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whiskeycoffeeTitle: On My Heart In Flame
Author: m.jules
Disclaimer: I'm going to hell.
Pairing: Bible - Old Testament; Jonathan/David
Author's Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roga in Yuletide '08. Thanks for the request; it's turned out to be one of my favorites. (Also, keep an eye out; I might be getting anonymous_bosh to illustrate this.)
For He wrote your name on my heart in flame -
It's a wound I'll not erase.
- Kemper Crabb
The wind made a rustling sound through the high grass. The heavy heads of grain bent each stalk in a bow-and-scrape dance, and long leaves of gold richer than any coin Jonathan knew fluttered against a harvest sky the color of the stones in his father's crown, the color of David's eyes. He watched the grasses shudder in the wind and thought his heart must look the same.
Cold nips of air kissed his skin as evening approached, but he barely felt the chill. The sun was still shining on him, and David's ruddy head was braced against his thighs. A stalk of grain occupied the young man's hands and occasionally his tongue. Jonathan's tongue was already raw from eating too many handfuls of husked barley here in a forgotten field. It had been left to fallow years ago, and a few stands of grain were the only reminders of the fertile farm land it had once been. Once the soil had been allowed to rest, it would be plowed and planted again, but for now it was the place Jonathan and David came to be forgotten by the world.
Jonathan lay on his side, left arm stretched out to pillow his head, legs bent at an angle so David could recline against them and still face him. They had been lying here for hours, pretending they weren't the prince and next anointed king of Israel, pretending they were only men. They didn't get these times often, and Jonathan treasured every one of them.
David's bare calf was close to his face, and Jonathan had been counting the scars on the flesh for a while when he heard David call his name. He tilted his head enough that he could look up at his friend, feeling the bent stalks of the grass scratch against his thick, dark beard. David's face was tanned from sun, sparks of yellow making his auburn beard look like raw gold, and there were a few shallow lines beginning to form at the corner of his eyes. Too much squinting against the sun, Jonathan thought. Too much laughing.
Never too much laughing. Never enough.
"Are you memorizing me?" David asked, his voice a raspy murmur that Jonathan could barely hear over the breeze.
"Like a song," Jonathan answered, letting his sword hand drift over to caress the scarred leg by his face, feeling the soft bristles of hair against his palm. "Like a psalm to YHVH."
David grinned then, teeth startlingly white, like a winter moon. "Do you know every hair on my head?" he asked, still in that same roughwind voice, and Jonathan felt himself shiver like a stalk of grass. "Have you numbered them yet?"
"Not yet," Jonathan admitted, stretching enough that he pressed his lips to David's calf in the place his fingers had been touching. "But I will."
Silence crept around them again, but Jonathan left his hand on David's leg, left his face close enough that his breath stirred the hairs. It was long moments before he spoke again. "What if I were a woman, like my sister?" He grinned, making it a joke between soldiers, a reason to put another laugh-line by David's eyes.
David made a rude noise between his teeth. "What has that to do with anything?"
"Nothing." He shrugged. "It was a joke." But only half-true, that. Jonathan knew - Michal knew - everyone knew that David's marriage was political. Jonathan felt more a woman for being jealous than he did for the continuous swell of longing that burbled happily at David's presence, like spring water when a fire is lit beneath it.
David seemed to let the comment pass, but long minutes later, he said, "Your sister is not why I call the king father."
There was no laughter in David's voice. Eyes like the night sky held his own with all seriousness and for once the usual arrogance, the usual teasing glint was gone. Jonathan saw only honesty. He hoped he saw truth.
"Jonathan, my brother," David said when Jonathan didn't speak. "I see the Light of YHVH in your face. I hear the many waters of His voice in your laughter. In your hands I feel His strength and in your arms, His consuming fire. You are a gift to me; you are His grace."
A gust of wind blew Jonathan's hair into his eyes, and through the shadows of the dark strands he saw David lean up, felt the warmth of David's body draw away from his thighs, felt the shift in the leg under his hand. He pushed up on his hand, on his elbow, and met the kiss, feeling the edge of teeth through warm lips, feeling the prickle of beards together. Mouths opened and tongues met, hands dusted with chaff slid over rough skin. They felt out the comfort of old scars, stuttered over the pride and half-fear of new.
Jonathan pulled back from a kiss, caught David's head between his calloused hands and watched the way the strands of red shifted over his fingers. He wondered what David would look like when he was an old man, the weight of the crown heavy on his head after many years. He wondered if it was treason to think such things.
"I hope," he said, feeling the heat of flames lick through his belly and down his thighs, upward into his chest, surrounding his heart, "that I am there to see the smoke overtake the fire in this hair of yours."
David shook his head, resisting Jonathan's grasp on him. "No," he said. "I hope you only ever know me as fire and glory. I hope you never see me when I am cold and ash."
"I would love you if you were reduced to cinders," Jonathan swore. "Only do not forget me." His sword hand left David's head, came down to clasp the inside of David's arm, a soldier's vow. David returned the embrace, his fingers tightening until they left marks.
"My home is yours," David said hoarsely. "Yours and your children's, as long as I live." David released his arm and pulled him closer, arms around shoulders. He smelled like sweat and leather and wind, and faintly of the incense from the temple. Jonathan closed his eyes and breathed.
"My brother Jonathan, you have been very pleasant to me. Your love to me was more wonderful than the love of women."
