secret santa: jason & lucien
ooc // i got blessed to write a fic for @lucienxcarr for the secret santa event (i hope the holidays have been good to you!)
initially i felt amused by it since i had intuitively thought of possible scenarios for jason and lu before i even knew that i’d get to write about them, and that amusement soon morphed into something of a blessing for feeling honoured to have gotten to write yours. this is the first time i’ve participated in something like this, let alone gifting my writing to someone apart from snippets of poetry, but i feel as if i grew along with this fic and i feel very thankful to have been given the opportunity to participate.
i’ve divided the fic into sections, some of which are further away from each other than others; hopefully my writing is coherent. after reading your lists of likes and dislikes i decided to try to focus on activity and some dialogue. i were considering to write a hp au about jason and lu at first, but knowing that i’d have too much reading to do for a too short time, i tried to build up an “incidental roadtrip/vacation” au about how one can get to know somebody from just spending time around and with them in place of asking who they are. it’s set in late summertime, in the parisian reigion, in france.
also: thanks to godard’s “bande à part” for inspiring one of jason’s and lucien’s adventures and rimbaud for his poems.
word count: 3122 title: from great rot comes a great heart
I.
rustling taffetas of tart lavender fields encircle lucien as he stands stranded with his flushed skin below the sweltering sun of île-de-france, his borrowed but overheated car releasing smoke that ascends to the sky in generous puffs. waves of frustration clash against him as the time passes, impatiently and let alone restlessly tapping his soles when he begins to pace back and forth on the hot gravel. it is essentially barren; the lavender fields are more so beginning to resemble a forbidding transition where he goes from living to dying of ennui than a opportunity to seize its therapeutic imagery in this heat. flower flies erratically twirl around lucien’s hands once he becomes too disheartened to flick them away from his sweating skin with the back of his palm, whereupon he sits down on the road; elbows resting on his kneecaps and his pained face turned away from the nauseating rays of sunlight that are tormenting him. the blond barely catches the noise of a running engine after what felt like hours of waiting for someone to cross his path, but fortunately there comes a point when a sound grows too loud for one’s hearing to ignore, and so a bright smile adorns lucien’s face when the stranger on a bike answers to his calling gestures by ceasing his winding of the throttle before letting his boot fall to the ground, its sole engraving patterns onto the road until the vehicle halts by the zealous blond’s side.
“ Un Sauveur! Est-ce que vous parlez anglais? ”
a shared mystification appears on their similar faces as they stumble to discern each other’s akin features; the most prominent dissimilarities being lucien’s golden hair and assertive eyes to jason’s dishevelled curls and discriminating ones. the brunet gives a light shrug to his shoulders from unease as he squints at the blond who expects for his reply. his brief glance to the smoke pouring out of the car’s hood is enough for him to tell what it is that the uncanny blond wants from him.
“ You need a ride? ”
with little left for interpretation, lucien gathers his essential belongings before he hops up on the seat behind jason and slips his hands between his arms to hold onto him before they’re off. it doesn’t go terribly fast, but the engine’s speed is just enough for the breeze to combat the sultry heat, and although lucien would’ve never admitted it himself, there’s a comfort of having his heartbeat press close to the other’s heart that is pumping blood underneath his shoulder blade.
II.
jason halts the bike once more as they finally reach the tail of “the City of Lights” to let lucien get his fair chance to hop off in similar fashion to how he had hopped on, which he ultimately does. however, as he begins to walk away from the brunet after offering his hand waving just enthusiastically enough to leave his mind captivated, lucien’s pace gradually slows down when the metallic chimes of jason tapping his fingernails onto his bike’s tank reaches his ears, charming lucien back to him whereupon he rests his elbows on the bike’s handlebars before leaning closer to the similar face before him with a sanguine grin.
“ Say, ––– incidents like these are meant to be shared like a torn tangerine passed between hands, ––– so why not seize the occasion?”
