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So this is my entry for the May challenge for H/C bingo. The challenge was to write a fanfic for a small fandom using one or more of the prompts given. I've tried to use all four and hopefully it works!!
Title: Moonstruck
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason, Pythagoras
Rating: 12
Warnings: None
Prompts: 'Medication', 'First Transfomation', 'Restrained', 'Fire'
Spoilers: Series 1 Episode 11: Hunger Pangs
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: approx 3407
Summary:The night after Jason was cured of his curse was never going to be easy for either of them.
It’s late and his friends have long since retired to bed but he can’t sleep, tossing uncomfortably and uneasily, the ache in his gut refusing to let go and give him peace. He supposes that he ought to tell Pythagoras that he is hurting right now but Pythagoras is asleep and has had precious little rest recently and really a bit of a stomach ache shouldn’t bother him all that much. Besides, he can’t help feeling the need to cling to the pain – to punish himself for his actions over the last few days. And he should be punished – should be made to suffer. If the initial theft wasn’t bad enough (and how has he allowed himself to slip so far that he would resort to stealing in the first place?), the fact that he then selfishly kept the spoils of that theft to himself and didn’t share it with his friends is unconscionable (even if it possibly is for the best given what Hekate’s meat turned him into).
He remembers everything now. Pythagoras’ cure seems to have had the side effect of restoring the memories from his time as a dog that he had been blissfully unaware of in the waking world. He remembers the hot fire that seemed to course through his veins as he turned for the first time; the confusion of waking up to find Hercules had not only knocked him out but also imprisoned him in the storage space beneath the floor; the pain that gripped him as he transformed; the feeling of power and strength like he’s never possessed before; the crunch of bones beneath his teeth and the taste of blood as it slid down his gullet. It turns his stomach completely, bile rising in the back of his throat as nausea grips him.
He rolls out of bed and moans faintly to himself as a band of pain assaults his stomach, gripping it as though it’s in a vice, and he staggers towards the latrine, doubled over with his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. He tries desperately hard to be as quiet as he can; doesn’t want to disturb either one of his friends from their much needed sleep; feels both too ashamed and too sorry for himself to allow anyone to see him in this state.
By the time he’s purged himself of everything that was in his stomach, until not even bile is coming as he dry heaves as quietly as he’s able, he feels a bit like he’s been turned inside out – and oh God it hurts so much that it wouldn’t take all that much for him to curl into a ball in the corner and cry himself into oblivion. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, burning and tormenting him mercilessly. He bites his lip to keep from screaming aloud (still determined that he will not wake his friends – will not force them to share his misery) and feels blood trickling down his chin.
The smell from the latrine is atrocious and it makes him gag again, curling up miserably as he does. Every sense seems sharper right now and he realises grimly that Pythagoras’ cure has not yet removed the whole of Hekate’s curse – his senses are still unnaturally acute and have turned the world into a confusing welter of sounds, smells and colours (even in the dark of the night) that threaten to overwhelm him at any moment, making his head spin and his stomach lurch again.
A hand rubs up and down his spine gently – comfortingly – and it’s enough to make him want to hurl himself into the arms of whichever of his friends has woken up and come to comfort him, and sob out his pain and misery onto a friendly shoulder. He doesn’t though; can’t burden either of his housemates in that way; can’t let himself give in to how he’s feeling. So instead he curls into an ever tighter ball, rocking back and forth slightly in a desperate attempt to soothe himself.
Gentle but insistent hands force him to be still and pull him out of his tight curl, wrapping long arms around him and lifting his head until it rests on a bony shoulder. It shouldn’t feel comfortable (even though it does) and he feels guilty enough over everything that’s happened that he wants to reject the solace that his friend is offering but when he tries to pull away he finds himself restrained by surprisingly strong arms (Pythagoras has always been stronger than he looks – there is a toughness to him that most people don’t expect).
“Just rest for a moment,” Pythagoras soothes, holding Jason in place.
