Hi there, either you're passing by or deciding to stay, welcome! This is my second Sisyphus x Sasha fiction. It based a lot from the piano masterpiece ' Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence' by Ryuichi Sakamoto. No, there were not any lyrics, just pure beautiful warming godly-sent experience to the ears. I hope you like this story, I'm still working on my English, any comments and critiques will be warmly welcomed. At least please leave a review, it really gives me an immense encouragement to carry on the path of a fanfiction author. Thank you x
Disclaimer: I do not own Saint Seiya the Lost Canvas. The original series go to its rightful author. I merely want to make Sisyphus's dream come true.
Chapter I - Dark Desire
The memories associated with her presence had always flashed brightly like lightning, but the remaining specs of the flares would stay and haunt him, rather than diminishing away, every time his sapphire eyes were covered by his eyelids.
The current reincarnation of the Goddess of war had his heart from the very beginning. Since the warm, dry, and humid summer afternoon half a decade ago. There she was, standing four-foot tall in her sad black and white dress, contrasting to the lively southern Italy. Her emerald eyes widened in surprise at a tall and mature man's sudden appearance. The lavender hair was just at her neck length back in the day. He remembered seeing her face expression shifted as he revealed his reason of arrival, then the memory of feeling her soft, smooth tiny hand in his as she half-unwillingly followed his foot step, further and further away from her brother and best friend.
It pained him every time to witness sorrow being shone in those lovely jade eyes of hers. The guilt anchored deeper in his very existence when she kept those feelings hidden in the presence of others, she tried with all her might to appear as a strong Athena to her Gold Saints and people of Sanctuary. Through a thin layer of sorrow curtain in her eyes, she would appear positive, cheerful, lively – always with a pretentious smile worn on her porcelain-like complexion to hide all these bursting of emotions spurring deep in the adolescent beauty's heart.
He had desperately fallen for her.
This young, maturing damsel with such vast heart, her strength was as endless and as limited as the boundary of the universe itself.
Being the closest person to the young goddess, he had always been there for her in the times she need him. She was herself with him, pains, weakness, tears – all of those raw humans' emotions she did not let them show to anyone, anyone but Sisyphus.
It seems, his strong and stiff arms around her were the comfort she needed. The Gold Saint of Sagittarius would apologize, for taking her away from having another path of life – painless, peaceful, filled with happiness and surrounded by the ones she loved.
"No, do not blame yourself." Sasha would always repeat the same response, warm tears filled her swallowed eyes "It's not my faith, it was not your fault. You did what you have to do." She would put her arm even tighter around him, her cheek pressed against his golden armored chest. "Thank you, Sisyphus, for caring and taking care of me."
Her voice was shaking, her tears falling down her cheeks. The only thing he could do was merely pulling her in closer, stroking her silky luscious locks, giving her the physical contact that she needed – and so did he.
At that very moment, the Greek man vowed to himself, he would protect his goddess and keep her safe and secure with all his might – even at the cost of his life – or after his death, his specter would still linger around her, holding on to the young goddess's existence, like demented phantom, he would tear apart anyone's flesh, humans or deities, who would harm even a single strand of her hair.
And that – was the only eternity Sisyphus begged the God to grant him. The only way he would rather live past the fallen of his presence.
His love for Athena – Sasha, had been kept from anyone but himself. Sisyphus was aware of their situation, she was the goddess in the time of the Holy War, he was merely but one of the twelve Gold Saints whose lives existed to ensure her safety and restoring righteousness. He could not, at any cost, let ignorance and selfishness dictate him or sought to express his true feelings for her beyond the roles of a Goddess and her loyal Saint.
He had always loved her, like a man would a woman.
Desire, fantasies, lust, he craved and longed for them all. Knowingly, there would never be such occurrence – except for his dreams. He frequently woke up in the middle of the night, his white sheets would drenched in sweats, even dreaming of sharing intimacy, skin to skin, was regarded by Sisyphus himself to be a forbidden, sinful act.
Trying hard to resist, but his body did not lie, his erection would not go softened, no matter how long he patiently waited – a minute passed by, feeling like an hour. A lot of nights he tried to ignore the human male primitive responses embedded in his human instinct. But she would still appear there, haunting him once his eyes shut, her delicate soft milky white skin, her petite body frame, fulfilled in the right curvaceous parts, further emphasizing the adolescent goddess's transition into womanhood. He would see his own reflection in her glittering emerald eyes, her apple red full soft lips would be claimed as his very own.
Sisyphus found it beyond his control to resist the urge and desire. His hands traced into his night garment into the fully hardened bulge between his thighs. His hands pumping up and down on his raging erection, eyes closed, he imagined how her bare body would feel to his hands, soft and smooth fair complexion, how her lips would feel on his, how soft and warm her oral cavity would be. He wanted to mark every inch of her body with his lips and tongue, suckling hungrily on the tips of her breast, leaving them hardened and erected after. He wanted to eye how her beautifully exquisite face would express when he was pleasuring her in every possible way. He imagined that once his hand reached her involuntarily parted thighs, in his mind, the young lady's fair cheeks would get flushed with red hot blood, thighs shut shyly at the realization. Sisyphus would beg for entrance to her delicate femininity, ensuring her with the gentlemanly gentle kiss on her forehead and softly on her lips. When his request was responded, he would gently rub her delicate folds, feeling the moistening soft flesh being filled with warm slimy liquid. Before he partook her body entirely.