Lets start it off with:
DISCLAIMER: Garth Nix is a motherfreaking genius. I am not. He owns them. I don't. Dangit.
So, after editing my Taku/Senri, I thought, maybe I should write some stuff that actually belongs to me. I mean, its sort of a waste of creative juice and all, because beyond the few reviews, there's really no recognition, nor is there a possibility of it. But then I looked at my friend i.write.fic.not.tragedies' page. She's written 13. And I thought, you know, screw it. I have all summer, I might as well get the juices flowing!
This is the introduction to the "Gautlet Series"--a collection of stories about Noon and Dusk's relationship before and as they go through Arthur's struggle in Mister Monday, and, lastly, how they feel after the "switch." This story, "Know," is introduces the characters and how they interact before the changes brought on by the Will when it escapes.
Right, this one actually works very well with the song "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz. I'd just finished it, then switched on the radio to hear the Mraz song. So, if you've got it handy, pop it in, play it up, or, if not, just read.
So here it is. Monday's Noon and Monday's Dusk. They know each other.
Enjoy! (Reviews are love!)
--(my name is) Inconsequential.
(Introducing the Gauntlet Series)
A tall gentleman strolled into the room, his long britches a rich dark brown and sweeping the floor.
"Back from the night, I note."
Monday's Dusk stood bare, having just stepped from the spa, his back to the newcomer and hair more than damp but less than drenched. A thin, white, terry-cloth bath towel clung to his angular hips, tucked in just inside his left hipbone. A smile slithered along his lips, before flickering into non-existence.
"I've been home for an hour," he hissed quietly, turning to face the taller Denizen. The clothed man shrugged, smirking. He slipped out of his shoes, and hung his tailored jacket on one of the hooks at the door. Sunlight dashed through Dusk's cream colored window hangings, bringing color to the muscular, slightly tanned arms of the other Denizen: Monday's Noon. Across the room, the same light seemed to circle around the paler servant, but not quite touch him—he glowed in the morning light. His skin shimmered like the moon that he knew so well. Noon thought he looked beautiful.
He quickly crossed the floor, feet nearly silent as he walked toward Dusk. Dusk grinned savagely. He was tired from a long night of work, and still a bit irked that Noon had not come to greet him sooner. However, with a glance down at his companion's feet, Dusk could not help but be amused by the handsome gentleman before him.
"Nice socks," Dusk murmured; his voice no more than a whisper. Had the breeze that blew through the open window been any stronger, Dusk's words would have been inaudible. But not to Noon, he knew what the dark servant thought, what he said. He knew.
The socks were a dark, navy blue, completely unlike the rest of Noon's cheery, bright ensemble. They were clearly made in the Secondary Realms, cheaply and probably by near-slaves who sweat and were paid close to nothing. Noon had seen a pair on one of his recent excursions, and had instinctively bought them. White stars and silver moons adorned the blue fabric as well, stitched in with precision and close to perfection. There was more than one pair in Noon's armoire, more than enough to remind him of the sweet, slight Denizen before him. He chuckled, knowing that Dusk was angry for his tardiness.
"I'm glad and I am sorry," Noon replied, the latter in reference to his failure to visit earlier. "Monday hoped that I might do him a favor regarding the Grim. Apparently the Grim promised to make our Master—"
"Spare me the details, Noon, that does not tell me why you were late, simply what you were doing when I was gone," the other Denizen replied, listlessly, as though the story was not much more than a bore.
"Needless to say," Noon continued, unhindered, "I had to take a trip to the Pit, a nasty place it is, to visit with his seven servants. Ghastly pieces of work they are, pray that Monday never tries to meld and break us like that." Both shivered at the thought of what Grim Tuesday had done to his own Dawn, Noon, and Dusk.
"I would rather die," Dusk replied huskily, trembling. He remembered Tuesday's Denizens from before their breaking, and he knew them now, as the Seven, and wished he did not. Their gruesome faces left images in his mind, and their twisted thoughts reminded him of everything that could have been, that might have been. They were the epitome of a broken heart—and they knew it all too well. However, they were bound to do Tuesday's every want and desire. Not even such a severing could change that.
