19-Jun-2001
Draft: Rough
Posted: 06/19/01
Author: Jay / carboxylated@yahoo.com
Archive: Gundam Wing Addiction (Tyr), Desolation Angels (Ashura, if she wants it)
[Full fiction index @ [www.gwaddiction.com]
Disclaimer: Mobile Suit Gundam Wing is not mine, but belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and Sunrise. ;_; The characters and timeline have been borrowed for my own fiendish fangirl ends.
Title: Requiem
Category: Angst, het.
Pairings: ?x?
Rating/Warning: PG-13, for a sex scene so insubstantial, you wouldn't even know it was unless I told you to expect it.
Feedback: Comments, criticisms, ramblings, death threats, and marriage proposals all welcome.
Note: I just realized that anything I say will give the story away.
-_-;;;; So I maintain my silence on this one.
Once used, twice burned, never kissed-- we made love with our closed eyes and fumbling fingers, holding our breaths; I was afraid of inhaling wisps of your perfume (that scent of dead roses, ash, and olives-- mementos of the dead), and you were afraid that if your eyes blinked (if only once), the lover screened on your pupils would disappear, his body fading into mine.
I understand that I am no compare.
The curtains-- heavy, burgundy velvet draping from ceiling to floor-- are drawn, and the room is dark. The sheets rustle as a body, androgynous in the black, adjusts itself, folding itself in thick cotton.
A voice, breathless with sanctity, rapt, murmurs, "Tell me why you loved him."
Her voice has the same light cadence and evenness of measure that it has always held. He recognizes the tone from the hundreds of broadcasts she has done, crisp in the light arrogance of youth. "Because he was everything I ever admired in man," she whispers fiercely.
He is almost convinced of her sincerity. "Is admiration enough?"
And her voice creeps up like a ghost or a shadow, disembodied once again from the smile that comes from practiced ease in front of the flashing cameras. "Everything else is ineffable."
Their foreheads knock together; he touches her thigh, and then thumbs over her hips. "We're Siamese, you know. Conjoined by the skeleton of the same..." His voice falters, muted by the heaviness of the air-- or maybe the muffling curtains.
She agrees by pressing his hand into hers, and their palms fist, tightening until her knuckles hurt. A chill washes over them, and she shivers and has to stop herself from muttering a prayer for the dead.
When their mouths just touch, the agreement is implicit; they pull up the sheets and devour the illusion of the other.
Your fingers ran over my lips, fluttering nervously, erratically. Those trembling hands cupped my chin and brought my face to yours.
There are fragments of him that are trapped in the sweat of your skin like ground glass. I see pieces of him in your eyes, that uncomfortable and curious scrutiny. There is a fatalistic motion you carry in your legs that mimics the determination of his stride-- the same with your gritted teeth, clenching hands, the narrowing of your eyes...
End teaser
Jay
Please send comments to: carboxylated@yahoo.com