It is probably just as well that he does because a moment later Jason finds himself writhing once again. It feels like his veins are full of liquid fire and although the sun has long since set he can feel the last remnants of the curse warring with Pythagoras’ cure within him, trying to transform him once more.
“I know it hurts,” Pythagoras consoles, “but it will get easier soon.”
“How did you know?” Jason manages to grind out, trying hard not to moan out loud.
“How do I know that it will get easier?”
“No,” Jason rasps, his throat raw and his mouth dry and disgusting. “How did you know I wasn’t asleep? I tried not to wake you.”
He can almost feel Pythagoras smile against him and the familiar scent of the mathematician is almost as comforting as the hand currently pushing the curls back from his face.
“My research told me that the cure for Hekate’s curse would have unpleasant side effects,” Pythagoras says softly. “I knew you would have to be strong to survive it and that the worst effects would be likely to hit you after dusk since that was when the curse was activated. I also know you. I knew you were at the very least uncomfortable before sundown just as I knew you would attempt to hide the fact… perhaps out of guilt and perhaps from a desire not to bother anyone… sometimes you are terribly predictable Jason.”
Jason sighs and turns until he’s resting against his friend’s side.
“You shouldn’t have to keep dealing with all the problems I make,” he says softly. “You should go back to bed and just leave me to it.”
“And did you leave me ‘to it’ when I chose the black stone?” Pythagoras asks sharply. “Or when I had to face the Furies? Did you leave Hercules ‘to it’ when he was turned into a pig? Or when Medusa was kidnapped and he needed to go to Hades? Do not think for one moment that I would leave you any more than you would leave either of us if the situation was reversed. Yes, this time the problems we have encountered were of your making but on other occasions it has been my problems that you chose to deal with.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be… just do not assume that I am anywhere other than where I want to be.” Pythagoras looks at Jason appraisingly, checking that for now at least any obvious symptoms of nausea have passed. “Do you feel up to moving?” he asks. “Because I really think you would be better off in bed.”
Jason nods and pushes himself painfully to his feet. He totters over to his bed, hunched over like an old man, his arms still protectively clasped around his stomach, still hurting too much to even attempt to stand up properly. Pythagoras is at his back the whole way to the bed, one hand gently resting against the bare skin of his back, ready to step in and help if he falters. He shivers but knows that this is due more to reaction than to actually feeling cold. Arriving at the side of his bed is welcome and he drops down onto it and rolls onto his back, hands coming up to cover his face. He feels Pythagoras sit down on the edge and drops his hands to peer at the young genius.
Pythagoras is looking at him thoughtfully, eyes narrowed.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Like I’m on fire,” Jason answers softly. “Everything hurts.”
Pythagoras nods and stands up, moving back into the kitchen. Jason can hear him pottering about the kitchen, muttering softly to himself, although at the moment with his overly sensitive hearing Pythagoras might as well be shouting or beating a drum whenever he puts a jar or a pot down. He resists the urge to groan because if this is Pythagoras’ idea of ‘unpleasant’ he really doesn’t want to know what ‘terrible’ might be, and because no matter what the mathematician says this is still all his own fault and he should learn to deal with the consequences of his actions alone. He swallows down on the rising wave of nausea and self-pity and closes his eyes once more, not even acknowledging when Pythagoras re-joins him.
“I thought you might want to rinse your mouth out.” Pythagoras’ voice is little more than a whisper in deference to the late hour, although it rings painfully loudly in Jason’s ears.
Jason sighs and opens his eyes, taking the cup that the mathematician proffers without any real enthusiasm and swishing the sweet, cool water it contains around his mouth before spitting it out into the bowl Pythagoras is holding. Pythagoras nods softly and then begins to wipe Jason’s face gently with a damp cloth, trying to help his friend freshen up at least. He pauses and peers at Jason more carefully.
“You’ve bitten through your lip,” he accuses with a distinct frown.
Jason winces as the cloth touches the open wound.
“I didn’t want to wake anyone,” he mutters by way of explanation.
“And you felt that self-mutilation was better than making any noise?” Pythagoras asks with distinct irritation in his voice. “I would rather have been given the chance to help.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason mutters.
