Author: Sabriel Sylfaen
Archived at: Shenlong's "Gundam Wing Diaries"
Pairing(s): I'm not telling ^^
Rating: R - NC-17
Warnings: Some angst, slightly depressing content, meandering thoughts, language, not-very-explicit lemon
Summary: Sometimes people get tired of feeling the way they do...and sometimes they do something about it. See if you can guess who's who before the end.
Disclaimer: WHADDYA MEAN THEY'RE NOT MINE! Well shit. -.-** That explains a lot. Maybe someday... *sigh*
Notes: This is not exactly a songfic, but I was listening to NIN's "Closer" as I wrote it, just to set the proper mood. I'd recommend doing the same, if you happen to have it squirreled away somewhere. And I know you do. *knowing grin* Cookies for Asuka-sama who made the off-hand comment several months ago that eventually led to me tracking down this song and consequently writing this fic. *bows to the Mistress of All Plot Bunnies*
Escape
Have you ever had a day where you woke up and saw the rain through your window and wondered if it was even worth waking up for?
Have you ever lain in bed and stared at the ceiling until your mind was as blank and colorless as the whitewash and wished you were somebody else in another time and place?
Have you ever let out a deep breath and felt your body settle deeper into the mattress, your muscles relaxing so far it almost seems like too much effort to breathe in again?
Have you ever taken a good long look at your life and wondered if hating yourself would be justified?
That's how I feel today.
Empty. Blank. Frustrated.
Half past dead.
I'm not sure how long I lay in bed, just staring at the ceiling, counting the glow-in-the-dark star stickers somebody pasted all over the place. Interesting contrast, since the walls are what once must have been a cheery shade of sky blue. The paint is dull and faded now. I can sympathize.
I'm not supposed to feel like this, I know that. I'm supposed to be strong and cool and collected and level-headed. I know they all look to me on a daily basis for support, for guidance, but today I don't really think I'm up to the task. I pull the duvet over my head and sigh, hoping nobody will come to get me for breakfast today. I don't feel like being human this morning, let alone being sociable.
No such luck. A knock sounds on my door and I hear my name being called through the hollow-core wood. It's him. I knew it would be. It's the same every rainy morning. I yank the covers off my head and snap something back that I wouldn't normally say, which in turn causes a startled silence and then I hear the door open.
"Are you all right?"
"Fuck no, I'm not all right. I'm awake."
A long pause. I'm definitely not myself this dreary morning and I think he may be in shock. It's doubtful, but it might happen. I can tell he's thinking of what he should say next. That's one of the things I admire about him. He never blurts anything out, he always thinks and analyzes and chooses his words carefully. He does so now when he speaks to me again.
"Breakfast is ready whenever you are."
I roll over and face the wall. "Not hungry."
I can practically hear that eyebrow going up in surprise. "Very well then." The hinges squeak quietly and there is a soft click as the door is closed behind him. Which side of the door he's on doesn't particularly matter to me at this point. I'm wishing for a target range and a very big gun. And about thirty-seven kilos of ammunition. The floorboards creak under a faded carpet the same dingy blue-gray color as the sky outside and I know he's still here.
Not all that surprising. Knowing him the way I do, he's probably had a lousy week, first with a failed mission that forced him to hide in his Gundam and subsist on stale crackers for two days, then several mechanical failures which wouldn't be so bad if he didn't love that damn machine at much as he does. And now the rain.
That's one thing we have in common: we both hate rainy days.
I don't know his reasons and it's not any of my business, so I don't bother asking. Besides, we're complicated enough as it is. Best not to confuse things further.
I hear him cross the room on whisper-quiet feet (yet another thing I admire: he's quiet when I most want him to be) and the mattress sinks slightly under his weight as he sits next to me. I shift over and turn onto my stomach as his hand smoothes over the taut muscles of my back. He peels back the duvet and the top sheet and begins caressing the bared skin so gently I can barely feel it.
"One of those days?" he says softly, his voice low and soothing. I love that voice, with its rasping, throaty timbre. Makes me tingle all the way down to my toes.
"You could say that," I reply, arching my shoulders as his fingers press down harder. "I feel so...I just wish I wasn't myself today."
"I know."
Yet another thing I love about him: some other people I could mention would question me further, try to get me to open up. Ha. Not him. He listens, just shuts up and listens and quietly comprehends. He knows what I need. We sit in silence for several minutes as the rain ticks against the glass and the shadows make a drizzling pattern on the wall. I track the progress of his hands across my shoulders, down my spine, along my ribcage, back up again, then repeating the cycle. I wriggle upwards the tiniest bit, letting the covers fall down below my hips.
I hear him take a breath. Still hoping I'm as innocent and unassuming as I look, lover? He knows by now that I sleep naked, but it still manages to make him blush. At least at first.
I roll over onto my back, giving him the full frontal view. His dark eyes widen and glitter as he leans down to take my mouth. Just a brush at first, light as a feather. Lips, then tongues, and then he pounces and kisses me almost savagely, fingers winding in my hair as he hauls himself onto the bed to straddle my hips, kicking the duvet out of the way, rubbing our bodies together.
The friction is so good it's almost painful. I hiss into his mouth and bite at his lip. He growls in return and tears those sweet lips away to nurse at the side of my neck. Meanwhile, my fingers are working on the buttons of his pajama shirt as my feet aid in the removal of his pants.
You see, I know what he needs as well.
We grind for a brief moment, relishing the contact of skin on heated skin, thankful to be FEELING something, anything but the emptiness that we all know threatens to consume our consciousness every hour of every day.
'That's why we do this,' I think absently as he takes me, no prep, a mouthful of spit for lubrication, bending my knees back almost to my shoulders. That's why we fuck like animals on these rainy mornings, hard and fast with no regrets. So long as we can make each other feel something, we know we haven't turned into mindless robots.
Robots. Little cogs and springs in the war machine. Pawns.
I need understanding. He needs release. Scratch that. We're horny teenagers, we BOTH need release. It's a good arrangement.
We strive against each other quietly for several long intense minutes, finishing together with muffled yelps. Have to keep the noise down. Don't want the others to find out. They'd worry. My mind goes fuzzy for a moment when I feel him come inside me. There's nothing like it, nothing in the world compares to how I feel right now. The world in and of itself can be a pretty rotten place, but in such moments as these, as our bodies ride out the waves of orgasm, for a little while, it's not so bad.
We fall back through the storm clouds as the lightning fades, slowly floating to earth, back into this room, this bed, which is now quite disheveled, and slowly, the gray morning creeps in around us like a fog. His breath steams against my neck, his dark silky hair half-hiding that beautiful proud face, seperate strands standing out like veins of coal against tawny golden skin. Slowly, we drift apart and even after he withdraws, I can feel him inside me. He kisses me tenderly and we hold each other tightly for a precious few seconds before a voice floats up from downstairs.
"Damnit Chang, how long does it take to get Quatre out of bed?!"
We both scowl at the door and he moves stiffly to retrieve his clothes. I ease out of the bed, wincing at the slight twinge in my lower back. There will be some pain, but it's entirely worth it. And like all the good masochists say, a little pain never hurt anyone.
He smiles at me briefly as he buttons his pajama top, a smoldering secret smile that's just for me, and I can feel one growing on my own face. I still hate the rain, but I think now I can get through the day.