It takes three days, three hot, tension drenched days before the first kiss. It's against ancient pillars that have seen the fall and rise of civilizations. Kiku's skin is cool to the touch, and he can't stop touching him. It's like an addict, a disease as they come together, bones grinding desperate. At night they sleep entwined together, and Kiku's skin is as cold as marble. In the night his breath makes no white gasps; it isn't warm enough.
He straddles Herakles and touches his face, nuzzles tight against him. Frost laces up his skin, mist echos in his breath.
He's beautiful like bare trees and cold winds, like frost on windows. He's beautiful in a stark way that makes Herakles feel like he could be devoured, and if it is, if he is to be swallowed up and left to ice, then so be it.
At least he will have died happy.
*
"Do you have anything to return to?" Herakles asks on the sixteenth day of their trip.
"No....I have nothing," Kiku replies.
So he stays in Herakles arms. The trip becomes irregular. Herakles has only the cats, and he left enough to take care of them. He is not without resources, and something in his mind knew he might not come back.
*
In the hotel room he's ordered, Kiku strips down from his armor of clothes. Between the sheets they lay together, sleepy, sated and still awake.
"Tell me about your world," Kiku says.
And he tells about minuscule things, ordinary things. Kiku is fascinated. He's so naive in ways, so reserved. He's innocent and jaded, a compound of paradoxes woven together.
The overpowering sadness seems to ease when he's near Herakles. He feels drawn to Kiku, as if his wanderlust has been sated. As if all the other lovers are just faint memories before this, final one.
It's crazy, he's known him only a short span of time. But isn't it just as crazy to find a facsimile of the boy of his fever dreams? An ethereal boy with so many mysteries that they are the very fiber of them, that unraveling them means unraveling Kiku himself.
He's enthralled in the deepest sense. As if there was a line between them, pulling them together.
When Kiku looks him in the eyes, he feels like he can never refuse him, never leave him. He kisses the back of his palms and tastes rime.
They're two nobodies traveling across Greece, and the countries beyond. Kiku is fascinated by the buildings, he takes endless pictures, much to Herakles amusement.
They see lot of the world when they can pull themselves from the motel rooms, when they can untangle from each other long enough to step into the dark. Herakles turns them nocturnal, for the weather is cooler then, and he does not have to armor himself against the sun. They walk by streetlights, starlight, down the Reine and the Thames. They visit the Louvre barely before closing, when the morning workers are yawning and checking their watches and the night watchmen are coming to duty. They see the Eiffel tower lit up, sparkling proud, rising above the horizon.
Time becomes meaningless to them. A year, an hour, what is the difference, really? Neither has marked it, so much that it seems every watch stopped the day that they met. Kiku always seems to have just enough money to cover their trips. They rarely spend to excess are they are so drunk on each other.
How long is this time? This blissful, captured moment? Two seasons of the year, and no longer.
*
Kiku becomes brittle in heat, as if he might break. His cheeks flush until there is actual color in them, and he grows disoriented. Sweat floods off of him, Herakles is reminded of melting ice, of the perspiration that comes from cold drinks on glasses. Again, it is not sticky, nor does it contain any odor.
It's as if Kiku is fading away right in front of his eyes.
*
He broaches the question one day when they're hiding out in the air. Kiku sallow and skeletal lying on the bed. Herakles can't help himself anymore.
"Have we met before?" Herakles asks.
Kiku stiffens. "I told you never to tell anyone..."
"Tell anyone what?" Herakles lies.
He is not without wiles. He was raised on Odysseus and the tales of ancient Greek gods. He stares back at Kiku, pointed, acknowledging the lie and the not-question between them. The dark expression on Kiku's face fades like storm clouds dissipating.
"No....you have not met Kiku before," he says. He says it pointedly, accenting the Kiku. Herakles knows that it is a razor-thin line that he treads there. He does not ask for more.
"We could move somewhere colder," Herakles says.
"No...my power would grown too strong then and I would kill you," Kiku says. "This keeps me in check."
