His gaze sweeps over the garden, over every diaphanous petal, every branch, leaf, thorn—nothing is out of place. The fountain splashes quietly, pleasantly in the background, and the birds sing their twinkling tunes. Frankenstein hums with satisfaction but only satisfaction, nothing more, and he realizes that he is not quite so satisfied after all, because his garden, faultless as it may be, is just that, satisfactory. Red and reds and blues and yellows and countless variations, many of them his own, and indeed this garden is impressive but he has seen greater, grander landscapes, silent with awe. He wishes Master to experience the same, to be silent not with grave reservation but with the paralysis of joy and wonderment; somewhere wondrous and he thinks he knows a place. Indeed, he does.


"No problem, Boss! I'll make sure everything is even better by the time you and him get back."

Frankenstein gives Tao a brief, slightly reproachful look. Tao's 'better' usually means unwanted expenses, but he is a good child, and he shouldn't keep Master waiting any longer, so "Very well. We won't be gone long," and they depart.


The helicopter approaches the island, rolling hills and vibrant flowers that can be seen even from up here, like variegated watercolors, and yes, it is quite beautiful, but Frankenstein is eager to let Master see everything up close. An island just for them, isolated but not lonely, uninhabited but not dusty, something truly lovely.

Master looks at him, a hint of confusion on his brow, because isn't their home already lovely, lively, clean? What could be more great, more grand than their family? Than you, Frankenstein?

The helicopter lands. Frankenstein blinks. He knows he's blushing. "I…" Oh, how helpless he becomes in Raizel's sweetness! and he wouldn't have it any other way. He sighs fondly and smiles. "Thank you, Master, but I think you'll like what's here as well."

Tree branches arch over them as if they have been woven by fairies for a long forgotten wedding, and the red and orange sunlight cascades through the leaves, casting warm, trembling kaleidoscopic shapes on their skin, like the rippling surface of a stream. "We're here, Master."

A spring—an oasis—crystalline, still, serene, touched only by the vibrant nature around it: kissed by tree branches, caressed by flower petals, hugged by a mosaic of moss and plants and rock. Expansive, open, a potent blue shimmering with the warm hues of a sunset. Water falls from a cliff overhead like sheer curtains, and Frankenstein is satisfied.

He turns to Raizel, who has already knelt down to touch the water. His fingers leave ripples on the surface, and Raizel watches them as if it is profound, as if those small waves whisper secrets he can't hear.

Frankenstein can't help but feel a little proud. For Master to reach out and touch, feel the water, instead of denying himself the experience of all he can and cannot see beyond that window… His curious and curious Master. Watching him now, Master resembles a forest maiden, a nymph, a pretty princess with wide, luminous eyes. But for today, Frankenstein does not want to play the role of a knight. He wishes to be a temptress, lure that pretty princess into the water-into him. "Master." Raizel looks up. "Would you mind if I left for a brief moment? I will return shortly."

Raizel stands up and meets Frankenstein's gaze. "Do what you must."

Frankenstein bows and vanishes with the wind.

The moon is starting to climb up the sky when Raizel senses Frankenstein again. He does not say anything; there is no need to, and he knows, through the rustling of the leaves, through Frankenstein's strange silence, that his bonded does not wish to be seen yet. Raizel knows he will reveal himself and what he has prepared-because Frankenstein is always preparing something-in due time.

And then, he sees him. Gliding out from behind a tree, effortless in water as he is on land. Glowing eyes and moon-speckled skin draped in aqua jewels that shimmer almost as brightly as his soul, a decorated deity. Indeed, there is nothing greater, grander than what is before him.

Frankenstein swims up to him, rests his hands on the stones at Raizel's feet. He looks up at him with a smile and playful eyes.

During his time among the humans, Raizel has heard myths about sirens and their beautiful songs; yet Frankenstein does not even have to sing. Breathtaking and Raizel is breathtaken. He does not know what to say.

Frankenstein tilts his head slightly. "Would you like to join me, Master?"

Is he allowed to be so greedy? So indulgent? Perhaps for Frankenstein, he will be just so. Raizel kneels, sheds his clothing, and takes Frankenstein's hand. He descends into the water.

"I've caught you, Master," Frankenstein says before he places a kiss between Raizel's knuckles.

"You have," Master concedes warmly.

"Just as you have caught me." He presses closer to Master who raises a hand to touch the jewels strung over his shoulders and across his chest, something of his own craft. "Does this please you, Master?"

He nods, "but not as much as you please me," because how could anything compare?

A pause, a chuckle, and Frankenstein floats away from Raizel, towards the center, beckoning with the flutter of his eyelashes, the curl of his lips.

"Frankenstein."

"Yes, Master?"

"I do not know how to swim."

Frankenstein's smile stiffens for a moment as he freezes with the fear that perhaps this whole excursion is a mistake, that perhaps Master does not like the water very much at all. Perhaps his garden is perfectly satisfactory and Master perfectly happy at home only to have Frankenstein bring him to the middle of nowhere.

"Frankenstein," Raizel calls. "I like the water."

"Ah, my apologies, Master." He swims back to Raizel and takes his hand. "Do you still wish to stay?"

Raizel nods.

"Then, if you'd like, I can show you how to swim."

"I would be very grateful."

