ADULT: Hunger (1/1)

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Hunger
By Equanimity

Archive: Sure, just let me know where you're putting it.
Rating: Um . . . R for innuendo, various Horsemen related activities,
references to slash, a reference to "alternative" sexuality, and explicit
lyrics following the story.  No actual sex is depicted.  I would rate it
PG-13 because there's nothing at all explicit except the language in the
lyrics which follow, but this is a warning for the squeamish.
Spoilers: Comes a Horseman/Revelations 6:8
Warnings: Implied non-normative sexuality.  If you're really easily
squicked, read elsewhere.
Summary: In the dark of the Horsemen's camp, someone is starving for
affection.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, they belong to
Rysher, Panzer Davis, and God (although God is terribly lax in enforcing
copyright).  Nine Inch Nails and Trent Reznor own "Hurt."
Notes: This story is a result of a lyric wheel challenge on the
Horsewomen of the Apocalypse list.  A friend who is always trying to
get me to listen to NIN gave me the lyrics and I just had to put them
in the most *interesting* context possible.
Feedback: This is one of my first pieces of fan fic, so any
constructive comments are more than welcome at [redacted].


~~~~~~~~~~~
Hunger
By Equanimity
~~~~~~~~~~~

I watch you drag another woman into your tent, your hands stained red
with the blood of the dead and your eyes filled with a hunger that all
the blood in the world could never satisfy.  You push her out of your
bed in the middle of the night, disgusted with yourself and with her.

She's not really what you want, is she?

You come to me by the fading light of the fire and I can still see the
hunger lingering in your eyes.  Slaves will never be enough for you.
You and I share a meal, and you tell me everything; you tell me about
the village, the weight of your ax between your hands, and the
ecstatic feeling of freedom which transports you as you cut them down
in broad daylight.  You tell me, too, about how the desert makes you
feel.  You say that your spirit was not meant to live amongst the
endless dust of this place.  You long for waterfalls, pine trees, and
the cool mists of early morning.  I see the hunger in your eyes and I
know that you are longing for something more.

They think I am simple, but I know how things work.  I see your
"brothers" leaving each other's tents while you stare in the face of
many long, lonely nights.

I know what you want, I know what you need, and I want to give it to you.

You smile down at me and tell me the story you tell me on every night
like this one.  As you begin, I settle into the pile of Persian
pillows you brought back from across the sands for me; I clutch the
doll you gave me to my chest.  These things are what I get to keep of
you, even when your stories are over.

Once you lived in a far away place, you tell me, and you climbed higher
than anyone had climbed before.  There you built your home, you say, and
there you were content.

You never feel content anymore, except with me.  You have been
transformed by your brothers' blood lust.  You feel everything too
quickly, and then your emotions are all used up for feelings so simple
as contentment.

You run your hand down my back, and I smile.  You're still telling the
story.  Every morning, you say, you walked down to the stream and talked
with the fish.  Then you cut maple branches to put on the fire, you
continue, and the air around you smelled warm, like sugar.

You're smiling now.  I know that you've banished the memory of the
woman's body twisted around you, her blank eyes neither fearing nor
hoping.  Your brothers taint them so.  You know you'll never find what
you need there.

I want to give it to you.

You tell me that we are kindred spirits, you and I.  That we remember
the nature of things - things that your brothers have long forgotten.

As you pat my head, your eyes lose their haunted hue, and their beauty
suddenly transforms your entire visage.  You walk back into your
section of the tent and close the flap behind you.

The cool night embraces me once again.  I shake my head and sigh.
Perhaps you also think I am simple.  You certainly have not imagined
what I feel for you.  Why do you sleep alone in a cold bed while I
burn just outside?  You love me in the same way that you love your
stories of soft grass and sharp gusts of wind.  I am the living form
of your nostalgia.  While we sit together I see your kindness, your
beauty, your passion, and you see a specter of the past.  Perhaps you
are right.

I wait and worry for you while you're gone, because I have the
strength of neither body nor character to go with you.  I look at you,
and I feel so small.

Perhaps I am simple.

Once you held your hand up to mine, and we laughed together.  Your
powerful, capable hands dwarfed my slender digits, and so it is that
your spirit and your will tower over mine as well.

What could I hope to be for you, my sweetest friend?  What would you
say if I told you that I want to be the one to feed your hunger when
you come home empty?  Would you even understand?  And should you let
me try, how could I ever be bright enough to thwart the ever
encroaching darkness your "brothers" cast?

No, I know what you need.  I know you too well.

There is a woman somewhere who doesn't have vacant eyes.  Take her
away from this thirsty, arid place.

You stir in your sleep.  I hear you mumbling in a lyrical tongue
you've never spoken to me before.  I keep you here.  You and I talk in
the nights when the hunger consumes you.  Together we keep the hunger
at bay, but in the end I am not a healer, but a torturer.  I make you
hurt day after day when you awake to the harsh light of the sun.  The
hunger returns, and you stay.  You ride off with your brothers,
searching; you come home and look into the eyes of a woman, searching;
and in the darkest hour of night you come to me, searching still.  We
find a shadow of what you're looking for, but that's enough to keep you
here, isn't it.

I know what you want.  I know what you need.  I want to give it to you.

It's time for me to give it to you.

I slip beneath the tent flap to your room.  I approach your bed and
lay a silent kiss on your cheek.  I sigh.  Your beauty is eternal
within my soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Methos stumbled out of Kronos' tent and smiled as he made his way over
to his own.  In the darkness, a sudden movement caught his attention
and he reached instinctively for his sword as he turned towards Silas'
encampment.  The monkey slipped out from under Silas' tent flap and
scurried off into the night.  Methos watched and did nothing.



The End



Hurt
by Nine Inch Nails

i hurt myself today
to see if i still feel
i focus on the pain
the only thing that's real
the needle tears a hole
the old familiar sting
try to kill it all away
but i remember everything

what have i become?
my sweetest friend
everyone i know
goes away in the end
you could have it all
my empire of dirt
i will let you down
i will make you hurt

i wear this crown of shit
upon my liar's chair
full of broken thoughts
i cannot repair
beneath the stains of time
the feelings disappear
you are someone else
i am still right here

what have i become?
my sweetest friend
everyone i know
goes away in the end
and you could have it all
my empire of dirt
i will let you down
i will make you hurt

if i could start again
a million miles away
i would keep myself
i would find a way

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