Work Text:
Erik’s scarred hands reverently trace the contours he had once lovingly slaved over and for once, the stone does not feel cold, does not feel dead. Instead, underneath what could be a thin layer of marble, he feels warmth. He feels texture. He feels life.
Slowly, so slowly, he continues touching, stroking, worshiping. And as it wears on, the stone seems to dissolve, unnatural white fading into light peach, into chestnut brown, into cherry red. His hands finally stop, cupping the figure’s face, thumbs resting on cheeks flushed with life as he stares into sightless eyes. Slowly, gently, hopefully, painfully, he claims the figure's lips, feeling the final flush of warmth against his lips, feeling the flutter of eyelashes against his skin, feeling the initial beats of a pulse, feeling the rush of air as his beloved draws his first breath.
Erik breaks off, tears streaming down his cheeks, heart pounding in his chest, smile so wide he feels his jaw ache. The figure blinks at him with his beautiful blue eyes and graces him with a smile that reads like absolution. And when the figure speaks, Erik feels healed, forgiven – loved.
‘You’re not alone, Erik. You’re not alone. Not anymore.’