They skirt around the knowledge of what he is. They do not speak aloud the words. It's always there. He climbs on the covers and kisses Kiku's neck, and doesn't ask anything more than simply another moment, another day, more time.
That's all, just that is what he desires.
*
One day when the heat is unbearable, when summer has taken in its reign, Kiku looks so pale as to be translucent.
"Kiku?" Herakles says, his voice growing desperate
Like Kiku once found him, on the edge of death, he now finds Kiku on the verge of fading away. He remembers what Kiku once told him, long ago when they were tangled together. "Snow never dies. It merely transforms. It's the same sky, the same water. It always returns."
He brushes Kiku's cheek, his other arm tight around him. His hand goes through to nothingness. Kiku turns into mist, in his arms and rises up until there is nothing left. Moisture stays against his arms where he'd held him, like the remains of a kiss, and drying tears.
He turns over and sleeps a long time, but when he awakes, Kiku is not there.
It is not a dream, no matter how much he wishes it to be.
He travels the world. He seeks out every cold place, every dark cave and cold mountain where frost and snow. He sleeps with other people who he barely remembers the names of because he is human with human needs and human fallacies. Their touches in the dark are too hot, he feels sweaty and barely sated at the end.
Kiku understands, he thinks.
He notices the cracks of the world he has always missed: the flitting of gossamer wings, the cat-like slivers of golden eyes of races that most call myths. He meets others like Kiku Snow-women with the same sort of beauty, yet instead of sadness, there's the fierceness of a howling winter wind in their eyes. They keep their distance from him. He touches the mark and wonders if he has been branded by Kiku, marked with ownership. He feels the cold brand of his fingers under his skin, on his heart. Already he is haunted to never love anyone else.
Penelope waited twenty years for Odysseus' return`, weaving a`her loom with only her wiles to keep her. Orpheus traveled the ends of the earth,and he, he will keep looking. When he closes his eyes he can see it now: Kiku, pale and wearing a crown of flurries, his ever present sadness lifting, the weight gone.
The season will turn back now, it is only a matter of time.
Like Hades from the depths, he waits for the season he loves to return, he seeks it out. When most of the world is holding its breath, waiting for spring again, he waits for winter and the soft fall of snow.
I love the synthesis of Japanese and Greek folktales, and you definitely have the sort of soft style necessary to write convincing Giripan. I'm rather upset, of course, but this is wonderful.
Author!anon, this was gorgeous. I was actually kind of hoping that this would be filled with Greece/Japan, and I love the way you added your own twists to the tale to make it more fitting to their characters. I also like how you opted to make the ending ambigiuous/bittersweet - it's not unequivocally happy (which, now that I think of it, wouldn't really fit the tone of a tale like this), but it still has a note of hope to it (or at least I think there's some hope there) that kept me from feeling like my heart was ripped out.
Lovely, lovely fill. Thank you so much for filling my prompt so quickly, and with such a beautiful fic too!
You really should deanon your fills on the Hetalia/Giripan LJ comms, you know. I've been lurking and reading all your fics on your LJ, and they're too good to not be posted where more people can discover them!
Hurrah! I'm glad you like and such. And really, it'd have been there earlier if I hadn't have had to completely rewrite the damn thing. /grumblegrumble.
Most all of the 'supernatural wife' tales end tragically. However, Herakles, having a background in myths, seems genere savvy and determined to find Kiku, so there's hope. I think he definitely finds Kiku eventually, and almost wrote a scene in where he did, but I thought this was a better ending, and I'd already written a 'supernatural wife' type in another fandom and I didn't want to follow the same forumla.
Herakles definitely came across as Genre Savvy, especially when he stopped short of breaking his promise to Kiku. I agree with you that leaving the ending at that point makes it better and fits the spirit/tone of the story more; nonetheless, getting confirmation that they do have a happy ending of sorts makes the shipper in me do a dance of joy.
Do eeeet. 8D There is not enough Giripan in the world and I'm sure that the folks over at giripan will be delighted to have a whole bunch of fanfics to read through! Besides, I seriously doubt you'll have to worry about a lot of readers not finding them good enough or anything like that.