Pythagoras wants to be angry at his friend but Jason looks (and probably feels) so wretched right now that he hasn’t the heart to increase the brunette’s misery; can’t bring himself to remain irritated in the face of a friend’s suffering. He sighs.
“It does not matter my friend,” he says softly, carefully mopping the last drops of blood away from his friend’s mouth. “I need you to drink this for me though… I promise it will make you feel better.”
Jason doesn’t even ask what’s in this second cup (even though Pythagoras’ last remedy set his guts on fire – although he supposes that he should be grateful that at least it removed the curse). He simply takes it and downs it in one swift gulp, praying that the contents will manage to stay in his currently delicate stomach.
Pythagoras smiles as he watches. Jason doesn’t need to know that the cup contained a reasonably strong sedative – enough to knock him out for a few hours until the worst of the side effects caused by the cure he was given pass. There is little else he can do; the symptoms will pass naturally and until they do Jason will just have to put up with them. It isn’t in Pythagoras’ nature to watch a friend suffering though if there is any chance whatsoever that he can relieve it and drugging Jason into insensibility is the best he can come up with right now. He’s done it before too (although fortunately Jason hasn’t realised it) after the Pankration when Jason desperately needed to sleep so that his battered body might get the chance to heal but his mind was still flying following that kiss from Ariadne.
As Jason begins to drift, eyes growing increasingly heavy, Pythagoras makes to push himself up from the edge of the bed. He is surprised to find a hand gripping his wrist with remarkable strength, preventing him from getting up properly, restraining him where he sits. He glances back at his friend and finds a pair of drowsy hazel eyes watching him with sleepy determination.
“Stay,” Jason murmurs.
Pythagoras hesitates. There are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea; a terrible idea – not least of which being that he doesn’t think that Jason is alert enough right now to fully understand the implications of what he’s asking. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve ended up effectively sharing the same bed of course. There have been nights in the past when they’ve been camping out on a trip to somewhere (one of the ridiculous jobs that Hercules finds for them on a frighteningly regular basis or one of the equally insane tasks that Jason has agreed to to help someone who looks pathetic enough) and Jason has rolled over in his sleep and grabbed hold of Pythagoras with such intensity that it has almost taken the mathematician’s breath away. He’s never been entirely sure why it happens – whether it’s because his friend is feeling particularly lonely, or vulnerable, or sad – but whatever it is on those nights Jason will latch on (all trailing arms and legs clinging octopus-like with such desperation that it makes Pythagoras’ heart bleed a little) and refuse to let go. The difference is though that it is always in his sleep – always at a time when his defences are lowered – and Pythagoras knows that were he fully aware Jason would be horrified and ashamed of his own neediness.
It doesn’t really help that Jason is blissfully unaware of Pythagoras’ inclinations as well. Jason loves the Princess (although there are times when Pythagoras wonders just how far that love extends – and feels guilty for that thought every time. It’s just that he can’t help feeling at times that Jason doesn’t really know Ariadne all that well; is in love with the person he fantasises about rather than the actual girl herself. He wonders if it’s cruel of him to think that about his friend) and has never shown even the slightest interest in developing any sort of physical relationship with a member of his own sex. No, Pythagoras is fairly certain that Jason is only really interested in women. He himself has always had a type though (dark curls, big eyes and a faint air of helplessness – a lost puppy look that tugs at his heartstrings every time) and Jason fits that type very nicely thank you very much.
Every time Jason glomps on to him in the middle of the night; every time he nuzzles into Pythagoras in his sleep; every time they sit out on the balcony together and he talks of the Princess in a breathless whisper with his eyes shining; Pythagoras feels his heart break a little more. It’s not an uncommon feeling. Over the years he has grown used to the fact that his attraction to someone will not be reciprocated (it’s happened far too many times for his own good). But this is Jason. Pythagoras has never actually lived with a person that he’s felt this way about before and it’s damned hard; impossibly painful to be honest. And he knows that if Jason knew the truth he’d be terribly kind and try to let him down gently and it would all be horribly awkward – and that isn’t what he wants at all. He knows from bitter experience that eventually the attraction he feels right now will fade; that one day he’ll look at Jason and not want anything more than friendship – than brotherly love. He still hopes that one day he will find the one person who will make him feel complete; that one day someone will come along who will feel the same way about him that he does about them (and if they happen to have curly dark hair, big eyes and a lost little boy look… well that would be a definite bonus).