III.
da vinci’s bacchus, bosch’s ship of fools, and canova’s psyche revived by cupid’s kiss melt into a single masterpiece as jason and lucien race down the halls of louvre with their clammy palms tightly knit together. the duo swiftly dodges the taut wardens who are reeking of hostility as their lumbering bodies appear; continuing in determination even when they eventually pass mona lisa whose leer seemingly grows in mirth as she stalks them until their silhouettes are beyond her eyesight and the applause of their resonant sprint far too distant. turning round the last corner now, their feet scald and thighs tremble from fatigue as they force the last vigour out of their bodies, involuntarily gliding across the polished floor for a good few meters when jason eagerly turns to read the time on his wrist. his eyes widens in buoyant disbelief as he stumbles over his reading of the numbers to lucien who is clinging onto him over his shoulders as to steal a prevue at the time in avidity.
“ Nine minutes, and ––– forty seconds! We’ve knocked ––– three seconds off the old record! ”
they rush into each other’s embrace to celebrate as they begin to cheer the most cordial jubilations, becoming too blinded by joviality to either notice or care about the bypassers’ toffee-nosed scorns. everyone and everything else around them becomes a blur as their thumping heartbeats begin to sync while they rub their foreheads together and hold each other’s faces in their palms as to mend one another according to their hearts rapture. what becomes a vacant memory is the glow of their sternums once they head out to further celebrate their victory by downing distilled blends of anise, fennel, wormwood, and innumerable herbs until the bar keepers suggest that they scram. the ghost of their cracking knuckles and whispered threats, as violent as several stomps to a chest gasping for air, haunts them all the way back to their guesthouse, under the bed’s duvet, and into their night’s sleep.
IV.
mandarin marmalade stains the café table’s sun-bleached pink cloth orange when jason and lucien light-heartedly battle over the silver spreader which fleets in and out of each other’s grasps as to scare off the remains of their sleep in the corners of their eyes whilst pieces of sweet poppy seed buns churn inside their bellies. lukewarm curtains that are so long that they sprawl down the floor flirt with the breeze by the open windows from where one could spot adults carrying wine bottles concealed in paper bags as well as school children who are playing hooky and struggling to zip up the frozen zippers of their uniform jackets as if they had it coming at them. A teakettle nearby them begins to scream when a glob of the mandarin marmalade suddenly hits below jason’s right eye, a thin streak its syrup slowly streaming down the brunet’s rosy cheek who can only gawk at Lucien until he frees himself from his astonishment to return the favour by digging a silver spoon into the jar before flinging the spoonful of marmalade towards the other’s face. lucien’s attempt to turn his away from the fruit preserve launched at him is honourable, but it was in vain as an even greater glob slaps over his left eyelid that he had fortunately closed shut before it daubed him. after smearing the marmalade off of his eyelid with his fingertips lucien opens his eye, the orange syrup still weighing down his eyelashes as he glares at the giggling brunet with his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a peeved simper. However, when the magnificent idea of revenge soon crosses his mind, lucien quickly grabs the brunet by his cheeks with a clawed palm and angles his head down before wiping off the marmalade on his fingers into the doppelganger’s curls, the vanilla sugar dusting off jason’s thighs as he desperately tries to jump out of lucien’s grip despite his felt joy of being in it.
V.
by using lucien’s charm and jason’s nimble feet for disguise they succeed to trespass opera national de paris’ divider that separates the ballet performers from the snooty bourgeoisie who are waiting impatiently in their carmine velvet seats, sipping on their sparkling champagne once they need to catch their breath from their cynical laughter that echoes inside of the gold-embellished opera. Jason tugs at his lower lip with his teeth in concern as Lucien first guides him into the mass of corps de ballet dancers before guilefully turning his heels towards the dressing rooms to find an unoccupied one once he gets a hold of jason’s wrist whose veins then throbs as fast as a rabbit’s heart beneath his biting fingertips. The blond playfully shoves the brunet inside when he discovers an empty one, his hearty chuckles drowning out the hissing of jason’s lily-livered hushes. neither of them insists to fall entirely quiet until they overhear the ballet mistress’ assembling her ballet dancers who then toes out on their squeaking pointe shoes to the stage’s wings and wait in high-strung preparation to dance out from the shadows of the fraught curtains inclosing their sore souls and burdened bodies. everyone falls silent as none of them affords to voice their chants motivated by the begotten ambition and spite within their hearts until the orchestra takes tone and thus calls prince Siegfried, his mother the queen, his friend benno, and his tutor up on the stage, whereupon the prince and his friend eventually sets out on a hunt to pursuit one of the numerous swan maidens who drift onto the stage one by one.