Please tell me that Kiku did not melt into nothingness but will reform in winter and Heracles is simply waiting for him to do so, and that they'll be able to see each other at least half of the year a la Hades and Persephone. Otherwise I'll have to join you in on the cuddling of kittens and eating of ice cream. ;_;
Either way, this was a hauntingly beautiful piece. Your imagery is wonderful, and I could understand why Heracles would become so fixated on Kiku all too well.
I think he'll find Kiku eventually and be able to be with him some of the time. I almost wrote in that scene, but I felt it kept the poignancy better if the meeting was imagined.
Herakles is a clever guy and he already knows not to look back when winning his love from death. So yeah. :)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oyuki 3
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 05:33 am (UTC)(link)He straddles Herakles and touches his face, nuzzles tight against him. Frost laces up his skin, mist echos in his breath.
He's beautiful like bare trees and cold winds, like frost on windows. He's beautiful in a stark way that makes Herakles feel like he could be devoured, and if it is, if he is to be swallowed up and left to ice, then so be it.
At least he will have died happy.
*
"Do you have anything to return to?" Herakles asks on the sixteenth day of their trip.
"No....I have nothing," Kiku replies.
So he stays in Herakles arms. The trip becomes irregular. Herakles has only the cats, and he left enough to take care of them. He is not without resources, and something in his mind knew he might not come back.
*
In the hotel room he's ordered, Kiku strips down from his armor of clothes. Between the sheets they lay together, sleepy, sated and still awake.
"Tell me about your world," Kiku says.
And he tells about minuscule things, ordinary things. Kiku is fascinated. He's so naive in ways, so reserved. He's innocent and jaded, a compound of paradoxes woven together.
The overpowering sadness seems to ease when he's near Herakles. He feels drawn to Kiku, as if his wanderlust has been sated. As if all the other lovers are just faint memories before this, final one.
It's crazy, he's known him only a short span of time. But isn't it just as crazy to find a facsimile of the boy of his fever dreams? An ethereal boy with so many mysteries that they are the very fiber of them, that unraveling them means unraveling Kiku himself.
He's enthralled in the deepest sense. As if there was a line between them, pulling them together.
When Kiku looks him in the eyes, he feels like he can never refuse him, never leave him. He kisses the back of his palms and tastes rime.
*
oyuki 4
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 06:23 am (UTC)(link)They see lot of the world when they can pull themselves from the motel rooms, when they can untangle from each other long enough to step into the dark. Herakles turns them nocturnal, for the weather is cooler then, and he does not have to armor himself against the sun. They walk by streetlights, starlight, down the Reine and the Thames. They visit the Louvre barely before closing, when the morning workers are yawning and checking their watches and the night watchmen are coming to duty. They see the Eiffel tower lit up, sparkling proud, rising above the horizon.
Time becomes meaningless to them. A year, an hour, what is the difference, really? Neither has marked it, so much that it seems every watch stopped the day that they met. Kiku always seems to have just enough money to cover their trips. They rarely spend to excess are they are so drunk on each other.
How long is this time? This blissful, captured moment? Two seasons of the year, and no longer.
*
Kiku becomes brittle in heat, as if he might break. His cheeks flush until there is actual color in them, and he grows disoriented. Sweat floods off of him, Herakles is reminded of melting ice, of the perspiration that comes from cold drinks on glasses. Again, it is not sticky, nor does it contain any odor.
It's as if Kiku is fading away right in front of his eyes.
*
He broaches the question one day when they're hiding out in the air. Kiku sallow and skeletal lying on the bed. Herakles can't help himself anymore.
"Have we met before?" Herakles asks.
Kiku stiffens. "I told you never to tell anyone..."
"Tell anyone what?" Herakles lies.
He is not without wiles. He was raised on Odysseus and the tales of ancient Greek gods. He stares back at Kiku, pointed, acknowledging the lie and the not-question between them. The dark expression on Kiku's face fades like storm clouds dissipating.
"No....you have not met Kiku before," he says. He says it pointedly, accenting the Kiku. Herakles knows that it is a razor-thin line that he treads there. He does not ask for more.
