Yours, here. [Syllke]

[Seodai]

"Not yet!" Seodai groaned and dropped his head to the curve of his shoulder, but did his best to obey. Another long moment ticked by and he could hear the familiar swish of the charcoal Syllke held in his fingertips, dancing over paper in sweeping, graceful arcs that he just couldn't comprehend. His muscles trembled, and he shifted. "Seo..." his friend warned, and his tone was so serious and dark that Seodai couldn't do it any longer. He gave up, rolling to his back to laugh upwards into those lovely dancing eyes. "Gods, Syllke. I'm not a stone! I've been laying like that for days!" "Hours," the Vantha retorted with a mock pout. Seodai rolled his eyes and laughed. It was easier, that pleasant freedom, though he didn't know why. The curse of his blood was like a poison that festered in his limbs; always present, even in his happiest moments. Now, though, he didn't feel that. He was buoyant with a freedom he couldn't explain. He put his elbows beneath him so he was propped up in his sprawl. "For Morwen's sake," Seodai snorted. "You've drawn at least a hundred of those. Why do you need another?" "Because you won't hold still!" Seodai smirked. It was a lazy, almost provocative expression. He reached up with one hand and snatched the drawing away before Syllke could protest. It was, as ever, fantastic. It was the line of his back, his curling hair and the swoop of his hip. Beyond him, though, lay the edge of the world. Or it looked that way to the Denvali, anyway. It was the edge of the cliff where they had watched the seals play, the place where they had kissed. Though it was captured in one color only, the horizon Syllke had created was breathtaking. "You make me into something I'm not," he observed, though his tone was warm, soft. Humbled, perhaps, by the artistry. Syllke scoffed and reached for the paper. Seodai pulled it out of his reach, and once more, until his moody artist huffed. Seo relented and handed it over, sitting up at last. "You're cross," he groused, though his good mood was not to be fouled by the furrow of his Vantha's brow. "What ails you, Syllke?" In the face of no response, Seodai quirked a brow. "Oh? Is that so?" At the wary, quizzical expression Syllke fixed him with, Seo only grinned and carried on with the facade. "You think so? Big words, for a skinny Vantha." Syllke had stowed his artistry in his bag, and was dusting his dirty fingers off across his tunic. Seo had lifted himself from the dirt and sat on his haunches. "Oh ho ho," he false laughed loudly. "A fight to the finish, then. For the honor of Denval, or your little city of ice!" And with that, completely out of character, Seodai launched himself at Syllke. Because, though he didn't recognize it as such, in his dreams he could be free. Both slender, their ensuing fall had little to cushion the blow. Seodai ignored the pained grunt that issued forth from his friend and, with his head tucked into the curve of Syllke's throat, set about tickling him mercilessly. The laughter that ensued was one that Seodai couldn't help but echo, until they were a rolling, boyish mess of limbs and smiles. At least, until Syllke got the upper hand and pinned Seodai into the dirt, straddling his waist. Then those colorful, swirling eyes changed and it was an entirely different laugh that he heard. Lysander, who was in many ways similar to Syllke, grinned down at him. Seodai's laughter died in his throat. As much as his affection for the ethaefal ran deep and, in some ways, was something all the more intimate than what he felt for his Vantha friend, it was inherently different. Seodai was stunned into silence, first, and then the long and perfect fingers which held his wrists relented and he could reach up. His hand ghosted across a chest that was bare without explanation, to the elegant line of Lysander's throat. He toyed with the fringe of golden hair, and traced the shell of the fallen one's ear. The smile Lysander fixed him with melted him to the core, and Seodai's knuckles brushed the curve of a horn before he dropped his hand again. "Hi," he smiled. Lysander laughed, and Seodai scarcely resisted the urge to crush him against his own chest. Sometimes he wanted to squeeze Lysander so tightly, until neither of them could breathe. He wanted a closeness he couldn't even explain, couldn't name. And then, calling upon a knowledge he didn't yet fully comprehend in his waking world, Seodai realized something was different. "Lys," he began. "It's daytime." It was a rather huge observation, considering the fact that Seodai had never seen this beautiful angelic thing under Syna's rays. Now he simply glowed there, with her kiss all across his perfect form. Lysander frowned at Seo's words, though, and with a glance towards the sun, everything changed again. Replacing the other-wordly, graceful thing that had been atop him, was the shaggy hair of a Drykas boy. Lysander