1 Title: Killing Morpheus
Author: Ryoko no Shinigami
Rating: R
Pairings: 6x13
Warnings: Yaoi, premeditated murder, violence, blood, angst, flashbacks, maybe sex scenes in later chapters.
Authors Notes: Ok, this may be the first fic of mine with a lemon sex scene in it. But that's maybe, and only if I decide to. Heck, I have yet to even do a scene with any sex in it, so maybe it's not a good idea.
Anyway, readers of Neil Gaiman's 'Sandman' graphic novels may recognize this plotline as one that was only hinted at in the series. For hints, go reread about Larissa in the later issues.but that's all I'm saying! I don't want to give the whole thing away already!
Dedication: To Chika, you know who you are. Be happy, love, there's always the sky to live for.
Chapter One: Changing Face
There are many ways to kill a god, thought the man known as Zechs Marquis. But almost all of them required being a god oneself. And Zechs Marquis, while he was many things, had no delusions of being a god. And yet, he planned to become one, with the death of another.
The god in question was the only man who Zechs respected. He was the only one he feared. Therefore, it was only reasonable that he must die.
That man was Treize Kushrinada.
That man, mused Zechs, was the most insideous, bold, uncaring individual on the entire Earth Sphere. Worse, he was also charismatic, cultured, dashing.people practically fell into his lap. Everyone wanted to be the favorite of the handsome and charming leader of Romefeller.
It was a position Zechs Marquise had held, up until recently. And as far as he was concerned, his own fall from grace was the fault of those detestable Gundam pilots.
Yes, the Gundam pilots. He didn't understand his fascination with those five teenage boys. Anymore than he understood the fascination of Treize Kushrinada. But it was similar, he thought. Just as Treize could get people to willingly bend to his machinations, those Gundam pilots had unknowingly aided their cause by ruining both Zechs' reputation and his high standing in Triezes' eyes. And the worst part was, they hadn't known they were doing it. They fascinated Zechs to the point where he did it for them.
And it was all because of that one mobile suit. Zechs had known that there was almost no way that he was going to pull the wool over Treizes' eyes for long. As it was, he had barely finished the repairs on the damnable thing when he had been found out. And now, all his years of hard work seemed to be for naught.
Treize had called Zechs to his office only a few hours ago. The room was rich, lushly appointed, with huge bay windows filling one wall. He had stood with his back to Zechs, staring out the window. When he turned, there was a look of deepest sadness on his face.
He had told Zechs in no uncertain terms that his time as a trusted high-ranking officer was over. He had deliberately gone against orders, Treize said, in rebuilding the Gundam when he had been told to destroy it. And then, to have allowed the Gundam pilot to enter their base in Antarctica, simply so he could battle with him one final time.it was unquestionably the harshest act of betrayal that he, Treize Kushrinada, had ever been forced to endure.
Zechs had stood while these accusations were being thrown at him. His face showed no emotion, but his blue eyes blazed unseen behind his mask. He had thought himself in control, if not of the situation, then at least of himself. But Treize always did know how to control others, and he definitely knew what made Zechs tick.
He had been coming very close to losing his temper, something he rarely did. His voice had been becoming louder than usual, straying from its usual soft tones.
"I cannot, for the life of me, imagine why, Zechs. Why would you deliberately go against my orders? Why? For the sake of those pilots? For the sake of your own damned pride?" he slammed his palm on his desk. "And for heaven's sake, will you take off that stupid mask!"
Treize had made that request before, but rarely. And for quite different reasons. For the first time, he was demanding it. And for the first time, Zechs thought to disobey. He stood, unmoving.
Treize hadn't imagined, even for a second, that Zechs would dare defy him. But when it became clear that his demand would not be met, a small frown crossed his handsome face. He strode around his desk to stand in front of his disobedient officer. Still, Zechs did not stir. He stood as though carved from alabaster in his red uniform with gold trim, his spotless white pants and gloves perfectly smooth, his high black boots scrupulously shiny, soaking up light. He was perfect, with the exception of that fatal flaw, that vein of defiance that was showing up now, so unexpectedly.
After one moment, full of tension, Treize reached out, and with both hands lifted the heavy mask from Zechs' face, setting it on the small side table. Still, Zechs moved not at all. Treize had to fight not to gasp, both at his audacity and at his stunning beauty.
It had been months since he had last seen his friends' face. Always he wore that silver mask, and Treize seldom had the courage to ask him to remove it, because he knew how vulnerable it made him feel. Seldom had he had the need, or the wish, to exploit that vulnerability.
His skin was milk pale, more from race than from lack of light. His eyes were ice blue, blazing now with silent rage. His white blond hair fell in locks into those eyes. The effect could be boyish, charming. Now it was terrible and fearsome. Treize found him, as he always had, utterly captivating.
