Chapter Text
i'd be the voice that urged orpheus when her body was found
The first time that you see him, you believe you're dreaming. You are eighteen, your first year in college, first Halloween frat party, and more than a little drunk. Your fairy costume keeps riding up your thighs and you keep bumping people with your wings. Your friends have absconded, finding solace in the beds of some frat guys who they met that night, and your cheeks are burning. Stepping outside, the cool October air cools you down and you let out a happy sigh, closing your eyes and leaning against the side of the house. It's quiet, no one else you can see, the muffled sounds of "SOS" by Rihanna filling the night.
"You have a light?" comes the deep male voice and you start, eyes fluttering open.
Standing before you, exiting the shadows like a ghost, is a man, no college frat boy. He is tall, so tall, taller than even you, and a few years older. He has long silver hair like something out of Lord of the Rings that glows in the moonlight. One eye is covered by an eyepatch and he is dressed in clothes that remind you of a renaissance fair. Simply put, he is gorgeous, and you believe he is dreaming because of the intensity in his eye when he looks at you.
"Uh huh," you get dumbly, hands fumbling in your purse. Your tongue is tied, fingers numb, brain moving like mush, frozen both by cheap alcohol and his very presence, but you manage to out your lighter. (Sometimes, when you're drunk, you like a cigarette or too, and when the smokes wreathes around you, your head tipped back, you feel almost desirable.)
He steps closer as you flick on the lighter, cigarette hanging out of pink lips, and you cup the flame for him. The sudden red glow lights up his face and you see his chiseled cheekbones, the almost statuesque shadows of his face. "Thanks," he says, cigarette lit, but he doesn't move away. In fact, he seems to press closer to you, almost pressing you against the building. "What's your name, pretty?" he asks, his voice remind you of the Duke from Bridgerton.
You lick your lips, intoxicated by his presence, and swallow. "Maeve," you manage to get out. "I like your costume," you add, silently cursing yourself for how dumb and how young you sound.
He smiles, almost gently, inhaling. "Maeve," he purrs, smoke leaving his mouth. The name feels familiar leaving his mouth, like deja vu, but you'd remember meeting someone like him. "What a pretty name for a pretty little bird." One of his hands comes up to rest above you, boxing you in, and you can't get your mind wrapped around the fact that you're in this situation. That he's not trying to go after pretty, thin blondes, that he's talking to you. "What are you supposed to be?" he asks, tracing one of your wings.
"A fairy," you say and he chuckles at that. He keeps staring at you, hungrily drinking you in, and you shift, uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare. "What's your name? Should I call you Legolas?"
He shakes his head, dropping his cigarette and stomping on it. His hand traces your jaw and he cups your chin, bringing your face up towards his. "You can call me... Orpheus," he replies, lips quirking up like it's a joke.
"Interesting," is all you can say, legs pressing together. "Is there a reason?"
"A story someone once told me," he murmurs, thumb caressing your cheek. You don't say anything, only blink up at him, eyes tracing his eye patch, the sparkle in his indigo eyes, his plump ink lips. His eyes are solely on your face, not even once looking down at your body, at your tits that are practically falling out of the dress. "Can I kiss you, Maeve?"
You shiver and you nod. "Yes, please," you whisper and he smiles, leaning down to do just that.
It moves quickly, after that.
You take him back to your dorm room, your roommate gone for the weekend at her boyfriend's, and Orpheus descends upon you, like a man who hasn't seen food in years. He calls you sweet names, like love and darling and pretty and sweetling, murmuring things to you in a language that seems almost familiar. He is gentle with you, but his hands, his mouth, his attention never leaving you. You gasp and moan and sigh and he seems to know your body better than even you.
(It's like he's praying at an altar the way he worships you. He's not satisfied until you've cum three times and he seems sad when you pull him up to kiss him.)
He buries his face in your neck when he fucks you, holding on to you so tight like he's afraid you're going to disappear. After, when you're both sweating and trying to catch your breath, he pulls you into his arms.
"You're great," you tell him lamely and he laughs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, your body draped over his.
"You are too," he says, and there's something in his voice that causes you to look up at him. He feels your gaze and his eyes squeeze shut and there's a look of pain that crosses his face that makes your heart tighten in your chest. "You remind me of someone I once knew," he tells you quietly, spinning a lock of your hair around his finger, and you feel jealous of a ghost. The implications of his statement hangs between you like smoke: I lost someone. I loved someone.
(He wanted someone to love him and dreamt that someone did and love he did. But, the dream has gone and the grief is real.)
"I'm sorry," you breathe, and his arms tighten around you.
"Go to sleep, Maeve," is all he says and you do.
And when you wake up, Orpheus is gone.
(Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me.)
i'd be the immediate forgiveness in eurydice