A/N: Most of this was written while listening to Jacob Banks' Dear Simone for that added melancholy feeling. Here's to hoping it came through and that this isn't a complete mess.
Notes:
I've been rereading all your reviews and I just want to say thank you, thank you, thank you all so very damn much. And I know I haven't responded to them as I should, but just know that I appreciate them and that they've pushed me through the slump and gotten me to keep going with this fic. Thank you again, I don't have proper words to describe how I feel for all the support over the years, just thank you!
Warnings:
No New Warnings
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, only the fic idea, so please don't sue the broke student, they got nothing to pay with.
Then They Fell In Love
Chapter 81: Lost and Longing Hearts
He was lying on a familiar bed, in a room that felt far too familiar. There was someone there, a man he thought, lying on the bed with him, curled up close beside him.
In the dream the body beside his was warm, not by much but certainly warmer than he was used to now. A head of copper hair was pressed against his chest and a smooth hand lay again the lower part of his stomach, the pinkie finger of said hand moving teasingly under the elastic band of his basketball shorts, the movement more soothing than arousing.
He felt comfortable in this bed, with this person, felt at home with him. He didn't feel any reservations with being touched by this warm hand, didn't feel uncomfortable. Instead he felt calm, soothed by it, wanted this to last longer. He felt like he could breathe for the first time in a long time, as though he could finally relax, felt as if he were finally where he belonged, with whom he belonged. This felt right.
"Will you come home soon?" the man lying on him asked, not looking up, pinkie finger still teasing, gently, softly.
He frowned, looking at the copper head. He didn't understand the question. Was he not home then? If so, then where was he?
"You've been gone a while and well— I just— I'd really like you to come home now."
He frowned, wanting to ask him if this was not home, if this was not where he was supposed to be. Why would the man miss him if he was already with him, already holding him and touching him like this?
"It's been so hard without you," the man said quietly, voice tight with emotion. He didn't stop his teasing touch even as the conversation seemed to be getting serious. "I'm— I can't cope without you."
He tried to shift, wanting the man to look at him, but his body refused to move. He looked down at the familiar head of uncontrolled copper hair, but couldn't, for the life of him, put a face to mind. His heart was beating rapidly, he realised. He took a deep breath, relaxing his stiffening limbs.
"I need you back," the man whispered, voice wet and choked. "I can't do this without you. I wasn't meant to do this without you."
The head shifted but didn't look up at him. He frowned deeper, still unable to move, unable to pull a face in his memories—who was this man and why was he pulling all these emotions up. It stirred something within him, nothing good. Why couldn't he see the man, why couldn't he remember who this man was?
"I miss you so much." A choked sob came from the man. An ugly emotion gripped him and he felt useless, unable to comfort the man, unable to move, wrap his arms around the man despite how much he wanted to.
He wanted to apologize, to say something but his mouth was as locked as his limbs. He could do nothing but listen to the broken sounds escape the man's lips, listen and drown on the pain of not being able to do more. He tried, god knows he tried, but he couldn't move, couldn't get his limbs to move, his lips to move. It was as if he was there to be a spectator, to watch the pain and torture of the man he loved; because he knew he loved him, knew that this man was important to him in a way that nobody else was.
"God, I miss you so damn much," the man said between choked sobs. "Everything hurts so much since you've been gone. I want— I want you to come back. I need you to come back to me."
He seemed to blink and then a pair of lips were against his, kissing him almost aggressively, with so much longing that he could physically feel it. He kissed back, with the same deep desperation that he was getting. His arms moved, gripping strong thighs that were now straddling him. Soft hands held his face and they kissed, deep hunger gnawing within him.
"I love you," he whispered against the lips, "I love you. I love you. I love you."
Sobs wrecked the body above him even as they continued to kiss, even as they moved and shifted against each other, as he desperately tried to convey his longing and want and need and love in a physical way.
"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you."
Phoenix woke with an almost inaudible sigh and a longing so deep within his heart that he had to fight back a sob. His body hurt, his heart felt heavy. He drew in a slow breath, swallowing thickly as the emotions slowly built in him: the longing, the pain, the need. He felt as though he were going to drown in them.
