"Dark Side of the Moon"
Piece Rating: R....not for children. You have been warned.
Time setting: During the telepath war because my mind is evil and I could see the need for solace spiraling out of control in these two characters.
~*~*~
This is the dark side of the moon.
There are never any words for this.
There never were and there may never be.
It all start with a shaft of light that invades the darkness of the room. I won't say it invades peace, sanctuary or rest. We never had any. We don't lie to each other. Maybe that's why we don't talk. No, there's never any talking. There's so much else, but never any talking. Never.
First the light comes and then the sound of the door sliding away breaches the silence. One of us moves to sit up to look to the door where the other is casting a shadow through that obscene shard of light on what was presently pure darkness. It's funny that there was never any small talk or any explanations. Next comes the door behind the person in the light closing, leaving the darkness an abyss between us.
It's you this time.
Standing a foot inside my bedroom door.
I can hear the breath that's released from your chest as the door seals.
Like the fight is draining out of you.
There's always the fight.
Every since that first time. The fight to not come back. To not return to scene of the first crime or continue on this path of madness. This is madness. It's always madness, isn't it? The fire the fills the blood. The part of each of us screaming it's wrong. The part of each of us that crumbles each time the darkness claims the room and we both move toward each other.
We meet at the foot of the bed. Your still standing, and I'm on my knees at the end of it. This is no tender rendezvous of lovers, no light claimed within ourselves. It is only the madness. The madness of my hands on your shoulders, fingers nails digging into your clothes, while your lips are claiming mine with a hard brutality. You hands are on the sides of my face, pressing in, bruising my skin, but I can't tell rising to meet the fire, the insanity in your kiss.
We both pull away from that most intimates of first touch gasping for breath, gasping for logic, gasping for reason, and faltering to find any of them, we fall prey to the lunacy that brought us both here. Your hands are already in my hair, tearing it free from it's bound, and mine are traveling across you, unlacing your clothes, tugging them free from their confines around your body.
My body shudders when your hands lace down across the burning sides of my face, down my neck, over the edges of my shoulders, fingers catching my nightgown and dragging it with them until the sound of it ripping it the newest sound to break the silence. It doesn't rip at the slightest tug, no, not until your forcibly trying to tear it with all your strength because it's in the way. It's the eighth one you've ruined so far, but I'm not even thinking about that. I'm thinking about the way your hands, having moved from the outer apex of my shoulders inward, on my breasts are igniting trails of lightening inside my blood. Making me forget objectivity all together.
I gasp and it only pushes me further into all but literally ripping the clothes off your body. My resolve is stronger than yours is right now. It took most of your reserve to get here. It against all the rules. It's against everything you live your life by. To get here you crossed all the lines, to let you stay here I cross all of mine. With a slight laugh, I push you away, still taking air in like I'm going to run out, leaving you to the more difficult parts of your clothing.
There's a thrill in the darkness, the danger, the wrong, and the reasons we're doing this. Removing the torn nightgown, I listen the sounds of you in the darkness. My eyes, adjusting once more to the darkness without the light, can make out your shape just barely, my ears listen as things get removed, piling up on the floor and there's a moment where there is no air for either of us to breathe. One moment where we could stop this, we could find the real reasons this shouldn't be happening.
And then it's over; you're falling into me and I'm falling back on the bed, we're intertwined and neither of us ever noticed the impact at all. There's nothing but the madness and the fire inside of us, the dark fire of everything that can't be, that's wrong. I'm not seeing your face in my mind or feeling your hands. They're his. His hands, fingers long and delicate across my skin. But you know this, just like I know the feel of my hair, the taste of my lips, it's not me.
It's her. Her with her dark brown hair and deep soulful eyes.
She's denied to you and he's gone to me.
This isn't a new beginning. It's just prolonging the pain, prolonging the madness. It's all building inside of me, inside of you, that we're both so far beyond caring that the moment takes over. It always takes over. Just like the first time and the last time and every single time in between. And when you're inside of me, it's not about passion or union. It's about frustration, it's about anger, and it's about not being able to rage outward. It's about the world and how unfair it is.
