![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tekia.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Stranded
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Danseur Noble
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Summary: They’ve arrived in Egypt, but that doesn’t mean they’re safe. My story about Jacky and the god living inside him continues.
It was almost blinding how bright the days were in the desert. The sands were near bleached by the sun, the streets naught more than packed sand that glowed with the reflected rays of the sun. The buildings were built of white stones painted with the brightest of pigments. Red glistened, yellows beamed and blues glowed. Jacky wanted to see this city light up with street lights, to see this city aglow in twilight. He thought, perhaps, it would be so very beautiful.
Instead, the twilight made the painted city fade into darkness and only the sky was bright. Millions of stars crowded the sky like spilt milk. He hadn’t understood why they had called the galaxy the Milky Way until he had come to this time. He thought, if he had been born in this time, he would have loved to study the stars. Although he tried, he was hard pressed to find the few constellations that he did know amid the stars spilled over the sky.
He leaned heavily against the cool pillar that framed the doorway of their temple, gazing up at the sky framed by tall buildings and glowing with the final rays of day. Across the way, small torches had been lit to line the streets and each doorway and window. The number of people had dwindled with the fading light until it was only Jacky out in the night.
He shivered in the chill of the night, marveling at how quickly the temperature changed with the passing of the sun. He wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothing, as for as soon as they had arrived, the natives had stripped him of his warm furs and leathers and replaced them with thin cottons and sheer laces. He wore a kilt that just grazed his knees and a collar that only covered his shoulders. Mata’ka’ala had been dressed the same, and, standing next to him, Jacky felt very tiny indeed. He found himself self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest more than once.
His face felt heavy with the makeup that had been applied, and he found himself more than once brushing at the kohl lining his eyes. When they had arrived in Egypt, Jacky hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open for very long due to the brightness of the sun. The kohl helped.
His shoulders throbbed from the unrelenting rays of the sun, and he had noticed that the natives were quick to hide their laugher. He wondered just how long it would take for his skin to adjust before he could enjoy the sun without fear of burning. He feared that he might come down with a fever with the heat of the day burning him, only to have the cool of the night make him shiver uncontrollably.
He heard the scuff of hard sandal against the stone floor moments before Mata’ka’ala arrived at his side, draping a shawl over his shoulders. Jacky noticed that he was wearing a tunic over his kilt as well.
“It gets very cold here at night,” he said, and Jacky nodded. Jacky had known what to expect, having researched Egypt in college. Mata’ka’ala had never left Hattusa. All this was new to him.
Jacky turned to face him and noticed that he was now wearing gold in his ears and small lapis beads in the dreads in his hair. He had also acquired a headband of finely woven cotton dyed bright blue and yellow. Jacky reached up to brush strands of his hair away from his face and Mata’ka’ala couldn’t hold back how his lips turned up.
“Come inside, they have provided dancers for us.”
“Dancers?”
“The Pharaoh’s own.”
Jacky’s eyes widened. “Are we that important? They don’t worship us, but they treat us so well.”
Mata’ka’ala moved a hand to rest on the small of Jacky’s back and directed him into the temple that the priests had assigned them. Jacky ignored how there was a shiver spiking down his spine, trailing down to pool in his lower stomach. “We are living gods. I am a king of men, and you are the future of men, they will treat us with great respect.”
So it was to keep peace between kingdoms, Jacky thought as they walked down the wide hall toward the deeper parts of the temple. Incense filled the air here and Jacky thanked whichever gods were responsible for the cool breeze that snuck down with them. Sometimes, it was too much, mostly during the day.
They entered into the main chamber of the temple and there was suddenly a flood of people everywhere. Jacky dropped back behind Mata’ka’ala’s broad shoulders and hid behind his great form. While he wasn’t really shy, the fact that the people always treated him like he was a god really got to him.
