When This Whole Thing Began
Title: When This Whole Thing Began
Author: Bek Allen
Feedback: Yes please!!! Email feedback to bek_allen01@nexuswebs.net
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: R – (Contains M/M Slash)
Pairing: Judas/Jesus
Summary: Before the last six days of Christ' life, before the twelve and the priests, before Mary and Hosanna. Judas and Jesus' first meeting after Jesus turns 30 and finds out he's "more then a man."
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. In actual fact, I don't think anyone can ever really own these characters. The genius behind this fic though, besides my own sordid mind belongs to Tim Rice and Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Church owns the bible and anything relating to it. And hey, please don't sue, cos... I don't even own a bible. I'm just a girl with a very broad and sometimes twisted imagination and trust me. You don't want that.
Author's Notes: I wrote this after much deliberation with my inner self. I'm Wiccan, and I felt maybe I'd be doing something wrong in writing a fic based on two highly acclaimed characters in the Church such as Judas Iscariot and Jesus Christ. This was written after I saw the 2000 release of Jesus Christ Superstar starring Jérôme Pradon and Glen Carter and I realized just how much subtext and UST were going on during the show between the two characters of Judas Iscariot and Jesus Christ.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I remember when this whole thing began. No talk of God then we called you a man."
I watched on as the crowd gathered at His feet, surrounding Him with their adoration and praise written clear across their faces. His smile turned upon them, His hand out-stretched, caressing cheeks, hands, hair and necks. My hazel eyes tried to catch His blue ones, in the hope that He had heard my warnings.
His eyes fell upon me, and for a moment, it was as though the world fell away. For the briefest of seconds, there was only He and I, the small distance separating us seemed to melt away and I felt as though I could reach out my hand and brush away the golden curls that fell in His face. Then, as suddenly as it came, the moment was gone. Peter had pulled his attentions away from me and I was left standing there, on the outskirts of the ever expanding crowd.
So I stood there and watched, not for long mind you, but long enough to see Him, to *really* see Him. His smile didn't reach His cerulean blue eyes like it had when I'd first met Him. Turning away from Him and the crowd, I began to walk away. I passed over and under the scaffolding that surrounded the streets of Israel, winding my way towards the Garden of Gethsemane. I stopped only when I came to a lush green jasmine tree. I smiled as I sat, the scent of jasmine filling the air and my head with memories of a decade past. As the sun continued its slow descent into the horizon, I let myself become awash with how we'd come to this place and time.
It was this spot, this tree, three years ago when we'd first met, He had just turned thirty and I was barely thirty-three. It was the night a group of Roman soldiers had begun to destroy the streets of lower Israel, shattering homes and families in their rage and haste. I had run into the Garden, holding what was left of my family home. A pouch of silver pieces, a bundled up blanket and my mother's wedding ring and other small pieces of jewelry that had been left in my care after she had died.
As I neared the gates to the Garden, the tears I cried began to flow more freely as I realized my home was one of the ones being destroyed by their heavy boots and guns. When I entered the Garden however, my tears stopped, and I slowed from a run to a walk; for some reason, the Garden and its beauty of both scent and scenery calmed my very soul. As I wandered the well worn paths of Gethsemane, I heard a faint sound, dismissing it for a moment as one of the poor or ill from our community who often came to the Garden in search of solace and comfort; I continued on until the soft discussion began to filter through my thoughts of the family and home I had lost.
The soft murmuring had now fully captured my attention and I followed it to the lone jasmine tree in the middle of the Garden and that's where I saw Him. His blond hair shone in the half moon light and the blueness of His eyes stood out in stark contrast to the rest of His skin, as pale and soft as the shadows of night that fell over Him. His eyes caught mine and I noticed the silver glisten of tears in their corners, His lips barely moving as soft words of love, help and redemption spilt forth; His voice like the softest of church bells.
