Work Text:
Cedric was beautiful in the moonlight.
He was laying on his side in a deep slumber with the blankets barely up to his waist and his hands relaxed by his cheek, his hair glowing as it was spread across Iorveth’s pillow, and his skin looked as pale as the moon. Iorveth could hear him breathing from where he sat at his desk, his work illuminated by a half-melted candle. Iorveth dipped his feather quill into his ink and began to write in neat script.
“Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;”
He glanced at Cedric when he heard movement from the bed. Cedric had turned onto his back, the blankets twisting at his hips, his arms spread, and Iorveth briefly considered joining him before another few lines came to mind.
“Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd Phoenix in her blood;”
Cedric moved again, and as his eyes opened, Iorveth put his quill down. As Cedric’s gaze met Iorveth’s a slow and mischievous smile spread across his face. He sat up, moonlight dancing across his skin as he continued to hold eye contact with Iorveth.
“Writing again?” This wasn’t the first time Cedric had woken up to Iorveth written verses on any scrap sheet of paper after an evening of love and lust. It was becoming a more often thing, something that Cedric didn’t mind, as he knew all of Iorveth’s poems, unfinished or not, were about him.
“Yes. I seem to have found myself inspired after last evening’s activities.”
“Last evening’s? The moon is not yet high, Iorveth.” Cedric responded, sounding quite amused.
Iorveth went to the bed and looked out the window above it at the moon and stars to find that Cedric was right, and it was not midnight yet. Iorveth bent over and gave his lover a soft kiss. When he drew away from him to go back to the desk, Cedric wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him into his lap.
“It is as I said, the moon’s not high yet, so you cannot leave me to work.”
“Cedric, what are you talking about?”
“You usually leave the bed just before dawn, it’s not your scheduled writing time,” Cedric teased, as he carefully undid Iorveth’s hair from the long, messy braid it had been in. Iorveth relaxed in his touch and tilted his head to look at Cedric.
“You are a pain in my ass.”
“On the contrary, you are a pain in mine. What were you writing about?”
“Isengrim Faolitiarna,” Iorveth teased.
“Oh, so you betray me to write about the Iron Wolf? How could you? I have never felt sorrow as I do now.” Cedric said, completely deadpan before both he and Iorveth burst into laughter.
As they slowly calmed down, Iorveth’s eyes scanned Cedric’s face and chest. While their time in the rebel group was relatively short so far, there were a few scars from training and small skirmishes on Cedric’s skin. Iorveth rubbed his thumb over one such scar just over the bottom of Cedric’s ribcage. How long would it be until there were more scars than either of them could count on each of their skin? Iorveth didn’t know, and he didn’t care, especially when Cedric pulled him into a gentle kiss, his hands still in Iorveth’s hair.
“You are beautiful,” Iorveth murmured, moments after they pulled away, his eyes meeting Cedric’s deep brown ones. “I would give anything for every night to be like this.”
“If you stopped leaving me to write, every night could be like this.”
Iorveth sighed and grinned at him, “If I stopped leaving you to write, who else would write you poems?”
“I’ll write my own love poems….starting with: an Ode to Cedric.”
“I cannot imagine you as a poet. A philosopher, perhaps, but a poet? I have seen your writing...it leaves much to be desired.”
“You wound me.”
“That was the intent, yes.” Iorveth pushed Cedric back onto the bed and lay his head on his chest. “If I were to get up and write, what would you do?”
“If you left right now? I would hold onto you and not let you go.”
“You’re already holding onto me, what is the difference?”
Cedric tried to think of a response, but when he couldn’t, he continued to brush through Iorveth’s hair with his fingers.
“Why did you take out my hair? It’ll be tangled in the morning.”
“I’ll help you brush it out.”
“It’s still inconvenient,” Iorveth said, but let Cedric continue to play with it.
“Maybe so, but your hair is quite lovely and I do not mind brushing through it.”
“I despise you-”
“The poetry you’ve written about me disagrees.”
“Oh fuck you…” Iorveth stood back up and walked to his desk, leaving Cedric on the bed alone. Cedric sat up so his back was against the wall and he watched Iorveth pick up his quill and begin writing again.
“Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,”
Iorveth groaned as he tried to think of what his next line was to be. He put his quill down and put his head in his hands as he tried to think of what to write next. Soft footsteps broke him out of his reverie as Cedric stood next to him and looked down at his work.
“Iorveth…” Cedric breathed as he looked at the words, “this is beautiful.”
“It is not done yet. Go back to bed.”
“Only if you come with me.”
“Then you will be waiting for quite a while. I’m trying to think of my next line.”
“I do not mind waiting, though I may fall asleep.”
“Sit on my lap then, at least you’ll be comfortable.” As Iorveth moved his chair back, Cedric sat down on his lap, making sure to lean on the left side of Iorveth’s body so he could still write. Cedric closed his eyes, and Iorveth picked up his quill and began to write again.
“To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one more heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen!
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst, old Time! Despite thy wrong
My love shall in my verse ever live young.”
By the time he was down writing, Cedric was fast asleep on his lap. Iorveth picked him up and carried him to the bed. After laying him down carefully, Iorveth finally joined Cedric under the moonlight.
__________________
“Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd Phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one more heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen!
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst, old Time! Despite thy wrong
My love shall in my verse ever live young.”