Mata’ka’ala led the way through the crowd toward a dais that seated five men and two women. He bowed politely to the people on the dais before stepping up among them. Jacky copied his motions and crept up after him, conscious of how they were eyeing him. He hated that the most. The lust in their eyes as they stared at him. The lust that coursed through him in response to their gazes.
He hated being a lust god.
He sat at Mata’ka’ala’s side and looked out at the room before them. There were people everywhere, chatting and mingling. There was drink flowing and finger food aplenty. A slave came up to him when he noticed Jacky staring and offered him the tray he was holding. Jacky eagerly picked out a handful of the treats. Some honeyed dates and sugared hazelnuts. Another slave brought him a chalice of sweet water.
He slowly chewed the treats while the center hall was cleared of people so that the entertainment could begin. There were acrobats that soared into the air without wires; their brightly colored bodies a blur of motion. There were singers that let their voices pierce the air. Jacky was enthralled. He hadn’t seen a live play in ages, and even then, the dancers and actors were never this close. One acrobat even went so far as to leap off the back of Mata’ka’ala’s chair, into the air, and land on the shoulders of his companion.
Once they were finished, there was a subdued cheer, then they moved out to make room for a troupe of dancers. They wore clothes made of sheer cotton that allowed glimpses of flesh through the weaving. They flowed about slim legs and gold glittered at ears, brows, necks, wrists, and ankles. Streamers were tied in black wigs and music played in beat to the steady thrum of feet on stone.
The danseur noble danced in the center, his body twisting and turning with such grace that the god inside Jacky was eagerly letting him know that he lusted for that body.
Frowning, Jacky buried his face in his chalice and tried not to let the god’s urges become his own. He could feel sleep encroaching in on him, and he really didn’t want to wake up next to another stranger. He turned his eyes to Mata’ka’ala.
Mata’ka’ala wasn’t watching the entertainment, but speaking with the nicely dressed man at his side, their heads tilted toward one another. Jacky leaned in closer to hear what was being said.
They were speaking in Babylonian.
“There is always the added danger of upsetting the Pharaoh,” The other man was saying. He took a long drink of his own chalice before continuing. “If you refuse to give him what he wants, then, well, you’re a god-king, you know how your word is law to your people. If he says so, you will be thwarted.”
“Is there a chance that the Pharaoh will see things our way?”
“He is an ambitious man. He seeks to make Egypt the greatest empire in the world. He will not let you stop him. If you are seen as a threat, then you will be dealt with accordingly.”
Mata’ka’ala was silent a moment before he murmured in his low voice, “Should we leave Egypt?”
“Not before you seek an audience with the Pharaoh. I have no doubt that he knows you two are here. If you leave before greeting your fellow god, then he will take slight to that. Things won’t end well.”
“I can’t put Telepinu in danger.”
Jacky felt something warm clench around his heart at those words. He bit his lips and reached out to cover Mata’ka’ala’s hand where it had fisted on his knee. Instantly, the first uncurled and enveloped his. A pleased flush was spreading on his cheeks he knew, but didn’t really care. He could blame it on the heat of the room, after all.
He didn’t notice how the other man noticed their joining of hands. He smiled sadly and spoke, “It is good you protect him, for I have even worse news.”
Jacky could see the way Mata’ka’ala tensed up at that. His jaw was tight as he waited.
“Our own living god has died without passing on. We are without a fertility god.”
Jacky shivered; the god inside him shivered. He sat, frozen in his chair, processing this knowledge. The Egyptian fertility god, their living god, has died, and left them without. He carefully licked his lips. From what he had learned, this meant that their civilization was in great danger. Without a fertility god, their crops will die, the birthrate will dwindle, and faith and hope will become a rare commodity.
Mata’ka’ala’s grip on his hand tightened to almost painful proportions.
“We can’t stay here,” Mata’ka’ala said.
“You may not have a choice,” the man retorted.
Mata’ka’ala’s eyes shot to his face. He studied the man a moment before saying, “Will you betray us?”
“My people are in grave danger. We need a fertility god, and your fertility god is in need of a home.” He shrugged. “It seems the gods have provided for us.”
