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Entry tags:
TFT: Transgression
Fandom: The Fionavar Tapestry
Main characters: Diarmuid, Aileron
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Aileron/Diarmuid
Contains: Incest
Rating: PG13
Summary: This is a path he's trodden before, many times since childhood. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
feywood, because she got up on time.
Diarmuid is quite, quite used to slipping through the halls of the palace unnoticed. For the last little while, he's been going to the rooms of various women, but it wasn't always like that. It was Aileron's room he first learned to silently make his way to -- innocently, at first, for that was when he was a child. Now, less so. It doesn't take him long, in any case. He's been doing this for a long time. He knocks on the door softly, in a rhythm he hopes Aileron still recognises, and then slips inside.
"I'm glad to see you too, dear brother," Diarmuid says, to the glower that awaits him. He lights a lamp, just one -- they never did any of this in the full light of day, and nor did they need much light on the nights Diarmuid came here, the nights of the year or so before Aileron's exile. "Am I still welcome?"
"I'm the one who left, not you," Aileron says, after a moment.
Diarmuid nods. "You didn't even say a proper goodbye."
"I knew I'd be back."
There's room, Diarmuid notes, in the bed beside Aileron. There is also a flask of wine beside the bed, and a vial that he suspects will contain oil. "You knew I would come here."
"I know you."
Diarmuid leaves the lamp where it is, where the light will barely reach from to touch their bare skins, to mark their transgressions. "Presumptuous."
"I pride myself on being one of the few people able to guess what you'll do," Aileron says. He's still sat up straight in bed, and Diarmuid sees that his hands are fists in the covers. "And I would say the word should be..."
"Yes?"
"Hopeful. I was hoping that you'd..." A helpless gesture. Aileron has never been much for words. Diarmuid takes pity, undoing the already loose fastenings of his clothes and slipping them off, moving into bed beside his brother.
"I considered holding out on you for longer. You're more interesting when you're jealous."
"You've given me cause to be jealous?" Aileron asks. There's a roughened quality to his tone that not many people have ever heard -- Diarmuid suspects he might be the only one. He moves smoothly, moves over Aileron, smiling into his face.
"Of course. You've no idea how many other beds I've been in since you were last here."
Aileron presses his face into Diarmuid's bare shoulder, his neck, strangely vulnerable for a moment, and then he bites, leaves a mark, and Diarmuid gasps and arches into the touch. Aileron is probably the only one, he thinks, smiling to himself as his fingers move into Aileron's hair, as he tugs him up to find his mouth, Aileron is probably the only one who can still Diarmuid's mouth and leave him speechless -- though not entirely soundless. It would be no fun in that case, anyway.
Main characters: Diarmuid, Aileron
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Aileron/Diarmuid
Contains: Incest
Rating: PG13
Summary: This is a path he's trodden before, many times since childhood. For
feywood, because she got up on time.Diarmuid is quite, quite used to slipping through the halls of the palace unnoticed. For the last little while, he's been going to the rooms of various women, but it wasn't always like that. It was Aileron's room he first learned to silently make his way to -- innocently, at first, for that was when he was a child. Now, less so. It doesn't take him long, in any case. He's been doing this for a long time. He knocks on the door softly, in a rhythm he hopes Aileron still recognises, and then slips inside.
"I'm glad to see you too, dear brother," Diarmuid says, to the glower that awaits him. He lights a lamp, just one -- they never did any of this in the full light of day, and nor did they need much light on the nights Diarmuid came here, the nights of the year or so before Aileron's exile. "Am I still welcome?"
"I'm the one who left, not you," Aileron says, after a moment.
Diarmuid nods. "You didn't even say a proper goodbye."
"I knew I'd be back."
There's room, Diarmuid notes, in the bed beside Aileron. There is also a flask of wine beside the bed, and a vial that he suspects will contain oil. "You knew I would come here."
"I know you."
Diarmuid leaves the lamp where it is, where the light will barely reach from to touch their bare skins, to mark their transgressions. "Presumptuous."
"I pride myself on being one of the few people able to guess what you'll do," Aileron says. He's still sat up straight in bed, and Diarmuid sees that his hands are fists in the covers. "And I would say the word should be..."
"Yes?"
"Hopeful. I was hoping that you'd..." A helpless gesture. Aileron has never been much for words. Diarmuid takes pity, undoing the already loose fastenings of his clothes and slipping them off, moving into bed beside his brother.
"I considered holding out on you for longer. You're more interesting when you're jealous."
"You've given me cause to be jealous?" Aileron asks. There's a roughened quality to his tone that not many people have ever heard -- Diarmuid suspects he might be the only one. He moves smoothly, moves over Aileron, smiling into his face.
"Of course. You've no idea how many other beds I've been in since you were last here."
Aileron presses his face into Diarmuid's bare shoulder, his neck, strangely vulnerable for a moment, and then he bites, leaves a mark, and Diarmuid gasps and arches into the touch. Aileron is probably the only one, he thinks, smiling to himself as his fingers move into Aileron's hair, as he tugs him up to find his mouth, Aileron is probably the only one who can still Diarmuid's mouth and leave him speechless -- though not entirely soundless. It would be no fun in that case, anyway.