Title: Breaking of the Lily
Rating: R (But if you're a flower, NC-17!)
Summary: Hazel, Gat, and unadulterated floral symbolism. Hint: It might help if you know that, traditionally, lilies are a symbol of purity and chastity, and lime blossoms represent conjugal love. Larkspur indicates an open heart.
Warnings: Unapologetic and excessive use of metaphors, sex.
Breaking of the Lily
The sun winked overhead through a canopy of teardrop-shaped leaves, puddling on the warm bracken in small golden pools. Thousands of tiny coins of light blinked on and off atop the lake's surface, and the water was warm to the touch. The circumference of the bank had always been thick with white lilies; they produced an intoxicating perfume that seemed more potent in the shade. Beneath his feet, he could feel the sweet dry grasses of summer bending and snapping, releasing a thick spicy scent. Somewhere there were violets.
"No one has been out here in years," He assured him, noticing Gat's wary glance at the Greek façade of the plantation home in the distance. "And it hasn't been used generations."
A quiet grunt served as reply, and a rabbit darted out from underfoot as they passed the thick brush surrounding the perimeter of the pond.
"So how do you know about it?" He finally asked, watching Hazel slip out of his shoes and rest his broad-rimmed hat atop a sun-dried rock, peppered in moss.
"I used to come here when I was a child to swim. I remember the waterfall being a bit larger," He admitted with a chuckle, glancing at the heavy trickle tumbling from a smoothed granite ledge amongst dew-speckled foliage and thick moss. The lake was naturally formed, and had been on his family's land for generations, as had been Larkspur plantation. But cotton hadn't been cultivated in those fields since the end of the Civil War. The home fell out of use when Hazel's grandfather passed away; his own father, though he remembered little of him, lived in the city. This was his inheritance.
"Will you move back in?" Gat drew off his shirt, and Hazel glanced to the clear waters again, standing clothed save for his outer cloak and shoes atop the bank.
"It would require a great deal of renovation," Hazel mused, so focused on avoiding Gat's gaze that he completely missed the lingering appreciation in dark eyes when sunlight glinted off of silvery hair.
Hazel sat, head tilted up to face a sudden shaft of heat as the trees overhead made way for a breeze. Fair lashes dusted his high cheekbones, and the sudden knowledge that he was being observed flushed his face.
"It's how I learned to swim."
"I never knew you could."
"Of course I can," Hazel blinked, tossing him a quirky half-grin. "Can you?"
Gat shucked off his remaining clothing and dove into the deeper end of the pond, emerging with long hair slicked back against his shoulders and nape. Hazel watched a crystal bead slide down the centre of his strong nose, and another as it ran from the corner of his eye. He swam easily through the still water, with the skill of someone who had trained well at it. Hazel observed him as though from behind a curtain, forgetting completely that Gat was probably able to feel every visual stroke and clutch.
Wind threaded through his fine hair, parting it at the nape so that it curled at the fringe; his nails found the waxy bud of a lily, and he pressed the slick petals between his fingers in contemplation.
A splash drew his gaze upward, and the wind shifted directions, pushing the hair from his eyes and guiding the sharp, citrus scent of lime blossom into the clearing. Although he couldn't see the tiny curling petals, he knew they were in bloom.
"There is a grove not far from here."
"I can smell it." Gat agreed, flinging a dark mop of hair from his face so that it dampened a cluster of white blossoms in the distance, weighing them down. The sun quickly raised them again, drying their resilient stems.
"Have you forgotten?" Gat queried. Hazel blushed, dropping the blossom he had been toying with absentmindedly as he approached the bank.
"Of course not," He feigned an indignant expression, drawing back his vest and then, with greater hesitance, his shirt. As his hands slid to the buckles of his trousers, he could feel Gat's gaze on him, wholly innocent, perhaps a bit impatient as his dallying, but notably curious.
Hazel was intensely aware of the fragility of his appearance, the cotton-white color of his skin flushed beneath with a rosy tinge, like pink streaks through marble. The air was a shock to his thighs—he never disrobed out of doors—and dark, smiling eyes brought a blush to the surface of his face and throat. He disappeared below in an instant, creating ripples with the ease of one who possesses a natural affinity for water. He had never really had to learn to swim; it had come to him as though out of instinct. Shattering the surface, he emerged farther from the bank than he had anticipated. Closer to Gat than he had anticipated.
"So you can." Gat plucked at his hair, drawing tiny white petals from it—too small to be from the lilies. Hazel murmured a thank you, and caught the pungent scent of lime in the air again for a brief moment.
"Yes." Hazel said shakily, tilting his head up to meet Gat's gaze; he took a step back to lean against the bank and slipped on the slick stones beneath the water. Reaching for purchase, he heard the strong stalk of a lily snap beneath his palm; the petals spilled over his shoulders. Averting his gaze to brush them away, he turned back to find himself face to face with Gat, close enough to feel the warmth of his body beneath the water.
"Gat." It sounded foolish, more stuttered than spoken, and he embarrassed himself further with a quiet moan as he was taken up in a fevered embrace, mouth crushed against the other's.
"Gat." He wasn't certain if it was a request or a response, but Gat moved them both into the sunlight, pinning Hazel to the bank with cautious kisses, his hands slipping down slender sides and cupping his hips, raising him tentatively from the water.
Hazel moaned encouragement, and felt himself plucked halfway out of the lake with ease, the curve
of his back pressing into dry grass. Legs wrapping about strong hips, he slid
his slender arms around Gat's neck, fingers winding in jet hair as an eager
mouth reddened his throat with fevered kisses. He traced his own lips down the
Gat's hold loosened, and Hazel relaxed his thighs, easing himself down like a sheath about a broadsword, like a corolla about the stamen. The piercing was less painful than he might have imagined, though the tense line of his spine must have concerned his lover; he felt Gat's hands on his hips, using the water to buoy him upwards and off. Hazel clenched, hard, and the hands returned to the small of his back, supporting him as they began to move together.
The water rippled out in circles about them, lapping at the shore and stirring the lime blossoms floating on the surface in the shade. Hazel gasped softly each time the cant of Gat's hips brought his waist above the surface and rubbed his own arousal to a hardened abdomen. Each time his body rose, he pushed down a half-second too early in rubato tempo, embracing Gat intimately, and to the hilt. A groan rumbled through his strong chest and vanished within their kiss. Hazel whimpered; a noise he would have otherwise been ashamed to produce suddenly felt appropriate. A burst of heat engulfed them and then slowly deteriorated as the cool waters stilled.
They lay together in dry grass of the bank, a sleek and glistening chryselephantine tangle beneath the sun. Hazel embraced the body above him with a sigh, suddenly unable to smell the stifling perfume of the lilies. Gat kissed him; his wide onyx eyes had softened about the corners affectionately, and the hint of a smile on his lips made Hazel laugh, head falling back onto the pillow of leaves beneath him.