The roller coaster ride up the hill creates tears in my eyes, even with my head buried in the top of your shoulder. Your teeth are digging into my shoulder, so hard that it's gone numb around where your teeth are. The bone crest around your head is drilling into the side of my head causing the bruises from earlier to get deeper, but I can't feel it really. At this point it's pure physical pleasure and mental anguish mixing so brutally that all I can do is scream and ride my orgasm and let the tears leak out of my eyes in streams.
This is when the waves of shame roll off of both of us. This is where the madness breaks at the pinnacle of pleasure, where neither of us can hide behind the lies we tell ourselves. This is where we both lie broken in each other's arms. This is where the only sound in the room is gasps for air and soft broken muffled sobs we're both casting about. We don't reach to comfort each other, to pull each other closer. We just lay there, wrapped up so close, bodies intertwined, feeling the other shuddering, shaking, crying; linked, but not linked, one, but not with each other.
Maybe we want a release from the pressure. Maybe we want to feel something real under our fingers. Maybe we want the silence to end. Maybe we want to not be alone for a few seconds. Maybe we're just more human than either of us want to admit.
I'm not worried about the bruises or the places where I'm bleeding, they'll heal before morning and the places I've left scratch marks on you won't show under your Ranger uniform. The sounds are more incoherent now. My body's calming from the shaking, becoming numb to everything, not just where the pain is changing under the strange powers of my body. You pull away, pulling your armor to your mind they way you do to combat anyone, but more especially because of what you'll do now.
All of me is becoming numb.
All of you is numb, too.
The sounds of you sluffing your clothing back on. The sounds of your mind working, and not working on all this. I don't move to comfort you and you don't move to comfort me. It's not about us. It was never about us. Not even the first time. It won't change and each time we make a vow as this part comes that this is the last time. That we won't allow it to happen next time. That neither of us will come back to this moment.
There are no good byes. There are no backward glances.
It all ends with a shaft of light that invades the darkness of the room. I won't say it invades peace, sanctuary or rest. We never had any. We don't lie to each other. Maybe that's why we don't talk. No, there's never any talking. There's so much else, but never any talking. Never.
There never were and there may never be.
There are never any words for this.
This is the dark side of the moon.
Time setting: During the telepath war because my mind is evil and I could see the need for solace spiraling out of control in these two characters.
~*~*~
This is the dark side of the moon.
There are never any words for this.
There never were and there may never be.
It all start with a shaft of light that invades the darkness of the room. I won't say it invades peace, sanctuary or rest. We never had any. We don't lie to each other. Maybe that's why we don't talk. No, there's never any talking. There's so much else, but never any talking. Never.
First the light comes and then the sound of the door sliding away breaches the silence. One of us moves to sit up to look to the door where the other is casting a shadow through that obscene shard of light on what was presently pure darkness. It's funny that there was never any small talk or any explanations. Next comes the door behind the person in the light closing, leaving the darkness an abyss between us.
It's you this time.
Standing a foot inside my bedroom door.
I can hear the breath that's released from your chest as the door seals.
Like the fight is draining out of you.
There's always the fight.
Every since that first time. The fight to not come back. To not return to scene of the first crime or continue on this path of madness. This is madness. It's always madness, isn't it? The fire the fills the blood. The part of each of us screaming it's wrong. The part of each of us that crumbles each time the darkness claims the room and we both move toward each other.
We meet at the foot of the bed. Your still standing, and I'm on my knees at the end of it. This is no tender rendezvous of lovers, no light claimed within ourselves. It is only the madness. The madness of my hands on your shoulders, fingers nails digging into your clothes, while your lips are claiming mine with a hard brutality. You hands are on the sides of my face, pressing in, bruising my skin, but I can't tell rising to meet the fire, the insanity in your kiss.
We both pull away from that most intimates of first touch gasping for breath, gasping for logic, gasping for reason, and faltering to find any of them, we fall prey to the lunacy that brought us both here. Your hands are already in my hair, tearing it free from it's bound, and mine are traveling across you, unlacing your clothes, tugging them free from their confines around your body.
