Title: Changes and Situations: Flying
Author: Amanned
Fandom: New Year's Day
Pairing: Jake/Steven
Rating: R
Summary: What happened after that cow-killing scene? Jake POV.
Archive: Yes to Rareslash and anyone else wanting it, but please drop me a line with the link.
Email: Amanned911@aol.com
Feedback: Yes, please. Even if only to tell me you read it, or saw the movie (I'm afraid I'm the only one who actually *did*).
Series/Sequel: No.
Disclaimer: These characters and the movie New Year's Day belong to Suri Khrisnamma and a whole lot of other people I don't know. I only own this fic.
Warnings: Sexual relations between two underage boys (17 year old).
Thanks to: er... my cat? For driving me insane and thus making me go out and watch the movie in the first place? Or... oh, I know! To Corleone, for being the best goddess of all the beta-goddesses. If that makes any sense. :)
Spoilers: For the end of the movie, yes, but I assure you you'll only realize what I mean when you'll see it on screen.
And he hadn't decided to sit there, it had just been automatic. Didn't think Steven would, break down, like that, prove the whole thing wrong, their whole fucking LIVES. And it _was_ wrong; so, so *wrong*. Didn't know why, didn't know how, just that it was, but... Nothing had mattered since then, and nothing ever would, so... Except maybe that they were.
Today.
Alone.
Here.
Together.
And that Steven was clutching at him like a mad man clung to his lost sanity, that his silent cries reverberated in his skull and. Hurt. Hurt so much and his own pain mingled in it, and how could he HELP? When he couldn't make it bearable for himself even.
But the answer wasn't important. Nothing was, hadn't he already made that clear? And he was still here, and Steven was still here, and from deep down inside he could feel that heat rising, the one that rejoiced at that first and lone opportunity...
... to be. Strong. The one that had no doubts and felt no fear, that no questions, voices and ghosts woke up every night and every day. The one who could, now, reassure and comfort, simply, gently, just...
... one step away.
And he didn't know how his lips met Steven's, if he had bent his head low enough or if Steven had rose up first to meet him, but. It. Didn't. Matter. And, oh God how could anyone taste like THAT? Spicy with tears, sweet with despair, hot with need and so... Steven-like. Not a real kiss, just a scrape of tongue on the teeth - the one he had, after all, not been eating - and hands. Hands everywhere, stilled and moving. Around his arms and he knew he'd have bruises there tomorrow - and wasn't *that* a cliché? If tomorrow came. If tomorrow became today and yesterday.
In Steven's hair, petting and caressing, as though soothing. And on his back. Moving up and up still, 'til it was on the cheeks, and every finger tracing the path of a tear, it gave birth to a new one.
Lost little boy crying out to his parents and his FRIENDS and his lost innocence and, sorry Luanda, it wasn't supposed to happen this way. But it will, it would, it HAD. Kisses still, kisses real, light and never to deepen, and his hands left Steven's face and struggled to take off the shirt, because it wasn't about a wet dream about to come true and to rush off, it was their last thing. Last defiance to the Book Of Like, last time touching a body, last chance at finding peace, last risk of defying the pact, and it is to be made partially gentle and under strict rules, and all clothes come off, starting from the waist up and ending with their underwear.
And this is how it happens, but, hey? they're the ones writing the future, aren't they? And, no, it wasn't on the list to do, but if Steven letting the knife down isn't already proof they can't rely on that anymore, why would THAT, of all things, matter? It wouldn't, and fuck that it actually was their only Do Not thing, fuck that Steven lied from the beginning about Heather, fuck that he was too scared to live his One Year outside of Luanda's shadow, fuck that exactly one year ago, he was in Steven's place, and Steven was... in Steven's place, too, only different, or just...
... less apparent.
And their lips remained a mystery as they kept locked the whole time it took them to get naked. Taking off his boxers, and Steven's too because every time the other boy took something off, his embrace came back even more forceful, and it seems now he can't ever let go anymore, not even for one second, not even for THIS. The tears haven't stopped, silent but agonizingly painful anyway, and it's becoming harder and harder not to let go himself, but he knows he HAS TO not, or else they'd never finish this. This game they've been playing the whole year, getting damn near sometimes, but only now crossing the breach. And...
