Title: Wake Up
Author: keelhaul lizzie
Pairing: StingxAuel
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Summary: Sting and Auel, and the finer points of memory loss. StingAuel
Warnings: yaoi
Date: July 13, 2005
Author's Notes: I'm not exactly sure what I wanted to do with this, and really, I don't even know if it makes sense.
----
Auel wakes up. Slowly, at first, he opens his eyes, the lids gummy and responsive from sleep, and looks up. All he can see is the unnatural magenta swirls of light of the dome where he lies, where he was, perhaps, created (he can't remember back that far to be sure), pulsing quickly like his blood and the chemicals in it that keep him alive. The chemicals, that is, more so than the blood; he's fairly sure that if they drained him of all his blood and filled him up with this strange substance he'd live on all the same.
The light fills his eyes and, thinking about it, it's all he can ever remember, the only thing he's ever trusted when he wakes up. His memory fades in and out, and, looking back on it, some things he remembers seem foreign even to himself, but the glassy ceiling of poisonous vivid colour always remains in his mind, stark against the high, colourless ceiling.
The dome lifts up on its own and he pushes himself up. He can see Stellar asleep in the pod beside him, tears clinging to her lashes like early-morning dew clinging to spiders' webs, and so similar-- both are almost illusory and never stay; Stellar's tears will soon be replaced with childish anger when she wakes, as they always are.
This entire scene is so familiar to him, and he could replay it in his head like a movie a thousand times, but everything is insubstantial, like they are less than memories and are mere whispers in the back of his head.
----
Sting presses Auel into the wall and the metallic clang from Auel's sharp little elbow smashing against the steel paneling reverberates, hollow, across the room.
He digs his fingers into Sting's side, into his ribs, hard, and hopes maybe he'll hear the crunch and the crack of them breaking; he's angry and it doesn't matter whether they're fucking or fighting, because it all makes him feel the same.
His fingers then tangle in his hair; green, poisonous like the light and the chemicals, the drugs. Poisonous, indeed, yet both keep him alive. He'd laugh if it weren't for Sting's tongue in his mouth; familiar, maybe... he can't really remember.
Sting pushing inside of him, him pressing kisses into the hollow of his neck, that helpless feeling that he's getting fucked stupid and maybe enjoying it, and the need to rip and tear at something, pull it to shreds, that anger, it's all real, nothing insubstantial about it. But it doesn't matter; it'll all turn to memories anyways, and perhaps be forgotten.
----
Auel gets up. His limbs feel heavy and he can't remember what it was he did the day before, why there are red marks on his collarbone and aching soreness in his legs. He's angry.
He doesn't need to remember yesterday anyways, as it's the anger that fuels him. He can see Sting next to him, still asleep and looking so helpless, he thinks, his face made a sickly shade of pink from the light above, and thinks maybe he ought to ask Sting about the day before and maybe everything, but quickly realizes it would do little good anyways. Besides, curiosity killed the cat.
He stands up and shakes the last bit of lethargy from his limbs.
"Forget it," he says to himself, and it seems appropriate.