"We could move somewhere colder," Herakles says.
"No...my power would grown too strong then and I would kill you," Kiku says. "This keeps me in check."
They skirt around the knowledge of what he is. They do not speak aloud the words. It's always there. He climbs on the covers and kisses Kiku's neck, and doesn't ask anything more than simply another moment, another day, more time.
That's all, just that is what he desires.
*
One day when the heat is unbearable, when summer has taken in its reign, Kiku looks so pale as to be translucent.
"Kiku?" Herakles says, his voice growing desperate
Like Kiku once found him, on the edge of death, he now finds Kiku on the verge of fading away. He remembers what Kiku once told him, long ago when they were tangled together.
"Snow never dies. It merely transforms. It's the same sky, the same water. It always returns."
He brushes Kiku's cheek, his other arm tight around him. His hand goes through to nothingness. Kiku turns into mist, in his arms and rises up until there is nothing left. Moisture stays against his arms where he'd held him, like the remains of a kiss, and drying tears.
He turns over and sleeps a long time, but when he awakes, Kiku is not there.
It is not a dream, no matter how much he wishes it to be.
*
oyuki 5
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 06:29 am (UTC)(link)He travels the world. He seeks out every cold place, every dark cave and cold mountain where frost and snow. He sleeps with other people who he barely remembers the names of because he is human with human needs and human fallacies. Their touches in the dark are too hot, he feels sweaty and barely sated at the end.
Kiku understands, he thinks.
He notices the cracks of the world he has always missed: the flitting of gossamer wings, the cat-like slivers of golden eyes of races that most call myths. He meets others like Kiku Snow-women with the same sort of beauty, yet instead of sadness, there's the fierceness of a howling winter wind in their eyes. They keep their distance from him. He touches the mark and wonders if he has been branded by Kiku, marked with ownership. He feels the cold brand of his fingers under his skin, on his heart. Already he is haunted to never love anyone else.
Penelope waited twenty years for Odysseus' return`, weaving a`her loom with only her wiles to keep her. Orpheus traveled the ends of the earth,and he, he will keep looking. When he closes his eyes he can see it now: Kiku, pale and wearing a crown of flurries, his ever present sadness lifting, the weight gone.
The season will turn back now, it is only a matter of time.
Like Hades from the depths, he waits for the season he loves to return, he seeks it out. When most of the world is holding its breath, waiting for spring again, he waits for winter and the soft fall of snow.
Re: oyuki 5
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 08:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: oyuki 5
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 12:52 pm (UTC)(link)Re: oyuki 5
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 04:38 pm (UTC)(link)I love the synthesis of Japanese and Greek folktales, and you definitely have the sort of soft style necessary to write convincing Giripan. I'm rather upset, of course, but this is wonderful.
Re: oyuki 5
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 04:48 pm (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2010-08-22 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)Lovely, lovely fill. Thank you so much for filling my prompt so quickly, and with such a beautiful fic too!
You really should deanon your fills on the Hetalia/Giripan LJ comms, you know. I've been lurking and reading all your fics on your LJ, and they're too good to not be posted where more people can discover them!author
(Anonymous) 2010-08-23 07:20 am (UTC)(link)Most all of the 'supernatural wife' tales end tragically. However, Herakles, having a background in myths, seems genere savvy and determined to find Kiku, so there's hope. I think he definitely finds Kiku eventually, and almost wrote a scene in where he did, but I thought this was a better ending, and I'd already written a 'supernatural wife' type in another fandom and I didn't want to follow the same forumla.
OP
(Anonymous) 2010-08-24 02:20 am (UTC)(link)Do eeeet. 8D There is not enough Giripan in the world and I'm sure that the folks over at
Re: oyuki 5
(Anonymous) 2010-08-23 03:03 am (UTC)(link)Either way, this was a hauntingly beautiful piece. Your imagery is wonderful, and I could understand why Heracles would become so fixated on Kiku all too well.
author
(Anonymous) 2010-08-23 07:02 am (UTC)(link)Herakles is a clever guy and he already knows not to look back when winning his love from death. So yeah. :)