And so, he instructs Master on how to breathe, how to hold his breath-to not breathe in while he's submerged. Then, he guides Master underwater. And perhaps it is something in the water, in the moonlight, in the way dark hair sways listlessly around Master's wondrous face that makes Frankenstein want to gasp, but he is under water, and so, he is content with just staring, watching patterns of light dance on Master's skin. Their air bubbles float to the surface; all is quiet, muted, ethereal, as if they can stay just like this for an eternity. But Frankenstein needs to breathe. They rise to the air together.


The bedroom is rather minimal; Frankenstein has not used this base much, but it will have to do for tonight, and for tonight, they can be as intimate as they'd like to be, but Master continues to look at him with concern, and it is not because the bedroom is sparse.

"Frankenstein, that is—something I've used against our enemies." To make them submit, fear, choke for air they did not deserve. Raizel's frown deepens.

"Master, don't think of them. Think of…" Frankenstein pauses for a thought. "...the water." Yes, the water—powerful, tender, all encompassing: the catalyst of life. He smiles and places his hand atop Raizel's. "Submerge me, Master. You won't hurt me." He knows he won't.

Raizel looks down, contemplating his choices. Then, he meets Frankenstein's gaze with an earnest determination and says, "If that is what you desire, I will try my best."

And Frankenstein's heart swells with affection at those words. He leans in to kiss those sweet lips before they can say any more sweet words.

Frankenstein is clutching, gasping with the way Master makes him feel, and he can't be happier. And then, he begins to feel the air grow thin, and he finds that even if he gasps, his lungs crave more air. And then, he finds that he can hardly gasp at all. He's underwater, under Raizel, no room in his lungs for oxygen because he's flooded, surrounded, encompassed by Master. Raizel holds Frankenstein's breath as he holds him.

His lungs burn. "Mas…" is all he can manage, a strained whisper, as he wraps his arms tighter around Raizel, clenches his eyes shut, shudders. His vision is dark and blurred with tears that won't roll down his face; he can hardly speak, hardly think. Master, Master, and that is everything because he has surrendered so completely to him.

He can't make a sound now, can't even cough. His nails dig into Master's skin. Barely able to hold onto himself, he holds onto Raizel, arches towards him, and comes over himself. And then, too hot, too close, too much. He's suffocating—breathe—he can't breathe.

"Frankenstein!" Raizel cups Frankenstein's face and searches his eyes with an urgency as if he's in danger.

Frankenstein's eyes widen, he gasps, coughs, and gulps down air. He catches his breath for a moment and melts against Master, presses his face into that hand. And I'm fine. More than fine, because Master is all that much more soft in contrast to the crushing weight of his lungs. Like water after a hot, dusty day: a relief—euphoria. His breathing finally settles. He clears his throat.

"Frankenstein," Master whispers now, too tenderly for his own good, Frankenstein thinks. He breathes in the scent of his hair and places a kiss on Frankenstein's forehead, another one on his damp lashes. He looks at him with concern.

"I'm all right, Master. That was just"—he looks down, blushes, smiles a small smile—"a bit intense."

Raizel strokes his hair, smoothes it down, and sighs, almost relieved. But he knows Frankenstein's ways. And knows that, too much like himself, it's always 'all right' until it's too late.

"Master, you haven't…?" Frankenstein asks tentatively. "I can still serve you."

Raizel shakes his head. "That is not necessary. Rest, Frankenstein. I will clean."

Frankenstein is about to sit up, about to protest, but Master gives him a firm look, and he holds his tongue. The corners of Raizel's lips turn up into an almost teasing smile and there is a glimmer of mischief in Master's gentle gaze. He knows he's pushing him. They push against each other.


As Master wipes down Frankenstein's body with a damp towel with a gentle hand and gentle eyes, he says, "Frankenstein, I do not want to treat you like our enemies."

"I know. This is different."

"I felt you panic."

"Yes, and you stopped." Frankenstein straightens up and leans forward to press his forehead against Raizel's. "Master, remember, I am the one who requested such a thing. I understand if you don't want to do this again."

Raizel stares down at his hands resting on his lap. He shakes his head. "No, this is something I can do for you if it is what you desire. I will be more careful in the future." He looks up and before Frankenstein can object, he says, "I will do what I can for you, Frankenstein, because you are…my beloved." He quickly looks down again. His face is warm.

For a heartbeat, Frankenstein forgets how to breathe. Beloved. His beloved. Oh! Perdition catch my soul but he is already caught. Ruined, condemned, saved by his own god, by the fountain from which his current runs.* What could he say? Raizel already knows. Their feelings are mutual. So Frankenstein puts a hand behind Raizel's head and leans in to kiss Master tenderly, deeply, breathlessly. They part. "Tomorrow," Frankenstein whispers. "I will show you the flowers."


* a reference to Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Othello. Earl, I don't know if you remember that one conversation we had regarding how Othello draws his self worth from "the fountain" that is Desdemona, but that's what I was thinking of.

Earl prompted me with Raizel calling Frankenstein his beloved, and Laryna prompted me with a scenic island.

So yeah, prompts! I am totally up for kinky headcanons and such as well (as long as I think I can write them in character). Thanks for reading!

(Also, sorry for any typos/mistakes. I am too bleh to read over this again.)