VII.
“ Here, take this. ”
Lucien flings a pair of pointe shoes and a men’s black unitard at Jason. the suit’s polyester fabric clings to his head as if he was the blond’s coat and hat rack until he yanks it off in annoyance and then sees that Lucien has picked out the same attire for himself, too.
“ You’re asking me to wear this? ”
the blond snorts at jason’s offense, amused that he could be so offended by something so trivial as to having to temporarily wear an outfit so that they can pursue their revolutionary masterpiece in the making.
“ No chickening out; I won’t tolerate it. Come on, we should change before anyone gets the brilliant idea to come back. ”
jason, who is tugging at his sweater’s hem in visible discomfort, finds it impossible to approve of lucien’s daring persistence, to why he stubbornly chides,
“ I don’t feel good about this, man ––– what about our clothes? Are we just going to leave them here? ”
“ Surely you must have brought something else to wear with you. However, if it does get revealed that it wasn’t the case for you, then we’ll assume that you could borrow some of mine ––– We will, however, dispose them in the trash; Pieces of fabric are inconsequential comparison to what we’re about to do. ”
“ ––– And what is that, exactly? ”
Lucien leans closer to Jason until his left cheek rests against his right one, a sharp whisper tickling the brunet’s skin as it seeps out of lu’s venomous smile while he tucks down his cigarette case, lighter, and their ids into his boxers before pulling up the unitard’s straps over his bare chest and properly readjusting its fabric for it to properly fit his body.
“ Art. ”
VIII.
the partner in crimes stealthily sneak behind the left wing’s curtains when act IV begins. They wait in anticipation as they watch the swan maidens dance on and off the stage to console the heartbroken odette who is resigned to death, prince Siegfried soon finding her by the lake in his return. Lucien plants his hands upon Jason shoulders once siegfried’s refusal to marry odile gets played out on the stage, his fingers tapping over his clavicles as to count down the seconds before they must leap out on the stage and bare their masterpiece to the unassuming spectators. However, when lucien’s finger-tap hits one, Jason begins to resists his nudges as his own guts tangle into knots in a maelstrom of fright and excitement. Lucien, growing impatient and insulted by jason’s hesitance, almost makes him stumble out on the stage as he gives a hard kick to his achilles’ heel and tails behind him. There is a naïve attempt to try to imitate the assemble’s dance but when they instantly realise that there is nobody for them to convince, lucien leaps forward to gain the spotlight for his grand finale before anyone gets to blow the cover for them. with a hoofed pointe to the stage floor and his palm to his chest, the blond’s presence causes the orchestra to erupt the tchaikovskian symphony before verses committed to his memory begin to trill off his tongue like seeping blood from licking honey off a thorn:
“ Between the oleander and the gaudy lotus tree Slips amorously the [great] [dreaming] [Swan] Enfolding Leda in the whiteness of his wing; - And while Cypris goes by, strangely beautiful, And, [arching] the [marvellous] [curves] of her back, Proudly displays the [golden vision] of her big breasts And snowy belly embroidered with black moss ––– ”
odette, the dying swan, tears out the feathers of her plumage as she bursts in tears for someone to bestow her a peaceful death, but alas for her prince siegfried and his acquaintances, the swan maidens, and the spectators have either become too captivated by the assertive young man before them or, if not both, too mortified by lucien’s reenaction of rimbaud’s profanity to do anything but gawk at them in oblivion to the poor odette, weeping for anyone’s help.
when blinking reds and blues finally arrives to sooth the dying swan out of her river of vengeful humiliation, the two culprits held responsible to the swan’s dishabille are already long gone, yet wearing their ballet attire as they get devoured by the night’s obscurity.