... he already had his chances, this is for Steven, and for him through Steven, not the other way around.
And he's pressing down on the ground, his arms around Steven, Steven's around him - they've come full circle, in more way than one. Then they're both lying on the thin pile of hay, horizontal-naked-hug, and he knows he should do SOMETHING but they're locked so tight he doesn't know if that's even physically possible. Until he does, and...
... just a shift of the hips, and everything rushes in every direction until he's BACK. He's before and everything seems clear and normal, and he can see what he's doing, feels his brain analyzing the situation just the way it should, as though after all this time he's just NOW functioning normally again. And... what the fuck is he DOING? Police looking after him, about to kill a COW for God's sake! And now, rutting, rubbing, thrusting against a boy, a BOY with whom he has nothing in common, they don't even know each other, they're just. Both. Alive.
And it rushes out, out 'til he's back in himself and GOD it feels so much better. To be in a place were it makes sense, and he loses himself, because FUCK that other boy, that other self, he hasn't had to come through everything he LIVED, and he can't be telling him what to do and not do. And this. feels. *good*.
And moments pass, seconds tickling by, and oops... Is the time up already? This would be, oh, so bad if they stole a few days more, so not good for him to find life back through the last one's death. Except mommy wouldn't, and Luanda wouldn't, and Heather wouldn't, and Mr. Diamond wouldn't, and Veronica wouldn't, and the sheep wouldn't --- agree? Or not. He doesn't know. Doesn't know much, really, but it seems they've stopped moving, and Steven's face looks dry, and it wouldn't already be AFTERWARDS -
would it?
But yes, it is. And soon they're both fully clothed, and they're out and walking, and truth keeps changing form, messing with reality and confusing the universe, until he knows one thing only:
Correct.
And he's in the air. Watergroundsky. He just IS -
together.
The End
Author: Amanned
Fandom: New Year's Day
Pairing: Jake/Steven
Rating: R
Summary: What happened after that cow-killing scene? Jake POV.
Archive: Yes to Rareslash and anyone else wanting it, but please drop me a line with the link.
Email: Amanned911@aol.com
Feedback: Yes, please. Even if only to tell me you read it, or saw the movie (I'm afraid I'm the only one who actually *did*).
Series/Sequel: No.
Disclaimer: These characters and the movie New Year's Day belong to Suri Khrisnamma and a whole lot of other people I don't know. I only own this fic.
Warnings: Sexual relations between two underage boys (17 year old).
Thanks to: er... my cat? For driving me insane and thus making me go out and watch the movie in the first place? Or... oh, I know! To Corleone, for being the best goddess of all the beta-goddesses. If that makes any sense. :)
Spoilers: For the end of the movie, yes, but I assure you you'll only realize what I mean when you'll see it on screen.
And he hadn't decided to sit there, it had just been automatic. Didn't think Steven would, break down, like that, prove the whole thing wrong, their whole fucking LIVES. And it _was_ wrong; so, so *wrong*. Didn't know why, didn't know how, just that it was, but... Nothing had mattered since then, and nothing ever would, so... Except maybe that they were.
Today.
Alone.
Here.
Together.
And that Steven was clutching at him like a mad man clung to his lost sanity, that his silent cries reverberated in his skull and. Hurt. Hurt so much and his own pain mingled in it, and how could he HELP? When he couldn't make it bearable for himself even.
But the answer wasn't important. Nothing was, hadn't he already made that clear? And he was still here, and Steven was still here, and from deep down inside he could feel that heat rising, the one that rejoiced at that first and lone opportunity...
... to be. Strong. The one that had no doubts and felt no fear, that no questions, voices and ghosts woke up every night and every day. The one who could, now, reassure and comfort, simply, gently, just...
... one step away.
