed himself further with a quiet moan as
he was taken up in a fevered embrace, mouth crushed against the other's.
"Gat." He wasn't certain if it was a request or a response, but Gat
moved them both into the sunlight, pinning Hazel to the bank with cautious
kisses, his hands slipping down slender sides and cupping his hips, raising him
tentatively from the water.
Hazel moaned encouragement, and felt himself plucked halfway out of the lake with ease, the curve
of his back pressing into dry grass. Legs wrapping about strong hips, he slid
his slender arms around Gat's neck, fingers winding in jet hair as an eager
mouth reddened his throat with fevered kisses. He traced his own lips down the
strong
Gat's hold loosened, and Hazel relaxed his thighs,
easing himself down like a sheath about a broadsword,
like a corolla about the stamen. The piercing was less painful than he might
have imagined, though the tense line of his spine must have concerned his
lover; he felt Gat's hands on his hips, using the water to buoy him upwards and
off. Hazel clenched, hard, and the hands returned to the small of his back,
supporting him as they began to move together.
The water rippled out in circles about them,
lapping at the shore and stirring the lime blossoms floating on the surface in
the shade. Hazel gasped softly each time the cant of Gat's hips brought his
waist above the surface and rubbed his own arousal to a hardened abdomen. Each
time his body rose, he pushed down a half-second too early in rubato tempo, embracing Gat intimately, and to
the hilt. A groan rumbled through his strong chest and vanished within their
kiss. Hazel whimpered; a noise he would have otherwise been ashamed to produce
suddenly felt appropriate. A burst of heat engulfed them and then slowly
deteriorated as the cool waters stilled.
They lay together in dry grass of the bank, a sleek
and glistening chryselephantine tangle beneath the sun. Hazel embraced the body
above him with a sigh, suddenly unable to smell the stifling perfume of the
lilies. Gat kissed him; his wide onyx eyes had softened about the corners
affectionately, and the hint of a smile on his lips made Hazel laugh, head
falling back onto the pillow of leaves beneath him.
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