Title: Holy
Fandom: Shin Megami Tensei IV
Rating: M for slash and sexual situations
Pairing: Walter/Jonathan
Summary: "There was something utterly rapturous, almost eerily holy, about his relationship with Jonathan."
Note: First foray into Shin Megami Tensei. Therapeutic writing for me. No theme or resolution here, folks.
Holy
There was something utterly rapturous, almost eerily holy, about his relationship with Jonathan –
stolen kisses in the barrack hallways, slow and deep and hungry, where Jonathan would lean into the wall so that Walter could tower over him for once, giving him control because Jonathan was always giving of himself to others, always, always appeasing everyone around him, a living, breathing martyr with the most earnest – maddening – golden eyes that Walter had ever looked into...
lovemaking sessions in Walter's room, with the shades drawn because Walter liked the dark and Jonathan exuded all the light he could ever want anyway, porcelain skin shimmering in the faint glow of the moonlight as Walter moved into him, slowly at first, then faster, harder, searching blindly for the core of Jonathan's being, passion and adoration and hatred building inside of him in a torrent of raw emotion that always, always ended in breathless whispers of how beautiful Jonathan was, and how he wished he could stay there with him forever...
sex – because he couldn't always call it making love, no – after a heated disagreement about their convictions, with Jonathan apologizing with his lips but not with his eyes, prompting Walter to twist his fingers through the silk, yellow softness of his scarf, demanding that Jonathan get down on his knees and hating – loving – him because he didn't fight back, burying his face into Walter's lap instead and taking him whole into his mouth, so predictably subservient that Walter couldn't help but come right then and there in shock and awe...
He couldn't remember when it all began, who fell into whose arms first, how the first kiss was initiated, when or where they made love for the first time – although Walter vaguely recalls a period of obsession wherein which he followed Jonathan relentlessly, watching him from across the mess hall, lingering outside the door to his quarters after-hours, picturing his face – soft curls framing high cheekbones – as he pleasured himself in the darkness of his own unspoken desires.
That Jonathan had ever accepted him at all, had allowed him into his life and into his bed, had set aside the fact that they were two very different people from two radically different worlds, was nothing short of a miracle – and Walter would always smile at this thought, because Jonathan was so perfect, so completely, maddeningly perfect that he sometimes entertained the idea that he was actually the physical embodiment of the Angels of lore.
He remembers telling him this once – whispering it, really, while they made love, slow and lazy and absolutely aching from how good it all felt, and Jonathan laughed, that gorgeous, breathless laugh that meant Walter was doing things very well, stared into his eyes with heavy lids and whispered back, "If I'm an angel, what does that make you...?"
He dreams sometimes – much more often now, as the days pass and they grow closer together (or is it further apart?) – of empty, desolate conversations with beings cloaked in white, of shadows that whisper all around him and promise him the keys to a dark, beautiful universe full of freedom and possibilities, of Jonathan, embodying all that is pure and good in this world, being welcomed into the arms of absolute holiness, a monstrous, golden light absorbing every last particle of his being until there is nothing left.
Walter jolts awake most nights, drenched in a cold, terrified sweat, completely and utterly frozen until Jonathan stirs beside him and brings him back into reality – Jonathan, who is warm and human and real – and at that moment Walter remembers how to breathe and welcomes sleep again, secure in the knowledge that Jonathan isn't going anywhere...
...at least not tonight.
END