IX.
loud cheers reverberate along the cobblestoned alleyways of montmartre as jason and lu gets shoved back and forth as their ankles wilt from robust laughter, intoxicated with epinephrine; a phantasmagoria of twangy ivories and rich mauves stirring their vision. jason, suddenly making a leap out of their shared one-armed hug, turns around to face lucien and mimics the ballerinas’ quatriéme, whereupon the blond responds with equal mimicry as he attempts a grand jeté. amidst their sonorous heartbeats, lucien cites the last three verses from his earlier performance as he draws jason closer by his shoulders before leisurely helping him do supported pirouettes.
“ - Hercules, Tamer of [Beasts], in his [Strength], Robes his [huge] body with the lion's skin as with [glory] And faces the [horizons], his brow [terrible] ––– ”
the blond cites, flicking his index finger against the brunet’s forehead on poetic beat;
“ and [sweet]! ”
with a swift headlock the sore spot above jason’s brow, he gets pecked by the blond’s kissed knuckles as he performs a noogie on him; the brunet chuckling whimpering pleads and grabbing lu by the forearm as to bribe himself free from his chaining embrace as his temples flourishes in irritated pinks. a mirth so saccharine that you could grow heart cavities gets tossed between them until lucien finally lets go off of jason who takes revenge by playfully elbowing his waist before he fishes the silver-plated cigarette case from his underwear and eventually lights the smoke resting off smirk.
“ Care to join me, mon ami? ”
jason willingly accepts the cigarette pointed at him with a bowed head, leaning slightly after he seats it between his lips to have lucien light it for him with the lit butt of his own smoke as they take a mouthful and inhales. soon enticing smoke ripples out of both their nostrils and mouths as they lean away from each other to savour the soothing minute in silence before deciding to move along in resumed giggles. their palms rest on each other’s tender necks as they rub each other warm amidst their mischievous nibs at the skin beneath their fingertips. when a membrane of dew begins to coat the illumed night sky, they hurry their pace in hope to grant themselves enough time to slip into their guesthouse without having their clothes reek of clammy tobacco and ribcages shivering from the cold.
X.
the rain goes pitter patter onto the starved lonesome souls hurrying outside; their folded arms held up high above their damp their hair that is barely clinging to their foreheads as to spare any droplets from pricking at their eyes in wait for them to dry from tonight’s heartbreak. inside their bedroom, the creaky wooden floor begs jason and lucien to go to bed as they dance along to the hums of the trumpeting daffodils and capricious piano playing from the radio that is buzzing shyly by the opened window. their cheeks take the hue of persimmons as they press them against each other’s, granting themselves to feel alone with the nameless fires burning inside of their chest as their hearts swell from the heat; threatening to burst through their skin and rip their scars open; to turn them new, for why they lead each other to the unmade bed before they allow themselves to fall into the waves of its wrinkled bed sheets; its pattern cueing at the nightmares from the previous nighttime. in the quietest hours of night in which even the raindrops do not dare to silence, hypnos rises into the sky with his mother nyx and kiss the minds behind their pillowy eyelids goodnight.
XI.
it is their last night together before parting and since neither of them achieved to fall asleep in the bed that has become too heavy with dreams, they agreed to take a midnight stroll alongside seine after purchasing a bouquet of eglantine roses at eyefleur’s. lucien lightly tugs at the pink petals with his fingertips as they walk down the riverbank together in silence. Above them the moon spins in place like a pearl held in the sky’s iridescent shell, and the streetlamps illuminate the spoiled water with their scattered patches of flickering light. They decide to sit down on the cobblestoned edge once they grow tired from walking, whereupon they let their feet swing freely without support as they witness the moon and water bleed into one entity before their eyes. their silence prevails as the cellist in lucien’s throat refrains from pressing their spindly fingers down his vocal cords and strum the strings in a hum; the harpist in jason’s heart avoiding to strum his tendons in similar manner. when the bouquet rolls off lucien’s lap neither of them can bring themselves to care for it. instead, they watch as the pink petals, bitter with pesticide, dissolves into the water like melt sugar cubes; the healing of a wound putting trust in nature in their reunion. in their mutual understanding that what’s left of their shared tangerine has begun to rot, a soundless agreement to see each other again when they’re back in season gets sealed with a pinky promise as they take each other hands, sharing a squeeze of gratitude and hope when they realise that great life derives from great rot.