It isn’t Jason’s fault that he doesn’t feel the same way about Pythagoras that Pythagoras feels about him. But it does mean that sharing a bed is a spectacularly bad idea. Pythagoras tries to pull away again and opens his mouth to tell Jason he’s going back to bed – his own bed.
“Don’t go,” Jason murmurs sleepily. “Please.” He turns his head into the pillow and gives a faint sniffle.
Pythagoras comes undone at the sound of that sniffle. He can never stand the sound of a friend’s unhappiness – has to do something to make them feel better - and it isn’t often that Jason openly shows his vulnerability. He’s far from being touchy feely with most people – clearly isn’t all that comfortable with physical affection – and the fact that he trusts both Pythagoras and Hercules enough to be demonstrative with them is something that Pythagoras is ridiculously touched by (and if he notices that Jason touches him more than Hercules he tries hard not to read anything in to it).
With a sigh the mathematician crawls up onto the bed (and really it’s far too small for two fully grown men. He supposes that he should be grateful that they are both fairly slender – the thought of trying to fit onto this small cot with someone built like Hercules makes him shudder) and tries to rest back against the pillows. Jason latches on in an instant, dark curls resting against Pythagoras’ chin, tickling him gently, breath hot against the bare skin of the mathematician’s throat. He is all clinging arms and legs and wraps himself around Pythagoras almost uncomfortably, but he’s shivering slightly too and moans faintly with discomfort as he tries to wriggle into a more comfortable position, body going rigid as the ache in his gut reasserts itself.
Pythagoras pulls the blanket up to cover them both and rubs his friend’s neck and shoulders soothingly, and trails his fingers in long, lazy strokes through Jason’s hair, feeling Jason relax against him and feeling the steady thrum of his friend’s heartbeat against his chest. Lying here is both wonderful and horrible but Pythagoras can’t help the way his heart flutters in his chest or his arms tighten slightly around his friend. He can feel Jason’s breathing begin to even out as sleep takes him, nuzzling in for even more comfort. The moon outside is very full and Pythagoras tightens his grip on Jason even more as the memories of his friend’s transformation into a Kynikos hit him once more. They could have lost him so easily if Heptarian and the city guards had managed to find him in that state; there would have been no mercy. He thanks the Gods silently that the medicine he came up with – the remedy spoken of in the scrolls he had consulted – has worked so well.
Jason is safe and Jason is here, and Pythagoras is inordinately grateful for that fact. He settles back and allows himself to feel happy. He will have to move before morning (if he can persuade Jason to let him go of course) because he doesn’t think he could bear Hercules’ ridicule, or even worse his sympathetic looks if he finally manages to drag his head out of a wine flagon for long enough to realise where Pythagoras’ affections have come to lie.
His mind wanders for a time and he wonders idly which of them has actually been the more cursed; Hercules who loves a woman cursed to live as a gorgon (but at least his love is reciprocated however hopeless the situation might seem); Jason who was physically transformed into a rabid, dog-like creature destined to kill and consume anyone he came across every night (but the remedy they found has cured that no matter how unpleasant the after effects are); or himself, since he seems to be eternally doomed to fall for men who cannot love him back in the way he wishes.
Jason sighs softly in his sleep, mutters something too quietly for Pythagoras to hear and snuggles in a little more tightly. Pythagoras cannot restrain himself from dropping a light kiss down into those unruly curls, breathing in the scent of Jason as he does. It doesn’t help to torture himself like this and he knows that sleep will not come tonight but right now, as Jason drifts, Pythagoras (no matter how pathetic he will feel come morning) is content.
