|( you don't have to deny your urge )
||[Jan. 27th, 2008|10:56 pm]
a journal of inspiration
Macbeth!fic, written for _commonwealth via the Secret Santa at shakespeare140.
Untitled (as usual, because I am useless)
Pairing: Macbeth/Lady Macbeth
Set: a few years before the play.
Challenge: "happy Macbeth & Lady Macbeth fic of any rating". I think I did pretty well considering the way I usually seem completely unable to write happy things.
The light falls from the large, high window in a perfect square, its yellow warmth fading out across the garden's neat little lawn until it is completely eaten up by the darkness beyond. Inside, the king -- still a young man, with a glint in his eye that has not yet been dulled by the years and his many duties -- laughs with his guests, but the girl standing in the square of light is glad not to have to laugh with them.
She is framed in the shape's exact centre, looking out at the blackness of the garden and the estate beyond, and she waits.
There's a wind, like always, and it's rustling her skirts loudly enough that she doesn't hear him approaching at all. She sees him, though, through the corner of her eye, creeping nearer like an animal preparing to pounce. Slowly, he stalks towards her, and she watches him closely until he disappears from her plane of vision, then waits to hear his voice.
"Well-met by moonlight."
She turns, feigning astonishment, and suppresses the pleasure brought both by his presence and by the knowledge that he is ignorant of her surveillance. It very nearly feels like the upper hand, and then he smiles, and she forgets that she has ever thought of anything other than meeting him here, under the stars.
"You should not speak so loud." But she is smiling, too, and knows that he will take no notice of her.
"What, should I hush? For whose sake?"
"Mine, that does not wish to be discovered."
"Ah, turns your mind to subterfuge, madam?" His smile broadens and he steps closer, though he does not come into the light, as though to do so might mean revealing some guilty secret.
Any other girl might blush, but she does not; and she hopes that he will notice that, because she imagines it as the sort of thing that he might like, bold as he is. "Perhaps I am thinking of artifice. But unless your thoughts tend that way also, it will be all for naught." She smiles innocently, then, and his expression changes, just for a second, before he has time to right it into a cocksure grin.
"Why then, come closer, for I have a plot to discuss with you, and I hear that such discourses must always take place under cover of darkness, with each whispering into the other’s ear."
He is still standing beyond the square of light, and though she knows that she ought not to surrender to him now, to step out of the light and into his arms - that it will set a precedent, and he will expect her to be just as submissive in future - she does it, thrilling at the warmth of his hands at her waist, kissing him softly, and loving the darkness for having him in it.