Four pages of complete randomness
May. 19th, 2006 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrWritten on the fly. No idea why it suddenly hit me. Pardon errors. I think I caught most of them, but there are alwaya few that slip past me.
Only five men knew her real name. Two of them were dead. One from natural causes, one from a shot to the back of the head. No one else needed to know, and very few others even cared.
Once upon a time they would have called her a courtesan. These days the bywords were prostitute, lover, mistress if the man was old enough to attempt being semi-romantic about it. Not that she’d danced in the sheets for years. The last time she’d been paid for that service had been ten years ago. Now she owned the women and men, sold them by the hour at high price to the cream of society. Her age was as unknown as her real name.
She had class, sense, more smarts than any man wanted a woman to have. She also had the looks. They’d started calling her Aphrodite her very first night on her back. The name had stuck, never left, and faster than anyone could have guessed she became her namesake. A goddess of all the things people wouldn’t admit to wanting or needing except when the door was closed and the lights went out.
No one, they said, could possibly be more beautiful than a woman for whom the word courtesan had been made. Sunshine hair and eyes like dark, melting chocolate, skin that begged to be caressed, a mouth that pleaded to be kissed, a body that screamed to be possessed. She was truly Aphrodite.
That she had a son went unknown until the boy was five. The father’s identity was never known, sending her clients into a jealous frenzy. So many of them had offered her their kingdoms, and every last one had been refused. Aphrodite made love with whoever struck her fancy but she never loved anyone. That she had born some man a child meant much. But all the investigating and bribes and threats in the world did not reveal the man who had won the heart of Aphrodite.
By the time the boy was six all could see that as impossible as it seemed, there was indeed someone who could surpass the Goddess herself. He had his mother’s hair and eyes, but the lines of his body and the wicked tilt of his smile had to come from the unknown father. All thought that, like her namesake, the Goddess would become insanely jealous that someone might surpass her in beauty and splendor. But Aphrodite loved her son, lavished him with care and paid utmost attention to his upbringing.
He grew more beautiful every day, and by the time he was twelve men and women alike were making offers. Aphrodite coldly refused every last one, protecting her son until he was old enough – though by no means keeping him ignorant. By the time he was sixteen, the son of Aphrodite knew more than any other boy his age. He knew how to smile, how to move, how to tempt. By the time he was eighteen he was dangerous.
When he finally turned twenty-one, he was fatal.
There were plenty who might have hurt Aphrodite over the years. Any number who could have, in theory, taken her power from her. A powerful woman could only go so far in a world still largely controlled by men.
Except that one of the men who knew her real name was a man with power. Old power. There was weight to his authority, to challenge it was unthinkable. Those who thought to challenge Aphrodite had only to recall the man who gave her protection, the rage that would blaze in eyes the blue of a tropical sea.
In exchange for that protection, Aphrodite had always accommodated the man. When her son was old enough, she turned him over to her protector for training she could not give him. When he turned twenty-one, the son of Aphrodite was fatal in more ways than one.
Any other protector would have rented him out, sold his myriad services to those that could afford them. But the son of Aphrodite was kept exclusive, his skills kept for those that had trained him. Willingly he gave his skills, obediently he did as he was told. He would take any shot, make any threat. His life was one of treachery and suspicion and he lived it well. He put his training and inherent to talent to use as they’d always been intended. No better right hand man had ever been born.
But like his mother, his body was not for sale. He fucked whom he pleased when he pleased. It was all that Aphrodite had ever asked in return, and it was all her son asked in return. Anything else he would do, but he had earned the right to choose his fucks.
His loyalty, however, was not to his mother’s protector. He obeyed the man unfailingly, and never faltered once in his duties. But his true loyalty was to the man’s son, a boy he’d found crying one day. Something about the boy struck a chord, and the son of Aphrodite knew his life belonged to that boy.
The son of Aphrodite would, throughout his life, love only five people. His mother was the first, his father the second. The sad boy with tropical-blue eyes was the third. In him the son of Aphrodite saw someone he wanted to protect, to look after, to keep safe as much as possible from the dangerous world in which they lived.
Aphrodite died when her son was twenty-three, mere days after his father was killed. Though they’d never been able to live their lives together, his parents had indeed loved each other more than life itself. Enough that they would not live without the other.
The son of Aphrodite was never quite the same after he lost two of his loved ones. His eyes lost a bit of their shine, most of the softness that had still been in them. But he was nothing if not well-trained in the harsher aspects of life. He pressed on, and focused his attention on the two other people he loved.
He protected the boy as he grew, trained him in ways that no teacher ever could, spared him the abuse of harder teachers. When the boy was old enough, the son of Aphrodite taught him the things for which the Goddess had been famous, those things which had made her son so fatal. He was the only one to ever touch the man so for several years, the only one those tropical eyes trusted enough to be that close.
