The Gift
by Erin
February 2005
Stroking his fingers along sweat-slick pale flesh, Cupid enjoyed the
feel of Strife's surprisingly soft skin pressed against him, admired
the way the torch light made Strife seem like a marble statue, polished
and glistening. Black hair, damp with sweat where it fell against white
skin, a sharp contrast, making him look even more like some life-like
sculpture. Eyes closed, he wasn't even breathing, completing the
illusion, but probably only because he knew how much Cupid liked that.
Cupid was well aware that Strife was awake beneath his touch, but he
also knew Strife wouldn't move until he was done. Strife stayed still
for no one save Cupid, allowed no one else to touch him like this,
stroke him, map out every inch of his wiry body. Cupid did it as often
as he could get away with, given their jobs and his frequent desire to
do far more than simply touch Strife. Still, he understood his own need
for this, the compulsion to do little more than touch. He had to
reassure himself that Strife was there, that this was real and he did
finally have someone who wanted him as much as he needed to be desired,
someone who could accept everything Cupid had to give. He'd once
overheard Ares and Aphrodite talking about them, comparing Strife to a
black hole and Cupid to the brightest sun in the universe; Cupid had an
endless, overwhelming amount of love to give and Strife had the unique,
limitless capacity to soak it up and not
be overwhelmed. Psyche hadn't been able to cope, but Strife took it all
and demanded more. Cupid had never felt so needed in his whole life, or
so utterly happy.
"You're mine," Strife had said once. Lying together in Cupid's bed,
Strife had lain on top of him, gripping Cupid's hair tightly to focus
his attention in the aftermath of mind-shattering sex. "Anyone looks at
you wrong, I'll bring you their eyes. They say one word against you,
you'll have their tongue. But if you ever
turn to someone else, god, mortal, I don't care, I'll make you watch
while I dismember them and their family, dig?"
Cupid had been struck speechless by the complete and total devotion of
that statement. Oh, there was madness in Strife's eyes, but Cupid had
been well aware of that before. It danced in Strife's expression,
visable for anyone who cared to see it, but it only made him more
intense, more demanding and thorough, and it made Cupid hard.
"How could I look at anyone but you?" Cupid had whispered, arms sliding
around Strife's back. "You're all I need."
And Strife was all he needed.
The one person, one being in
existance who could handle what Cupid was without being dragged under
and drowning in love and sensation. Cupid needed to give and Strife
needed to take; they were perfectly matched.
Hand sliding over Strife's hip, down between his legs, Cupid wasn't
surprised to find him soft, unaroused. It was another of Strife's
peculiarities, one of many. Cupid adored everything about him though,
even this, because it was a compliment of sorts. Strife wouldn't get
hard unless Cupid asked it of him. That had frightened Cupid at first,
thinking that Strife didn't really want him, but he'd had a lot to
learn about Strife.
"I don't like sex, except for with you," Strife had said, glancing over
at Cupid out of the corner of his eye. He'd been nervous and it had
shown in the way his fingers fiddled with the laces on his boots. "Did
it once, a decade or two ago, and I hated it. Hated it even when I had
to get myself off a couple times, before I fixed things."
"Fixed?" Cupid had felt horror-laced fear creeping up on him. He
couldn't live without sex, but nor would he force anyone into it. He'd
thought Strife to be his perfect match, but if Strife found sex to be
that disgusting....
"Up here." Strife had tapped the side of his head. "Figured out how to
turn the libido on and off. I keep it off most of the time. I like you
touching me though, feels good, so does the rest of it, I guess. So
whenever you wanna do me, I just turn it back on."
"I "
"Knock it off!" Strife had grabbed him by a wing and yanked him
forward. Nose to nose, he'd glared at Cupid. "You're mine, get it?
Every bit of you is mine and I'm not letting go, so forget about that."
"But if you don't like sex with me--"
"Oh, for fuck's sake! Did I say that? No! I said I like it when
you touch me. It's
always good with you, Cupid, understand? You're the only one it ever could
be good with for me."
Cupid hadn't believed him at first, but the two days of uninterrupted
sex that had followed had gone a long way towards convincing him.