reached for his hand and lifted it so that he could, once again, trace the line of that jaw. Upwards, along very human features, with no horn to brush. Seodai sighed, and dropped his hand. The boyish Lysander frowned, and Seodai felt guilty for his betrayal. "I can't, Lysander. It'd be wrong." Indeed, the feelings that the ethaefal inspired in the Denvali farmer seemed quite appropriate if he diverted them to the boyish daytime form of his beloved. After all, Seodai spent long hours imagining how it might feel to hold Lysander against his body, with nothing between them. How might their legs feel, tangled with one another in post-coital bliss? What would the heat of Lysander's body feel like, if Seodai buried himself in it? The list of his base thoughts went on and on still, and Seodai felt guilty as he thought them with the ruddy Drykas atop him. Gods, but that was all so confusing. Seodai, emotionally splintered, sighed and draped one arm over his eyes. He felt the weight above him shift, and then there were lips upon his. With his eyes closed, they felt the same as Lysander's. His Lysander. And, the way he'd always imagined them, anyway. Warm and perfect. Seodai responded, he couldn't not. Lysander possessed him completely, even if he felt like a monster for allowing his lust to manifest in the presence of the younger, daylight version of his would be lover. Except, when he opened his eyes, it wasn't the Drykas at all. It was the Lysander he coveted so fiercely it made him ache. With renewed zeal, Seodai plunged eager hands into that soft hair and kissed the ethaefal with all the passion Syllke had taught him to muster. He was soon breathless, hands grappling blindly for the clothing that stood between himself and what he wanted. Gone was the wary regard for space; it felt as if he was losing Lysander, somehow. As if this would be his very last opportunity to know all the things he'd wondered.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Eager fingers grasped and pulled at clothing that gave way with the satisfying fulfillment of a thick peel easily coming away from an orange. As the boy had been clothed, so now was the surreal creature mounted across Seodai’s hips. Eyelids fluttering closed momentarily as the taste of Lysander infused his lips and mouth, Seo felt the material in his grasp, as it came apart in large fragments. Lysander shifted, and cool air came between their open mouths. With a slight frown, Seo opened his eyes again. Staring down at him was no longer the horned beauty he so coveted. Syllke’s dark hair poked out from a crumbling mask of gold. Though Seo’s eyes opened wide in alarm, his mouth trying to form a question, but his voice catching in his throat, his hands seemed to move of their own accord, ripping and tearing. In large patches, Syllke was revealed, all the while staring down at him with eyes no longer swirling with color. In the place of the rainbow was now a deep black void – emptiness – bottomless. As all the clothes had peeled away from the Vantha, Seo squeezed his eyes shut tight, fearful of that abyss. But hard fingers dug into his ribs, no longer the congenial tickling of a few moments before, but poking as if they would shove through and straight into his heart. His eyes flew open in protest, and he saw chestnut curls once more. His hands flew up to shove at that slight chest, but once again, of their own accord, they began to peel away clothes and skin and flesh. In rapid succession, bits of Leth’s son appeared and then Syllke and then the boy, over and over and over, as Seodai’s fingers moved frantically. The images began to blur and transpose, like the simple toy Seodai had played with as a child, two images blurring into one as he twirled the string back and forth. Only now there were three, ever changing yet melding into one, and the constant – the focus of the three – the point from which Seo could not tear his eyes, though it filled him with dread, were the eyes. For even as the images wavered and blurred and reformed, the eyes alone remained fixed on the young farmer, drawing him into their blank depths. Seo tore his hands away from the shifting form and pressed them over his eyes, yet still, as if Syna herself was shining through his fingers, he saw those eyes, black and flat against the brilliant radiance. He felt a pulling sensation in his chest, going down into his spine, as if it would be ripped from his very body. He knew that in those eyes lay misery and pain and desolation. Hands grabbed at his, trying to pull his hands from his eyes, trying to force him to see, but he fought back as he felt a new sensation in his spine. A growing warmth, coming from its base and spreading slowly outwards, as if a flame was catching along the tree that grew there – the image of his goddess. Warmth licking along the trunk, and then the branches, and to the very tips of each individual twig and stem.