My body shudders when your hands lace down across the burning sides of my face, down my neck, over the edges of my shoulders, fingers catching my nightgown and dragging it with them until the sound of it ripping it the newest sound to break the silence. It doesn't rip at the slightest tug, no, not until your forcibly trying to tear it with all your strength because it's in the way. It's the eighth one you've ruined so far, but I'm not even thinking about that. I'm thinking about the way your hands, having moved from the outer apex of my shoulders inward, on my breasts are igniting trails of lightening inside my blood. Making me forget objectivity all together.
I gasp and it only pushes me further into all but literally ripping the clothes off your body. My resolve is stronger than yours is right now. It took most of your reserve to get here. It against all the rules. It's against everything you live your life by. To get here you crossed all the lines, to let you stay here I cross all of mine. With a slight laugh, I push you away, still taking air in like I'm going to run out, leaving you to the more difficult parts of your clothing.
There's a thrill in the darkness, the danger, the wrong, and the reasons we're doing this. Removing the torn nightgown, I listen the sounds of you in the darkness. My eyes, adjusting once more to the darkness without the light, can make out your shape just barely, my ears listen as things get removed, piling up on the floor and there's a moment where there is no air for either of us to breathe. One moment where we could stop this, we could find the real reasons this shouldn't be happening.
And then it's over; you're falling into me and I'm falling back on the bed, we're intertwined and neither of us ever noticed the impact at all. There's nothing but the madness and the fire inside of us, the dark fire of everything that can't be, that's wrong. I'm not seeing your face in my mind or feeling your hands. They're his. His hands, fingers long and delicate across my skin. But you know this, just like I know the feel of my hair, the taste of my lips, it's not me.
It's her. Her with her dark brown hair and deep soulful eyes.
She's denied to you and he's gone to me.
This isn't a new beginning. It's just prolonging the pain, prolonging the madness. It's all building inside of me, inside of you, that we're both so far beyond caring that the moment takes over. It always takes over. Just like the first time and the last time and every single time in between. And when you're inside of me, it's not about passion or union. It's about frustration, it's about anger, and it's about not being able to rage outward. It's about the world and how unfair it is.
The roller coaster ride up the hill creates tears in my eyes, even with my head buried in the top of your shoulder. Your teeth are digging into my shoulder, so hard that it's gone numb around where your teeth are. The bone crest around your head is drilling into the side of my head causing the bruises from earlier to get deeper, but I can't feel it really. At this point it's pure physical pleasure and mental anguish mixing so brutally that all I can do is scream and ride my orgasm and let the tears leak out of my eyes in streams.
This is when the waves of shame roll off of both of us. This is where the madness breaks at the pinnacle of pleasure, where neither of us can hide behind the lies we tell ourselves. This is where we both lie broken in each other's arms. This is where the only sound in the room is gasps for air and soft broken muffled sobs we're both casting about. We don't reach to comfort each other, to pull each other closer. We just lay there, wrapped up so close, bodies intertwined, feeling the other shuddering, shaking, crying; linked, but not linked, one, but not with each other.
Maybe we want a release from the pressure. Maybe we want to feel something real under our fingers. Maybe we want the silence to end. Maybe we want to not be alone for a few seconds. Maybe we're just more human than either of us want to admit.
I'm not worried about the bruises or the places where I'm bleeding, they'll heal before morning and the places I've left scratch marks on you won't show under your Ranger uniform. The sounds are more incoherent now. My body's calming from the shaking, becoming numb to everything, not just where the pain is changing under the strange powers of my body. You pull away, pulling your armor to your mind they way you do to combat anyone, but more especially because of what you'll do now.
All of me is becoming numb.
All of you is numb, too.
The sounds of you sluffing your clothing back on. The sounds of your mind working, and not working on all this. I don't move to comfort you and you don't move to comfort me. It's not about us. It was never about us. Not even the first time. It won't change and each time we make a vow as this part comes that this is the last time. That we won't allow it to happen next time. That neither of us will come back to this moment.
There are no good byes. There are no backward glances.
It all ends with a shaft of light that invades the darkness of the room. I won't say it invades peace, sanctuary or rest. We never had any. We don't lie to each other. Maybe that's why we don't talk. No, there's never any talking. There's so much else, but never any talking. Never.
There never were and there may never be.
There are never any words for this.
This is the dark side of the moon.