Title:In the Arms of the Dead
Fandom:Sleepy Hollow
Pairing:Ichabod/The
Horseman
Author:ZzoaozZ
Feedback:zzoaozz@wireco.net
Rating:Adult
Only(sex, gothic atmosphere)
Disclaimer:The characters unfortunately do not
belong to me. They were created by Washington
Irving and totally remodeled by
Tim Burton No money has changed hands and this is entirely for
my own
amusement.
Ichabod slept and dreamed of cardinals a pampered pet flying from his hand into
the hazy, New York sky, a toy that twirled and spun, a frightened bird beneath
the hooves of a great warhorse, a simplistic etching in silver. His mother's
voice haunted him whispering her warning to trust his heart and never forget.
Again and again, he seemed to see red blood flowing across the floor of the
rectory, red as a cardinal's feather.
His own scream shook him from
sleep. He bolted up into a pair of comforting arms. The Horseman held him
close rocking him gently until the last shreds of the nightmare dissipated.
Ichabod rested his head on the leather clad shoulder of the Hessian. "She knew
you would find me, somehow. She told me to remember, to trust my
heart."
"Remember what, meine Schönheit ?"
"The symbol on your
pin, my mother told me to remember it. She said to trust my heart. That was
her that brought it to you that day. It must have been. She sent that cardinal
to divert you, she made sure cloak and pin made it back to you. She wanted me
to see it and know that it was right."
"Right?"
"Being here with
you, loving you." The arms holding him tightened painfully, but Ichabod did not
notice. Too many things were coming clear at last. "She knew about you, she
knew I would be afraid to trust my heart. How could she not have known what my
father would do."
"Your father?" The Hessian's voice was a little
unsteady.
"My father killed her." Haltingly at first, Ichabod recounted
the entire story of his mother's torture and death. He had to stop occasionally
to swallow the lump in his throat and choke back tears, but he continued. He
explained the unconditional love he had for his mother, her innocence, her joy,
the pain at finding her dead at his father's hand bound in an iron maiden for
witchcraft.
As he spoke, it became clear how much of who he was had
been determined by the driving need to separate himself from both magic and
religion. He had run frightened from the control of two forces that seemed so
intent on destroying each other. It became easy to see that his fascination
with science was his way of dealing with the anger he felt and the betrayal from
the father he had looked up to for so long.
Gradually the words began to
come easier and the pain began to recede. The Hessian listened quietly without
judgement holding the mortal boy. When the words finally ceased he was still
crying, but the tears were a release they had never been before. Emotionally
exhausted, Ichabod slumped in his lover's grasp and let the years of suppressed
tears flow unchecked knowing he was safe and protected and best of all, not
alone.
Ichabod jerked upright, eyes widening in panic. "We're not
safe here. We have to do something, we have to stop Katerina before she unearths
your remains." He tried to rise but iron arms pushed him back into the
bed.
"Shh now," the Horseman's voice was passionate. "I have a plan. I have
no intention of losing you, pretty one, when I have only just found you. This
is what we must do." The Hessian detailed his plans as pulled the quilt up over
the pale skinned boy.
Ichabod listened carefully with growing respect.
The plan was simple enough to work, the only flaw he could see was that it
relied on him. He firmed his jaw. He would not fail in this. "It will work."
he whispered, "I will not let her destroy you out of jealousy."
The
Horseman caught his face and tilted it up to the firelight. His grey eyes were
dark and intense. "Did you mean what you said before? Do you love
me?"
Ichabod met those eyes and held them. "I love you, Christiaan."
For a moment the Hessian just held him as if he could stare straight
into his soul, then he pulled the boy hard against his chest in a crushing
embrace. Ichabod felt sharp teeth graze his neck and bared his throat to his
inhuman lover. Hot lips found and ravished his own opening his mouth, tasting
him.
The Horseman's voice was a fierce hiss against his mouth. "Mein
Ichabod, lasse ich Sie nie allein. !"
"What does that mean?" Ichabod's
breathless question ended in a gasp as those possessive lips moved down his bare
chest to the hollow of his navel.If the other replied, Ichabod did not hear it
as a fiery wetness closed around his sex and thought fled completely.
The Hessian brought him to a shuddering climax before stripping out of
his own clothes and stretching out full length over his lover. Ichabod felt the
hard muscled body press down on him from above. One powerful arm snaked around
his waist supporting him. A throaty, unbearably intimate voice whispered into
his ear, "Ich liebe Sie, mein kleines. I love you, my little one."
Ichabod moaned as much from the words as from what the Horseman's long
fingers and mobile mouth were doing to his body. He wrapped himself around the
larger body tangling his hands in the wild mane of hair as dark as his own. He
did not bother to muffle the scream of pain and desire as the Hessian entered
him filling him, making them one flesh locked in a rhythm beyond life and death,
beyond time. His fingernails drew long scratches across his lover's back.
Calloused hands caught both of his stretching his arms above his head and lacing
their fingers together bringing their bodies even closer.
The Hessian had
never seen anything more beautiful or desirable in his life or death. Ichabod
lay beneath him pale as moonlight and slick with sweat, his head thrown back and
mouth open in pleasure, their hands locked together. He would have wept if he
had tears to cry. He had been wrong, this angel did not belong to him. No, it
was he who was possessed. This child, this warm, living, thing commanded him as
surely as if he held the skull in his slender hands. Ichabod shuddered beneath
him pushing both of them over the edge.
They collapsed together
exhausted. The Hessian held Ichabod carefully listening to his breathing become
slower and more regular. He was about to slip out of bed when a sleep-heavy
voice stopped him. "This won't go away when I wake up will it? This isn't just
a dream?"
"Dieses ist real. Meine Seele gehört Ihnen, meine Liebe...This
is real, pretty one, and I will be here when you awake." He smoothed the damp
hair back from Ichabod's face. "Sleep for tomorrow shall not be easy for
you."
Ichabod watched in a drowsy haze as Christiaan disentangled himself
and rose. A long box that looked suspiciously like a coffin lay before the
fire. A skull lay atop it. Half of its teeth had already been filed to
points. The Hessian went to work on the remainder. Catching the boy's curious
gaze, he held the skull up for inspection. "The Reverend Steenwyke." Ichabod
let his gaze drift to the other items strewn out on the floor, a dirt encrusted
shovel, a pile of human bones without a skull, and what could only be the skull
of a horse. He thought to himself that this crazy plan might just work if he
did not botch it up. He slipped away into a deep and dreamless
sleep.
1)meine Schönheit = my beauty
2)Mein Ichabod, lasse ich Sie nie
allein. = My Ichabod, I will never leave you alone.
3)Dieses ist real. Meine
Seele gehört Ihnen, meine Liebe = This is real. My soul belongs to you, my
love.