He lifted one hand to run his long, white-gloved fingers through that pale blonde hair, letting long soft strands trickle through his fingers like water.
Then he drew back his hand and hit Zechs hard across the face with his palm. The other man stumbled, holding to the table that held his mask to remain upright. Treize caught him with a blow from the other side, that sent him sprawling to his back on the deep, wine red carpet.
When Zechs looked up at him, a livid red spot was spreading across both cheeks where he had been struck. There was stark betrayal in those blue eyes as he put one white gloved hand to his cheek. And Treize knew why.
Treize was the only one who knew about Zechs' childhood, one of only three other living people who had been there, and the only one of those three to become close enough to the young count to witness it all. He was the only man alive, save Zechs himself, who had ever seen how Lord Peacecraft, his father, treated his oldest child, his only son.
He had only been about fourteen at the time, and Zechs was younger. He never knew what the two were fighting over, only that he entered the study in time to see Lord Peacecraft backhand his young son with such force that the small boy had fallen off his feet, falling to the hardwood floorboards.
He had picked the young Zechs, then Milliardo, off of the floor, and helped him out into the garden. He had splashed some water from a pond on his hot cheeks, and calmed him when he started to cry.
And now, that same boy, now a man with a new name, in a time and place so different it was hard to imagine one coming from the other, was lying propped up on his elbows on Treizes' study floor, looking at him with a mixture of rage, hatred, and a little fear. And Treize realized his mistake.
Zechs had climbed slowly to his feet, took his mask from the table, and tucked it under his arm. He had walked calmly up to Treize, their faces mere inches apart. "You are just like my father," he whispered. "Just as hypocritical, just as cold and unfeeling." He had turned, walked to the door, and opened it. Then he turned back to face the man who had just become his enemy. "And your ideals are doubly as foolish."
And then he had left, slamming the door behind him.
All that had occurred about two hours ago. Now, Zechs sat in his own quarters plotting the downfall of this man who was his god.
And he was a god. No mere man could possibly do the things that Treize Kushrinada did on a regular basis. No mortal was as brash, as foolish, as insane. The man took his own dreams and made them come true, mostly by convincing others that they were also their dreams, so they would aid him in their fulfillment.
He was a master of dreams. He was a proverbial Morpheus.
And Zechs was going to kill him.
Author: Ryoko no Shinigami
Rating: R
Pairings: 6x13
Warnings: Yaoi, premeditated murder, violence, blood, angst, flashbacks, maybe sex scenes in later chapters.
Authors Notes: Ok, this may be the first fic of mine with a lemon sex scene in it. But that's maybe, and only if I decide to. Heck, I have yet to even do a scene with any sex in it, so maybe it's not a good idea.
Anyway, readers of Neil Gaiman's 'Sandman' graphic novels may recognize this plotline as one that was only hinted at in the series. For hints, go reread about Larissa in the later issues.but that's all I'm saying! I don't want to give the whole thing away already!
Dedication: To Chika, you know who you are. Be happy, love, there's always the sky to live for.
Chapter One: Changing Face
There are many ways to kill a god, thought the man known as Zechs Marquis. But almost all of them required being a god oneself. And Zechs Marquis, while he was many things, had no delusions of being a god. And yet, he planned to become one, with the death of another.
The god in question was the only man who Zechs respected. He was the only one he feared. Therefore, it was only reasonable that he must die.
That man was Treize Kushrinada.
That man, mused Zechs, was the most insideous, bold, uncaring individual on the entire Earth Sphere. Worse, he was also charismatic, cultured, dashing.people practically fell into his lap. Everyone wanted to be the favorite of the handsome and charming leader of Romefeller.
It was a position Zechs Marquise had held, up until recently. And as far as he was concerned, his own fall from grace was the fault of those detestable Gundam pilots.
Yes, the Gundam pilots. He didn't understand his fascination with those five teenage boys. Anymore than he understood the fascination of Treize Kushrinada. But it was similar, he thought. Just as Treize could get people to willingly bend to his machinations, those Gundam pilots had unknowingly aided their cause by ruining both Zechs' reputation and his high standing in Triezes' eyes. And the worst part was, they hadn't known they were doing it. They fascinated Zechs to the point where he did it for them.
And it was all because of that one mobile suit. Zechs had known that there was almost no way that he was going to pull the wool over Treizes' eyes for long. As it was, he had barely finished the repairs on the damnable thing when he had been found out. And now, all his years of hard work seemed to be for naught.
Treize had called Zechs to his office only a few hours ago. The room was rich, lushly appointed, with huge bay windows filling one wall. He had stood with his back to Zechs, staring out the window. When he turned, there was a look of deepest sadness on his face.
