"The strange attractors of meanings can exhort human actions. Although the actions may appear randomly skipping around, they relate to the attractors of meanings, which propel them."
The night is overripe with summer heat and as they fall heavily onto the bed Eren can see specks of dust rising from the stirred pillows into the moonlit air. Everything is vivid and harsh and so very real: sharp sting of pain when Rivaille scrapes his teeth over his collarbone and raspy, needy sound tearing its way through his own clenched throat in response; slender fingers drawing paths of fire across his quivering skin and soft wetness of the tongue diving into his ear. He prefers not to recall how and why they have ended up here - neither does he think about what will happen to them on the morrow. This situation is not as much a blind alley as a mousetrap. There is no turning back from where they are, but there is also no way to move forward. He knows that. Or he tells himself that he does.
Yet, as the tension reaches its peak and he's writhing and arching on the sheets he forgets, if only for a moment, that all of this has little to no meaning for at least one of them. Rivaille proves to be a harsh and evidently experienced lover, as ferocious in his desire as he is in battle, but also just as attentive; he is quick to notice every move and sigh on Eren's part and react accordingly, and he doesn't seem to expect anything in return except for the other to lose himself in pain and pleasure. Which is exactly what Eren does. For a few more seconds he balances, trembling, on the very edge of ecstasy, desperate to regain some control over himself, but he's already nearing a sensory overload; eventually all that it takes is his name breathed into his ear in a heated whisper and he's falling, falling, breaking, his heart burning out, the whole world around him contracting into white hot bliss.
"I love you." the confession leaves his lips as a barely audible sigh; unnecessary, unwanted and unrequited. Unavoidable, he concludes, because it's too real for him to ever keep it a secret. Even high on the afterglow as he is, he knows he won't be getting any answer, and there is none – except, maybe, the slightest tension in Rivaille's shoulders, and the fact that he comes right after that, face pressed tight against the crook of Eren's neck.
It is better this way, he thinks much, much later, curled up on the edge of the bed and staring dully into the shadows. Somehow he can feel Rivaille's presence behind his back, even though they're not touching. It is better, he thinks again (stubborn as he is), for what use is there for sentiments in the world like theirs? Each of them could be dead today, tomorrow, in a week, in an hour. Actually, given the current state of affairs one of them may yet wind up killing the other. It is better not to grow attached.
This night is a rarity then, so he doesn't feel like wasting it for sleep. He may not be daring enough to move closer to the center of the bed where the warmth of the corporal's body feels so very inviting… but he does choose to stay awake, if only to think things over.
And, judging by the fact his breath never gets quite as even as it should, so does Rivaille.
Only few things to say on this:
- ...I'm not dead, just so you know. Or done writing. Or whatever. Just had a tiny little break. Also I still can't get the lines to work properly.
- written for my dear friend, who requested a dark chocolate flavored drabble. Well, a drabble evolved into a vignette, but I guess I made it bitter enough.
- I have half a mind to make it a series of vignettes, though I can't promise anything.
- I was listening to "The Hollow" by A Perfect Circle while writing this. Thought I'll share.
- I honestly don't know what I wanted it to mean or where this crazy relationship heads... Any opinions on that? Let me know in the comments!