Title: Moonstruck
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason, Pythagoras
Rating: 12
Warnings: None
Prompts: 'Medication', 'First Transfomation', 'Restrained', 'Fire'
Spoilers: Series 1 Episode 11: Hunger Pangs
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: approx 3407
Summary:The night after Jason was cured of his curse was never going to be easy for either of them.
Moonstruck
adj.
- Mentally deranged, supposedly by the influence of the moon.
- Dazed or distracted with romantic sentiment.
It’s late and his friends have long since retired to bed but he can’t sleep, tossing uncomfortably and uneasily, the ache in his gut refusing to let go and give him peace. He supposes that he ought to tell Pythagoras that he is hurting right now but Pythagoras is asleep and has had precious little rest recently and really a bit of a stomach ache shouldn’t bother him all that much. Besides, he can’t help feeling the need to cling to the pain – to punish himself for his actions over the last few days. And he should be punished – should be made to suffer. If the initial theft wasn’t bad enough (and how has he allowed himself to slip so far that he would resort to stealing in the first place?), the fact that he then selfishly kept the spoils of that theft to himself and didn’t share it with his friends is unconscionable (even if it possibly is for the best given what Hekate’s meat turned him into).
He remembers everything now. Pythagoras’ cure seems to have had the side effect of restoring the memories from his time as a dog that he had been blissfully unaware of in the waking world. He remembers the hot fire that seemed to course through his veins as he turned for the first time; the confusion of waking up to find Hercules had not only knocked him out but also imprisoned him in the storage space beneath the floor; the pain that gripped him as he transformed; the feeling of power and strength like he’s never possessed before; the crunch of bones beneath his teeth and the taste of blood as it slid down his gullet. It turns his stomach completely, bile rising in the back of his throat as nausea grips him.
He rolls out of bed and moans faintly to himself as a band of pain assaults his stomach, gripping it as though it’s in a vice, and he staggers towards the latrine, doubled over with his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. He tries desperately hard to be as quiet as he can; doesn’t want to disturb either one of his friends from their much needed sleep; feels both too ashamed and too sorry for himself to allow anyone to see him in this state.
By the time he’s purged himself of everything that was in his stomach, until not even bile is coming as he dry heaves as quietly as he’s able, he feels a bit like he’s been turned inside out – and oh God it hurts so much that it wouldn’t take all that much for him to curl into a ball in the corner and cry himself into oblivion. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, burning and tormenting him mercilessly. He bites his lip to keep from screaming aloud (still determined that he will not wake his friends – will not force them to share his misery) and feels blood trickling down his chin.
The smell from the latrine is atrocious and it makes him gag again, curling up miserably as he does. Every sense seems sharper right now and he realises grimly that Pythagoras’ cure has not yet removed the whole of Hekate’s curse – his senses are still unnaturally acute and have turned the world into a confusing welter of sounds, smells and colours (even in the dark of the night) that threaten to overwhelm him at any moment, making his head spin and his stomach lurch again.
A hand rubs up and down his spine gently – comfortingly – and it’s enough to make him want to hurl himself into the arms of whichever of his friends has woken up and come to comfort him, and sob out his pain and misery onto a friendly shoulder. He doesn’t though; can’t burden either of his housemates in that way; can’t let himself give in to how he’s feeling. So instead he curls into an ever tighter ball, rocking back and forth slightly in a desperate attempt to soothe himself.
Gentle but insistent hands force him to be still and pull him out of his tight curl, wrapping long arms around him and lifting his head until it rests on a bony shoulder. It shouldn’t feel comfortable (even though it does) and he feels guilty enough over everything that’s happened that he wants to reject the solace that his friend is offering but when he tries to pull away he finds himself restrained by surprisingly strong arms (Pythagoras has always been stronger than he looks – there is a toughness to him that most people don’t expect).
“Just rest for a moment,” Pythagoras soothes, holding Jason in place.