"Of course, it took me quite a while to get back out, and then I had to change my clothes and clean myself up a bit. You were home before I'd even returned, and though I thought of leaving you a note, it must have slipped my mind before I actually left. My apologies," Noon bowed low. Dusk shook his head, sliding forward on a clean, naked foot, standing in front of his friend.
"No matter," he replied, breathe hot along the depression of Noon's collarbone as the air flowed down his partially unbuttoned dress shirt. Their lips almost brushed, Noon's eyes began to close and his hand reached out to caress Dusk's smooth jaw. "You are here now, brother."
Noon's eyes flew open; he pulled his hand away and instead shoved the other Denizen against the wall. As he did so the towel around Dusk's waist slipped off, but Noon did not notice, however Dusk gasped as the cool air and then the fabric of Noon's britches scraped against his lithe legs. He lost his balance and his hand shot out to brace himself on the corner of the wall. Noon's grip on his shoulder and his back on the wall kept him up.
"Do not call me brother."
"Our master, Mister Monday, he wishes we do." Dusk was not scared, as anyone ought to be, not of the rage lightening through Noon's eyes and across his face, nor of the strong hand gripping his skin. The pale Denizen smiled a bit, lips pursed and left side raised. Almighty, he was humoring the other.
"Our master," Noon replied, face bearing down upon Dusk's, "is not present at the moment. And we are not brothers. You are of no relation to either Dawn or me. No Denizen is truly related—from molds we were shaped and born. Monday simply thinks it sounds more charismatic." He pushed a little for emphasis, giving Dusk a chance to bring in his legs and rein in his balance. "And this," Noon pressed himself against the other, causing Dusk's smirk to slip, "has nothing to do with charisma. Nor to do with Monday. I know you know that."
With the last comment, Noon was there, his grip not softening, but his lips quite soft, though a bit chapped on Dusk's own. He brought his other hand, finally, to touch Dusk's beautiful jaw, to glide along his neck and chin.
It was fantastic, though it always was, the way Noon could go from so angry, so ferocious, so beastly to gentle, to tender, to soothing. He slowly released Dusk's shoulder from his right hand, instead using it to discard his gold vest and help Dusk to fully unbutton the taller Denizen's olive green shirt. Once this was off, he pulled himself away, resting his forehead against the darker servant's, the bridge of their noses touching. He ran a finger along the other's slick mouth, tucked a damp stray hair behind Dusk's ear.
"To think you got all dressed up, just for me," laughed Dusk, kissing Noon's nose. "A waste, wouldn't you agree?"
"I suppose so, yes, but I wouldn't want to force you to take a second bath, was I to appear harried and soot-covered."
"Yes, you do think of everything, don't you?" Dusk slid away from the wall, taking up a languid position on his bed.
Surprisingly, and really, it was quite the surprise to any of those who did not know Dusk well; most of the things in Dusk's room were not dark or black. Though his wardrobe consisted of entirely dark things (except for three pairs of gauntlets of the orange variety, from Noon of course, and a pair of golden cufflinks, also from Noon), his room was mostly light, yellowy pastels. Here and there was some peach and a bit of orange or gold, but all were light, except his bed, which was dark in some ways, but not in a way that would hint that he was Monday's Dusk. Only one chair, black and silver, and the Secondary Realm mannequin that wore one of his suits and his top hat, spoke of Dusk's occupation, and of who he truly was.
The bed spread was a deep red color, the sheets cream, like his curtains, his pillows a rich gold. He had other colors, blue if he wanted, and golden sheets and cream pillowcases. But this was his favorite organization of color, Noon knew. Unlike Dusk, Noon's own room reflected everything about him. His own sheets were cream, his own bedspread: gold. His own pillows: red. He was Monday's Noon.
And here was Monday's Dusk, lying before him, looking so different, so sweet, so slim and fair. Slipping from his pants, Noon fell gracefully beside his companion, and took his lips once more.
"Thank you," Dusk whispered quietly, as they faded in to each other, the morning light glinting off of their bodies. Noon just smiled and held him closer.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he put in, dragging his lips over Dusk's neck.
Sawlt to your suger, babes!