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rareslashTitle: Gray Souls
Author: Kits
Rating: T
Pairing: Pytheas/Hanno (almost historical slash!)
Summary: Hanno hopes Pytheas’s soul remains green.
NB: For those not in the know, Boat of a Million Years is a truly fantastic book chronologing the lives of several people born with a genetic mutation which allows them to live forever, beginning in 310 B.C. and through some years in the future (though those kind of suck; read at least through the 1940s though). Hanno is one of those people, Pytheas is not. Also, I have a vague desire to write this, and not much of a desire to research it. I tried to keep as historically accurate as possible, but if you see anything glaringly wrong, please, please comment and tell me so that I may correct.
Hanno abstained from affairs with anyone, be they man or woman, he might fall in love with. Outsiders frequently misjudged him to be pious or, worse, a romantic, and he had neither the heart nor the inclination to divulge the real reason behind his chastity. So many lovers began young and vibrant, only to rot away into graying skin and hair and yellowed teeth. Were it the physical changes, Hanno had very little doubt he could withstand them, but it was the soul that grayed as the years passed. The chipping away of a cheerful heart until it was bitter; the warm dulcet tones of a maiden into cold, biting words; and the envious look that shadowed their face when they saw his youth drove him to near madness. Protesting that his longevity was a curse, to be reviled, did no good when lovers felt their bodies failing them and their minds slipping away, and he had no way to properly explain. So after seeing so many fall away to the worms, he hoarded his affections for his own selfish reasons. He was far from pious in thought, and far from romantic in action.
He had seen kings and gods come and go; commoners rise and fall; and stars born and die again in the sky. Usually he tried to keep from thinking of himself as a god, but it was hard not to look down and pity these poor, foolish mortals from his pedestal above them. It was a mindset he slipped into inadvertently, jarred out of it when someone found his secret out and attempted to kill him. There was nothing like the threat of a spear through his heart to remind him that he was mortal, too. There also was nothing like the stark brilliance of genius to remind him. Pytheas, with his curious and expansive nature, reminded him achingly of what it meant to be mortal. Over the years, he had several debates within himself over the benefits of living forever; as he indeed guessed, though he often wondered if perhaps he would simply live the lifespan of Methusaleh thrice-over, aging as gradually as the heavens above changed. Someone had once said that the lack of knowledge was too great, and the span of life too short. What he may learn, in the lifetimes of a dozen men! At the same time, Pytheas showed the flaw in his reasoning. The brevity of man’s life often was the driving force behind exploration and the pursuit of wisdom; an immortal man has no motivation beyond himself, and that is often pitiful.
“Are you unable to sleep, Hanno?” Pytheas said, walking behind Hanno as he brooded. Hanno shook himself from his reverie and cast a smile to the Greek, moving aside to let Pytheas stand next to him.
“The air is swallowed by the snores of men down below,” Hanno admitted. “I hoped the waves would lull me.”
Pytheas watched the undulations of the dark water, cresting to a single blade of moonlight reflected, then burying itself in the great mass once more. The endless crashing against the ship was almost pleasant when stifled by the night.
“You watch the sea, while I watch the stars,” Pytheas suddenly commented. Hanno bit back a tart remark on the aptness of the comment as an analogy, and was glad he did when Pytheas added: “We both strive for things beyond our understanding, I suspect.”
“You seek to decipher the cartography of the firmament, Pytheas, and I reserve no doubts that you will one day succeed.”
Pytheas glanced at him with an unreadable look on his face before pushing away from the side, turning to face him completely. Hanno gazed at him steadily, waiting for the inevitable.
“I have never met anyone like you, Hanno,” Pytheas said softly. His eyes never wavered from Hanno’s. “You are genial and comely, yet you never share yourself with others. Do you not think of me as a friend?”
“Twice over,” Hanno protested. “You know I think dearly of you.”
“You do not show it. Nor do you share your affections even among the youths on this voyage.”
“Perhaps I have pledged myself to Artemis and am keeping myself pure,” Hanno laughed. “I have promised not to despoil any young women.”
“What of the young men?” Pytheas said, willing to play along with the joke. “Surely she grants you some relief.”
“She watches me from the welkin. I fear her wrath should I seek pleasure even from another man.”
Pytheas took a step forward until he was standing close to Hanno, one arm leaning beside Hanno’s hip, nose nearly close enough to brush against his. “I have pledged myself to Aphrodite, and she has promised my lovers and me protection.”
“The Huntress is a mighty warrior,” Hanno said, willing himself to move away. Pytheas may have a bright soul, but it would wither and diminish, as so many had. The multitude had not made the losing any easier.
“Do you doubt Cupid’s arrows against those of Artemis?” Pytheas said, finally leaning in to place a gentle kiss on Hanno’s mouth. His lips parted involuntarily under the gesture and he leaned forward, catching himself on Pytheas’s warm chest. He could feel the dull thudding of a heartbeat underneath his hand. Vaguely he thought about his own, if it would ever slow and stop completely. Pytheas distracted him from the morbid thoughts with a hand rested lightly on the back of his neck and a trail of kisses from behind his ear to his jaw. He tipped his head back and allowed Pytheas to nuzzle above his collarbone before sighing and pulling back.
Pytheas’s eyes glinted brightly with lust and fondness, a combination Hanno had denied himself for a decade. Wordlessly, he held out his hand, beckoning Hanno to his quarters.
His soul was still green, fresh and new as spring, but it would gray. They all did. The best he could hope for was to capture some of its brightness within his own, to sustain him while he waited for death.
