...I should have put $20 on it...
May. 23rd, 2005 06:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lavandarlizard2The fact that my adopted brother, the gay gearhead would buy a new car within six weeks of getting to Houston, that is. The man cannot go more than six months without buying a new (or used) vehicle. He traded off his yellow Miata for a crystal blue one about six months ago, and now the blue one is gone in favor of a red one. But not just any Miata; oh, no! This is a MiataSpeed, 2004, Velocity Red.
Hmm... I just realised... He never answered my question when I asked if he'd told his partner before or after... *Bro...*
Part 089 - BFB - Statement (h)
I tried sitting down. I tried lying on my bed. I even tried pacing. I couldn’t bear it. I wound up standing in my room, staring at the bathroom door, still clutching his blanket. I could hear his voice, and assumed that he was on the phone. Who would he be talking to now? Maybe Q? He’s not inconsiderate; he does not like to worry or upset people. But Q wasn’t worried; not at the sheriff’s office. Therefore... Q knew where Duo had gone, or at least that he was in no danger. I gave a moment’s thought to just smacking myself; why didn’t I notice that little detail at the time? Was I losing my observational skills completely?
When the shower came on, I took an automatic step towards the closed door. But I wasn’t invited; the door was *closed*. I swallowed a sound that would have embarrassed me in public, and continued to stare at the door. When the water was turned off, I followed his movements in my mind; every swipe of the towel, every stroke of the comb, and knew to the minute when he would be finished.
But... would he come to me? Would he want my agitated, hyper-protective company?
~*~
He steps out of the bathroom and into my room, naked, with his hair down and swirling about him. For a few seconds, everything inside me just... stops. My Banshee. My Chosen. My angel.
Mine.
He glides across the floor to me and stops, hands twisting together, misery and... something even darker in his brilliant eyes.
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have walked out on you...”
“Not your fault! I’m sorry for yelling, for making a scene, for... for frightening you...”
He shakes his head, not even hearing me. “I can’t keep running from this, Heero; can’t keep trying to pretend it isn’t there... I’m... broken... inside. That... pervert broke something in me, and it- it isn’t going to fix itself. I can feel it, hear it, crying for help...” Tears well in his eyes. “And I can’t! I don’t know how! I can’t find it... and it’s unraveling me... Every time I feel like- like I’m getting better... it rears up and drags me under... I feel like I’m drowning... I need... you...” He ducks his head and I have to touch his shining hair, combing my fingers through it tenderly. “You’re the only one who can find me... and fix me...”
“Duo, angel...” I murmur. “Anything for my Banshee.” Even in anguish he is mesmerizing...
“It wants, needs you, Heero...”
It? My expression betrays my startled thought all too easily.
“Me... That... part of me. The part that... he... broke. I can’t... It needs you, wants you...”
I stifle a groan; this is *not* what I meant. But I promised him anything...
I think... Hell, I *know* what he’s asking; we’ve been round and round on this these past weeks. He wants me to over-ride his defenses, ignore his rightful fears and just... take control. But I can’t do that! I am a Wyvern; I cannot... rape him... even if it is his choice...
We are powerful beings, the swords of our progenitors, and because we are so much more powerful than Humans and even most Magical Creatures, we were created with a fine respect for our own power, a pathological aversion to causing pain to those we protect. He is my Chosen! There is no protection on earth greater than that!
I brush my hands over his face, stroking the soft skin, caressing his cheekbones. Breathing deeply. Down his neck to his shoulders, rubbing gently.
Stupid, damn arrogant Human; to touch what belongs to me! He should have been mine to kill! Mine to flay and dismember. Mine to disembowel.
Mine... I have failed mine. He is mine and I have failed him...
Would I know this same irrational fury if my Chosen were another Wyvern? Would I be so over-protective of my equal? Does that make my angel, my love, my delicate, fragile Banshee somehow... inferior? Would I refuse this same plea from one of my own kind...?
My brain hiccups, trying to find some logic to work with, but Duo intervenes.
His hands slide down my chest – when did I get naked?
“Please, Heero... This is what it – what *I* need. I am not asking now,” he whispers and he is sinking to his knees, cheek rubbing against my knee. “I am *begging*. It hurts, Heero... It *hurts* to be this broken...”
They are creatures of fantasy, my Duo and the others of his species, made of mist and fire and magic; drifting smoke, a skirl of wind. Of legend, no Human ever saw them, but from the corner on an eye or the middle of a blink. They are imagination and mystery and perilous beauty and the inexorable power of the earth.
Elves, Faeries and Banshees... The triumvirate of the Fae; all of them with the look of blown-glass delicacy, of snowflakes and shadows, and all of them with the strength, power and implacable will of the earth itself.