It is probably just as well that he does because a moment later Jason finds himself writhing once again. It feels like his veins are full of liquid fire and although the sun has long since set he can feel the last remnants of the curse warring with Pythagoras’ cure within him, trying to transform him once more.
“I know it hurts,” Pythagoras consoles, “but it will get easier soon.”
“How did you know?” Jason manages to grind out, trying hard not to moan out loud.
“How do I know that it will get easier?”
“No,” Jason rasps, his throat raw and his mouth dry and disgusting. “How did you know I wasn’t asleep? I tried not to wake you.”
He can almost feel Pythagoras smile against him and the familiar scent of the mathematician is almost as comforting as the hand currently pushing the curls back from his face.
“My research told me that the cure for Hekate’s curse would have unpleasant side effects,” Pythagoras says softly. “I knew you would have to be strong to survive it and that the worst effects would be likely to hit you after dusk since that was when the curse was activated. I also know you. I knew you were at the very least uncomfortable before sundown just as I knew you would attempt to hide the fact… perhaps out of guilt and perhaps from a desire not to bother anyone… sometimes you are terribly predictable Jason.”
Jason sighs and turns until he’s resting against his friend’s side.
“You shouldn’t have to keep dealing with all the problems I make,” he says softly. “You should go back to bed and just leave me to it.”
“And did you leave me ‘to it’ when I chose the black stone?” Pythagoras asks sharply. “Or when I had to face the Furies? Did you leave Hercules ‘to it’ when he was turned into a pig? Or when Medusa was kidnapped and he needed to go to Hades? Do not think for one moment that I would leave you any more than you would leave either of us if the situation was reversed. Yes, this time the problems we have encountered were of your making but on other occasions it has been my problems that you chose to deal with.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be… just do not assume that I am anywhere other than where I want to be.” Pythagoras looks at Jason appraisingly, checking that for now at least any obvious symptoms of nausea have passed. “Do you feel up to moving?” he asks. “Because I really think you would be better off in bed.”
Jason nods and pushes himself painfully to his feet. He totters over to his bed, hunched over like an old man, his arms still protectively clasped around his stomach, still hurting too much to even attempt to stand up properly. Pythagoras is at his back the whole way to the bed, one hand gently resting against the bare skin of his back, ready to step in and help if he falters. He shivers but knows that this is due more to reaction than to actually feeling cold. Arriving at the side of his bed is welcome and he drops down onto it and rolls onto his back, hands coming up to cover his face. He feels Pythagoras sit down on the edge and drops his hands to peer at the young genius.
Pythagoras is looking at him thoughtfully, eyes narrowed.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Like I’m on fire,” Jason answers softly. “Everything hurts.”
Pythagoras nods and stands up, moving back into the kitchen. Jason can hear him pottering about the kitchen, muttering softly to himself, although at the moment with his overly sensitive hearing Pythagoras might as well be shouting or beating a drum whenever he puts a jar or a pot down. He resists the urge to groan because if this is Pythagoras’ idea of ‘unpleasant’ he really doesn’t want to know what ‘terrible’ might be, and because no matter what the mathematician says this is still all his own fault and he should learn to deal with the consequences of his actions alone. He swallows down on the rising wave of nausea and self-pity and closes his eyes once more, not even acknowledging when Pythagoras re-joins him.
“I thought you might want to rinse your mouth out.” Pythagoras’ voice is little more than a whisper in deference to the late hour, although it rings painfully loudly in Jason’s ears.
Jason sighs and opens his eyes, taking the cup that the mathematician proffers without any real enthusiasm and swishing the sweet, cool water it contains around his mouth before spitting it out into the bowl Pythagoras is holding. Pythagoras nods softly and then begins to wipe Jason’s face gently with a damp cloth, trying to help his friend freshen up at least. He pauses and peers at Jason more carefully.
“You’ve bitten through your lip,” he accuses with a distinct frown.
Jason winces as the cloth touches the open wound.
“I didn’t want to wake anyone,” he mutters by way of explanation.
“And you felt that self-mutilation was better than making any noise?” Pythagoras asks with distinct irritation in his voice. “I would rather have been given the chance to help.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason mutters.
