Schlitzie Ramone (sweetcarolanne) wrote,
Schlitzie Ramone
sweetcarolanne

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Fic: Prologue; Lovecraft fandom, NC-17, Joseph Curwen/Simon Orne

Sometimes I should SWAT my muses, LOL!

Title: Prologue
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Case of Charles Dexter Ward”
Pairing: Joseph Curwen/Simon Orne
Genre: Slash
Word Count: 1,587
Warnings: Explicit and slightly rough sex
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, no profit, suing is futile!
A/N: This is not so much a fic as a prompt answer for a muse-prompt community that grew and got out of hand! Any physical descriptions and relationships not fully explained in canon (i.e. Lovecraft’s story itself) are my own interpretation and may differ from other depictions of these characters and relationships elsewhere.

It is quite difficult for me to write this using modern idioms and patterns of speech. Yet I will endeavour to do so. It is good practice for me, as it was ignorance of modern culture, facts and customs that helped lead to my demise after my first resurrection. If I am to succeed in what I wish to accomplish, then I must become perfectly integrated into the world of today.

Now that I am resurrected for a second time, I do not wish to die again. All I had at Pawtuxet has, as far as I can ascertain, been lost to me, and I have much rebuilding and re-acquiring of certain vital materials to do.

But I digress.

The part of my memoirs that I shall now relate is an episode of my history as a lover. A relatively small part of my life, to be sure, and not one to which I attach the grave importance that others might, but it has helped to shape who I am.

I have, especially in my early life, travelled far and wide, and have seen many wonders. In the year 1678 I ran away to sea, and for nine years was I abroad. And in each land I visited, I acquired vast knowledge of many subjects, and also managed to sample almost every erotic delight that can be named. I enjoyed the intimate company of many a beautiful woman, and more than one beautiful man also. No act of passion was too illicit or too outlandish for me to seek it. As I thirsted for knowing of other things, so too as a young man did I thirst to know all that there was about the pleasures of the flesh.

How strange it is, then, that I should experience the greatest pleasure of my life only when I returned to my homeland. That the one who, more than any other, would make me tremble beneath both gentle caresses and the inflicting of exquisite pain would be there for me when I settled in Salem.

His name was Simon Orne.

This man was one of only two close friends I had, as I have always tended towards solitude for the most part, scorning ordinary human beings as they could never comprehend, and are ridiculously prejudiced against, the kind of great works I apply myself to – the other being Edward Hutchinson, a man of vast intellect and skill, especially in the realms of forbidden lore, who was a mentor and guide to both Simon and myself. These two men and I met often to discuss the arcane matters that were most of interest to us, and to perform experiments of both a scientific and sacred nature. Fools would call what we did witchcraft and blasphemy, but we knew that what we explored would bring us power beyond the wildest dreams of any person ever born upon this earth; what we sought to achieve would make us more glorious than any who have ever lived. We were determined to strive towards greatness, and we did so with a fervour that mundane folk, in their infinite stupidity, would view as lunacy. As always, such people know nothing, and their so-called faith is the stubborn blindness of children. The philosophy, sciences and arts of ordinary humankind are as nothing compared to what we studied together in order to bring about the triumphs we sought!

Simon was a handsome, well-built man of my own age, with the most intense eyes that I have ever seen. Eyes that seemed to burn through to my very soul each time he looked upon me. Of course, he had to be very subtle and discreet when he glanced my way, given the prohibitions against love between men, but I could tell by the way his gaze lingered on me for mere fractions of a second longer than on any other, and by the tone of his deep, guttural voice when he addressed me, that he saw me as more than a fellow scholar of the occult. It took very little time before I knew beyond all reasonable doubt that he desired me. And the very force of that desire was what first intrigued me and then aroused me greatly. His keen mind, as well as his finely shaped body, profoundly attracted me, but it was his yearning for me that captured my interest the most.

There is no greater stimulus to passion, I have found, than being wanted by one who is so worthy on every level.

For our first tryst, I let Simon believe that he was the seducer. But I had long determined to become his, and by doing so make him mine.

It happened one evening when Simon invited me to his house, under the pretext of showing me some rare books in his possession that he felt would be of interest to me. I sensed his true motives from the very first, as Mr. Hutchinson was notably absent, and Simon seemed eager for me to sample a rather aromatic beverage he himself had brewed. One sniff of the drink, even before I took the smallest sip, was enough to confirm that it was meant to have aphrodisiac properties. I could not help but feel slightly amused at Simon’s attempt to heat my blood, for if he only knew how close my own desire was to fever pitch at that very moment! But I continued to play the game of subtle looks and carefully intoned words, of lowered eyes and restrained come-hither gestures. I wished to ensure that I had ensnared Simon completely, and that when he took me it would be with all the strength and fury he possessed.

We spoke long of our scholarly efforts, our amibtions and ideas. Simon showed me the books he had mentioned earlier and together we perused the pages most relevant to our work. I watched Simon closely, noticing the slight trembling of his hands and the clenching of his jaw as he handed me a small black volume with a curious break in the spine. It fell open at what seemed to be a pre-selected passage, an obscure rite requiring man to lie with man written in language that seemed almost seductively poetic. I had heard of such things before, but still read each word before me thoroughly, speaking the most erotic lines aloud and allowing my gaze to meet Simon’s as I whispered how beautiful I found the words.

His breath rasping and his eyes wild with lust, Simon growled that I was the beautiful one, and swept me up into his arms, knocking the book and my glass recklessly aside. He kissed me fiercely, claiming me as he forced my lips open with his own, his tongue seeking mine as I melted against him, moaning into his mouth and achingly hard for him.

Somehow we managed to move into his bedchamber; our clothes were soon torn off and he laid me down on my back upon his bed, covering my naked skin with devouring kisses. He slid a pillow beneath my hips, and I spread my thighs wide apart so that all of me was exposed to his burning eyes and to his touch. I gasped and almost sobbed as he bit me, first my neck and then the bare skin of my chest, teeth viciously grazing my nipples as he moved down over my body, alternating soft kisses with harsh bites, until at last he took my swollen hardness in his mouth. He pleasured me with lips and tongue until I was nearly delirious with wanting him, my breath hitching as I begged him to take me. He briefly pulled away, looking raptly down upon me as if he beheld divinity in my face, and reached for something from beside the bed.

Oiled fingers soon found my entrance and slowly, tenderly opened me; I moaned his name as he replaced his fingers with his massive shaft. He thrust within me, gently at first until I urged him to be rough with me, to make me scream for him. My hands clutched at his back, caressing the tautness of flesh and muscle as he moved inside me, stretching and hurting me exquisitely, for he was more well endowed than any man who had ever taken me before. He was magnificent, and I gave myself to him with wild cries, a sheen of sweat dampening both our bodies as the final rapture overtook us, leaving us drained for a few moments but by no means entirely sated.

He had me more than once that night; in all my long life I have never known another man so virile.

And as morning woke us from the sleep we fell into at long last, I beheld him smiling at me as I reached out to stroke his tousled hair. I knew, without yet hearing him speak the words out loud, that Simon Orne was madly in love with me. And he already knew how deeply I had fallen in love with him.

We would have to keep our feelings and our trysts completely secret; there was enough local inquisitiveness and too many whispered rumours about our studies and activities already. Only Edward Hutchinson was ever told the truth of what Simon and I were to each other.

From that night onwards we were bonded together, and though in the future we would be forced to spend long years apart, the love that we had forged would forever remain.
Tags: fan fiction, fandom, joseph curwen, joseph curwen/simon orne, lovecraftian horror, slash
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