======================================================================
"Fire Inside" - A Gundam Wing Songfic by Morgan Steelgrave
======================================================================
Okay, *this* isn't a twisted little piece of adolescent angst, I
*swear*. But hey, better take it out on Duo rather than on my roomie,
ne? Poor Duo, the stuff I put him through...
Warnings...2+R/R+2(kinda), 1x2. Yaoi hints, lime. Kinda dark.
But then what would a serious Duo fic be without some angst?
--blah-- Song lyrics
/blah/ Thoughts
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Extensive therapy and some kickass
drugs have helped me come to terms with that...GW is property of its
respective owners, and "Fire Inside" is property of Bob Seger.
======================================================================
--There's a hard moon risin' on the streets tonight
There's a reckless feeling in your heart as you head out tonight
Through the concrete canyons to the midtown lights
Where the latest neon promises are burning bright--
He stalked along in the writhing vein of asphalt and neon, feeling
the pulse of the metropolis tug at his body and quicken his pace to some
unknown fate. He felt the city tug at his heart, too. There was
something there, thrashing within the bonds of his veins and muscles and
bones, struggling to be free of the cage his own body made for it. It
fluttered against his chest, nervous and wild like an anxious bird.
--Past the open windows on the darker streets
Where unseen angry voices shout and children cry
Past the phony posers with their worn-out lines
The tired new money dressed to the nines
The low life dealers with their bad designs
And the dilettantes with their open minds--
His breath tore from his mouth in ragged clouds of vapor that
clambered to join the breath of the thousands in a dense fog that
hovered just over their heads. He clutched a cigarette in one hand,
but he had not bothered to smoke it. It burned slowly to its death,
until the ember in its last grasp for life branded his chilled fingers
and he dropped it, forgotten in the brilliant rainbows of the
oil-slicked gutter.
--You're out on the town, safe in the crowd
Ready to go for the ride
Searching the eyes, looking for clues
There's no way you can hide
The fire inside--
He was walking mostly against the endless stream of people, bumping
shoulders and elbows as he fought dumbly to keep his position. He
glanced briefly at each of them as they either went around him or tried
to go through him. Punks, who may or may not have been real punks, glared
at him, daring him to glare back. Men and women pale beneath their make-up
and various strangely erotic accoutrements, winking at him or simply trying
to meet his wandering gaze with a needful one of their own. People with
dark crescents beneath their eyes, trying desperately just to blend in and
survive one more day. And people like himself, who looked just like any
other person, but with something secret, untamed and reckless crooning
inside that no one else could see or hear.
--Well you've been to the clubs and the discotheques
Where they deal one another from the bottom of the deck of promises
Where the cautious loners and emotional wrecks
Do an acting stretch as a way to hide the obvious
And the lights go down an they dance real close
And for one brief instant they pretend they're safe and warm-
A chill breeze somehow cut through the midnight heat of the city
streets, and he tugged the pliant leather of his jacket closer to his
too-thin body as he ducked into the stone archway, left over from a
different period of false security. He followed the shallow cement
steps, damp with dripping rainwater, down into the club where the air
was thick with smoke and the burdened beats of the music from the
generic punk band and spotted by various multicolored lights and the
occasional feeble spark from a lighter.
He avoided the bar. He didn't want a drink to cloud his comfortable
numbness. Leaning against the circular hardwood rail, worn to a slick
shine by the anxious hands of the thousands before him who stood there,
he watched the masses with trepidation, liking the ambiguous company of
the dancers, but afraid that comfort might gel into something else.
Vaguely aware of the nervousness moving his hands, he reached inside his
coat and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter.
When the girl slid into view immediately in front of him, lighting
her cigarette from his lighter before the flame could even touch his own,
his eyes took a moment to draw their focus from the flame to her face.
She smiled at him, hesitantly bold, and took a drag off her cigarette.
Her eyes were the same blue as her dress, and the fading eyeliner blended
seamlessly to the point where he could not tell where the makeup ended and
the fatigue began. She held up her shot glass, and without returning the
smile, he took it after a moment and drained it, throwing it back without
a grimace at his lack of willpower. She put it down on the rail, placing
a hand on his shoulder and leading him out onto the dance floor.
--Then the beat gets louder and the mood is gone
The darkness scatters and the lights flash on
They hold one another just a little too long
And they move apart and then move on--
They danced one dance. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching
at him to keep from drowning in the smoke and neon. The music bound them,
drawing them closer, and he brushed his lips against her ear, wanting to
whisper something of what he felt or didn't feel. No words came out. Instead
she shivered slightly, pulling him closer so he could smell the designer
perfume and nicotine that permeated her long blonde hair.