Inazuma, so fair and flighty, giggling laughter pouring past his fingers, sky-blue eyes dancing with inappropriate merriment, slithering through darkened souls like a ribbon of light.
Enrique, deep and smoldering, a smirk that undresses the mind, eyes of volcanic fire that warm or burn with the turn of a thought.
Roqier, spreading sparkles wherever he goes, gold and silver and all the colors of the rainbow in his Faerie eyes, and a Touch that soothes and startles.
And Duo... Death’s right hand, the conductor, the ticket-taker for the boat ride to eternity... The whisper in the mind, the two-minute warning of his Master’s arrival. Fierce and fearsome...
And something else... Something broken and healed; abandoned and found... Strength he doesn’t believe in, power he can’t acknowledge, fear he refuses to face.
All of them so fair and fragile; so delicate and ethereal and needing of protection.
All of them so deadly, so implacable, so inexorable... The movement of continents with the flick of a finger. The passage of Time on two legs. Once those eyes have fallen on you, you have lost. You belong completely to the Fae.
I have never understood why no one else sees this. Or perhaps they do, and it frightens them so much they clutch at logic to explain their panic, and find comfort in concepts like ‘old wives tales’, ‘faerie stories’ and ‘folk tales’.
These Magical Creatures born of the places where starlight kisses the earth; slow to anger, even slower to forgive... They shame the rest of us, Human and Magical alike...
And I am not what I have always thought myself to be...
My hands tangle in his flowing hair. “Angel...” I breathe, drawing him to his feet and into my arms. I inhale deeply; let the scent of him fill my lungs. “Anything for you...”
~*~
Lying beside him, holding him against me, fragile and exhausted, his hair jumbled and straying everywhere, I feel something inside of me, something I’ve never noticed before.
Perhaps in healing what was broken inside of my angel, my love, I may have also healed something that was broken inside of me. Something I never knew was even there. Some tiny part of my dormant Banshee heritage.
“Duo,” I whisper. “I love you.” He has bruises; I can see them even in the dimness of the room, marks of his choosing, marks of his claim on me. It was late afternoon when he returned; it is nearly dawn now.
He rubs his face against my shoulder drowsily, like an affectionate cat, and mutters something that might possibly be “love you too.” And he settles again, hitching a tiny bit closer and hooking one long, lean leg over mine.
I think maybe, just maybe the worst may be behind us.
...end of Statement...
Hmm... I just realised... He never answered my question when I asked if he'd told his partner before or after... *Bro...*
Part 089 - BFB - Statement (h)
I tried sitting down. I tried lying on my bed. I even tried pacing. I couldn’t bear it. I wound up standing in my room, staring at the bathroom door, still clutching his blanket. I could hear his voice, and assumed that he was on the phone. Who would he be talking to now? Maybe Q? He’s not inconsiderate; he does not like to worry or upset people. But Q wasn’t worried; not at the sheriff’s office. Therefore... Q knew where Duo had gone, or at least that he was in no danger. I gave a moment’s thought to just smacking myself; why didn’t I notice that little detail at the time? Was I losing my observational skills completely?
When the shower came on, I took an automatic step towards the closed door. But I wasn’t invited; the door was *closed*. I swallowed a sound that would have embarrassed me in public, and continued to stare at the door. When the water was turned off, I followed his movements in my mind; every swipe of the towel, every stroke of the comb, and knew to the minute when he would be finished.
But... would he come to me? Would he want my agitated, hyper-protective company?
~*~
He steps out of the bathroom and into my room, naked, with his hair down and swirling about him. For a few seconds, everything inside me just... stops. My Banshee. My Chosen. My angel.
Mine.
He glides across the floor to me and stops, hands twisting together, misery and... something even darker in his brilliant eyes.
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have walked out on you...”
“Not your fault! I’m sorry for yelling, for making a scene, for... for frightening you...”
He shakes his head, not even hearing me. “I can’t keep running from this, Heero; can’t keep trying to pretend it isn’t there... I’m... broken... inside. That... pervert broke something in me, and it- it isn’t going to fix itself. I can feel it, hear it, crying for help...” Tears well in his eyes. “And I can’t! I don’t know how! I can’t find it... and it’s unraveling me... Every time I feel like- like I’m getting better... it rears up and drags me under... I feel like I’m drowning... I need... you...” He ducks his head and I have to touch his shining hair, combing my fingers through it tenderly. “You’re the only one who can find me... and fix me...”
“Duo, angel...” I murmur. “Anything for my Banshee.” Even in anguish he is mesmerizing...