- 2 Samuel 1:26
Author: m.jules
Disclaimer: I'm going to hell.
Pairing: Bible - Old Testament; Jonathan/David
Author's Notes: For
roga in Yuletide '08. Thanks for the request; it's turned out to be one of my favorites. (Also, keep an eye out; I might be getting anonymous_bosh to illustrate this.)For He wrote your name on my heart in flame -
It's a wound I'll not erase.
- Kemper Crabb
The wind made a rustling sound through the high grass. The heavy heads of grain bent each stalk in a bow-and-scrape dance, and long leaves of gold richer than any coin Jonathan knew fluttered against a harvest sky the color of the stones in his father's crown, the color of David's eyes. He watched the grasses shudder in the wind and thought his heart must look the same.
Cold nips of air kissed his skin as evening approached, but he barely felt the chill. The sun was still shining on him, and David's ruddy head was braced against his thighs. A stalk of grain occupied the young man's hands and occasionally his tongue. Jonathan's tongue was already raw from eating too many handfuls of husked barley here in a forgotten field. It had been left to fallow years ago, and a few stands of grain were the only reminders of the fertile farm land it had once been. Once the soil had been allowed to rest, it would be plowed and planted again, but for now it was the place Jonathan and David came to be forgotten by the world.
Jonathan lay on his side, left arm stretched out to pillow his head, legs bent at an angle so David could recline against them and still face him. They had been lying here for hours, pretending they weren't the prince and next anointed king of Israel, pretending they were only men. They didn't get these times often, and Jonathan treasured every one of them.
David's bare calf was close to his face, and Jonathan had been counting the scars on the flesh for a while when he heard David call his name. He tilted his head enough that he could look up at his friend, feeling the bent stalks of the grass scratch against his thick, dark beard. David's face was tanned from sun, sparks of yellow making his auburn beard look like raw gold, and there were a few shallow lines beginning to form at the corner of his eyes. Too much squinting against the sun, Jonathan thought. Too much laughing.
Never too much laughing. Never enough.
"Are you memorizing me?" David asked, his voice a raspy murmur that Jonathan could barely hear over the breeze.
"Like a song," Jonathan answered, letting his sword hand drift over to caress the scarred leg by his face, feeling the soft bristles of hair against his palm. "Like a psalm to YHVH."
David grinned then, teeth startlingly white, like a winter moon. "Do you know every hair on my head?" he asked, still in that same roughwind voice, and Jonathan felt himself shiver like a stalk of grass. "Have you numbered them yet?"
"Not yet," Jonathan admitted, stretching enough that he pressed his lips to David's calf in the place his fingers had been touching. "But I will."
Silence crept around them again, but Jonathan left his hand on David's leg, left his face close enough that his breath stirred the hairs. It was long moments before he spoke again. "What if I were a woman, like my sister?" He grinned, making it a joke between soldiers, a reason to put another laugh-line by David's eyes.
David made a rude noise between his teeth. "What has that to do with anything?"
"Nothing." He shrugged. "It was a joke." But only half-true, that. Jonathan knew - Michal knew - everyone knew that David's marriage was political. Jonathan felt more a woman for being jealous than he did for the continuous swell of longing that burbled happily at David's presence, like spring water when a fire is lit beneath it.
David seemed to let the comment pass, but long minutes later, he said, "Your sister is not why I call the king father."
There was no laughter in David's voice. Eyes like the night sky held his own with all seriousness and for once the usual arrogance, the usual teasing glint was gone. Jonathan saw only honesty. He hoped he saw truth.
"Jonathan, my brother," David said when Jonathan didn't speak. "I see the Light of YHVH in your face. I hear the many waters of His voice in your laughter. In your hands I feel His strength and in your arms, His consuming fire. You are a gift to me; you are His grace."
A gust of wind blew Jonathan's hair into his eyes, and through the shadows of the dark strands he saw David lean up, felt the warmth of David's body draw away from his thighs, felt the shift in the leg under his hand. He pushed up on his hand, on his elbow, and met the kiss, feeling the edge of teeth through warm lips, feeling the prickle of beards together. Mouths opened and tongues met, hands dusted with chaff slid over rough skin. They felt out the comfort of old scars, stuttered over the pride and half-fear of new.
Jonathan pulled back from a kiss, caught David's head between his calloused hands and watched the way the strands of red shifted over his fingers. He wondered what David would look like when he was an old man, the weight of the crown heavy on his head after many years. He wondered if it was treason to think such things.
"I hope," he said, feeling the heat of flames lick through his belly and down his thighs, upward into his chest, surrounding his heart, "that I am there to see the smoke overtake the fire in this hair of yours."
David shook his head, resisting Jonathan's grasp on him. "No," he said. "I hope you only ever know me as fire and glory. I hope you never see me when I am cold and ash."
"I would love you if you were reduced to cinders," Jonathan swore. "Only do not forget me." His sword hand left David's head, came down to clasp the inside of David's arm, a soldier's vow. David returned the embrace, his fingers tightening until they left marks.
"My home is yours," David said hoarsely. "Yours and your children's, as long as I live." David released his arm and pulled him closer, arms around shoulders. He smelled like sweat and leather and wind, and faintly of the incense from the temple. Jonathan closed his eyes and breathed.
"My brother Jonathan, you have been very pleasant to me. Your love to me was more wonderful than the love of women."
- 2 Samuel 1:26
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