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escritoireazulTitle: Lay Me Gently (In the Cold Dark Earth)
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Dancers
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction for the "Work Song" by Hozier music video. Names of the dancers taken from the IMVD entry, but this is not intended to be RPF.
Written for: Sout as an extra treat for Trick or Treat 2016
Word Count: 900
Rating: All ages
Read on AO3
Summary: There is a town, and far outside its limits, a church, and when the moon rises, in the distance they come.
My babe would never fret none
About what my hands and my body done
If the Lord don't forgive me
I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me
The moon rises, full and golden in the dark sky, and in the distance, the wind carries the first faint notes. Bare tree branches clatter together like bones gathered, scattered, and read. It starts like that in their blood, quiet, secret. Fingers tap half-remembered rhythms. Throats are tight and dry. Their thirst grows.
There is a small town in the middle of nowhere, hours from the nearest city. Quiet houses fill with quiet people. Each may come and each may go, but the families, they remain. Grass is sparse in their yards, and tiny clods of dirt tremble with each passing step. An unnatural heat settles over it, steam rising from the streets; sweat gathers on a brow, the small of a back, the dip of a collar bone.
Far outside town limits, down a path so old the gravel has scattered and grass grows between the wheel ruts, there is a church, high ceilings, big archways, tall pillars, and wide glass windows to let in the light. Scattered candles wait for the lick of fire to bring them to life.
Night falls, the moon rises, and in the distance, they come.
*
“Jilly.”
The first thing Reshma sees is orange-red hair cropped short, spiky flames licking along her scalp. Jilly turns to her with a wide grin and bright eyes. They kiss three times in greeting, lips to cheeks, mouth to mouth, then stand, breath mingling. Already Jilly’s faded pink cotton dress clings to her, the fabric worn thin and soft. She’s bare beneath it, her nipples hard.
Reshma ghosts a hand down Jilly’s arm, drags her fingers across her breast, lingers over the small snaps holding the front of her dress closed. Jilly sighs out a breath, steam and need, and her teeth are sharp when she touches them to Reshma’s jaw.
“It’s been too long,” Jilly says against Reshma’s skin.
“Every time,” Reshma agrees. They stand together, bodies touching, fingers entwined, and their breathing aligns. The others come, kisses and smiles, bare skin and worn clothes, until their heat fills the church.
Reshma leads them in lighting the candles. She goes to the first, cups her hands around it, leans forward and breathes out steam and flame, until it flickers to life. One by one, the candles burn, and in them, the spell begins, magic pulsing from one to another, a sacred circle of heat and need.
Jilly’s fingers are soft and cool as she strokes them up the sides of Reshma’s throat, until her hands tangle in Reshma’s hair. She pulls the elastic free, sends Reshma’s hair tumbling down. They kiss, mouths soft, bodies tight, and when they separate, their steps are precise, rhythmic. Slow at first, then hands pick up the beat.
The magic rises, their voices beneath it, and in the distance, the earth stirs.
*
The men come one at a time, slipping through the church doors until they stand in the flickering candlelight. Reshma presses her mouth, open and warm, to the curve of Jilly’s throat, feels her heart pound, then steps away, finds her place. The men are desperately, powerfully alive, and they call to her.
She stands. Jilly stands. They all stand, breathe in, breathe out. The spell takes them in hand, until their chests ache, throats tight, and power fills their skin.
*
Reshma reaches for the ceiling, for the sky beyond, and power surges down her fingers, along her arms, sinking into her veins and riding the quick rush of her pulse. He touches her, his hands gentle, his arms strong, and when he lifts her again, she could be flying.
The men dance, and Reshma with them, and her sisters too. She can feel them, each step, each arched back, each touch alighting her nerves.
They dance, and the men dance with them, fresh blood and life and power.
*
The men blink themselves awake when the spell releases them, stumble out into the cold, weak dawn. For a year and a day, they are bound to the church, each breath, each beat of their heart giving it life. They carry a blessing with them, and luck, and their bodies sing with it.
*
Reshma’s body rolls as the spell rides through her, all the magic, all the power crackling through fire and blood. Jilly’s mouth is on her, tongue and teeth, bare skin to bare skin. Reshma cries out, and her voice joins the others, all of them into pleasure, a song, the cry of renewal.
Her heart pounds, and flames lick at her fingers. Reshma breathes out steam and magic, and rides it to the end.
*
They dance together, after, for pleasure, until their feet hurt and sweat slicks their skin. Reshma reaches for her sisters, sweet and strong and there, hearts beating in time, until the end of the world, and on, magic without end.
*
There is a town, and far outside its limits, a church. Electricity crackles, and magic -- sweat and blood in the walls, fire in the glass, and candles wait in the darkness for the lick of magic to bring them to life.
In the silence, there is the echo of a rhythm, the faintest beat of a heart.
If you stand in the center long enough, breathe in and breathe out, desperate with need, the moon will rise, and in the distance, they will come.