“It wants, needs you, Heero...”
It? My expression betrays my startled thought all too easily.
“Me... That... part of me. The part that... he... broke. I can’t... It needs you, wants you...”
I stifle a groan; this is *not* what I meant. But I promised him anything...
I think... Hell, I *know* what he’s asking; we’ve been round and round on this these past weeks. He wants me to over-ride his defenses, ignore his rightful fears and just... take control. But I can’t do that! I am a Wyvern; I cannot... rape him... even if it is his choice...
We are powerful beings, the swords of our progenitors, and because we are so much more powerful than Humans and even most Magical Creatures, we were created with a fine respect for our own power, a pathological aversion to causing pain to those we protect. He is my Chosen! There is no protection on earth greater than that!
I brush my hands over his face, stroking the soft skin, caressing his cheekbones. Breathing deeply. Down his neck to his shoulders, rubbing gently.
Stupid, damn arrogant Human; to touch what belongs to me! He should have been mine to kill! Mine to flay and dismember. Mine to disembowel.
Mine... I have failed mine. He is mine and I have failed him...
Would I know this same irrational fury if my Chosen were another Wyvern? Would I be so over-protective of my equal? Does that make my angel, my love, my delicate, fragile Banshee somehow... inferior? Would I refuse this same plea from one of my own kind...?
My brain hiccups, trying to find some logic to work with, but Duo intervenes.
His hands slide down my chest – when did I get naked?
“Please, Heero... This is what it – what *I* need. I am not asking now,” he whispers and he is sinking to his knees, cheek rubbing against my knee. “I am *begging*. It hurts, Heero... It *hurts* to be this broken...”
They are creatures of fantasy, my Duo and the others of his species, made of mist and fire and magic; drifting smoke, a skirl of wind. Of legend, no Human ever saw them, but from the corner on an eye or the middle of a blink. They are imagination and mystery and perilous beauty and the inexorable power of the earth.
Elves, Faeries and Banshees... The triumvirate of the Fae; all of them with the look of blown-glass delicacy, of snowflakes and shadows, and all of them with the strength, power and implacable will of the earth itself.
Inazuma, so fair and flighty, giggling laughter pouring past his fingers, sky-blue eyes dancing with inappropriate merriment, slithering through darkened souls like a ribbon of light.
Enrique, deep and smoldering, a smirk that undresses the mind, eyes of volcanic fire that warm or burn with the turn of a thought.
Roqier, spreading sparkles wherever he goes, gold and silver and all the colors of the rainbow in his Faerie eyes, and a Touch that soothes and startles.
And Duo... Death’s right hand, the conductor, the ticket-taker for the boat ride to eternity... The whisper in the mind, the two-minute warning of his Master’s arrival. Fierce and fearsome...
And something else... Something broken and healed; abandoned and found... Strength he doesn’t believe in, power he can’t acknowledge, fear he refuses to face.
All of them so fair and fragile; so delicate and ethereal and needing of protection.
All of them so deadly, so implacable, so inexorable... The movement of continents with the flick of a finger. The passage of Time on two legs. Once those eyes have fallen on you, you have lost. You belong completely to the Fae.
I have never understood why no one else sees this. Or perhaps they do, and it frightens them so much they clutch at logic to explain their panic, and find comfort in concepts like ‘old wives tales’, ‘faerie stories’ and ‘folk tales’.
These Magical Creatures born of the places where starlight kisses the earth; slow to anger, even slower to forgive... They shame the rest of us, Human and Magical alike...
And I am not what I have always thought myself to be...
My hands tangle in his flowing hair. “Angel...” I breathe, drawing him to his feet and into my arms. I inhale deeply; let the scent of him fill my lungs. “Anything for you...”
~*~
Lying beside him, holding him against me, fragile and exhausted, his hair jumbled and straying everywhere, I feel something inside of me, something I’ve never noticed before.
Perhaps in healing what was broken inside of my angel, my love, I may have also healed something that was broken inside of me. Something I never knew was even there. Some tiny part of my dormant Banshee heritage.
“Duo,” I whisper. “I love you.” He has bruises; I can see them even in the dimness of the room, marks of his choosing, marks of his claim on me. It was late afternoon when he returned; it is nearly dawn now.
He rubs his face against my shoulder drowsily, like an affectionate cat, and mutters something that might possibly be “love you too.” And he settles again, hitching a tiny bit closer and hooking one long, lean leg over mine.
I think maybe, just maybe the worst may be behind us.
...end of Statement...
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Date: 2005-05-24 04:20 pm (UTC): pouts :
-TCM
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Date: 2005-05-24 07:57 pm (UTC)