“I will not leave him.”
There was a tense moment when the man turned his eyes away from Mata’ka’ala, looking out over the distracted people. When Jacky followed his gaze, he noticed the guards he hadn’t before. They were standing at the exits, blocking them.
There were small windows high up that allowed fresh air to creep into the stuffy room, and Jacky was grateful for that. The people here always wore heavy perfumes that hung like a foul cloud in the enclosed room.
Jacky’s hand trembled where it rested in Mata’ka’ala’s, and his stomach was tight with worry and fear. His mouth has gone dry, so he carefully lifted his chalice to his lips. Mata’ka’ala’s hand was warm and steady, and it was the only thing that kept Jacky from jumping to his feet and fleeing.
The music and dancers continued, but Jacky noticed none of it.
The man still did not look at Mata’ka’ala when he said, “We have a living god-king already.”
A shudder when through Mata’ka’ala’s shoulders and Jacky squeezed his hand in response. He could feel the cold calculation in the man’s eyes as he surveyed the people before him.
They were trapped in this room, and the guards at the doors all held deadly looking weapons at their hips. Jacky scooted closer to the edge of his seat so that he could angle his knees toward Mata’ka’ala. Anything to get closer. Mata’ka’ala’s hand released Jacky’s and drifted up to lightly grasp his elbow under the shawl.
He slowly leaned back in his own chair, the ropes creaking with his weight. Mata’ka’ala let his eyes trail over the room, noting the exits and the people. He knew they were trapped as well.
Jacky abruptly stood and reached for Mata’ka’ala. “Walk with me?”
Mata’ka’ala stood and took his hand. He pulled Jacky close as they stepped down from the dais and began to circle the room. Jacky let the shawl drop from his shoulders and hang loosely from his elbows.
“We have to leave here,” he murmured just loud enough for Mata’ka’ala to hear.
Mata’ka’ala hummed low in his throat before he finally looked at Jacky. “I have to leave. Maybe it would be good for you to remain here.”
Jacky shook his head. “No, I won’t stay without you.”
“It will be safer for Telepinu to be here. Egypt will protect you. You’ll have an army at your fingertips. I can’t provide that for you.”
Jacky stopped walking and forced Mata’ka’ala to stop with him. “I’m not Telepinu.”
Mata’ka’ala sighed a long suffering sigh, becoming irritated with Jacky’s insistence. “You are.”
“I’m not. Just as you’re not Teshub, I’m not Telepinu.” That got his attention, Jacky thought as Mata’ka’ala finally looked at him, really looked at him. “I don’t want to stay here. Here, I will be used as a tool and no thought at all given to my own mind. At least if I’m with you I won’t have to wake up each day in a different person’s bed,” he added bitterly.
Mata’ka’ala stared down at him a moment, his eyes carefully empty of his inner thoughts. Then he allowed a small smile to turn up the corners of his lips. “Very well, then. We shall leave together.”
Satisfied, Jacky nodded. “How?”
“Am I not a living god of war?”
Mata’ka’ala returned them to the dais where the people that had been sitting there when they had first arrived were now absent save for that man that had changed everything. Jacky nodded in his direction before they reached him, “Who is he?”
“High priest, Khenemetthoth. He is their god Thoth.”
“How will we get passed him? He won’t just let us leave.”
“We will meet with the Pharaoh first. If what he says is true, then we will have to fight our way free. It hasn’t been the first time.”
Sadly, that was true. Jacky paused before a slave to accept another chalice of sweet water, giving himself a moment alone as Mata’ka’ala resumed his seat.
Deep inside, he could feel the god’s anger, and it fed his own anger and fear. He needed to be away from Egypt, but he knew nothing about how to escape.
The slave moved away and Jacky turned to the dais. Mata’ka’ala had resumed his seat was once more in deep conversation with the high priest. He could only wait for Mata’ka’ala to form a plan.