The fourth person to be loved by the son of Aphrodite was the first and last person he would ever call friend.
Like the son of Aphrodite, he had been trained from a young age to be a masterpiece. He could fight and protect, spy and steal, cozen and bribe. He was a perfectly-crafted tool.
Unlike the son of Aphrodite, his bargain with their employer was not a peaceful arrangement. He was bound by a contract that spanned generations. Bound because of a promise broken, a bitter betrayal of decades ago, to be repaid in body and blood until his employer, his owner, declared the debt repaid.
Body honed to protect, his services rented for $10,000 a day, bare minimum. He was carved from ice and as hard as stone. By the time he was eighteen he was better at his job than men twice his age.
The only one who understood was the son of Aphrodite. They’d met at a party, one snooping, one protecting. Eyes as hot and dark as melting chocolate met eyes as cold and sharp as a winter sky, and saw in each other what they’d never thought to find – a kindred spirit. Further bound by their loyalty to eyes the blue of a tropical sea they never looked further for friendship.
When their sad little boy became a strong man and moved to fill his father’s shoes, the son of Aphrodite and the man made of ice stood at his right and left. Where the first one didn’t burn, the second one froze. No protection was better than theirs, no anger more feared.
On those nights when their hard life became too much to bear, they hid themselves away to sooth and comfort, warm and cool where the other burned too hot or shivered with unbearable cold.
They were equals, comrades in arms, friends in a world where the most you could expect was not to be backstabbed immediately. Companionship offered freely, without strings, for comfort. They were not in love but they loved each other dearly. In a world of mistrust, they trusted each other.
The fifth and last person to be loved by the son of Aphrodite was the only one who never was swayed by the man who all said was made for fucking. It was not the body or the skill that drew him to the son of Aphrodite. What it was, only the two of them knew.
He was a bodyguard for the man with tropical eyes. Tall and skinny, his skill with a gun matched even that of the man made of ice. Like the son of Aphrodite and the frozen man, he would gladly give up his life for the man he protected. It was the one thing upon which he and the son of Aphrodite agreed.
In those ten years he never once touched the son of Aphrodite. Duty came first in their world, and their duty was to protect their boss. To shift his loyalties to the son of Aphrodite would be fatal.
Among the other things she had taught her son, Aphrodite taught him the cost of falling in love in their world. There were no fairytale endings, no movie-like secret affairs. If you wanted to love, she had told him, you had to do it from afar. Someday, if you were lucky, you could love up close. But the price for that was almost always too high.
Like all her other lessons, the son of Aphrodite took it to heart. He taunted and teased, harassed and tormented, but did not take what he wanted. The price would be a life, or even several lives, and that was not a price he would pay. It was, as his mother had said, a price too high. Their world had enough death in it; he would not cause more if it was within his power to avoid it.
So he loved from afar, and endured it when the bodyguard claimed to hate him, because the reality was in their eyes when everyone else looked away.
Only five people had ever known Aphrodite’s real name.
Everyone knew her son’s name. Most shouted it in frustration or sighed it in exasperation. Many cried it as they climaxed in his arms. A precious few said it with genuine affection.
But only one ever knew that he wasn’t named for his father, as Aphrodite had always led people to believe. Only the bodyguard he couldn’t have ever knew that the son of Aphrodite was named for a mouse.
The Son of Aphrodite
Only five men knew her real name. Two of them were dead. One from natural causes, one from a shot to the back of the head. No one else needed to know, and very few others even cared.
Once upon a time they would have called her a courtesan. These days the bywords were prostitute, lover, mistress if the man was old enough to attempt being semi-romantic about it. Not that she’d danced in the sheets for years. The last time she’d been paid for that service had been ten years ago. Now she owned the women and men, sold them by the hour at high price to the cream of society. Her age was as unknown as her real name.
She had class, sense, more smarts than any man wanted a woman to have. She also had the looks. They’d started calling her Aphrodite her very first night on her back. The name had stuck, never left, and faster than anyone could have guessed she became her namesake. A goddess of all the things people wouldn’t admit to wanting or needing except when the door was closed and the lights went out.
No one, they said, could possibly be more beautiful than a woman for whom the word courtesan had been made. Sunshine hair and eyes like dark, melting chocolate, skin that begged to be caressed, a mouth that pleaded to be kissed, a body that screamed to be possessed. She was truly Aphrodite.
That she had a son went unknown until the boy was five. The father’s identity was never known, sending her clients into a jealous frenzy. So many of them had offered her their kingdoms, and every last one had been refused. Aphrodite made love with whoever struck her fancy but she never loved anyone. That she had born some man a child meant much. But all the investigating and bribes and threats in the world did not reveal the man who had won the heart of Aphrodite.