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Dancers
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction for the "Work Song" by Hozier music video. Names of the dancers taken from the IMVD entry, but this is not intended to be RPF.
Written for: Sout as an extra treat for Trick or Treat 2016
Word Count: 900
Rating: All ages
Read on AO3
Summary: There is a town, and far outside its limits, a church, and when the moon rises, in the distance they come.
My babe would never fret none
About what my hands and my body done
If the Lord don't forgive me
I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me
The moon rises, full and golden in the dark sky, and in the distance, the wind carries the first faint notes. Bare tree branches clatter together like bones gathered, scattered, and read. It starts like that in their blood, quiet, secret. Fingers tap half-remembered rhythms. Throats are tight and dry. Their thirst grows.
There is a small town in the middle of nowhere, hours from the nearest city. Quiet houses fill with quiet people. Each may come and each may go, but the families, they remain. Grass is sparse in their yards, and tiny clods of dirt tremble with each passing step. An unnatural heat settles over it, steam rising from the streets; sweat gathers on a brow, the small of a back, the dip of a collar bone.
Far outside town limits, down a path so old the gravel has scattered and grass grows between the wheel ruts, there is a church, high ceilings, big archways, tall pillars, and wide glass windows to let in the light. Scattered candles wait for the lick of fire to bring them to life.
Night falls, the moon rises, and in the distance, they come.
*
“Jilly.”
The first thing Reshma sees is orange-red hair cropped short, spiky flames licking along her scalp. Jilly turns to her with a wide grin and bright eyes. They kiss three times in greeting, lips to cheeks, mouth to mouth, then stand, breath mingling. Already Jilly’s faded pink cotton dress clings to her, the fabric worn thin and soft. She’s bare beneath it, her nipples hard.
Reshma ghosts a hand down Jilly’s arm, drags her fingers across her breast, lingers over the small snaps holding the front of her dress closed. Jilly sighs out a breath, steam and need, and her teeth are sharp when she touches them to Reshma’s jaw.
“It’s been too long,” Jilly says against Reshma’s skin.
“Every time,” Reshma agrees. They stand together, bodies touching, fingers entwined, and their breathing aligns. The others come, kisses and smiles, bare skin and worn clothes, until their heat fills the church.
Reshma leads them in lighting the candles. She goes to the first, cups her hands around it, leans forward and breathes out steam and flame, until it flickers to life. One by one, the candles burn, and in them, the spell begins, magic pulsing from one to another, a sacred circle of heat and need.
Jilly’s fingers are soft and cool as she strokes them up the sides of Reshma’s throat, until her hands tangle in Reshma’s hair. She pulls the elastic free, sends Reshma’s hair tumbling down. They kiss, mouths soft, bodies tight, and when they separate, their steps are precise, rhythmic. Slow at first, then hands pick up the beat.
The magic rises, their voices beneath it, and in the distance, the earth stirs.
*
The men come one at a time, slipping through the church doors until they stand in the flickering candlelight. Reshma presses her mouth, open and warm, to the curve of Jilly’s throat, feels her heart pound, then steps away, finds her place. The men are desperately, powerfully alive, and they call to her.
She stands. Jilly stands. They all stand, breathe in, breathe out. The spell takes them in hand, until their chests ache, throats tight, and power fills their skin.
*
Reshma reaches for the ceiling, for the sky beyond, and power surges down her fingers, along her arms, sinking into her veins and riding the quick rush of her pulse. He touches her, his hands gentle, his arms strong, and when he lifts her again, she could be flying.
The men dance, and Reshma with them, and her sisters too. She can feel them, each step, each arched back, each touch alighting her nerves.
They dance, and the men dance with them, fresh blood and life and power.
*
The men blink themselves awake when the spell releases them, stumble out into the cold, weak dawn. For a year and a day, they are bound to the church, each breath, each beat of their heart giving it life. They carry a blessing with them, and luck, and their bodies sing with it.
*
Reshma’s body rolls as the spell rides through her, all the magic, all the power crackling through fire and blood. Jilly’s mouth is on her, tongue and teeth, bare skin to bare skin. Reshma cries out, and her voice joins the others, all of them into pleasure, a song, the cry of renewal.
Her heart pounds, and flames lick at her fingers. Reshma breathes out steam and magic, and rides it to the end.
*
They dance together, after, for pleasure, until their feet hurt and sweat slicks their skin. Reshma reaches for her sisters, sweet and strong and there, hearts beating in time, until the end of the world, and on, magic without end.
*
There is a town, and far outside its limits, a church. Electricity crackles, and magic -- sweat and blood in the walls, fire in the glass, and candles wait in the darkness for the lick of magic to bring them to life.
In the silence, there is the echo of a rhythm, the faintest beat of a heart.
If you stand in the center long enough, breathe in and breathe out, desperate with need, the moon will rise, and in the distance, they will come.