He hated being the damsel in distress.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Danseur Noble
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Summary: They’ve arrived in Egypt, but that doesn’t mean they’re safe. My story about Jacky and the god living inside him continues.
It was almost blinding how bright the days were in the desert. The sands were near bleached by the sun, the streets naught more than packed sand that glowed with the reflected rays of the sun. The buildings were built of white stones painted with the brightest of pigments. Red glistened, yellows beamed and blues glowed. Jacky wanted to see this city light up with street lights, to see this city aglow in twilight. He thought, perhaps, it would be so very beautiful.
Instead, the twilight made the painted city fade into darkness and only the sky was bright. Millions of stars crowded the sky like spilt milk. He hadn’t understood why they had called the galaxy the Milky Way until he had come to this time. He thought, if he had been born in this time, he would have loved to study the stars. Although he tried, he was hard pressed to find the few constellations that he did know amid the stars spilled over the sky.
He leaned heavily against the cool pillar that framed the doorway of their temple, gazing up at the sky framed by tall buildings and glowing with the final rays of day. Across the way, small torches had been lit to line the streets and each doorway and window. The number of people had dwindled with the fading light until it was only Jacky out in the night.
He shivered in the chill of the night, marveling at how quickly the temperature changed with the passing of the sun. He wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothing, as for as soon as they had arrived, the natives had stripped him of his warm furs and leathers and replaced them with thin cottons and sheer laces. He wore a kilt that just grazed his knees and a collar that only covered his shoulders. Mata’ka’ala had been dressed the same, and, standing next to him, Jacky felt very tiny indeed. He found himself self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest more than once.
His face felt heavy with the makeup that had been applied, and he found himself more than once brushing at the kohl lining his eyes. When they had arrived in Egypt, Jacky hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open for very long due to the brightness of the sun. The kohl helped.
His shoulders throbbed from the unrelenting rays of the sun, and he had noticed that the natives were quick to hide their laugher. He wondered just how long it would take for his skin to adjust before he could enjoy the sun without fear of burning. He feared that he might come down with a fever with the heat of the day burning him, only to have the cool of the night make him shiver uncontrollably.
He heard the scuff of hard sandal against the stone floor moments before Mata’ka’ala arrived at his side, draping a shawl over his shoulders. Jacky noticed that he was wearing a tunic over his kilt as well.
“It gets very cold here at night,” he said, and Jacky nodded. Jacky had known what to expect, having researched Egypt in college. Mata’ka’ala had never left Hattusa. All this was new to him.
Jacky turned to face him and noticed that he was now wearing gold in his ears and small lapis beads in the dreads in his hair. He had also acquired a headband of finely woven cotton dyed bright blue and yellow. Jacky reached up to brush strands of his hair away from his face and Mata’ka’ala couldn’t hold back how his lips turned up.
“Come inside, they have provided dancers for us.”
“Dancers?”
“The Pharaoh’s own.”
Jacky’s eyes widened. “Are we that important? They don’t worship us, but they treat us so well.”
Mata’ka’ala moved a hand to rest on the small of Jacky’s back and directed him into the temple that the priests had assigned them. Jacky ignored how there was a shiver spiking down his spine, trailing down to pool in his lower stomach. “We are living gods. I am a king of men, and you are the future of men, they will treat us with great respect.”
So it was to keep peace between kingdoms, Jacky thought as they walked down the wide hall toward the deeper parts of the temple. Incense filled the air here and Jacky thanked whichever gods were responsible for the cool breeze that snuck down with them. Sometimes, it was too much, mostly during the day.
They entered into the main chamber of the temple and there was suddenly a flood of people everywhere. Jacky dropped back behind Mata’ka’ala’s broad shoulders and hid behind his great form. While he wasn’t really shy, the fact that the people always treated him like he was a god really got to him.
