\"I\'ll do anything you want!\"

FIC : \"I’ll do anything you want!\"
Author : Sagakure
Fandom : Saint Seiya (Knights of the Zodiac, Cavaleiros do Zodiaco, Caballeros del Zodiaco, Chevaliers du Zodiaque).
Pairing : Camus x Milo
Rating : R (maybe NC17, depending on where you live or how you see things).
Warnings : Disfunctional Camus. ^^;
Disclaimer : I do not own Saint Seiya.
Saint Seiya is (C) of Masami Kurumada, Toei, Shueisha, Akita Shoten and quite probably some more people. No copyright infringement or disrespect intended here. This is a work of fanfiction, done completely for fun. No profit is taken out of it.

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“You don’t know the meaning of your own words!” - the ice saint spat, his voice cold and sharp like a blade.

“I do! I would never say something like that lightly!! I truly love you, Camus!”

A very awkward autumn afternoon in the Aquarius temple.

Milo felt entirely like the scorpion trapped in a circle of fire from the legends… Only it was his heart that was trapped, in love and ice.

It had all started as a casual moment, two friends having a drink together. The open and cheerfully arrogant Scorpio saint and his best friend, the ice-cold Aquarius saint.
All would be as calm as any other day if it wasn’t for the fact that Milo had chosen that exact afternoon to finally swear his undying love for Camus, who had been dreading that something like that might happen soon or later.

“Love! What is love for you?! You are but a child!” - The Aquarius saint still had hopes that he could maybe dismiss the problem without too much trouble if he kept denying its seriousness, but Milo wasn’t the kind to give up so easily.
“I’m less than a year younger than you, and I know that love matters enough for me that I’d do anything you want!”

“Very well…” – Camus cut abruptly, with a icy glare, and Milo thought for a second that the temperature had dropped quite a few degrees in the room. – “If you insist in a behavior that will bring you no results whatsoever, then I can only put you to test to see how serious you are…” – the piercing tone in the Aquarius saint’s voice sent a shiver of worry running up the other man’s spine. Why was Camus reacting so badly? It was a love confession after all, a thing that most people didn’t take as a declaration of war. Milo had since long sensed that things wouldn’t go very easily, but he couldn’t stand waiting anymore. He had loved Camus for too long now without ever daring to say anything.
He knew that something unexpected or unpleasant might happen, for his sixth sense had warned him that his friend wouldn’t take it very well, even though he couldn’t understand why. But he had to try anyway. Without Camus, Milo’s life meant nothing, and living it alone was becoming more and more an unbearable torture. So no matter how big were the risks, he had to try it.

And he had to do anything that could be done for Camus to understand how serious he was, and accept his love.

Anything.

So when the ice saint swept the empty bottles and papers that were covering a low table nearby, and ordered Milo to undress and get on the table on his fours…the Scorpio saint could only lower his gaze and obey silently.

Awkward fingers fumbling with the buttons of the shirt, feeling suddenly shy under that cold glare filled with an unfathomable anger. Why should there be anger in Camus’ eyes was something the younger man couldn’t understand, but he carried on nevertheless.
Embarrassed fingers sliding down the zipper of the pants. Things seemed more difficult with every new movement, but it had to be done.
He just couldn’t give up. Not so close to his goal.

The cold contact of the polished wood of the table on the skin of his hands and knees made Milo shudder. Part of him wished that it would be Camus’ hands instead, but another part of him was completely panicked about the situation. For a moment, he felt like part of a surrealist painting, out of reality in that position and that place.
His heart pounded in his ears, and the coolness was soon replaced by a wave of heat when a blush spread on his face as soon as he heard the next comment, said in a cold and impersonal voice. : “Spread your legs.” Shame washed over Milo, but he complied.
His more optimistic side hoped that Camus would understand how much this was a proof of love. A proof that he was giving himself over to the other man so completely that he didn’t hold anything back. But another part of him dreaded the next order from Camus, and was glad that the ice saint couldn’t see his face right now. The blush had now completely taken over Milo’s face, and he stared into the wall, his body tense and waiting.

“Spread them more, and lean forward.” – Camus’ voice was coming from behind Milo’s back, detached and uncaring, and the Scorpio found himself hesitating. Something inside him told him that this should never happen that way. That it should be magical and special, and something shared by them both…not that cold, almost medical thing that he feared was about to happen. The hint of hesitation that sent a quiver through the muscles of his back was instantly perceived by Camus, whose voice, as dispassionate as it may be, echoed now with a harsh mocking tone against the stonewalls in the atrium of the Aquarius temple : “I thought you said you would do anything for me, are you already changing your mind, Milo…?”

He hoped that this display of coldness would be enough to convince Milo to abandon hope and cease that foolishness. But to his dismay, the younger saint straightened his back and waited for the next command. There was a moment of undefined expectancy between them, and then Milo’s voice broke it, perfectly audible in the cool air of the temple, yet clearly subdued and slightly shaky. “I said I would do anything you wanted me to. I am ready for whatever you want me for.”
There was a submissive tone there that Camus had never expected to hear in Milo’s voice, of all people. He felt acidity rise to even higher levels inside him, along with an intense self-focused anger that had been burning fiercely since he decided to take that course of action.

