In the Wee Smallville Hours of the Morning
(Faeries Dancing Remix)


Original story In the Wee Smallville Hours of the Morning, by HYPERfocused




The fairy princess danced on her spindle, spinning with the tinkle of the music box. Tiny streamers on her wand sparkled in the moonlight streaming through the gauzy curtains over the window. Two girls in twin beds barely a foot apart lay listening as the music wove a spell lulling them into…

…sleep remained elusive and he listened to the fairies dance until he couldn't lie still any longer. He rose from his single bed, pushed aside the curtain, and peered out into the moonlight. The world waited for him, as it did every night, an escort in his restless travels. His shoes stood by the window expectantly, and he stepped into them, threw up the sash, and hit the ground at a…

…run as fast as he could, the stalks of corn whipping at his flesh. He wheezed for a breath he couldn't find, panic clawing at his chest. Fire arced from a blood red sky, striking a cross in the middle of the field. A nude body hung from tattered ropes, flames licking green-tinged skin as a satyr danced around with a weeping erection and his father's face. The sweet notes from a flute rose in the heated air and he ran past the satyr to the boy on the cross. Tears fell from familiar eyes and plump lips mouthed help me. He reached for the boy, wrapped his mouth around a flaccid cock, and nursed until bitter milk quenched his parched throat. He lifted his gaze, his forked tongue licking his scarred lips as the satyr's erection nudged his ass. The boy on the cross hung dead, vacant eyes staring in accusation, and the pain of loss jolted him…

…awake too early in the morning, the sky dusky with pre-dawn light. She sat by the window, toes tucked under her nightgown, and watched the unmowed grass wave as something invisible ran by. Her mother lingered from her dreams, keeping her company, telling her she wasn't only a beautiful façade. But she could see her reflection in the windowpane, a fairy princess trapped in glass, pretty to look at but without powers, unable to give people what they wanted, unable to…

…dance under the spray of the ocean as it crashed against the jagged rocks. He stared out over the expanse of gray-blue water preventing him from running further, the rising sun painting reddish lines on the surface. He perched on the tip of South America, his breath visible in the cold, thinking of Smallville and an occupied bed. His need for sleep had dwindled, but his need for the man in the bed remained, and some nights he gave up the pretense and ran directly to the castle, to sit shrouded in the wee hours of the morning, watching dreams play across a secretly loved…

…face in the mirror twisted in revulsion before he turned away in disgust. Nightmares plagued him regularly, waking him by dawn. He dressed and went downstairs to fix breakfast. The cook never stirred, long since having been told that only one person should be punished with being up so early. He fixed simple toast and jam and carried it on a tray with a carafe of orange juice to the office, where work would keep him company until twilight came again. Few nights passed that he slept all the way through, when nightmares gave way to dreams that felt so real, dreams of being held by the warm, loving arms of the boy with light dancing in his…

…eyes that wished for more than she would ever get. She watched the fairy princess flit around the kitchen on gossamer wings, between the table, the refrigerator, and the stove where her father stood making pancakes. Memories of her dreams danced in the morning sunlight, her mother smiling without noticing her as she fluttered by. A tinkling laugh drifted in the air and she was graced with a perfect, empty smile. Rejection tasted like burnt pancakes, but she was used to it…

…happening as often as he dared. The day's trials bled into the night's run, the pounding of his feet a companion to the castle. Moonbeams danced like fire over pale, smooth skin, stealing through the window like him. Newly cut grass clung to the bottom of his shoes, kicked off beside the bed. Tiredness that he rarely felt slid over him like the blankets he slipped beneath. He heard the murmur of his name and shushed quietly, as he wove warm, loving arms around his dreams and drifted off to sleep.


End


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