Mata’ka’ala led the way through the crowd toward a dais that seated five men and two women. He bowed politely to the people on the dais before stepping up among them. Jacky copied his motions and crept up after him, conscious of how they were eyeing him. He hated that the most. The lust in their eyes as they stared at him. The lust that coursed through him in response to their gazes.
He hated being a lust god.
He sat at Mata’ka’ala’s side and looked out at the room before them. There were people everywhere, chatting and mingling. There was drink flowing and finger food aplenty. A slave came up to him when he noticed Jacky staring and offered him the tray he was holding. Jacky eagerly picked out a handful of the treats. Some honeyed dates and sugared hazelnuts. Another slave brought him a chalice of sweet water.
He slowly chewed the treats while the center hall was cleared of people so that the entertainment could begin. There were acrobats that soared into the air without wires; their brightly colored bodies a blur of motion. There were singers that let their voices pierce the air. Jacky was enthralled. He hadn’t seen a live play in ages, and even then, the dancers and actors were never this close. One acrobat even went so far as to leap off the back of Mata’ka’ala’s chair, into the air, and land on the shoulders of his companion.
Once they were finished, there was a subdued cheer, then they moved out to make room for a troupe of dancers. They wore clothes made of sheer cotton that allowed glimpses of flesh through the weaving. They flowed about slim legs and gold glittered at ears, brows, necks, wrists, and ankles. Streamers were tied in black wigs and music played in beat to the steady thrum of feet on stone.
The danseur noble danced in the center, his body twisting and turning with such grace that the god inside Jacky was eagerly letting him know that he lusted for that body.
Frowning, Jacky buried his face in his chalice and tried not to let the god’s urges become his own. He could feel sleep encroaching in on him, and he really didn’t want to wake up next to another stranger. He turned his eyes to Mata’ka’ala.
Mata’ka’ala wasn’t watching the entertainment, but speaking with the nicely dressed man at his side, their heads tilted toward one another. Jacky leaned in closer to hear what was being said.
They were speaking in Babylonian.
“There is always the added danger of upsetting the Pharaoh,” The other man was saying. He took a long drink of his own chalice before continuing. “If you refuse to give him what he wants, then, well, you’re a god-king, you know how your word is law to your people. If he says so, you will be thwarted.”
“Is there a chance that the Pharaoh will see things our way?”
“He is an ambitious man. He seeks to make Egypt the greatest empire in the world. He will not let you stop him. If you are seen as a threat, then you will be dealt with accordingly.”
Mata’ka’ala was silent a moment before he murmured in his low voice, “Should we leave Egypt?”
“Not before you seek an audience with the Pharaoh. I have no doubt that he knows you two are here. If you leave before greeting your fellow god, then he will take slight to that. Things won’t end well.”
“I can’t put Telepinu in danger.”
Jacky felt something warm clench around his heart at those words. He bit his lips and reached out to cover Mata’ka’ala’s hand where it had fisted on his knee. Instantly, the first uncurled and enveloped his. A pleased flush was spreading on his cheeks he knew, but didn’t really care. He could blame it on the heat of the room, after all.
He didn’t notice how the other man noticed their joining of hands. He smiled sadly and spoke, “It is good you protect him, for I have even worse news.”
Jacky could see the way Mata’ka’ala tensed up at that. His jaw was tight as he waited.
“Our own living god has died without passing on. We are without a fertility god.”
Jacky shivered; the god inside him shivered. He sat, frozen in his chair, processing this knowledge. The Egyptian fertility god, their living god, has died, and left them without. He carefully licked his lips. From what he had learned, this meant that their civilization was in great danger. Without a fertility god, their crops will die, the birthrate will dwindle, and faith and hope will become a rare commodity.
Mata’ka’ala’s grip on his hand tightened to almost painful proportions.
“We can’t stay here,” Mata’ka’ala said.
“You may not have a choice,” the man retorted.
Mata’ka’ala’s eyes shot to his face. He studied the man a moment before saying, “Will you betray us?”
“My people are in grave danger. We need a fertility god, and your fertility god is in need of a home.” He shrugged. “It seems the gods have provided for us.”