He had told Zechs in no uncertain terms that his time as a trusted high-ranking officer was over. He had deliberately gone against orders, Treize said, in rebuilding the Gundam when he had been told to destroy it. And then, to have allowed the Gundam pilot to enter their base in Antarctica, simply so he could battle with him one final time.it was unquestionably the harshest act of betrayal that he, Treize Kushrinada, had ever been forced to endure.
Zechs had stood while these accusations were being thrown at him. His face showed no emotion, but his blue eyes blazed unseen behind his mask. He had thought himself in control, if not of the situation, then at least of himself. But Treize always did know how to control others, and he definitely knew what made Zechs tick.
He had been coming very close to losing his temper, something he rarely did. His voice had been becoming louder than usual, straying from its usual soft tones.
"I cannot, for the life of me, imagine why, Zechs. Why would you deliberately go against my orders? Why? For the sake of those pilots? For the sake of your own damned pride?" he slammed his palm on his desk. "And for heaven's sake, will you take off that stupid mask!"
Treize had made that request before, but rarely. And for quite different reasons. For the first time, he was demanding it. And for the first time, Zechs thought to disobey. He stood, unmoving.
Treize hadn't imagined, even for a second, that Zechs would dare defy him. But when it became clear that his demand would not be met, a small frown crossed his handsome face. He strode around his desk to stand in front of his disobedient officer. Still, Zechs did not stir. He stood as though carved from alabaster in his red uniform with gold trim, his spotless white pants and gloves perfectly smooth, his high black boots scrupulously shiny, soaking up light. He was perfect, with the exception of that fatal flaw, that vein of defiance that was showing up now, so unexpectedly.
After one moment, full of tension, Treize reached out, and with both hands lifted the heavy mask from Zechs' face, setting it on the small side table. Still, Zechs moved not at all. Treize had to fight not to gasp, both at his audacity and at his stunning beauty.
It had been months since he had last seen his friends' face. Always he wore that silver mask, and Treize seldom had the courage to ask him to remove it, because he knew how vulnerable it made him feel. Seldom had he had the need, or the wish, to exploit that vulnerability.
His skin was milk pale, more from race than from lack of light. His eyes were ice blue, blazing now with silent rage. His white blond hair fell in locks into those eyes. The effect could be boyish, charming. Now it was terrible and fearsome. Treize found him, as he always had, utterly captivating.
He lifted one hand to run his long, white-gloved fingers through that pale blonde hair, letting long soft strands trickle through his fingers like water.
Then he drew back his hand and hit Zechs hard across the face with his palm. The other man stumbled, holding to the table that held his mask to remain upright. Treize caught him with a blow from the other side, that sent him sprawling to his back on the deep, wine red carpet.
When Zechs looked up at him, a livid red spot was spreading across both cheeks where he had been struck. There was stark betrayal in those blue eyes as he put one white gloved hand to his cheek. And Treize knew why.
Treize was the only one who knew about Zechs' childhood, one of only three other living people who had been there, and the only one of those three to become close enough to the young count to witness it all. He was the only man alive, save Zechs himself, who had ever seen how Lord Peacecraft, his father, treated his oldest child, his only son.
He had only been about fourteen at the time, and Zechs was younger. He never knew what the two were fighting over, only that he entered the study in time to see Lord Peacecraft backhand his young son with such force that the small boy had fallen off his feet, falling to the hardwood floorboards.
He had picked the young Zechs, then Milliardo, off of the floor, and helped him out into the garden. He had splashed some water from a pond on his hot cheeks, and calmed him when he started to cry.
And now, that same boy, now a man with a new name, in a time and place so different it was hard to imagine one coming from the other, was lying propped up on his elbows on Treizes' study floor, looking at him with a mixture of rage, hatred, and a little fear. And Treize realized his mistake.
Zechs had climbed slowly to his feet, took his mask from the table, and tucked it under his arm. He had walked calmly up to Treize, their faces mere inches apart. "You are just like my father," he whispered. "Just as hypocritical, just as cold and unfeeling." He had turned, walked to the door, and opened it. Then he turned back to face the man who had just become his enemy. "And your ideals are doubly as foolish."
And then he had left, slamming the door behind him.
All that had occurred about two hours ago. Now, Zechs sat in his own quarters plotting the downfall of this man who was his god.
And he was a god. No mere man could possibly do the things that Treize Kushrinada did on a regular basis. No mortal was as brash, as foolish, as insane. The man took his own dreams and made them come true, mostly by convincing others that they were also their dreams, so they would aid him in their fulfillment.
He was a master of dreams. He was a proverbial Morpheus.
And Zechs was going to kill him.
