A/N: Ok, so I'm gonna ask for some help with this one. I was originally playing around with different styles of writing. This in particular springs from the poem, which is split in half, the first part being the opening and the last part being the ending. I wanted to sort of capture what it made me feel when I read it. I think I did it but I'm not sure. Any crit on this would be loved and placed next to special books on the top shelf. Even if it's just to tell me not to try it again, because I need to know that too. :p
Jo owns the pups, Rumi owns the language that holds my soul.
We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
That's fine with us. Every morning
We glow and in the evening we glow again.
The two boys ran. The street lamps were extra dazzling and the sidewalk extra slick in their inebriated state. They would have preferred to stay in the pub, but the bartenders had been ready to leave, all their cleaning finished while the couple had necked most openly and appallingly in a corner booth. They were regulars there though, so the staff was used to it.
A stray car passed, splashing the grey water that had collected around the drain into their path. The tall one with the dark hair shook his fist at its retreating rear while the other tugged at his arm. It was starting to lightning and regardless, at that hour they should have been at home.
A flash of bright, white light revealed the boy doing the tugging. His hair was now clinging to his forehead and the nape of his neck, its color almost as dark as the taller boy's now that the water had added its own hue. Please, he mouthed. I just want to be home.
Again, they started running and stumbling towards their flat. The taller boy was pulling the smaller one along, his fingers wrapped tightly around the other boy's wrist. He was afraid that if he let him go, he'd disappear behind a rain drop and be lost forever. This fear was irrational, but the alcohol tainted blood flowing through his brain changed such knowledge.
They were laughing, but only the pavement heard them. The sound was pulled immediately down by the deluge, left to wash along the gutter with the days' collected sediment.
They ducked inside the downstairs door and let it bang closed behind them, the sound following them up the stairs. They were laughing still, but now it was urgent and tired. It floated up to the ceiling and collected in the cob webs, saved for another day when it would be needed.
They entered the flat through the door which refused to shut on its own; the taller boy applied the final pressure to it when he crushed the smaller one up against it. They were dripping, smiling, shaking with cold, and collapsing into one another's arms.
The clothing would be left till morning where the frenzied fingers and shivering hands had thrown it. Shirts and socks creating small sodden piles on the bare wood floor, the crumpled trousers testimonies to their passion.
In bed the arms clung and stroked, hugged and swiped. Marks were left by nails and teeth, but the deepest marks were left by words.
Love you Moony. I'll never, never…
Never Sirius, never leave you.
Love me Moony.
Love you forever.
Afterwards the night is still. The rain has stopped, the thunder no is longer loud enough to rattle the panes of glass in the windows. The boys are still as well, eyes closed by the drowsiness taking over their systems, lips moving clumsily in murmurs of love. Wrapped around one another for warmth they fade into sleep and dream of nothing.
They say there's no future for us. They're right.
Which is fine with us.