By the time the boy was six all could see that as impossible as it seemed, there was indeed someone who could surpass the Goddess herself. He had his mother’s hair and eyes, but the lines of his body and the wicked tilt of his smile had to come from the unknown father. All thought that, like her namesake, the Goddess would become insanely jealous that someone might surpass her in beauty and splendor. But Aphrodite loved her son, lavished him with care and paid utmost attention to his upbringing.
He grew more beautiful every day, and by the time he was twelve men and women alike were making offers. Aphrodite coldly refused every last one, protecting her son until he was old enough – though by no means keeping him ignorant. By the time he was sixteen, the son of Aphrodite knew more than any other boy his age. He knew how to smile, how to move, how to tempt. By the time he was eighteen he was dangerous.
When he finally turned twenty-one, he was fatal.
*~*~*
There were plenty who might have hurt Aphrodite over the years. Any number who could have, in theory, taken her power from her. A powerful woman could only go so far in a world still largely controlled by men.
Except that one of the men who knew her real name was a man with power. Old power. There was weight to his authority, to challenge it was unthinkable. Those who thought to challenge Aphrodite had only to recall the man who gave her protection, the rage that would blaze in eyes the blue of a tropical sea.
In exchange for that protection, Aphrodite had always accommodated the man. When her son was old enough, she turned him over to her protector for training she could not give him. When he turned twenty-one, the son of Aphrodite was fatal in more ways than one.
Any other protector would have rented him out, sold his myriad services to those that could afford them. But the son of Aphrodite was kept exclusive, his skills kept for those that had trained him. Willingly he gave his skills, obediently he did as he was told. He would take any shot, make any threat. His life was one of treachery and suspicion and he lived it well. He put his training and inherent to talent to use as they’d always been intended. No better right hand man had ever been born.
But like his mother, his body was not for sale. He fucked whom he pleased when he pleased. It was all that Aphrodite had ever asked in return, and it was all her son asked in return. Anything else he would do, but he had earned the right to choose his fucks.
His loyalty, however, was not to his mother’s protector. He obeyed the man unfailingly, and never faltered once in his duties. But his true loyalty was to the man’s son, a boy he’d found crying one day. Something about the boy struck a chord, and the son of Aphrodite knew his life belonged to that boy.
The son of Aphrodite would, throughout his life, love only five people. His mother was the first, his father the second. The sad boy with tropical-blue eyes was the third. In him the son of Aphrodite saw someone he wanted to protect, to look after, to keep safe as much as possible from the dangerous world in which they lived.
Aphrodite died when her son was twenty-three, mere days after his father was killed. Though they’d never been able to live their lives together, his parents had indeed loved each other more than life itself. Enough that they would not live without the other.
The son of Aphrodite was never quite the same after he lost two of his loved ones. His eyes lost a bit of their shine, most of the softness that had still been in them. But he was nothing if not well-trained in the harsher aspects of life. He pressed on, and focused his attention on the two other people he loved.
He protected the boy as he grew, trained him in ways that no teacher ever could, spared him the abuse of harder teachers. When the boy was old enough, the son of Aphrodite taught him the things for which the Goddess had been famous, those things which had made her son so fatal. He was the only one to ever touch the man so for several years, the only one those tropical eyes trusted enough to be that close.
*~*~*
The fourth person to be loved by the son of Aphrodite was the first and last person he would ever call friend.
Like the son of Aphrodite, he had been trained from a young age to be a masterpiece. He could fight and protect, spy and steal, cozen and bribe. He was a perfectly-crafted tool.
Unlike the son of Aphrodite, his bargain with their employer was not a peaceful arrangement. He was bound by a contract that spanned generations. Bound because of a promise broken, a bitter betrayal of decades ago, to be repaid in body and blood until his employer, his owner, declared the debt repaid.
Body honed to protect, his services rented for $10,000 a day, bare minimum. He was carved from ice and as hard as stone. By the time he was eighteen he was better at his job than men twice his age.
The only one who understood was the son of Aphrodite. They’d met at a party, one snooping, one protecting. Eyes as hot and dark as melting chocolate met eyes as cold and sharp as a winter sky, and saw in each other what they’d never thought to find – a kindred spirit. Further bound by their loyalty to eyes the blue of a tropical sea they never looked further for friendship.
When their sad little boy became a strong man and moved to fill his father’s shoes, the son of Aphrodite and the man made of ice stood at his right and left. Where the first one didn’t burn, the second one froze. No protection was better than theirs, no anger more feared.
On those nights when their hard life became too much to bear, they hid themselves away to sooth and comfort, warm and cool where the other burned too hot or shivered with unbearable cold.
They were equals, comrades in arms, friends in a world where the most you could expect was not to be backstabbed immediately. Companionship offered freely, without strings, for comfort. They were not in love but they loved each other dearly. In a world of mistrust, they trusted each other.