[Seodai]

Of all the terror of the moment, none was worse than the sensation of his mark set aflame. Bala had become the glue that held him together, the cornerstone of his being, the one constant in a life of uncertainty. Upon her he leaned for his sustenance and the provision of his spirit. He had lived so long with her touch in his life that he didn't know how to live without it. The slice of fire along his spine, along the spidery branches of the tree that was splayed across the length of his muscled back was painful in more than one way. It burned atop his skin, like an acid, but it was his soul where the pain resonated the most. Like a million tiny blades flaying him on the inside, ripping apart all the wholeness Bala had ever given to him. Every good sensation, every moment of peace and happiness, every stroke of contentment he'd ever tasted was turned inside out and shredded as those limbs burned. It was such a profound pain that Seodai could do nothing but crumple beneath it, groaning pathetically. The hands attempting to pull his own away were successful, as all strength to resist seeped out of him. His eyes were still squinted closed, but it did little to protect him from the vision of those empty eyes, dragging his soul into the bottomless depths. Seodai had never wanted to die, not really. Even when he was a miserable child who felt all alone in the world, the thought of death had never really appealed. Not until this moment, when he'd have given anything for relief from the terror and the pain. And just as nonsensically as it had all started, the moment faded away. The weight atop his waist was gone, and the empty sky swam into stubborn vision. There was nothingness. Stars and Syna, though it made little sense. Only the sensation of being existed. It was a quiet place, with only the throbbing memory of the horrible ache of a moment before. He gasped, drinking in air that felt sweet like wine. Seodai had never been more unsettled, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position, only to find that he sat on a cloud. The stars began to dance around him, whirling together more quickly until at last they formed a figure. The moving stars approached him, and though it was a rough silhouette, Seodai recognized it immediately. "Mother," he sighed in abject relief. It was not his earthly mother, of course, a woman he had no lost love for. It was Bala, the mother of his heart. She still loved him, he thought, with a relief that washed over him so strongly he thought he might crumple beneath it. He reached for her hand. A star fell into his palm, and she disappeared with a smile. The wind picked up and Seodai found himself sinking into the cloud, staring at the light in his hand. It burned with a warmth that was stinging, yet somehow pleasant. It reminded him of Lysander, somehow. A child of the skies. "Syllke," Seodai said suddenly. As if it would make any sense for his friend to be there, especially after the insane encounter of moments before. "Syllke!" He had the feeling of a child with a new toy to share. He had to show the curious artist the star before it burned out again. And so Seodai found his feet and, without realizing how absolutely bizarre it was, began to jump from cloud to cloud - searching for his dearest companion.

[Syllke Skyglow]

The clouds stretched out in all directions, to the far horizons, and Seo seemed alone in the vast, bright sky. Alone, save for the flickering piece of light in his palm, which seemed a sentient being all its own. On and on he leapt, for what seemed a time as infinite as the clouds themselves, though he didn’t tire. Then he realized that someone was running along beside him. He turned to look, smiling, welcoming whoever his companion turned out to be, and it was Syllke, the one he had called for. Syllke as he always appeared to be, smiling and excited. Seo slowed until they stood facing each other, and he held his hand out, the star blazing up, casting their faces in an ethereal orange gold glow. Syllke reached out and their hands came together, but they did not stop at the margins of their fingers. Syllke’s hand continued to move and meld into Seo’s, absorbing him, and the light and slight burning tickle of the star moved up their arms, to their shoulders and necks, and did not stop. Seo stepped forward just as Syllke did and they came together in a blaze of transparent light, two bodies merging into one, glowing as bright as the sun. Seo felt his flesh melt away and blend and recompose itself and his breath left him with a rush that emptied his lungs. But it was far from an unpleasant sensation. In fact, his entire body tingled with it and the feeling built upon itself, roaring through his consciousness, as he felt Syllke inside him, and outside him and completely enveloping him while being submerged within him. A complete union that made it impossible to breath, or to think, and one which he did not wish to stop. And then . . . Syllke was passing through him. Their bodies were stretching and pulling apart. Like a knife drawn through honey, they stepped away from each other and for one last moment they were joined, and then they were not. A cold rush of air coursed over Seo and, alarmed, he realized that as Syllke continued to walk away from him, the Vantha had taken the star with him, inside him. Syllke glowed but Seo was now dark, cold, alone. He tried to cry out to his friend to stop, to come back, but he could not make his voice work, his throat was parched. He felt the tears trickling down his cheeks, but he could not lift his hand to brush them away. His body felt like lead – he could not move. “Come, Seodai.” Lysander’s smooth voice felt like oil pouring over him, loosening his joints, allowing him to breath again. Seo turned and buried his face in that beloved neck, grasping at Lysander’s shirt, the tears still flowing. The Ethaefal’s hands reached up to twine in Seo’s curls, his warm breath on Seo’s ear. “Come.” He whispered, reaching down to take one of Seodai’s hand’s in his own. There were no more clouds. The sky was dark, like velvet, sprinkled with a thousand million stars. They were in a familiar place. The Temple. Why was Lysander bringing him here?