Fandom: Dragon Quest VIII
Type: Fanfic
Word Count: 555
Characters: Marcello/Angelo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own Dragon Quest 8.
Summary: Marcello looks into a mirror and then looks at Angelo looking into a mirror.
Notes: Incestuous thoughts, nudity, some violence
Every once in a while, Marcello looks intently at a mirror. Most of the time, he viewed such items as things to pass, to glance at as a means of making sure that he looks tidy, and then dismiss as a needless form of vanity. Not today. Today, he looks into his own eyes. Green. Sharper than his rapier. Black hair. Some call him the son of the evening sky from that alone. He never uses pretty poetry to describe himself and he isn't about to start now.
His face? Striking. Here, he winces a bit. No one has ever accused him of being beautiful and since he isn't getting any younger, they won't be changing their minds any time soon. He holds his gold circular pendant in his gloved hands. That is beautiful. He knows people say it, and many have said it to his face while commenting how different it is from the cross necklaces most other Templar Knights wear.
The Soul of the Goddess is its name, and Marcello is the only worshiper who wears it. Abbot Francisco had given it to him right after his mother died, and here, Marcello's smile is full of sorrow. He looks away from the mirror, and leaves his room.
He finds Angelo in front of a full length mirror in the Knight's Quarters. For his younger brother, the mirror is a way one falls in love with the self. Marcello's fist closes around his necklace, but he stays hidden in the shadows.
Angelo is beautiful. Marcello hears it all over the Maella area. Peregrin Quay, Simpleton, and even voices from Ascantha gush about how "gorgeous" Angelo is. How he looked like an angel with hair like wind carried snow and steely blue eyes. Ramblings from women mean nothing to Marcello, but when men comment, when Abbey money is all because of Angelo and no one else-
Marcello grits his teeth. He thinks of rushing in the room, grabbing Angelo and screaming, "WHY? Why are you always looking at yourself in the mirror! WHY?" He wants to shatter that mirror. He wants to shatter every mirror in the Abbey. Marcello wants to shatter every single item capable of reflecting that lovely face. He wants his hands to bleed with Angelo's blood as well as his own.
He knows damned well why Angelo looks at himself. He also knows why Angelo is naked with his hand around his manhood. He knows why Angelo smiles with a face full of smug. A part of him doesn't blame his younger brother at all. A part of him wants to get behind his younger half-brother, embrace him from behind, inhale the bay rum scent Angelo often wore, and just touch him in front of the mirror that would reflect them both. Marcello closes his eyes, presses himself against the wall, and says a prayer as the fantasy slowly fades away.
Angelo is beautiful. Marcello sighs; he is no poet. That's Angelo again, and that's how the younger man woos just about everyone he sees fit for his own ends. Sure, they were mostly women, but still...how Angelo goes through them. The Templar Captain shakes his head.
"The face of an angel...the heart of a scorpion." Marcello whispers while walking back to his own room.