--On to the street, on to the next
Safe in the knowledge that they tried
Faking the smile, hiding the pain
Never satisfied
The fire inside
Fire inside--
But then the song ended, and they slowly moved apart as the beat
picked up into an achingly Caribbean dance mix. She pulled back to face
him, looked at him as if she was reading the marks of his soul. With an
uncertain flirtatious smile, she turned and disappeared in the milling
crowd. He stood there for a minute, then left the dance floor. Once or
twice he thought he saw a flash of gold or blue in the masses, but when
he stopped to look, his heart jumping and the people impeding his line
of vision scattering, there was nothing there.
--Now the hour is late and he thinks you're asleep
You listen to him dress and you listen to him leave like you knew he would
You hear his car pull away in the street
Then you move to the door and you lock it when he's gone for good--
He waited until he heard the car door open and shut before he
opened his eyes against the darkness. He lay on his back, the ironically
blistering white sheets wrapped around his legs, watching the bars of
light dance through the blinds and across the room as the car backed out
and pulled away. The silence held his eyelids open. He lolled his head
to the side, looking past the glass of watered-down bourbon and the
still-smoldering butts of too many cigarettes in the bedside ashtray. He
got up, wrapping the sheet loosely around his torso and grabbing the now
warm and diluted bourbon.
--Then you walk to the window and stare at the moon
Riding high and lonesome through a starlit sky
And it comes to you how it all slips away
Youth and beauty are gone one day
No matter what you dream or feel or say
It ends in dust and disarray--
He leaned against the window, the glass cool against his naked
flesh. He swallowed some of the bourbon and pressed his forehead to
the pane, letting his vision go out of focus until his fuzzy, pale
reflection was superimposed over that of the hard yellow moon.
The sheets smelled like someone else. Not like himself, but
not like the man he had just slept with, either. The smell was that
of old liquor and acrid sex, of perfume and money he didn't have, and
of a musty emptiness that had come to occupy his thin shell. It wasn't
always like that. It didn't start out that way. But now he held the
satin up to his nose and smelled what it had become. With a resigned
grimace, he threw the sheet aside, standing naked in the darkness.
--Like wind on the plains, sand through the glass
Waves rolling in with the tide
Dreams die hard and we watch them erode
But we cannot be denied
The fire inside--
He reached over and turned on the radio, strolling into the
bathroom to take a shower that would be unable to get him as clean
as he wished it could. A slow song came on, melancholy in its heavy
guitar chords, but ever-so-slightly hopeful. He paused in the bathroom
doorway with his hand on the light switch, silhouetted against the golden
vanity lights, and smiled faintly as the thought of a young blonde girl
in a blue dress, the same blue as her intrepid eyes, danced across
his mind.
- FIN -
"Fire Inside" - A Gundam Wing Songfic by Morgan Steelgrave
======================================================================
Okay, *this* isn't a twisted little piece of adolescent angst, I
*swear*. But hey, better take it out on Duo rather than on my roomie,
ne? Poor Duo, the stuff I put him through...
Warnings...2+R/R+2(kinda), 1x2. Yaoi hints, lime. Kinda dark.
But then what would a serious Duo fic be without some angst?
--blah-- Song lyrics
/blah/ Thoughts
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Extensive therapy and some kickass
drugs have helped me come to terms with that...GW is property of its
respective owners, and "Fire Inside" is property of Bob Seger.
======================================================================
--There's a hard moon risin' on the streets tonight
There's a reckless feeling in your heart as you head out tonight
Through the concrete canyons to the midtown lights
Where the latest neon promises are burning bright--
He stalked along in the writhing vein of asphalt and neon, feeling
the pulse of the metropolis tug at his body and quicken his pace to some
unknown fate. He felt the city tug at his heart, too. There was
something there, thrashing within the bonds of his veins and muscles and
bones, struggling to be free of the cage his own body made for it. It
fluttered against his chest, nervous and wild like an anxious bird.
--Past the open windows on the darker streets
Where unseen angry voices shout and children cry
Past the phony posers with their worn-out lines
The tired new money dressed to the nines
The low life dealers with their bad designs
And the dilettantes with their open minds--
His breath tore from his mouth in ragged clouds of vapor that
clambered to join the breath of the thousands in a dense fog that
hovered just over their heads. He clutched a cigarette in one hand,
but he had not bothered to smoke it. It burned slowly to its death,
until the ember in its last grasp for life branded his chilled fingers
and he dropped it, forgotten in the brilliant rainbows of the
oil-slicked gutter.
--You're out on the town, safe in the crowd
Ready to go for the ride
Searching the eyes, looking for clues
There's no way you can hide
The fire inside--
He was walking mostly against the endless stream of people, bumping
shoulders and elbows as he fought dumbly to keep his position. He
glanced briefly at each of them as they either went around him or tried
to go through him. Punks, who may or may not have been real punks, glared
at him, daring him to glare back. Men and women pale beneath their make-up
and various strangely erotic accoutrements, winking at him or simply trying
to meet his wandering gaze with a needful one of their own. People with
dark crescents beneath their eyes, trying desperately just to blend in and
survive one more day. And people like himself, who looked just like any
other person, but with something secret, untamed and reckless crooning
inside that no one else could see or hear.