I stood there and openly admired the man before me, His head tilted toward the sky as though seeking praise from the Almighty God. My captivation so intense I almost backed away as the young man rose and came towards me, a soft smile on His lips that reached up and was mirrored in His eyes. His hand reached out slowly and brushed away the salt which stained my cheek from my earlier tears, His touch was soft and I felt an even more calming of my soul as His fingers brushed down my cheeks. He pulled away when a solitary tear slid down my cheek; pulling my head forward He pressed His lips to my forehead.
"All will be fine. Don't cry please." He whispered so softly I had to almost strain to hear it.
I nodded; His eyes held such hope that I couldn't do anything but agree with Him. I opened my mouth to say something, introduce myself formally, but the words died on my trembling lips. I tried again, slipping this time into what my family used to call my face of courage. "Were... Were you asking for guidance? Are you lost?" I finally managed to choke out.
He laughed. Not an insulting laugh, but a soft, almost sighing giggle. "No my friend, I'm not lost." He replied, "I was merely asking for assistance and hope."
I looked Him up and down. "You're not from here are you?" My voice had gained some of its strength back and no longer wobbled when I spoke.
"No." He looked towards the small stream running past the jasmine tree, a far away look filling His amazingly clear blue eyes.
"You should leave this place." I said, moving my hand around me, vaguely indicating the city around us. "The Romans are here, destroying everything in their path."
He smiled, a foolish smile, but it was still soft and serene. "I'm from Nazareth, the Romans have already passed through there, leaving it burnt and crippled in their wake." His sigh seemed laden with the weight of the world.
I turned my head to look away sadly, the hate and fear of the Romans who had made their way through Israel, destroying each small town along the way until they had made it here to our fair city of Jerusalem; ate at me slowly, leaving a burning for revenge in the pit of my stomach. I let my eyes travel to the Gates I had entered, wanting to go out and help fight their army. His hand gently caught my elbow and I stopped, turning to look back into His smiling face.
"What is your name?" He asked as he led me further into Gethsemane.
I smiled shyly, feeling like a coward as this gentle man led me away from the street and into one of the pavilions in the middle of the Garden. "Judas Iscariot," I turned my head to Him and offered up a tiny lift of my lips. "I'm sorry I interrupted your prayers before."
He laughed out loud and waved His hand dismissively. "That is quite alright. I'm actually glad you came upon me. My name is Jesus Christ." His smile lit up the pavilion as He took a seat, "Please," patting the space next to Him for me to rest. "Sit, you must be tired having run from the Romans."
I nodded slightly and settled myself on the floor beside Him. "They destroyed my home." I burst into tears and rested my head in my hands.
He pulled me to Him, holding me as though I were a child and running His hands through my dark hair. I can't remember how long we sat together like that, His hands soothing me as they caressed my hair, my head in His lap; sobbing for all that I was worth. Eventually however, I must have cried myself to sleep as I awoke the next day nestled in a corner of the pavilion, my leather jacket folded under my head and the blanket I had taken from home, tucked around my shoulders.
My hand automatically reached for the small cloth parcels containing my mother's jewelry and the silver coins. I almost cried out when my fingers brushed over the twin pouches, I had half expected them to be taken in the night while I slept, by some beggar or leper. As I sat up, I no longer noticed that He wasn't with me; startled and afraid that He'd been hurt in the night after I had drifted to sleep, I left the pavilion, my possessions hastily thrown into my blanket which I tied into a bundle and left just inside the door. I stepped outside and into the shining sun, hoping that He would be sitting there enjoying the roses and the lilacs; he wasn't. A loud keening to my right drew my attention and I ran towards it. As I rounded the corner of the pavilion, I saw it; a leper crying on the ground and He was kneeling above it, His hands caressing the disfigured face until the wounds stopped weeping and began to heal.
"Jesus!" I cried out, afraid for Him. For where there was one, there were twenty waiting in the shadows.
As I moved forward, He lifted a hand and shook His head slightly, stilling my actions. Once the keening of the leper had stopped it had raised itself to its knees, pressing its head to Jesus' hand in a gesture of thanks. Silently, He pulled His hand away and withdrew five silver coins from one of the pockets in his pants; He lifted the leper's head and smiled kindly into its eyes.
