A/N: This is real short. And probably not incredibly accurate. But I
thought it was a neat reason for Panchis Pilate not to make any decision
when deciding Jesus's fate. If you're Christian, you probably will not like
this at all. It portrays, albeit barely, Jesus as gay. Or at least willing
to sleep with a man. = See the warning? All flames (at least regarding
this aspect) will be openly mocked. If you feel like pointing out all of my
inaccuracies, I would actually be glad to know about them. I read the bible
so many years ago...and skipped most of it. A refresher would be cool. ^_^
~Lynn
Decisions
One smooth, dark arm sprawled over the couch, he cradles his head in the other. Dark curls frame his face, and I play with them, absentmindedly. There is a contemplative smile on his face, I know that he will tell me when he is ready. Now, I find myself content to simply watch him. His beautiful body, barely covered with a white silk sheet, his muscular chest rising and falling with each breath. The carpenter's son is a wonder to behold, an amazement. I spoon him, continuing to play with his amazing hair. He has a bit of stubble on his chin, and will look less innocent when it grows in. I am not looking forward to that. I suppose I will live. His eyes, will always be the same. A brilliant shining turquoise with small rings of green floating in his irises. They are stunning...ethereal as though he is from another realm.
He takes a large breath, I know he is ready to speak. His voice is soft, not quite trembling. "They say I'm the son of God."
I smile to myself. I have heard the rumors, the rumors that this beautiful boy was conceived immaculately. The rumors that he has come to be the Messiah of the Hebrews. In some corner of my heart, I believe is the son of a god. Jupiter, or Apollo, perhaps. I don't want it to be true, I love him...and the gods torture mortals who dare love their playthings, sons, daughters, anything that catches their attention. And this beautiful "king of the Jews" is attention catching...worthy of the gods. "And do you believe them?"
He ponders, hugging our bodies closer. "I don't know. I have strange visions. I can see the world as a better place. As it is now, it is awful. Many starve, the Ro..." he stops remembering where he is. Who he is with. I am Roman, but surely I see what he means. "The Romans are cruel," I reassure him. "All men are cruel..."
"But they're not!" he argues vehemently, sitting up, allowing the sheet to fall. I try not to be distracted by the view. "The world can be a wondrous place, full of love and equality. I can change the world...make it a better place."
I wonder at his naivete. He is barely sixteen. Though for one so young, and seemingly simple, (which I assure he is not), he is amazing in bed. I have had concubines that were worse. I hold one of his callused hands with my smooth one. "Perhaps you can. But be careful what you would change. Men who change the world often die."
He grows quiet at that. I realize that the conversation is over, and lean to kiss his full pink lips. He responds, barely. His mind is elsewhere. I know he is finished for the night. I sigh, and gather his clothing. He smiles at me innocently, he is so pure and sweet and so full of wonderment. I wonder why he deemed me a worthy lover. A roman soldier and the carpenter's amazing son. Perhaps the offspring of a god.
.....Several Years Later
He has changed so much. His hair is longer, his skin darker. And his beautiful eyes...still so full of light and hope. Yet...with a certainty. As though he already knows his fate. And I fear that I know it as well. He is brought before me, his penalty is to be death. Death by crucifixion, a terrible death. Slow. It may even take three days. I cannot order it. I cannot deny it either. I still love him, that beautiful carpenter's son, but politically I am stuck. If I deny it, it will be my own death. And perhaps that of my family. I know he will think me cruel, but I decide to not decide. I make no decision, and he is to be put to death.
2
I visit him in prison, my face a mask. My insides churn, my heart breaks at the sight of him. So calm, and peaceful, alone in prison, betrayed by a friend. By two. Betrayed by myself.
He looks at me, with his green eyes, and I notice his beard. I was right, he has lost his youthful innocent look. Though perhaps it is not the beard, but that he has lost his youthful innocence.