Pythagoras wants to be angry at his friend but Jason looks (and probably feels) so wretched right now that he hasn’t the heart to increase the brunette’s misery; can’t bring himself to remain irritated in the face of a friend’s suffering. He sighs.
“It does not matter my friend,” he says softly, carefully mopping the last drops of blood away from his friend’s mouth. “I need you to drink this for me though… I promise it will make you feel better.”
Jason doesn’t even ask what’s in this second cup (even though Pythagoras’ last remedy set his guts on fire – although he supposes that he should be grateful that at least it removed the curse). He simply takes it and downs it in one swift gulp, praying that the contents will manage to stay in his currently delicate stomach.
Pythagoras smiles as he watches. Jason doesn’t need to know that the cup contained a reasonably strong sedative – enough to knock him out for a few hours until the worst of the side effects caused by the cure he was given pass. There is little else he can do; the symptoms will pass naturally and until they do Jason will just have to put up with them. It isn’t in Pythagoras’ nature to watch a friend suffering though if there is any chance whatsoever that he can relieve it and drugging Jason into insensibility is the best he can come up with right now. He’s done it before too (although fortunately Jason hasn’t realised it) after the Pankration when Jason desperately needed to sleep so that his battered body might get the chance to heal but his mind was still flying following that kiss from Ariadne.
As Jason begins to drift, eyes growing increasingly heavy, Pythagoras makes to push himself up from the edge of the bed. He is surprised to find a hand gripping his wrist with remarkable strength, preventing him from getting up properly, restraining him where he sits. He glances back at his friend and finds a pair of drowsy hazel eyes watching him with sleepy determination.
“Stay,” Jason murmurs.
Pythagoras hesitates. There are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea; a terrible idea – not least of which being that he doesn’t think that Jason is alert enough right now to fully understand the implications of what he’s asking. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve ended up effectively sharing the same bed of course. There have been nights in the past when they’ve been camping out on a trip to somewhere (one of the ridiculous jobs that Hercules finds for them on a frighteningly regular basis or one of the equally insane tasks that Jason has agreed to to help someone who looks pathetic enough) and Jason has rolled over in his sleep and grabbed hold of Pythagoras with such intensity that it has almost taken the mathematician’s breath away. He’s never been entirely sure why it happens – whether it’s because his friend is feeling particularly lonely, or vulnerable, or sad – but whatever it is on those nights Jason will latch on (all trailing arms and legs clinging octopus-like with such desperation that it makes Pythagoras’ heart bleed a little) and refuse to let go. The difference is though that it is always in his sleep – always at a time when his defences are lowered – and Pythagoras knows that were he fully aware Jason would be horrified and ashamed of his own neediness.
It doesn’t really help that Jason is blissfully unaware of Pythagoras’ inclinations as well. Jason loves the Princess (although there are times when Pythagoras wonders just how far that love extends – and feels guilty for that thought every time. It’s just that he can’t help feeling at times that Jason doesn’t really know Ariadne all that well; is in love with the person he fantasises about rather than the actual girl herself. He wonders if it’s cruel of him to think that about his friend) and has never shown even the slightest interest in developing any sort of physical relationship with a member of his own sex. No, Pythagoras is fairly certain that Jason is only really interested in women. He himself has always had a type though (dark curls, big eyes and a faint air of helplessness – a lost puppy look that tugs at his heartstrings every time) and Jason fits that type very nicely thank you very much.
Every time Jason glomps on to him in the middle of the night; every time he nuzzles into Pythagoras in his sleep; every time they sit out on the balcony together and he talks of the Princess in a breathless whisper with his eyes shining; Pythagoras feels his heart break a little more. It’s not an uncommon feeling. Over the years he has grown used to the fact that his attraction to someone will not be reciprocated (it’s happened far too many times for his own good). But this is Jason. Pythagoras has never actually lived with a person that he’s felt this way about before and it’s damned hard; impossibly painful to be honest. And he knows that if Jason knew the truth he’d be terribly kind and try to let him down gently and it would all be horribly awkward – and that isn’t what he wants at all. He knows from bitter experience that eventually the attraction he feels right now will fade; that one day he’ll look at Jason and not want anything more than friendship – than brotherly love. He still hopes that one day he will find the one person who will make him feel complete; that one day someone will come along who will feel the same way about him that he does about them (and if they happen to have curly dark hair, big eyes and a lost little boy look… well that would be a definite bonus).