*~*~*
The fifth and last person to be loved by the son of Aphrodite was the only one who never was swayed by the man who all said was made for fucking. It was not the body or the skill that drew him to the son of Aphrodite. What it was, only the two of them knew.
He was a bodyguard for the man with tropical eyes. Tall and skinny, his skill with a gun matched even that of the man made of ice. Like the son of Aphrodite and the frozen man, he would gladly give up his life for the man he protected. It was the one thing upon which he and the son of Aphrodite agreed.
In those ten years he never once touched the son of Aphrodite. Duty came first in their world, and their duty was to protect their boss. To shift his loyalties to the son of Aphrodite would be fatal.
Among the other things she had taught her son, Aphrodite taught him the cost of falling in love in their world. There were no fairytale endings, no movie-like secret affairs. If you wanted to love, she had told him, you had to do it from afar. Someday, if you were lucky, you could love up close. But the price for that was almost always too high.
Like all her other lessons, the son of Aphrodite took it to heart. He taunted and teased, harassed and tormented, but did not take what he wanted. The price would be a life, or even several lives, and that was not a price he would pay. It was, as his mother had said, a price too high. Their world had enough death in it; he would not cause more if it was within his power to avoid it.
So he loved from afar, and endured it when the bodyguard claimed to hate him, because the reality was in their eyes when everyone else looked away.
Only five people had ever known Aphrodite’s real name.
Everyone knew her son’s name. Most shouted it in frustration or sighed it in exasperation. Many cried it as they climaxed in his arms. A precious few said it with genuine affection.
But only one ever knew that he wasn’t named for his father, as Aphrodite had always led people to believe. Only the bodyguard he couldn’t have ever knew that the son of Aphrodite was named for a mouse.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 01:42 am (UTC)I don't know whether that ending makes me want to laugh or just cry really, really hard. ;___; Poor guy.
Still, I love the way you wrote that. It sounds like a fairytale, a myth and a maffia story all rolled into one. ;3 *tackle glomps* You so rock. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 01:52 am (UTC)<3 Mickey is one of my fav chars, I confess. Glad you approve, oh beloved Skylark.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 02:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 03:07 am (UTC)^_____^ I'm glad. It was fun to write. <3
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 03:09 am (UTC)^____^ Thankee.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 02:45 am (UTC)he wanted The price would be a life
Forgot a period. Nothing too big, just stumbled across it while rereading.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 03:08 am (UTC)Heh. Thankee ^_^ I'll fix it now.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 02:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 03:09 am (UTC)<3 I think I still owe someone a story about him and Cameron, as well. He's insane amounts of fun to write, so I'm glad others enjoy reading about him ^_~ Gives me a good excuse to write more.
una_maru
Date: 2006-05-20 04:40 am (UTC)Re: una_maru
Date: 2006-05-20 02:12 pm (UTC)Hehehehe.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 05:00 am (UTC)Never swayed, though? That's rather sad. I hope Trick and Ex get to love, somehow. I guess I shall have to wait and see.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 12:10 pm (UTC)^_^
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 02:11 pm (UTC)Man, it was hard X_x I kept catching myself using names, then had to figure out how to rewrite the sentences to make them less awkward. It's a fun exercise.
This kind of sort of comes before the end of Paradise. Heh. I'm a huge fan of happily ever after, so yeah - wait and see ^_~
<<<333
Thankyou
Date: 2006-05-21 12:22 am (UTC)dramamine now is sent by God.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 07:29 pm (UTC)He's such a tragic character, poor baby...
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 12:26 am (UTC)I was slower in catching on. At first, I thought it was a new story, like about Cupid =P. I checked ur icon.
The reference to fire and ice was what made me sure that the story was about Mickey.
I loved the way you ended it. Like this a story about mafia life, but the reference to the cartoon char adds a wistful innoncence to the end.
I'm also a big fan of a happy end. Hope that after those ten years....
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 05:28 am (UTC)But oh, ow, sweetie. Does he ever get a happy ending? :(
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 12:31 pm (UTC)Heh.
This is me we're talking about, of course he does.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 12:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-01 04:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-01 04:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-01 04:15 pm (UTC)Are you so bored you're trolling the archives?
no subject
Date: 2007-07-01 04:18 pm (UTC)demandquestion. It's Sam, isn't it? Also, you should totally write more jealous!Azura.no subject
Date: 2007-07-01 04:24 pm (UTC)Yes, it's Sam. There's a drabble somewhere where the two of them interact. Hmm...
http://www.amasour.com/drabbles-paradise.html#mickeysam
no subject
Date: 2007-07-01 04:30 pm (UTC)but really. I'll just settle for Trick/Ex <3