Muse by scheherezhad

Rating: R

Summary: It was a necessary evil of being dead and a tool of fate.

Disclaimer: Don't own, not making any money, please don't sue.

Author's notes: Trin's bedamned heyheyhey fic, finally. Only took me a year to write it. And I had to practice typing Conchabar because my hands kept sticking an A on the end since I'm so used to typing "Kuwabara." How much of a goober am I?

Feedback: Please. scheherezhad@yahoo.com

Danny was drifting. It was sort of like dreaming, that disconnection from the world. As a ghost, though, it was a physical disconnection, as well as the mental. He thought it was probably the spiritual version of sleeping. This was mostly because, while he drifted, he learned things that he couldn't always remember afterward, like a dream.

He always seemed to remember the important things, though. The things he had to tell Sarah. Like now, he knew that an unbalanced man was about to commit murder in a ritual to call out one of Sarah's past selves. He also knew that he had to lead Sarah to the man somehow. One couldn't just tell the living what was going to happen, or they'd think that they could change things that were destined to happen.

Some internal clock woke him from his drifting, and he found himself in a candle-lit studio apartment, standing behind a man with a guitar. He wasn't playing, just sitting with his fingers idly caressing the steel strings.

Danny moved to stand in front of him. The man was staring ahead, almost as if he could see Danny there.

"Conchabar." The man's name. He must have learned it while drifting. That it was not his given name in this life was unimportant.

"Who's there?" Conchabar asked suddenly. He set aside the guitar and stood up.

That was unexpected.

Danny concentrated briefly and felt the ether shift around him. He became visible.

"Are you here to take me away, then?" Conchabar asked.

"No." And Danny knew why he had been brought here. "I'm here to inspire you."

"You're not quite the muse I'd imagined," he said, looking Danny up and down, "but I'll not be complaining."

"You're going to meet a woman soon."

"I meet women every night."

"This one is different."

"That's what they'd all like to think."

"You have to write a song for her," Danny said.

Conchabar snorted softly. "I won't be writing anything unless you've got some ideas. I've been running dry for far too long."

"Have you ever heard the story of Catain?"

Danny told Conchabar the story that evening. They didn't have time for more, though, because Conchabar had to go to the bar, and Danny was being called by the Witchblade. He returned to Sarah's side and observed, unseen.

Two mornings later, he found himself in Conchabar's apartment again. The shower was running, so Conchabar must have just returned from work. Danny stared out the window until the water shut off and the bathroom door opened. When he turned, he saw Conchabar step out in a cloud of steam, scrubbing a towel through his hair. He was naked.

Danny must have made a sound, because the other man looked straight at him and grinned.

"Enjoying the show, are you?"

"I'm not complaining," Danny said with a smile and a shrug.

"Been here long?"

"Not really. Have you thought about Catain?"

Conchabar walked over to the bed and sat down. "Can't get it out of my head, actually. I've started writing the lyrics, but I can't pin down a melody."

Danny nodded and glanced out the window again. No overlooking neighbors.

"Would you like to see what I've got so far? Give it the muse's seal of approval?" He reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a couple of sheets of abused-looking paper.

With a moment's concentration, Danny made himself solid. He took the pages and read over Conchabar's lyrics. "This is too abstract. It would work much better if you tell the story instead of breaking it all apart."

Conchabar frowned and took his papers back. "Are you saying your inspiration misguided me, Your High Museness?"

"No, I'm saying that I told you to write a song, and you took it in the wrong direction."

"Well, that's a fine way to encourage a man."

"If I was encouraging you, believe me—you'd know."

"Big talk from a mere muse. I thought you sort were gentle artists and lovers."

Danny snorted. "Only on alternate Tuesdays."

Conchabar laughed. "I should've known that any muse of mine would have a mouth on him."

"Well, not yet, I don't."

Their eyes met, and Danny took off his sweater. He saw Conchabar's cock twitch against his leg, and he smiled. The rest of his clothing followed the sweater to the floor.

"Inspiration comes more easily when body and mind are relaxed," Danny said wisely.

"Then I take it you intend to relax me. You must spend your other alternate Tuesdays on lust and leisure."

Danny merely shrugged and stepped up to the bed. Conchabar reached out to put his hands on Danny hips, and they sank to the mattress together. They kissed, soft and slow.

"Tell me your name," Conchabar said against his lips.

"Danny."

"Danny Boy, my muse of music..."

Conchabar rolled them over so that he was on top. He threaded his fingers through Danny's hair and deepened their kiss. Their hips rocked instinctively, rubbing their cocks together. They didn't progress any further for a long time, just concentrating on the pleasure of mouths and hands exploring.

One of Conchabar's hands slid down and touched Danny questioningly. "Can I?"

"Yes."

"I don't have any—"

"Don't need it. Muse, remember?"

"Perfect," Conchabar grunted, shifting and sinking into Danny. He threw his head back. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Yes..."

They made love slowly. Danny could feel Conchabar's tension and emotions like an aura. Their tone was shifting and building, draining out the bad energy as he came closer to orgasm. Danny strained against his own orgasm, wanting their time together to last.

Finally, Conchabar couldn't hold back any longer, and he sped up the rhythm. Danny thought the force in those thrusts might have hurt, had he still been mortal, but he felt only pleasure. With some coaxing from Conchabar's hand on his cock, Danny came first. Conchabar followed a moment later.

Danny stroked his back as his heartrate and breathing returned to normal.

"I think you'll have to take another shower," Danny said, breaking the silence.

"Mm...it can wait." Conchabar slid down a little so that he could lay his head on Danny's chest. "Think I'll have a bit of a nap."

Conchabar slept heavily. Danny slipped away from the bed with little trouble and went to the window. He thought he had influenced the man enough now for things to go properly, but he found that he was reluctant to leave. He was also reluctant to alter Conchabar's memories. It was a necessary evil of being dead and a tool of fate, though, not to be able to allow mortals to remember him.

With a thought, he had himself dressed again. He watched Conchabar sleep for a few minutes more, then returned to the bed and laid a hand on his forehead.

"I'm sorry."

He let his power wash across Conchabar's memories, blurring the lines of reality into dream and hiding his own face.

Another tool of fate. At least they would have that in common.

Conchabar awoke at sunset with a melody in his head. He jumped out of bed and scribbled it down before it could leave him, and it was only after he'd gotten it all out that he stopped to wonder where it had come from. A muse, perhaps. One with dark hair and strong hands and a sharp wit.

But that was silly. He shook his head and pulled on a pair of sweat pants before he went to make breakfast.

Oddly, even though he hadn't thought of it in years, he found himself singing Danny Boy as he got ready for work.