"Phi?"
The sound of the voice, the name, it triggered something within him and he couldn't hold back any longer, the sobs escaping him. He tried to keep them quiet, tried to hold them back, but his body wouldn't let him do it, wouldn't let him hold back.
Strong arms held him and it felt wrongwrongwrong and it only made him cry harder, sobs pulling from his gut. He didn't want this, didn't want this; didn't want this. God, he wanted more, wanted something else, something different. He wanted— he wanted— —
"Phi?"
He had to pull himself together, he had to stop whatever the fuck this was and get it the fuck together because there'd be too many questions and he didn't have answers. His was heart sore and he didn't know why, was heart sore and he didn't know what to do with it. he had to lock it away, had to control himself, pull himself together.
But god, it hurt so much and he just couldn't do it, couldn't hold it in.
"Phoenix?" the voice said, gently, as a lover would and it hurt all the more, so much, so much, so much.
Phoenix.
Phoenix.
His name was Phoenix.
He had an accident.
He lost his memory.
He was in a relationship with Rover.
He had something with Cassandra.
He was in love with Charles.
His name was Phoenix.
He had an accident.
He lost his memory.
He was in a relationship with Rover.
He had something with Cassandra.
He was in love with Charles.
My name is Phoenix.
I had an accident.
I lost my memories.
I'm in a relationship with Rover.
There was something with Cassandra.
But I'm in love with Charles.
My name is Phoenix.
I had an accident.
I lost my memories.
I'm in a relationship with Rover.
There was something with Cassandra.
But I'm in love with Charles.
My name is Phoenix.
My name is Phoenix.
My name is Phoenix.
He breathed in deeply, finally pulling himself together, the sobs finally subsiding. The pain didn't leave him, the heaviness still thick in his heart, but the sobs finally stopped and he was able to breathe without feeling as though he were going to choke on too many emotions.
"Phoenix?"
He drew in a deep breath, trying to pull the strength from within himself. He pressed himself closer to the cool chest, hiding his face against a soft neck, breathing deeply through his mouth, refusing to draw the scent of the man against him in because it would bring things back, bring back that wrongwrongwrong feeling that he was desperately trying to lock away.
"I'm okay," Phoenix whispered against the neck, his voice still wet with emotions that threatened to spill over again. He swallowed thickly, breathed deeply but stayed still.
"Phi— —"
"I'm sorry, I'm okay."
"Sweetheart?"
"It's— —"
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The emotions threatened to bubble over again, threatened to take over again. He knew that if he let them he wouldn't be able to stop, wouldn't be able to come back from it. He had to control himself, had to pull it together.
Phoenix breathed deeply, pulling away from Charles and sitting up. Charles followed him, shifting himself so Phoenix was forced to lean his back against Charles's chest. He forced himself to stay relaxed, but knew he hadn't succeeded in the way that Charles carefully pulled away.
Play along, he remembered. It's why he was here, why he was in this bed right now, instead of in Rover's bed. It's why he was letting this man touch him, hold him. He was supposed to be playing along to whatever story Charles was spinning, let instinct guide him.
He shook his head and turned to look at Charles. The man looked back, concern on his face.
"It's us," Phoenix said softly, looking down at his hands. He started building his story. It was natural for him to have reservations about their relationship, especially since he was supposedly with Rover. Of course he'd feel bad about this, feel as if he was being an awful person, but also, he added, swallowing thickly, drawing on the pain and longing inside him, he felt awful because he didn't feel for Rover what he was supposed to feel. "I shouldn't have doubts about my feelings for Rover," he said, "I shouldn't hesitate."
"But you have your doubts?" Charles asked gently. He'd already tried once to take Phoenix's hand only for Phoenix to stiffen and shift away. He was being careful not to touch him now, for which Phoenix was grateful. And it wasn't out of place, of course while talking about this Phoenix would be hyper aware of everything, wouldn't want Charles to touch him just so he could have a clear head. He worked with that, milked it.
