Hey all, I have a new fic out. Yay for me! This is majorly different from MSWG, but I so had to run with the idea when it came to me. Please tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: No one from the SM/GW worlds belongs to me...
Sitting at the bar, he ignored the craze of the happy and buzzed people around
him, who were too busy relishing in their own entertainment to give a damn about his
pain. That was fine by him. He would have told them to piss off, anyway.
Downing yet another shot of tequila, he squeezed his eyes shut as the warm liquid
slid down his throat and coursed through his veins, joining the previous three shots. So
far it was not having the desired effect on him; he was still coherent and all too aware of
the reason that had brought him to the club in the first place. He considered his
options. He could either give up and just deal with his problems like a man, or he could
sit here and keep drinking until he passed out. Well, that was a no-brainer.
He got another shot from the bartender and was about to toss it back when
someone sat down on the unoccupied barstool next to him. "I need a drink."
Even in his warped mindstate, he felt the need to be gracious. He pushed his shot
of tequila over in front of the person. "Here you go."
"No, thanks. I don't drink."
At the statement, he whipped his head up to look at the person. She was
beautiful, stunning even, with large, glittering azure eyes. Her marigold-colored hair
was put up in the most unusual style he had ever seen, with or without his current
buzz.
He regarded her with confusion. "You want a drink, but you don't drink?" That was
the most absurd thing he had ever heard.
She smiled at him in amusement. "I wanted a bottle of water. I don't drink
alcohol," she explained in a tone that suddenly made him guilty for drowning his
sorrows in the bitter-tasting drinks.
"I don't drink, either."
Just from the way he said it, and the look on his face, she could tell that he spoke
the truth, that going on an alcohol binge was not an everyday occurrence. And for
whatever reason, she was suddenly intrigued by this nagging urge to try and help him.
"If that's the case, then why are you here?"
He snorted. "You're not interested in my problems." He turned back to his drink
and went to down it, but it was snatched out of his hand. "Hey," he growled at the
woman, who had put the shotglass on the bar out of his reach.
"I can tell you right now that drinking won't make it better," she told him in a
smooth, even tone, hand on her hip defiantly.
"Go play amateur shrink to someone else, all right? I'm not interested." Who did
this woman think she was, anyway? Taking his drink like that. If he wanted to drink, it
was his business, and no one else's. He turned to tell her that, but she was gone.
Heaving a sigh of relief, he went to call to the bartender again, but he suddenly found
himself yanked off of the barstool. "What the hell do you want?"
The woman kept a firm grip on his arm, despite his struggle to release it. "You
need to talk. I'm here to help."
He could see that she was not about to back down anytime soon. Hell, what could
it hurt? Besides, he wasn't exactly looking forward to being alone again. He allowed
himself to be led to a table in the back of the club, taking a seat across from the
woman who stared at him expectantly.
He stared back her, his gaze never faltering. "What? What do you want me to
say?"
"Well, I brought you over here so you could talk, not so that we could stare at each
other. So why don't you start talking?"
Well, she certainly was straightforward. He had to give her credit for that. But he
wasn't exactly the type of person to go around pouring his soul out to a complete
stranger, especially one who seemed so interested. She didn't give off the vibe of
having an ulterior motive, and he was usually a good judge of character. And maybe
talking a little would help ease his mind. That thought alone was enough to get him
started. "I didn't have the greatest day today," he admitted wearily. "Hell, I haven't had
the greatest past couple of years, either. I suppose all the days start adding up."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, there are factors in my life that just don't work out the way I want them to.
I expect something to go one way, or a person to do something, and then the exact
opposite happens. When you live your entire life like that, it can be somewhat
discouraging."
She was confused, and not just by his vagueness. His words were harsh, bitter,
giving him the impression of being so much older than what he looked, which she
guessed to be her own age, a solid twenty-two. He must have seen a hell of a lot to
talk like he did. Of course, so had she, but she wasn't about to tell him that. This was
his time to vent, not time to swap stories about who had been tortured the most.
"You've been hurt," she acknowledged, seeing in him a tiny spark that she recognized
in herself.
"I have," he whispered, eyes staring blindly at the table. "I have no family; they're
all dead. My friends, they have all been affected by the War. Even though we all lived
together, we didn't interact like normal people would. I couldn't stand it. I moved out,
just to get away from the madness. The only time I really talk to people is at work, and
even that is a strained effort on my part. I don't feel anything. No happiness, no anger,
nothing. It's like I'm numb." He buried his face in his hands.
This was the first time he had ever admitted any of that. He felt like the thoughts
were burying him alive, like he was being drowned in his own pool of misery. And now
that everything was out in the open... he still felt miserable.
A cool hand covered his own. He raised his head to stare in shock at the woman
across from him, whose eyes sparkled with emotion. He didn't know how he missed it
before. His own pain was mirrored in her eyes. She knew exactly how he felt because
she had been through a similar hell. And here she was, trying to make him feel better
for his sake. A flood of new emotions surged through him, overloading his brain until
the colors around him began to blur together.
"What's wrong?" she asked in concern as he squeezed his eyes shut. Her hand
was still clasped around his, and she held it tightly.