"I forgive you," he says softly, in the same voice he used to use. I can't take it, I'm too overwhelmed and rush out, without a word. I am wracked with guilt and pain, but know that I can do nothing. He will be crucified and I will watch, because I can't help myself. He will die, and I will live. Perhaps the rumors involve some truth and he will live despite it all...and in some way, I find myself hoping. And I realize even if he dies, he has changed the world.
~Lynn
Decisions
One smooth, dark arm sprawled over the couch, he cradles his head in the other. Dark curls frame his face, and I play with them, absentmindedly. There is a contemplative smile on his face, I know that he will tell me when he is ready. Now, I find myself content to simply watch him. His beautiful body, barely covered with a white silk sheet, his muscular chest rising and falling with each breath. The carpenter's son is a wonder to behold, an amazement. I spoon him, continuing to play with his amazing hair. He has a bit of stubble on his chin, and will look less innocent when it grows in. I am not looking forward to that. I suppose I will live. His eyes, will always be the same. A brilliant shining turquoise with small rings of green floating in his irises. They are stunning...ethereal as though he is from another realm.
He takes a large breath, I know he is ready to speak. His voice is soft, not quite trembling. "They say I'm the son of God."
I smile to myself. I have heard the rumors, the rumors that this beautiful boy was conceived immaculately. The rumors that he has come to be the Messiah of the Hebrews. In some corner of my heart, I believe is the son of a god. Jupiter, or Apollo, perhaps. I don't want it to be true, I love him...and the gods torture mortals who dare love their playthings, sons, daughters, anything that catches their attention. And this beautiful "king of the Jews" is attention catching...worthy of the gods. "And do you believe them?"
He ponders, hugging our bodies closer. "I don't know. I have strange visions. I can see the world as a better place. As it is now, it is awful. Many starve, the Ro..." he stops remembering where he is. Who he is with. I am Roman, but surely I see what he means. "The Romans are cruel," I reassure him. "All men are cruel..."
"But they're not!" he argues vehemently, sitting up, allowing the sheet to fall. I try not to be distracted by the view. "The world can be a wondrous place, full of love and equality. I can change the world...make it a better place."
I wonder at his naivete. He is barely sixteen. Though for one so young, and seemingly simple, (which I assure he is not), he is amazing in bed. I have had concubines that were worse. I hold one of his callused hands with my smooth one. "Perhaps you can. But be careful what you would change. Men who change the world often die."
He grows quiet at that. I realize that the conversation is over, and lean to kiss his full pink lips. He responds, barely. His mind is elsewhere. I know he is finished for the night. I sigh, and gather his clothing. He smiles at me innocently, he is so pure and sweet and so full of wonderment. I wonder why he deemed me a worthy lover. A roman soldier and the carpenter's amazing son. Perhaps the offspring of a god.
.....Several Years Later
He has changed so much. His hair is longer, his skin darker. And his beautiful eyes...still so full of light and hope. Yet...with a certainty. As though he already knows his fate. And I fear that I know it as well. He is brought before me, his penalty is to be death. Death by crucifixion, a terrible death. Slow. It may even take three days. I cannot order it. I cannot deny it either. I still love him, that beautiful carpenter's son, but politically I am stuck. If I deny it, it will be my own death. And perhaps that of my family. I know he will think me cruel, but I decide to not decide. I make no decision, and he is to be put to death.
2
I visit him in prison, my face a mask. My insides churn, my heart breaks at the sight of him. So calm, and peaceful, alone in prison, betrayed by a friend. By two. Betrayed by myself.
He looks at me, with his green eyes, and I notice his beard. I was right, he has lost his youthful innocent look. Though perhaps it is not the beard, but that he has lost his youthful innocence.
"I forgive you," he says softly, in the same voice he used to use. I can't take it, I'm too overwhelmed and rush out, without a word. I am wracked with guilt and pain, but know that I can do nothing. He will be crucified and I will watch, because I can't help myself. He will die, and I will live. Perhaps the rumors involve some truth and he will live despite it all...and in some way, I find myself hoping. And I realize even if he dies, he has changed the world.