It isn’t Jason’s fault that he doesn’t feel the same way about Pythagoras that Pythagoras feels about him. But it does mean that sharing a bed is a spectacularly bad idea. Pythagoras tries to pull away again and opens his mouth to tell Jason he’s going back to bed – his own bed.
“Don’t go,” Jason murmurs sleepily. “Please.” He turns his head into the pillow and gives a faint sniffle.
Pythagoras comes undone at the sound of that sniffle. He can never stand the sound of a friend’s unhappiness – has to do something to make them feel better - and it isn’t often that Jason openly shows his vulnerability. He’s far from being touchy feely with most people – clearly isn’t all that comfortable with physical affection – and the fact that he trusts both Pythagoras and Hercules enough to be demonstrative with them is something that Pythagoras is ridiculously touched by (and if he notices that Jason touches him more than Hercules he tries hard not to read anything in to it).
With a sigh the mathematician crawls up onto the bed (and really it’s far too small for two fully grown men. He supposes that he should be grateful that they are both fairly slender – the thought of trying to fit onto this small cot with someone built like Hercules makes him shudder) and tries to rest back against the pillows. Jason latches on in an instant, dark curls resting against Pythagoras’ chin, tickling him gently, breath hot against the bare skin of the mathematician’s throat. He is all clinging arms and legs and wraps himself around Pythagoras almost uncomfortably, but he’s shivering slightly too and moans faintly with discomfort as he tries to wriggle into a more comfortable position, body going rigid as the ache in his gut reasserts itself.
Pythagoras pulls the blanket up to cover them both and rubs his friend’s neck and shoulders soothingly, and trails his fingers in long, lazy strokes through Jason’s hair, feeling Jason relax against him and feeling the steady thrum of his friend’s heartbeat against his chest. Lying here is both wonderful and horrible but Pythagoras can’t help the way his heart flutters in his chest or his arms tighten slightly around his friend. He can feel Jason’s breathing begin to even out as sleep takes him, nuzzling in for even more comfort. The moon outside is very full and Pythagoras tightens his grip on Jason even more as the memories of his friend’s transformation into a Kynikos hit him once more. They could have lost him so easily if Heptarian and the city guards had managed to find him in that state; there would have been no mercy. He thanks the Gods silently that the medicine he came up with – the remedy spoken of in the scrolls he had consulted – has worked so well.
Jason is safe and Jason is here, and Pythagoras is inordinately grateful for that fact. He settles back and allows himself to feel happy. He will have to move before morning (if he can persuade Jason to let him go of course) because he doesn’t think he could bear Hercules’ ridicule, or even worse his sympathetic looks if he finally manages to drag his head out of a wine flagon for long enough to realise where Pythagoras’ affections have come to lie.
His mind wanders for a time and he wonders idly which of them has actually been the more cursed; Hercules who loves a woman cursed to live as a gorgon (but at least his love is reciprocated however hopeless the situation might seem); Jason who was physically transformed into a rabid, dog-like creature destined to kill and consume anyone he came across every night (but the remedy they found has cured that no matter how unpleasant the after effects are); or himself, since he seems to be eternally doomed to fall for men who cannot love him back in the way he wishes.
Jason sighs softly in his sleep, mutters something too quietly for Pythagoras to hear and snuggles in a little more tightly. Pythagoras cannot restrain himself from dropping a light kiss down into those unruly curls, breathing in the scent of Jason as he does. It doesn’t help to torture himself like this and he knows that sleep will not come tonight but right now, as Jason drifts, Pythagoras (no matter how pathetic he will feel come morning) is content.