He understood now, like he understood so many other things about
Strife. Strife would never stray from his side simply because Strife
had no desire to, literally, nor would he ever. Psyche had explained it
better once when she'd come to bring Bliss by for a visit. She said he
only had the capacity to focus on one person, one object, and to that
Strife would devote his entire being, absolute commitment and
obsession. Cupid was that focus and once he'd understood that, all
doubts and fears had vanished.
"You're so beautiful," he said with a fond sigh, reluctantly ending his
exploration with a kiss to Strife's shoulder. He really didn't want to
stop touching Strife, but they both had places to be and jobs to do.
As usual his complement was met with a shrug of wiry shoulders and a
slightly amused smirk. He knew Strife didn't think of himself as
beautiful, or attractive in any way, but it pleased him that Cupid
thought so, so there were never any arguments.
"I need to spend time with Bliss tonight," Cupid said with more than a
little reluctance. As expected, Strife went tense, his expression
turning blank. It was a delicate balance Cupid maintained, knowing
Strife hated giving up time with him for anything non-work related.
Strife didn't care for children and would never understand why Cupid
loved Bliss and wanted to spend time with him. He only seemed to
comprehend the fact that it was something Cupid needed, and he allowed
it for that reason only. But he was never happy about it.
"I'll come to you tomorrow morning, promise." Cupid planted another
kiss on Strife's shoulder, but Strife pulled away, eyes snapping open,
sitting up abruptly.
"A whole day, Cupid?" His tone was as flat as the look in his pale eyes.
"It's his birthday, Strife. Same day as mine and it's something I can
share with him." Now that Bliss was a little older, Cupid was looking
forward to celebrating the special day with his son. He just wished
Strife could be a part of it.
"This is...your birthday?" The blank expression was gone, swiftly
replaced by a frown of confusion.
"Yeah." Cupid shrugged, pushing himself up. "I was into it big time
when I was younger, parties and good times all around." He grinned a
little at the memories. "The mortals picked up on it, I guess, 'cause
they've turned it into some big romance day, which is cool. I mean,
February is kind of a dead month festival-wise, so making with the love
is good."
"I didn't know." The confusion disappeared but the frown remained as
Strife looked away.
"Hey, it's okay." Cupid reached out to stroke his hand down Strife's
arm, hoping to sooth away that troubled look.
"No, it's not. I have to give you something." Strife caught his lower
lip between his teeth, a characteristic movement for when he was deep
in thought and that bothered Cupid. He didn't want Strife stressing out
over this.
"Look, I've already got all I want right here with you. You're the best
present ever, get it?"
That got Strife's attention. His gaze snapped to Cupid's face and he
just stared for long moments. "Yeah," he finally said. "But I need you
to see."
"See what?" Cupid's eyes widened when a flash of light brought a dagger
to Strife's hand.
"What you mean to me."
Cupid wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring, too
overwhelmed to move, before Aphrodite's voice finally called him back
to the present.
"There you are! I've been running around like, this entire temple
looking for you and my hair's such
a total wreck now!" Aphrodite whined as she entered the room.
"Honestly, Cupid, I've been keeping Bliss company, waiting for you to
move your butt, and you're, like, mister invisible, and--" Her
words came to an abrupt halt the same time as she did beside him. He
didn't look at her, but he could feel her standing there, staring, just
as he was. "What in Zeus' name happened to you?" Aphrodite's
voice sounded
rather faint.
Cupid knew how he had to look, but he didn't care. His attention was
occupied by the object on the bed before him. "Strife gave it to me,"
Cupid said, unsurprised to hear how his voice wavered. "For my
birthday."
"Is...that what I think it is?" She took a step back, disgust coloring
her tone.
Cupid just smiled, knowing the expression probably looked as blown away
as he felt. "It's--it's so awesome, Mom; don't you get it? He did this
for me. It's like, the most totally
incredible thing anyone's ever given me. He loves me, Mom; he's not
leaving me." Cupid's voice fell to an awed whisper. "He gave me his
heart."
The object in question continued to beat as it rested on the pillow in
front of him. Each contraction of the muscle caused founts of blood to
spurt out, coating the bed sheets, turning them from cream to dull red,
spattering his legs and spraying a fine mist across his face and wings.
He could feel the steaming hot drops sliding between his feathers, down
his cheeks, and there was a faint taste of copper on his tongue. The
taste of Strife.
Fin