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Original Story: "God" by Fishgoat

Archive: Remix Redux and M-A only (and Fishgoat, if she wants it)

Summary: A different POV for the original, which was: What if one of the boyz was a god?

Rating: R

Pairing: Q/O

Warning: not beta'd

Category: AU, Drama

Feedback: Good, bad or ugly, I can take it

Note: Once upon a time, an LJ community was started to "remix" stories. You picked a fandom and were assigned an author. You picked one of the author's stories and rewrote it. It had to end the same, but different POVs, interpretations, etc. were possible. Author's identities were kept secret for a week. The results are here: http://remix.illuminatedtext.com/

Only two TPM slash writers signed up, so Fishgoat and I pretty much knew who remixed our stories *g*. Here is my effort at a different POV of Fishgoat's wonderful short story "God" which can be found here (and should be read first): http://www.masterapprentice.org/archive/g/god.html

The boy is frightened. He was raised for this; he enjoyed the praise of his family, the envy of his friends, and took his place proudly beside the village priests during each season's ceremonies. But now that he's being hunted, and his death is at hand, he runs. I can smell the sharp, heady tang of his fear.

I don't think less of him. I've done the same thing many times, on many worlds, when *He* was my God. Soon, he will understand, soon we will have our moment of joining - one of those brief times, separated by eternities, when we are one - when we both Know.

Our God-forms are always dictated by the collective fears and desires of the people for whom we exist, so on this world I hunt him in the form of a satyr. My hounds have his scent now, and bay loudly as they plunge into the forest. I let myself become bound up in their simple joy of hunting, tracking, and pursuit.

The boy has finally stopped and sunk to his knees, for he knows the inevitable moment is at hand, although he rails against what he perceives as the end of his existence. He did not choose this end for himself and is angry. The priests did not reveal the exact nature of his sacrifice until last night's sunset, when they drove him from the village naked and alone. Again, I do not blame him his anger, I only regret he has to experience it before he Knows.

As I draw near to him, I blow my hunting horn in triumph. He jerks his mud-streaked face towards me, and his beauty pierces me like a wound.

As it always does, be he my sacrifice, or my God.

I wait for him to meet my gaze, for only then can we begin to join, spirit to spirit and body to body. I don't have to wait long -- curiosity is more essential to his nature then fear.

He raises his head to me, and slowly his eyes crawl up my body, as he beholds me for the first time, the last time, in this God-form. When I capture his gaze, I begin to pour into his soul all the rapture and love I feel in his presence. What is a God without a supplicant? What is a believer, but that he sustains his God through worship?

The beginning of Knowing is too much for him, and he collapses back to the ground, trembling. I see his braid now, the symbol of his submission and sacrifice, and it inflames me to rampant desire.

Come to me I beckon. Wish, plea, Command.

He stares up at the evidence of my desire, then suddenly grabs at me, burying his head in my pelt and crying out with confusion. Oh, this is too much, he is too close and I would claim him now, join with him for the few moments of pleasure eternity grants us.

Come

He feels the pull of my desire, then between one lifetime and the next, between the moon's clear light and the forest's sigh he tastes me, and begins to understand the nature of Us. He utters the only word he is to speak in my presence, "Master!"

The rapture of his upturned face, as he stares blankly forward and his tongue licks his luscious lips to find more of my taste, breaks something feral in me.

I sink to my knees behind him, sliding my hands up his slick torso, pulling him to me, caressing his nipples, pulling his braid backwards to expose his neck. I want to measure my passion, to slowly show him the joy that awaits us so that he will enter our union unafraid, but I can't stop myself. I could flatten this forest, raze the villager's crops, make fire pour from the nearby mountain--

--Instead, I take their sacrifice, thrust into his warm flesh, relish his cry of pain, bite him into submission like the animal whose shape I am. His body responds to me. It is mine, mine is his. I move roughly inside him -- it has been so long. He moves with me now, not against me, and shouts out with pleasure as I stroke him inside and out. The sky lights with thunder, the trees shake with wind, and the last sensation he will feel with this body is our climax.

Time stops, and we step into it together. He is transformed, and as our souls break free, I feed him all that I know of Us.

I show him the cycle that keeps us apart yet brings us together, world after world. And we see our entwined history.

\\An older man kneels and trembles before his fiery, young God as the other monks hide their eyes. The God reaches out and strokes the lined face, grasps the graying braid, and the monk's fear falls to join the dust of the cave floor. The older monk rises on his knees, reverently touching the belly and slender hips of this Incarnation, then takes Him into his mouth.\\

\\A youth, drugged, runs to me, towards his Fate, with flowers entwined in his braid. The moonlight grants him radiance, and there is no fear as I ravish his lips, then bear him to the dewy ground, licking and suckling. I gently enter him, watching his enlarged pupils fill slowly with stars and Knowing.\\

\\A bitter, old supplicant, about to cast aside his life of faith, whose hand even now grips the handle of a knife, preparing to cut his brown-gray braid, then his wrists. Only to see the form of his God appear in front of him, transported by the gentle rays of the morning sun falling into his cell from the bars above.\\

Over and over, sun and moon, fire and burning ice, us, together. Apart. Who can measure a moment of eternity? We join together again and again, for years, for centuries, for seconds as his body lays dying in the forest. Soon it will be time for us to part and for the cycle to begin again. He will stay in eternity as the God, and I must suffer through a mortal life without him.

But I have another piece of Knowledge to impart to him. The sharp, luminous promise of it awes even my God-form. My young mate, who stands on the edge of mortality and immortality, queries me. He is reveling in the Knowledge, as I have before and will again. So I show him what I have felt, what I have Seen.

I sense a vergence in the Force that binds us together, yet keeps us apart.

He is about to slip through this very Force, to become a God and I His worshipper, his sacrifice. But soon, perhaps within a few cycles of lifetimes, we will both step through the barrier in mortal form.

He gasps, and I can feel him imagining the limits and the pleasures of the flesh, together. Though we have been Gods, this is something we have never known. We will live together as mortals, for a time. No longer God and supplicant, only ourselves. And after hard lives, we will die.

And then...

THIS

Together.

For eternity.

* * *

End.