"These will buy you bread and blanket. Please, take them and go with God's love." He said softly as he rose and came to me after handing the coins over.
"You could have been hurt." I whispered; the tremble from the previous night back in my voice. As He neared me, I stretched out my hand and brushed the stray golden curls away from His face. "Did you... Are you God?" I asked, afraid I'd be in trouble for asking such a blasphemous question.
He smiled at me and clutched my hand to His cheek. "No, I'm just a man." He pressed His lips to the centre of my palm and led me back to the Pavilion.
"But, I saw you heal that leper." I was in shock at what I had seen and I pulled my hand away slowly, afraid that I'd be in trouble for seeing something I obviously hadn't meant to see.
"You did," He smiled and sat down on the cool concrete of the pavilion's floor. "But, I am still just a man. I am not God; there is no need to fear me." He reached for me again, and instead of backing away like my instincts screamed at me to do, I let myself be pulled down beside Him. "I am Jesus of Nazareth, a simple man; I used to work with my father in his shop before he died." His eyes took on a wistful appearance.
"I'm sorry." I whispered, my hand moving to rest on His shoulder gently. I watched on as He sat in silence, gazing out over Gethsemane. The moment, peaceful and melancholic was shattered however, when cries and shouts for 'The Messiah' sounded around us.
He looked up sharply and I could see my worry mirrored in His eyes; He reached for me, clutching at my arm in panic and fright. "Not now." He pleaded, although I was not entirely sure if He was talking to me. "Please, not now! The time... I'm not through yet!" His eyes, so blue burned with tears of adamancy.
I was never sure what came over me at that moment, but I smiled and wiped the lone tear that had slid down His cheek with my thumb. "Quickly," I whispered to Him; thrusting my makeshift sack into His hands. "There is a house a little way from here, they won't ask questions." I nudged Him in the direction of the house of my childhood friend, Peter. "I'll be there shortly. Tell Peter; Judas is coming." I pushed Him harder, waiting for Him to run as the cries grew louder. "Go! Now!"
Title: When This Whole Thing Began
Author: Bek Allen
Feedback: Yes please!!! Email feedback to bek_allen01@nexuswebs.net
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: R – (Contains M/M Slash)
Pairing: Judas/Jesus
Summary: Before the last six days of Christ' life, before the twelve and the priests, before Mary and Hosanna. Judas and Jesus' first meeting after Jesus turns 30 and finds out he's "more then a man."
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. In actual fact, I don't think anyone can ever really own these characters. The genius behind this fic though, besides my own sordid mind belongs to Tim Rice and Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Church owns the bible and anything relating to it. And hey, please don't sue, cos... I don't even own a bible. I'm just a girl with a very broad and sometimes twisted imagination and trust me. You don't want that.
Author's Notes: I wrote this after much deliberation with my inner self. I'm Wiccan, and I felt maybe I'd be doing something wrong in writing a fic based on two highly acclaimed characters in the Church such as Judas Iscariot and Jesus Christ. This was written after I saw the 2000 release of Jesus Christ Superstar starring Jérôme Pradon and Glen Carter and I realized just how much subtext and UST were going on during the show between the two characters of Judas Iscariot and Jesus Christ.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I remember when this whole thing began. No talk of God then we called you a man."
I watched on as the crowd gathered at His feet, surrounding Him with their adoration and praise written clear across their faces. His smile turned upon them, His hand out-stretched, caressing cheeks, hands, hair and necks. My hazel eyes tried to catch His blue ones, in the hope that He had heard my warnings.
His eyes fell upon me, and for a moment, it was as though the world fell away. For the briefest of seconds, there was only He and I, the small distance separating us seemed to melt away and I felt as though I could reach out my hand and brush away the golden curls that fell in His face. Then, as suddenly as it came, the moment was gone. Peter had pulled his attentions away from me and I was left standing there, on the outskirts of the ever expanding crowd.