Hanno followed.
Author: Kits
Rating: T
Pairing: Pytheas/Hanno (almost historical slash!)
Summary: Hanno hopes Pytheas’s soul remains green.
NB: For those not in the know, Boat of a Million Years is a truly fantastic book chronologing the lives of several people born with a genetic mutation which allows them to live forever, beginning in 310 B.C. and through some years in the future (though those kind of suck; read at least through the 1940s though). Hanno is one of those people, Pytheas is not. Also, I have a vague desire to write this, and not much of a desire to research it. I tried to keep as historically accurate as possible, but if you see anything glaringly wrong, please, please comment and tell me so that I may correct.
Hanno abstained from affairs with anyone, be they man or woman, he might fall in love with. Outsiders frequently misjudged him to be pious or, worse, a romantic, and he had neither the heart nor the inclination to divulge the real reason behind his chastity. So many lovers began young and vibrant, only to rot away into graying skin and hair and yellowed teeth. Were it the physical changes, Hanno had very little doubt he could withstand them, but it was the soul that grayed as the years passed. The chipping away of a cheerful heart until it was bitter; the warm dulcet tones of a maiden into cold, biting words; and the envious look that shadowed their face when they saw his youth drove him to near madness. Protesting that his longevity was a curse, to be reviled, did no good when lovers felt their bodies failing them and their minds slipping away, and he had no way to properly explain. So after seeing so many fall away to the worms, he hoarded his affections for his own selfish reasons. He was far from pious in thought, and far from romantic in action.
He had seen kings and gods come and go; commoners rise and fall; and stars born and die again in the sky. Usually he tried to keep from thinking of himself as a god, but it was hard not to look down and pity these poor, foolish mortals from his pedestal above them. It was a mindset he slipped into inadvertently, jarred out of it when someone found his secret out and attempted to kill him. There was nothing like the threat of a spear through his heart to remind him that he was mortal, too. There also was nothing like the stark brilliance of genius to remind him. Pytheas, with his curious and expansive nature, reminded him achingly of what it meant to be mortal. Over the years, he had several debates within himself over the benefits of living forever; as he indeed guessed, though he often wondered if perhaps he would simply live the lifespan of Methusaleh thrice-over, aging as gradually as the heavens above changed. Someone had once said that the lack of knowledge was too great, and the span of life too short. What he may learn, in the lifetimes of a dozen men! At the same time, Pytheas showed the flaw in his reasoning. The brevity of man’s life often was the driving force behind exploration and the pursuit of wisdom; an immortal man has no motivation beyond himself, and that is often pitiful.
“Are you unable to sleep, Hanno?” Pytheas said, walking behind Hanno as he brooded. Hanno shook himself from his reverie and cast a smile to the Greek, moving aside to let Pytheas stand next to him.
“The air is swallowed by the snores of men down below,” Hanno admitted. “I hoped the waves would lull me.”
Pytheas watched the undulations of the dark water, cresting to a single blade of moonlight reflected, then burying itself in the great mass once more. The endless crashing against the ship was almost pleasant when stifled by the night.
“You watch the sea, while I watch the stars,” Pytheas suddenly commented. Hanno bit back a tart remark on the aptness of the comment as an analogy, and was glad he did when Pytheas added: “We both strive for things beyond our understanding, I suspect.”
“You seek to decipher the cartography of the firmament, Pytheas, and I reserve no doubts that you will one day succeed.”
Pytheas glanced at him with an unreadable look on his face before pushing away from the side, turning to face him completely. Hanno gazed at him steadily, waiting for the inevitable.
“I have never met anyone like you, Hanno,” Pytheas said softly. His eyes never wavered from Hanno’s. “You are genial and comely, yet you never share yourself with others. Do you not think of me as a friend?”
“Twice over,” Hanno protested. “You know I think dearly of you.”
“You do not show it. Nor do you share your affections even among the youths on this voyage.”
“Perhaps I have pledged myself to Artemis and am keeping myself pure,” Hanno laughed. “I have promised not to despoil any young women.”
“What of the young men?” Pytheas said, willing to play along with the joke. “Surely she grants you some relief.”
“She watches me from the welkin. I fear her wrath should I seek pleasure even from another man.”
Pytheas took a step forward until he was standing close to Hanno, one arm leaning beside Hanno’s hip, nose nearly close enough to brush against his. “I have pledged myself to Aphrodite, and she has promised my lovers and me protection.”
“The Huntress is a mighty warrior,” Hanno said, willing himself to move away. Pytheas may have a bright soul, but it would wither and diminish, as so many had. The multitude had not made the losing any easier.
“Do you doubt Cupid’s arrows against those of Artemis?” Pytheas said, finally leaning in to place a gentle kiss on Hanno’s mouth. His lips parted involuntarily under the gesture and he leaned forward, catching himself on Pytheas’s warm chest. He could feel the dull thudding of a heartbeat underneath his hand. Vaguely he thought about his own, if it would ever slow and stop completely. Pytheas distracted him from the morbid thoughts with a hand rested lightly on the back of his neck and a trail of kisses from behind his ear to his jaw. He tipped his head back and allowed Pytheas to nuzzle above his collarbone before sighing and pulling back.
Pytheas’s eyes glinted brightly with lust and fondness, a combination Hanno had denied himself for a decade. Wordlessly, he held out his hand, beckoning Hanno to his quarters.
His soul was still green, fresh and new as spring, but it would gray. They all did. The best he could hope for was to capture some of its brightness within his own, to sustain him while he waited for death.
Hanno followed.
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