Authors Note: Not mine, Gregory Maguire's characters. Book-verse. An AU of sorts, focusing in on a strange twist of biblical references, the weird "You didn't bleed when I entered you" part of the book, and the theory that yes, hatred is an extreme aphrodisiac, but an aphrodisiac indeed. Recognizable lyrics belong to Stephen Schwartz's Children of Eden.

Clandestine

Elphaba never really understood why they all wanted him like that. She shrugged. He wasn't that big anyway.

Chapter 1: Lesson 1 4 3

"It's what we are forced to believe, almost, in a way, that exposes us to what we don't believe, or are not allowed to. Perhaps we consider the opposition fervently. No one likes to be told what to do and what not to do. Perhaps the push to the intended belief forces us to the complete opposite of the spectrum, which is also manipulation in a sense."

Elphaba remembers arguing about that once. It was a night in summer, and the evening sky shone a black-cerulean color, a color too disturbing and beautiful for even the Vinkus people to recreate in their shawls and dancing skirts.

Boq was there, at the canal, drinking a bit and arguing with her ("Maybe manipulation is nothing but an excuse for freedom of will") and she could vaguely recall Fiyero, Avaric, Glinda, Crope and Tibbett. Crope was stumbling and playing drunkenly with Tibbet's hair, and perhaps Glinda didn't really notice Boq whispering closer and closer to her reddened face?

She thinks that it was the first time Boq kissed Glinda, or was the first time before that, when we visited her at the vacation house? Anyway, all other details appeared blurry, for typical nights seem to pale in comparison to what we prefer to remember as much more important nights.

Later, when the copious amounts of alcohol affected them all, the sky still appeared the same gorgeous and disfigured blue, except this time, it acted as the aphrodisiac: an excuse for freedom of will.

Fiyero's body glistened with moisture, his muscles rippling under his deep tan skin, dark and pleasurably barbaric. He exposed a total of seven diamonds: two on those splendid hands, two on his adjacent upper arms, two the tight plane of his abdomen, and one right under the joint that connects face and neck, where the pulse of blood is located. Never having flirted before, she trembled with both nervousness and desire.

Fuck.

She remembers walking away after struggling to talk with him. She remembers feeling a failure, fighting tears, not only for pride, but for safety from stinging her damn skin. She couldn't remember anyone asking where she was going; she guesses that she was always somehow moving away so perhaps they had quit asking.

Her legs burned, but where else could she hide her shame but under the bridge?

He's a prince, remember. Even though he's a prince of a nameless blameless throne, I'm the jester of a named blamed green.

"Fuck", the girl moaned. "Let the booze wear off already!"

She wanted the whole world to swallow her whole, and perhaps leave her soul, provided it wasn't green.

"Elf! What the hell are you doing, my drunk and disorderly not-so-pretty?"

Her brain swarmed with unwritten prospects of possibility and song. Perhaps it was the alcohol. She doesn't remember because this wasn't exactly a remembering sort of night.

Avaric didn't have time to speak with that devil's tongue of his. Her hands folded like green ribbons behind his head, and intertwined with his soft golden tendrils. He was being devoured and also devouring. The snakes in his body writhed with disgust and arousal; the snakes in her body both swooned and hated.

Ferociously grappling under the sublime sky, the most noted thing Elphaba remembers is how her eyes are open, and staring into gray blue irises.

Figures. She never trusted that bastard anyway.