But there was no turning back. If his determination wavered now, they would both be lost. Or so Camus was sure. As much as this might be painful, it was better to hurt Milo now, than let him cling to a hope that might destroy them both.

And focusing on what he believed was the necessary truth for them, Camus proceeded, in a voice as devoid of emotion as he could manage. “Camber yourself more. I cannot see well enough.”
Milo swallowed whatever was left of his pride along with the tears that were threatening to roll out of his eyes, and bent even further to offer a better view of his backside to the other man.
The wait made the younger saint start wondering if that was going to continue for very long or what, and for a short moment his mind escaped reality and pondered quizzically how far he would be able to bend over on the small table before he fell forward on the ground, in case Camus kept asking him to lean forward.
But suddenly all stray thoughts froze in his mind when he felt the unmistakable touch of fingertips on his skin.
Camus fingertips, running down the small of his back. Milo clenched his teeth to hold back a sigh of anticipation, and then swallowed hard, trying to guess what would happen next. He wondered if Camus knew that he had never had any experience whatsoever, but that worry quickly disappeared. He knew, Milo was sure. And he would be gentle, he hoped.
When he was younger, the Scorpio was too taken by his training, and when he became a gold saint, his love for Camus was already set in place too strongly for him to be even able to go for a mere adventure with someone else.

It had to be Camus or nobody.

That thought somewhat soothed Milo, even though he still couldn’t help but be nervous wondering if he would be able to know what to do and when.
His arrogant behavior and tendency to act as someone much older and more experienced often gave him in Sanctuary a reputation quite opposite to anything chaste. But Milo never even considered that Camus might believe any of the rumors. The young Scorpio saint knew very well how much everything in him could be so utterly delicate and virginal when he dropped that mask of arrogance, and that was exactly why he would purposefully do all he could to mislead the others.
So that he could better hide underneath that mask, and save his real face to show to Camus and nobody else.
He prided himself in having kept his body pure for the ice saint, and the hope that Camus would understand and accept this gift gave him strength to overcome the fear of the unknown that this awkward position was throwing him into.

A shiver ran through Milo’s whole body as he felt Camus’ fingers slide down his backside, between his cheeks, and he sucked in his breath surprised when two of the digits slid themselves inside him without any warning.
A wave of shame washed over him and he froze, teeth clenched and eyes wide open, unsure of what to do and afraid of moving.
Camus fingers were now exploring his intimacy, rough and demanding in their relentless assault. An universe of new sensations was invading Milo, making him simultaneously gasp in pleasure and whimper in pain. But he was taken aback by the silent roughness of Camus. In all his dreams, this moment had never been that way….so devoid of feelings, so physically aggressive. It was as if it wasn’t Camus at all, not the Camus that he knew, in any case, and that scared Milo beyond any rational thought. The ice saint was quick to notice the reluctance in Milo’s stance.

“I can still stop, if you have finally come to your senses. Just tell me, and we’ll pretend that nothing was said or done this afternoon.” – The Aquarius saint offered.

As if nothing was said or done this afternoon… As if Milo had never confessed his love to Camus. Or as if that love never even existed, for how would he be able to try again after such a failure? He couldn’t let such a thing happen. No matter how embarrassing or shameful it might feel now, he had to go through this, otherwise all his chances with Camus would be lost. If this was a test, he would pass it no matter how hard it felt!

Closing his eyes and surrendering himself completely, Milo whispered softly : “There is no need for that. Like I said, I belong to you. You are free to do to me whatever you wish.”
But the effect he got on Camus was the exact opposite than what he expected. Losing his last hopes of making Milo give up, the ice saint found himself with only one solution out of the problem.

Without a word, he resumed his exploration in a much more brutal manner, earning a yelp of surprise and muffled moans of pain from the Scorpio saint. After a few moments that were enough to get Milo whimpering softly in pain between his clenched teeth, his skin covered in tiny pearls of sweat and shivering in a mix of fear and unsure expectation, Camus removed his fingers as suddenly as he had inserted them, and turned his back to the younger man.
As cold as he might manage to appear, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to complete his act without letting the pain show on his face. “You may want to give yourself over to me, but I never said I was forced to accept. You are not worthy enough to serve my needs. I’m sorry but I can’t stand the idea of passing behind so many people. You must have lost yourself in debauchery to an incredible extent for your anus to be so stretched...” – that was an outright lie, and one that hurt so much to voice that Camus had to clench his fist until his nails sank into the flesh of his hand, least the pain from saying such hurtful things to his love show on his voice. But he also knew very well that with Milo’s innocence, he would be completely unable to know that Camus was lying. Most likely, he would think there was something wrong with his body, considering he never had any previous experiences.

