Chapter Text
I’ve brought you forth today, to tell the story, masked by the one of higher normalcy. Both, highly forbidden, but are different kinds of poison. The story you all know and love, have referenced in every art form, and have created variations of appreciation for, is now shoved in the background, now a shadow in the moonlight. Though the story I’ve come to tell you today is also a tragedy, as a poison is a poison, in every form….
The moonlight shines over Verona, the streets flooded with the cool rays of the night. Whilst most of the residence, lay in their beds - weather peacefully or not - few stray out into the silent town. The night is best for secrets, as the Sun has a problem with keeping her mouth shut. After dusk is when those who have much to hide, come out for a breath, to dirty their consciences once more with the smoke of sin. Whether it’s naughty children, out for a midnight game, or an addict, retrieving a refill on their latest pleasure. But what we look for in the light of the dark, is two young men, hidden within an ally.
“Thy art as late as a fowl soaring south in a winter's rain!” The leaner of the two announces, his tone contradicting his volume, as the crickets could override his speech. He leans against a wall, acting as if he has not a care in the world, but his bouncing leg betrays him.
“Don’t thou yond to me, thee acts as though the traveling lamp sets and rises in thy favor.” The shorter one answers, entering further into the alley, a smile resting on his face.
“Don't thee shareth the same notion of the travelling lamp, if not thee shouldst reconsid'r?” The tallest removes himself from the wall, taking a step closer to his counterpart.
“The travelling lamp is not who is't I wisheth to beest, as it is hidden by the lunar sphere, and the lunar sphere means I receiveth to seeth thee, Mercutio!" The shorter one hums, caressing Mercutio’s arm, before grasping his hand, making the distance between the two thinner than an old rug.
“Thy words art at each moment so fair , but doth bid me, what hadst me lingering?” The blond asks, his breath visible in the chill of the evening; evidence of his wrongs. But did Mercutio care? Only as much as a fire did for burning down a village.
“If thee might not but knoweth, I wast facilitating my lady.”
“Ah, my Benvolio, what couldst the lady necessity, yond wast m're important to thy lord?” He queries once more, leaning deeping into the grasp of, now, both of Benvolio’s hands, clutching his arms.
“Simply some preparations for a coming wedding, quantities to prepareth for.”
“Which cousin strength this beest?” Mercutio slips his hands onto Benvolio’s waist. They begin to sway like weeds in the wind, the bane of the earth. But then again, ‘Weed’ is only a title given to plants in an unwanted environment.
“Doth yond very much stuff right anon, as thee hath said, thy art the travelling lamp at this moment, and I am deeply in need of thy lighteth!” Benvolio leans his head into Mercutio’s. Their height difference may only be an inch or two, but it makes for the perfect equation for a kiss; as their lips easily collide with one another. It’s short, tender, light, but also longing, desperate; As this is a moment they get maybe twice in a moon cycle. And when they parted lips, their forehead remained attached, afraid that at the loss of contact, time will leave along with it. The silence is only destroyed once Mercutio whispers into the wind,
“Wherefore doth thee keepeth returning to mine own lighteth, is thence not a brighter one to blindeth thee?”
“Why ever wouldst I wisheth to beest blind, as thy lighteth gives me a reasoneth to behold upon the beauty of the landeth.” Benvolio corrects. He's a man of few words, but those blessed with the rarity of hearing them are the luckiest of them all. They were reserved for those who Benvolio knew would truly listen, who would allow him to pass a breath between each sentence, and soak up the meaning of each syllable. Mercutio would have to wonder how Bene decided who had got the honor of being a receiver. “Dawn shall anon beest with us, and the travelling lamp shall awaken its subjects 'long with it.”
“Mine own Benvolio, wherefore might not but thee remindeth me, ‘t feeleth as though only an instant hath past.” Mercutio began to nuzzle his lover's neck, a sensation that he wished to bath in.
“Ah, my Mercutio, thee knoweth ‘tis not safe to beest a hen within a fox’s den, we might not but beest cautious!” Benvoilo warns, pulling Mercutio away from his person, as each touch was like a hit of opium, and he knew this addiction would kill him when the time came. “Goodbye, my love, I necessity some rest for the day ahead, it is demanding, and I doth not necessity mine own sins to maketh more so.”
Mercutio reluctantly pulled away, “Till the full lunar sphere rises again, shall we meeteth high-lone once more, till then, I can only wisheth f'r Queen Mab to blesseth me with dreams of thee!”
The two separate, as the moon has already traveled across the sky, since they first met. They’ll both return to their chambers, and sleep lightly, the guilt of their actions weighing heavy on their souls. But their dreams will soothe the soreness, as their hearts will beat in gratitude, and bless their minds with golden blood.