--Well you've been to the clubs and the discotheques
Where they deal one another from the bottom of the deck of promises
Where the cautious loners and emotional wrecks
Do an acting stretch as a way to hide the obvious
And the lights go down an they dance real close
And for one brief instant they pretend they're safe and warm-
A chill breeze somehow cut through the midnight heat of the city
streets, and he tugged the pliant leather of his jacket closer to his
too-thin body as he ducked into the stone archway, left over from a
different period of false security. He followed the shallow cement
steps, damp with dripping rainwater, down into the club where the air
was thick with smoke and the burdened beats of the music from the
generic punk band and spotted by various multicolored lights and the
occasional feeble spark from a lighter.
He avoided the bar. He didn't want a drink to cloud his comfortable
numbness. Leaning against the circular hardwood rail, worn to a slick
shine by the anxious hands of the thousands before him who stood there,
he watched the masses with trepidation, liking the ambiguous company of
the dancers, but afraid that comfort might gel into something else.
Vaguely aware of the nervousness moving his hands, he reached inside his
coat and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter.
When the girl slid into view immediately in front of him, lighting
her cigarette from his lighter before the flame could even touch his own,
his eyes took a moment to draw their focus from the flame to her face.
She smiled at him, hesitantly bold, and took a drag off her cigarette.
Her eyes were the same blue as her dress, and the fading eyeliner blended
seamlessly to the point where he could not tell where the makeup ended and
the fatigue began. She held up her shot glass, and without returning the
smile, he took it after a moment and drained it, throwing it back without
a grimace at his lack of willpower. She put it down on the rail, placing
a hand on his shoulder and leading him out onto the dance floor.
--Then the beat gets louder and the mood is gone
The darkness scatters and the lights flash on
They hold one another just a little too long
And they move apart and then move on--
They danced one dance. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching
at him to keep from drowning in the smoke and neon. The music bound them,
drawing them closer, and he brushed his lips against her ear, wanting to
whisper something of what he felt or didn't feel. No words came out. Instead
she shivered slightly, pulling him closer so he could smell the designer
perfume and nicotine that permeated her long blonde hair.
--On to the street, on to the next
Safe in the knowledge that they tried
Faking the smile, hiding the pain
Never satisfied
The fire inside
Fire inside--
But then the song ended, and they slowly moved apart as the beat
picked up into an achingly Caribbean dance mix. She pulled back to face
him, looked at him as if she was reading the marks of his soul. With an
uncertain flirtatious smile, she turned and disappeared in the milling
crowd. He stood there for a minute, then left the dance floor. Once or
twice he thought he saw a flash of gold or blue in the masses, but when
he stopped to look, his heart jumping and the people impeding his line
of vision scattering, there was nothing there.
--Now the hour is late and he thinks you're asleep
You listen to him dress and you listen to him leave like you knew he would
You hear his car pull away in the street
Then you move to the door and you lock it when he's gone for good--
He waited until he heard the car door open and shut before he
opened his eyes against the darkness. He lay on his back, the ironically
blistering white sheets wrapped around his legs, watching the bars of
light dance through the blinds and across the room as the car backed out
and pulled away. The silence held his eyelids open. He lolled his head
to the side, looking past the glass of watered-down bourbon and the
still-smoldering butts of too many cigarettes in the bedside ashtray. He
got up, wrapping the sheet loosely around his torso and grabbing the now
warm and diluted bourbon.
--Then you walk to the window and stare at the moon
Riding high and lonesome through a starlit sky
And it comes to you how it all slips away
Youth and beauty are gone one day
No matter what you dream or feel or say
It ends in dust and disarray--
He leaned against the window, the glass cool against his naked
flesh. He swallowed some of the bourbon and pressed his forehead to
the pane, letting his vision go out of focus until his fuzzy, pale
reflection was superimposed over that of the hard yellow moon.
The sheets smelled like someone else. Not like himself, but
not like the man he had just slept with, either. The smell was that
of old liquor and acrid sex, of perfume and money he didn't have, and
of a musty emptiness that had come to occupy his thin shell. It wasn't
always like that. It didn't start out that way. But now he held the
satin up to his nose and smelled what it had become. With a resigned
grimace, he threw the sheet aside, standing naked in the darkness.
--Like wind on the plains, sand through the glass
Waves rolling in with the tide
Dreams die hard and we watch them erode
But we cannot be denied
The fire inside--
He reached over and turned on the radio, strolling into the
bathroom to take a shower that would be unable to get him as clean
as he wished it could. A slow song came on, melancholy in its heavy
guitar chords, but ever-so-slightly hopeful. He paused in the bathroom
doorway with his hand on the light switch, silhouetted against the golden
vanity lights, and smiled faintly as the thought of a young blonde girl
in a blue dress, the same blue as her intrepid eyes, danced across
his mind.
- FIN -