And he didn't know how his lips met Steven's, if he had bent his head low enough or if Steven had rose up first to meet him, but. It. Didn't. Matter. And, oh God how could anyone taste like THAT? Spicy with tears, sweet with despair, hot with need and so... Steven-like. Not a real kiss, just a scrape of tongue on the teeth - the one he had, after all, not been eating - and hands. Hands everywhere, stilled and moving. Around his arms and he knew he'd have bruises there tomorrow - and wasn't *that* a cliché? If tomorrow came. If tomorrow became today and yesterday.
In Steven's hair, petting and caressing, as though soothing. And on his back. Moving up and up still, 'til it was on the cheeks, and every finger tracing the path of a tear, it gave birth to a new one.
Lost little boy crying out to his parents and his FRIENDS and his lost innocence and, sorry Luanda, it wasn't supposed to happen this way. But it will, it would, it HAD. Kisses still, kisses real, light and never to deepen, and his hands left Steven's face and struggled to take off the shirt, because it wasn't about a wet dream about to come true and to rush off, it was their last thing. Last defiance to the Book Of Like, last time touching a body, last chance at finding peace, last risk of defying the pact, and it is to be made partially gentle and under strict rules, and all clothes come off, starting from the waist up and ending with their underwear.
And this is how it happens, but, hey? they're the ones writing the future, aren't they? And, no, it wasn't on the list to do, but if Steven letting the knife down isn't already proof they can't rely on that anymore, why would THAT, of all things, matter? It wouldn't, and fuck that it actually was their only Do Not thing, fuck that Steven lied from the beginning about Heather, fuck that he was too scared to live his One Year outside of Luanda's shadow, fuck that exactly one year ago, he was in Steven's place, and Steven was... in Steven's place, too, only different, or just...
... less apparent.
And their lips remained a mystery as they kept locked the whole time it took them to get naked. Taking off his boxers, and Steven's too because every time the other boy took something off, his embrace came back even more forceful, and it seems now he can't ever let go anymore, not even for one second, not even for THIS. The tears haven't stopped, silent but agonizingly painful anyway, and it's becoming harder and harder not to let go himself, but he knows he HAS TO not, or else they'd never finish this. This game they've been playing the whole year, getting damn near sometimes, but only now crossing the breach. And...
... he already had his chances, this is for Steven, and for him through Steven, not the other way around.
And he's pressing down on the ground, his arms around Steven, Steven's around him - they've come full circle, in more way than one. Then they're both lying on the thin pile of hay, horizontal-naked-hug, and he knows he should do SOMETHING but they're locked so tight he doesn't know if that's even physically possible. Until he does, and...
... just a shift of the hips, and everything rushes in every direction until he's BACK. He's before and everything seems clear and normal, and he can see what he's doing, feels his brain analyzing the situation just the way it should, as though after all this time he's just NOW functioning normally again. And... what the fuck is he DOING? Police looking after him, about to kill a COW for God's sake! And now, rutting, rubbing, thrusting against a boy, a BOY with whom he has nothing in common, they don't even know each other, they're just. Both. Alive.
And it rushes out, out 'til he's back in himself and GOD it feels so much better. To be in a place were it makes sense, and he loses himself, because FUCK that other boy, that other self, he hasn't had to come through everything he LIVED, and he can't be telling him what to do and not do. And this. feels. *good*.
And moments pass, seconds tickling by, and oops... Is the time up already? This would be, oh, so bad if they stole a few days more, so not good for him to find life back through the last one's death. Except mommy wouldn't, and Luanda wouldn't, and Heather wouldn't, and Mr. Diamond wouldn't, and Veronica wouldn't, and the sheep wouldn't --- agree? Or not. He doesn't know. Doesn't know much, really, but it seems they've stopped moving, and Steven's face looks dry, and it wouldn't already be AFTERWARDS -
would it?
But yes, it is. And soon they're both fully clothed, and they're out and walking, and truth keeps changing form, messing with reality and confusing the universe, until he knows one thing only:
Correct.
And he's in the air. Watergroundsky. He just IS -
together.
The End