So I stood there and watched, not for long mind you, but long enough to see Him, to *really* see Him. His smile didn't reach His cerulean blue eyes like it had when I'd first met Him. Turning away from Him and the crowd, I began to walk away. I passed over and under the scaffolding that surrounded the streets of Israel, winding my way towards the Garden of Gethsemane. I stopped only when I came to a lush green jasmine tree. I smiled as I sat, the scent of jasmine filling the air and my head with memories of a decade past. As the sun continued its slow descent into the horizon, I let myself become awash with how we'd come to this place and time.
It was this spot, this tree, three years ago when we'd first met, He had just turned thirty and I was barely thirty-three. It was the night a group of Roman soldiers had begun to destroy the streets of lower Israel, shattering homes and families in their rage and haste. I had run into the Garden, holding what was left of my family home. A pouch of silver pieces, a bundled up blanket and my mother's wedding ring and other small pieces of jewelry that had been left in my care after she had died.
As I neared the gates to the Garden, the tears I cried began to flow more freely as I realized my home was one of the ones being destroyed by their heavy boots and guns. When I entered the Garden however, my tears stopped, and I slowed from a run to a walk; for some reason, the Garden and its beauty of both scent and scenery calmed my very soul. As I wandered the well worn paths of Gethsemane, I heard a faint sound, dismissing it for a moment as one of the poor or ill from our community who often came to the Garden in search of solace and comfort; I continued on until the soft discussion began to filter through my thoughts of the family and home I had lost.
The soft murmuring had now fully captured my attention and I followed it to the lone jasmine tree in the middle of the Garden and that's where I saw Him. His blond hair shone in the half moon light and the blueness of His eyes stood out in stark contrast to the rest of His skin, as pale and soft as the shadows of night that fell over Him. His eyes caught mine and I noticed the silver glisten of tears in their corners, His lips barely moving as soft words of love, help and redemption spilt forth; His voice like the softest of church bells.
I stood there and openly admired the man before me, His head tilted toward the sky as though seeking praise from the Almighty God. My captivation so intense I almost backed away as the young man rose and came towards me, a soft smile on His lips that reached up and was mirrored in His eyes. His hand reached out slowly and brushed away the salt which stained my cheek from my earlier tears, His touch was soft and I felt an even more calming of my soul as His fingers brushed down my cheeks. He pulled away when a solitary tear slid down my cheek; pulling my head forward He pressed His lips to my forehead.
"All will be fine. Don't cry please." He whispered so softly I had to almost strain to hear it.
I nodded; His eyes held such hope that I couldn't do anything but agree with Him. I opened my mouth to say something, introduce myself formally, but the words died on my trembling lips. I tried again, slipping this time into what my family used to call my face of courage. "Were... Were you asking for guidance? Are you lost?" I finally managed to choke out.
He laughed. Not an insulting laugh, but a soft, almost sighing giggle. "No my friend, I'm not lost." He replied, "I was merely asking for assistance and hope."
I looked Him up and down. "You're not from here are you?" My voice had gained some of its strength back and no longer wobbled when I spoke.
"No." He looked towards the small stream running past the jasmine tree, a far away look filling His amazingly clear blue eyes.
"You should leave this place." I said, moving my hand around me, vaguely indicating the city around us. "The Romans are here, destroying everything in their path."
He smiled, a foolish smile, but it was still soft and serene. "I'm from Nazareth, the Romans have already passed through there, leaving it burnt and crippled in their wake." His sigh seemed laden with the weight of the world.
I turned my head to look away sadly, the hate and fear of the Romans who had made their way through Israel, destroying each small town along the way until they had made it here to our fair city of Jerusalem; ate at me slowly, leaving a burning for revenge in the pit of my stomach. I let my eyes travel to the Gates I had entered, wanting to go out and help fight their army. His hand gently caught my elbow and I stopped, turning to look back into His smiling face.
"What is your name?" He asked as he led me further into Gethsemane.
I smiled shyly, feeling like a coward as this gentle man led me away from the street and into one of the pavilions in the middle of the Garden. "Judas Iscariot," I turned my head to Him and offered up a tiny lift of my lips. "I'm sorry I interrupted your prayers before."