“I will not leave him.”
There was a tense moment when the man turned his eyes away from Mata’ka’ala, looking out over the distracted people. When Jacky followed his gaze, he noticed the guards he hadn’t before. They were standing at the exits, blocking them.
There were small windows high up that allowed fresh air to creep into the stuffy room, and Jacky was grateful for that. The people here always wore heavy perfumes that hung like a foul cloud in the enclosed room.
Jacky’s hand trembled where it rested in Mata’ka’ala’s, and his stomach was tight with worry and fear. His mouth has gone dry, so he carefully lifted his chalice to his lips. Mata’ka’ala’s hand was warm and steady, and it was the only thing that kept Jacky from jumping to his feet and fleeing.
The music and dancers continued, but Jacky noticed none of it.
The man still did not look at Mata’ka’ala when he said, “We have a living god-king already.”
A shudder when through Mata’ka’ala’s shoulders and Jacky squeezed his hand in response. He could feel the cold calculation in the man’s eyes as he surveyed the people before him.
They were trapped in this room, and the guards at the doors all held deadly looking weapons at their hips. Jacky scooted closer to the edge of his seat so that he could angle his knees toward Mata’ka’ala. Anything to get closer. Mata’ka’ala’s hand released Jacky’s and drifted up to lightly grasp his elbow under the shawl.
He slowly leaned back in his own chair, the ropes creaking with his weight. Mata’ka’ala let his eyes trail over the room, noting the exits and the people. He knew they were trapped as well.
Jacky abruptly stood and reached for Mata’ka’ala. “Walk with me?”
Mata’ka’ala stood and took his hand. He pulled Jacky close as they stepped down from the dais and began to circle the room. Jacky let the shawl drop from his shoulders and hang loosely from his elbows.
“We have to leave here,” he murmured just loud enough for Mata’ka’ala to hear.
Mata’ka’ala hummed low in his throat before he finally looked at Jacky. “I have to leave. Maybe it would be good for you to remain here.”
Jacky shook his head. “No, I won’t stay without you.”
“It will be safer for Telepinu to be here. Egypt will protect you. You’ll have an army at your fingertips. I can’t provide that for you.”
Jacky stopped walking and forced Mata’ka’ala to stop with him. “I’m not Telepinu.”
Mata’ka’ala sighed a long suffering sigh, becoming irritated with Jacky’s insistence. “You are.”
“I’m not. Just as you’re not Teshub, I’m not Telepinu.” That got his attention, Jacky thought as Mata’ka’ala finally looked at him, really looked at him. “I don’t want to stay here. Here, I will be used as a tool and no thought at all given to my own mind. At least if I’m with you I won’t have to wake up each day in a different person’s bed,” he added bitterly.
Mata’ka’ala stared down at him a moment, his eyes carefully empty of his inner thoughts. Then he allowed a small smile to turn up the corners of his lips. “Very well, then. We shall leave together.”
Satisfied, Jacky nodded. “How?”
“Am I not a living god of war?”
Mata’ka’ala returned them to the dais where the people that had been sitting there when they had first arrived were now absent save for that man that had changed everything. Jacky nodded in his direction before they reached him, “Who is he?”
“High priest, Khenemetthoth. He is their god Thoth.”
“How will we get passed him? He won’t just let us leave.”
“We will meet with the Pharaoh first. If what he says is true, then we will have to fight our way free. It hasn’t been the first time.”
Sadly, that was true. Jacky paused before a slave to accept another chalice of sweet water, giving himself a moment alone as Mata’ka’ala resumed his seat.
Deep inside, he could feel the god’s anger, and it fed his own anger and fear. He needed to be away from Egypt, but he knew nothing about how to escape.
The slave moved away and Jacky turned to the dais. Mata’ka’ala had resumed his seat was once more in deep conversation with the high priest. He could only wait for Mata’ka’ala to form a plan.
He hated being the damsel in distress.