"I've had them since I woke up. And I shouldn't, because— the things Rover tells me about us, I shouldn't feel like this."
"Phi— —"
"I'm in love with you," Phoenix whispered, voice wavering. He looked down, laying it on thick for Charles. He felt wrong all over, his body wanting to rebel against the words, but he had to do it, had to play along, had to make Charles believe that this was about them and not about anything else.
"Phoenix— —"
"I'm in love with you but I don't want to be. I don't want to love you because I'm not supposed to have these feelings for you. I'm supposed to be building a future with your brother. But I can't do it, not when you're here, bringing up emotions I don't understand." Phoenix choked on the words. He swallowed, breathed in and continued on, putting all his emotions into the words, letting himself pretend to feel something for Charles other then reservation and mistrust, "I don't want to feel like this anymore. I want— I want to be free of this burden that I'm carrying."
"Phi— —"
"I don't want to hurt Rover, Charles. I don't want to hurt you either. And I don't want to be hurt. And if this keeps going then someone will get hurt."
"You want to stop then?" Charles asked, slowly, carefully, his words measured. "Stop this?"
Phoenix could sense something, feel something in the air. This was it then, this is what would make or break him, this would be the difference. He didn't quite understand how he knew this, but he did. He knew that this was the moment that would either hinder him or set him free, even if he didn't understand how exactly.
A thought came to him and had to fight back a shudder.
"I don't want to be forced to stop loving you," Phoenix whispered, gut rolling. "I want to love you freely, without guilt. I'm tired of pretending."
Charles moved his hand slowly, carefully, but Phoenix cut him off, pushing back the thoughts of wrongwrongwrong threw himself at Charles, straddling the man's thighs and wrapping his arms around him. He pressed his forehead against Charles' neck. Charles shifted, and Phoenix knew what he wanted, so he did the closest thing that his body would allow him to do without feeling physically sick: he kissed Charles' jaw, right next to his ear.
"Phoenix— —"
And he did it again, and again, and added teasing bites even as he felt bile burning hot in his throat. He didn't want to this, didn't want to be here, but he had to, had to, had to.
Charles moved, had wrapping tighter around Phoenix, pulling him closer, trying to push for more. But Phoenix pulled away, breathing hard. He didn't look at Charles, instead looking at the bruise that was slowly blooming on the man's neck where he'd bitten just a little too hard—to Charles it could've been about excitement, but to Phoenix it was the tiniest bit of revenge.
"We shouldn't," Phoenix whispered. He moved to pull off of Charles, but the man stopped him, hands grabbing hold of his thighs and holding on. Phoenix sat still, forcing his body to relax.
"What do I need to do, Phi? Tell me what to do in order for us to have what we had before. Tell me what I need to do."
"I— let me figure it out. Let me— I need to figure my life out. We can't do this to Rover. I have to be honest with him, he needs to know the truth."
Charles was silent for a long moment and them finally he said, "Okay. I will give you the time you need. I'll give you your space."
"Thank you," Phoenix whispered, a relief he couldn't explain filling him. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing the corner of Charles' mouth before quickly getting off him and out of the bed. He had to get back to his room. He didn't say goodbye to Charles as he slipped out the man's room and back to his own. He didn't know what time it was, but it was still dark out and Rover wasn't back. At least he had that.
Phoenix crawled into his own bed, welcoming the coolness of the sheets. He pulled the covers up to his chin, curled in on himself and shut his eyes, sending out a prayer for good dreams that would bring relief instead of pain.
Charles stared at the door long after the Alpha had left, doubt curling in his mind: did he really have the Alpha in his clutches, or was this all an act? Charles knew he'd need to tread carefully from here on out, need to watch the Alpha and make sure that he really did have him and that this wasn't all an act.
With a soft sigh, the Dark One lay back on the bed, letting his body relax and pulling him out of the dreamscape—he had plans to make.
…TBC…
Shorter than what I'm used to doing, but here you go!
(',) — Peter says hello.