He laughed out loud and waved His hand dismissively. "That is quite alright. I'm actually glad you came upon me. My name is Jesus Christ." His smile lit up the pavilion as He took a seat, "Please," patting the space next to Him for me to rest. "Sit, you must be tired having run from the Romans."
I nodded slightly and settled myself on the floor beside Him. "They destroyed my home." I burst into tears and rested my head in my hands.
He pulled me to Him, holding me as though I were a child and running His hands through my dark hair. I can't remember how long we sat together like that, His hands soothing me as they caressed my hair, my head in His lap; sobbing for all that I was worth. Eventually however, I must have cried myself to sleep as I awoke the next day nestled in a corner of the pavilion, my leather jacket folded under my head and the blanket I had taken from home, tucked around my shoulders.
My hand automatically reached for the small cloth parcels containing my mother's jewelry and the silver coins. I almost cried out when my fingers brushed over the twin pouches, I had half expected them to be taken in the night while I slept, by some beggar or leper. As I sat up, I no longer noticed that He wasn't with me; startled and afraid that He'd been hurt in the night after I had drifted to sleep, I left the pavilion, my possessions hastily thrown into my blanket which I tied into a bundle and left just inside the door. I stepped outside and into the shining sun, hoping that He would be sitting there enjoying the roses and the lilacs; he wasn't. A loud keening to my right drew my attention and I ran towards it. As I rounded the corner of the pavilion, I saw it; a leper crying on the ground and He was kneeling above it, His hands caressing the disfigured face until the wounds stopped weeping and began to heal.
"Jesus!" I cried out, afraid for Him. For where there was one, there were twenty waiting in the shadows.
As I moved forward, He lifted a hand and shook His head slightly, stilling my actions. Once the keening of the leper had stopped it had raised itself to its knees, pressing its head to Jesus' hand in a gesture of thanks. Silently, He pulled His hand away and withdrew five silver coins from one of the pockets in his pants; He lifted the leper's head and smiled kindly into its eyes.
"These will buy you bread and blanket. Please, take them and go with God's love." He said softly as he rose and came to me after handing the coins over.
"You could have been hurt." I whispered; the tremble from the previous night back in my voice. As He neared me, I stretched out my hand and brushed the stray golden curls away from His face. "Did you... Are you God?" I asked, afraid I'd be in trouble for asking such a blasphemous question.
He smiled at me and clutched my hand to His cheek. "No, I'm just a man." He pressed His lips to the centre of my palm and led me back to the Pavilion.
"But, I saw you heal that leper." I was in shock at what I had seen and I pulled my hand away slowly, afraid that I'd be in trouble for seeing something I obviously hadn't meant to see.
"You did," He smiled and sat down on the cool concrete of the pavilion's floor. "But, I am still just a man. I am not God; there is no need to fear me." He reached for me again, and instead of backing away like my instincts screamed at me to do, I let myself be pulled down beside Him. "I am Jesus of Nazareth, a simple man; I used to work with my father in his shop before he died." His eyes took on a wistful appearance.
"I'm sorry." I whispered, my hand moving to rest on His shoulder gently. I watched on as He sat in silence, gazing out over Gethsemane. The moment, peaceful and melancholic was shattered however, when cries and shouts for 'The Messiah' sounded around us.
He looked up sharply and I could see my worry mirrored in His eyes; He reached for me, clutching at my arm in panic and fright. "Not now." He pleaded, although I was not entirely sure if He was talking to me. "Please, not now! The time... I'm not through yet!" His eyes, so blue burned with tears of adamancy.
I was never sure what came over me at that moment, but I smiled and wiped the lone tear that had slid down His cheek with my thumb. "Quickly," I whispered to Him; thrusting my makeshift sack into His hands. "There is a house a little way from here, they won't ask questions." I nudged Him in the direction of the house of my childhood friend, Peter. "I'll be there shortly. Tell Peter; Judas is coming." I pushed Him harder, waiting for Him to run as the cries grew louder. "Go! Now!"