Part of Camus hoped that Milo would be furious and attack him. He yearned for being pierced by the younger saint’s Scarlet needle, after all that he said.

But no atoning pain would soothe him, for Milo merely stood up, his gaze locked on the ground, face filled with shame and clearly on the verge of tears, either of rage or of pure misery. He collected his clothes silently and put them on as quickly as he could, as if his body was something shameful that he wished to hide from the ice saint’s view. And then he left, without saying a single word.

Camus almost stopped Milo a thousand times over while the younger saint got clothed, and had an immense difficulty to prevent himself from running after him when he stared at the broken form slowly making his way down the stairs.

But he could not lower his guard now. After all the years he spent suffering because of having trusted people, Camus knew that he mustn’t make that mistake again, not at any cost. As as much as he loved Milo, if he allowed the younger man to continue loving him it would only bring despair to the both of them. Love was something for the other people. For people like Milo, perhaps. But not for the Aquarius saint. No matter how much he hated himself right now for behaving that way, he had to ensure that Milo wouldn’t get close to him again, and that behavior was the most effective way he had found.


*************


After an entire night of dwelling on what happened, Milo’s ashamed look and the betrayal on his face still wouldn’t leave Camus’s mind.
He kept replaying the last scenes in his head over and over again… the Scorpio saint’s ashamed gaze as he dressed up, and the utter misery that emanated from his entire being as he left. He attempted over and over again to deconstruct and reforge each moment in his head, in hopes of analyzing it correctly. The fact that Milo didn’t even try to contradict him when Camus accused him of debauchery was the most unfathomable thing for him. Especially because he thought he knew Milo well enough to guess his reactions. But where he expected to see anger and fighting spirit, he only met sadness and submission. How could he have been so wrong? Hours of meditating over the subject only brought him to a conclusion : That Milo knew all along that Camus was lying. That Milo knew that Camus was perfectly aware of his virginal lack of experience, and yet he accepted to be humiliated and treated like a whore only because it was the ice saint’s choice. And that Milo would probably have fought back the accusation if he really thought that Camus meant what he said…but he realized it was just an excuse, and accepted the Aquarius saint’s decision, no matter how degrading it was for him.

Camus suddenly remembered a line from a poem that Milo jokingly quoted years ago, and a shiver of utter horror ran up his spine.

“I’ll love you until my very end, but if you send me away, I’ll be forced to comply.
I’d much sooner wilt and die of misery alone rather than bear to be the slightest annoyance to you.”

His rational side tried all the same old schemes to stop him and bring him back into his temple, but this time it was to no avail, and the Aquarius saint rushed down the stairs in a mad race that only stopped when he reached the 8th house.

“Milo!!” – No sound in return, but Camus perceived a light flare of the young Scorpio saint’s cosmo, as if he had suddenly become aware of his presence and was trying to conceal his own, a bit too late or under the effect of the surprise.
Following his instincts for once, the ice saint dashed through the corridors of the Scorpio temple, until he found the source of that cosmo, sitting curled up on an old armchair in the private apartments of the temple. The chair’s back was facing the entry, and Milo turned his head slightly to look at him. Clearly, he didn’t sleep that night either. When Camus saw the redness around the younger saint’s eyes, and the still fresh streaks of tears on his cheeks, he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to break down his first urge to throw himself at him and cradle him in his arms.

“Please…Forgive me. I spoke in a terribly crude manner and insulted you yesterday. I came to offer my apologies. I don’t know if you’ll accept them, but if you do, I would be honored to continue being your…friend…” – As much as he tried to suppress all his feelings, way more emotion than he had planned slipped into Camus’ voice. Milo grasped the back cushion of the armchair, a flicker of hope flashing in his eyes. He swung a leg over the side of the armchair and lunged towards the ice saint, locking his arms tightly around his torso and burying his face on his chest. Camus had a moment of hesitation, but finally let Milo hug him, and wrapped his arms loosely around the Scorpio saint’s shoulders.

That much should be safe. It was just a friendly gesture after all, it couldn’t be dangerous. It didn’t mean they would become intimate or anything… Maybe he didn’t need to avoid all human contact. Maybe a little bit of it was safe. After all, he wasn’t a statue of ice, as much as he might try. He had swore to himself that he would never let anyone get near his heart to crush it again, yet he couldn’t help but think that no danger could come from Milo. Maybe that itself was a danger. But for now, Camus didn’t want to think about it, and he buried his face into the younger saint’s soft blue hair, his breath warm and his eyes burning with tears he wasn’t able to shed.

The Scorpio saint himself had trouble holding back tears, but they were tears of joy. Even though this might be a very tiny victory, Milo’s heart was overflowing with optimism.

After all, there was still hope.


[end]

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Sagakure, May 11th, 2005

NOTES : The \"Scorpion trapped in a circle of fire\" thing is an old story. It is actually just a legend, but for long time people believe it to be true.
It is said that a scorpion trapped in a circle of flames will eventually sting himself and die from the poison rather than accept to die from the flames.

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