Opening his eyes, he met her gaze straight on. "Everything. Nothing." And both
were true, at least in that moment. Suddenly his problems didn't seem to matter that
much to him. The only thing that mattered was her.
She knew what he meant. There were so many things for them to be angry about,
to feel abused, abandoned, to cry over, but it wasn't even worth the effort any more.
She felt like they were the same, kindred spirits in this crazy world.
"Do you want to get out of here?"
At the unexpected question, she nodded wordlessly, and it was his turn to lead her
through the club and out the door. She was ushered into a black porsche, and they
began their silent trek to the hotel he currently called home. They took the elevator up
to the tenth floor, and he let them into his room.
And it was a pretty decent room, too. Large and lavishly furnished in mahogany
and navy, it seemed a suitable temporary home for the man. It was clean and showed
no signs of anyone even staying there, save a laptop on the kitchen table.
Locking the door, he walked over to her. "Do you want a drink?" he offered,
knowing that she did not get the bottle of water that she had originally had in mind.
"No," she answered softly, very aware of just how close he stood in front of her.
"Something to eat?" He took a step closer, standing so that they were almost
nose to nose.
"No."
"To talk?" he leaned in towards her, inching his way forward.
She shook her head slightly, her wispy bangs brushing across his forehead in the
movement. "No talking," she whispered before closing the remaining gap between
them as her lips met his.
It was the gentlest of kisses, their lips barely brushing against each other. And
then it intensified as he pulled her against him, her soft curves fitting perfectly into his
angular frame.
She moaned when his lips left her mouth and began a trail down her neck, where
they lingered on her collarbone. She was feeling so lightheaded, so dizzy, so... she
couldn't even think clearly. All that she knew was the feel of his soft, warm lips on her
neck, searing her flesh with their passion. And then she found herself pressed up
against the wall, her hands tightly clutched around his back so that her legs wouldn't
buckle beneath her.
He slid one arm around her waist to hold her steady, all the while maintaining his
assault on her neck. He felt her hands grow curious as they explored his back, finally
pulling his shirt from his pants and slipping underneath the freed cotton fabric. The
pads of her fingers pressed gently into his back muscles. He almost gasped as her
hands slid around his body and up his chest, the electricity from her fingers igniting a
wave of passion within him.
Where were all of these feelings coming from? He didn't act like this. No, he never
acted like this. He never felt anything even remotely close to this, and he never would,
because absolutely nothing could compare to the way his heart was racing as her
trembling fingers began to unbutton his shirt, finally pulling the abominable article of
clothing off of him. As she pressed herself against him, he relished in the way the silk
of her shirt trailed over his skin before he helped rid her of it.
Now it was skin against skin, smooth and warm and inviting. Her heart danced in
her chest as he expertly guided them backward to the bedroom. They fell back onto
the bed in a tangle of limbs, each holding onto the other as if their lives depended on it.
He pulled away just enough to ask, "Are you sure?" When she only captured his
mouth with hers once more, he took that as a yes as they let the passion of each other
engulf them long into the night.
So, how was it? Confusing? Mysterious? Good! That means you'll stick around (hopefully). So, any guesses as to who our nameless people are? I hope you at least figured out the female, seeing as she's the only person I use as a main character... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for the second chapter!
Disclaimer: No one from the SM/GW worlds belongs to me...
Sitting at the bar, he ignored the craze of the happy and buzzed people around
him, who were too busy relishing in their own entertainment to give a damn about his
pain. That was fine by him. He would have told them to piss off, anyway.
Downing yet another shot of tequila, he squeezed his eyes shut as the warm liquid
slid down his throat and coursed through his veins, joining the previous three shots. So
far it was not having the desired effect on him; he was still coherent and all too aware of
the reason that had brought him to the club in the first place. He considered his
options. He could either give up and just deal with his problems like a man, or he could
sit here and keep drinking until he passed out. Well, that was a no-brainer.
He got another shot from the bartender and was about to toss it back when
someone sat down on the unoccupied barstool next to him. "I need a drink."
Even in his warped mindstate, he felt the need to be gracious. He pushed his shot
of tequila over in front of the person. "Here you go."
"No, thanks. I don't drink."
At the statement, he whipped his head up to look at the person. She was
beautiful, stunning even, with large, glittering azure eyes. Her marigold-colored hair
was put up in the most unusual style he had ever seen, with or without his current
buzz.
He regarded her with confusion. "You want a drink, but you don't drink?" That was
the most absurd thing he had ever heard.
She smiled at him in amusement. "I wanted a bottle of water. I don't drink
alcohol," she explained in a tone that suddenly made him guilty for drowning his
sorrows in the bitter-tasting drinks.
"I don't drink, either."
Just from the way he said it, and the look on his face, she could tell that he spoke
the truth, that going on an alcohol binge was not an everyday occurrence. And for
whatever reason, she was suddenly intrigued by this nagging urge to try and help him.
"If that's the case, then why are you here?"
He snorted. "You're not interested in my problems." He turned back to his drink
and went to down it, but it was snatched out of his hand. "Hey," he growled at the
woman, who had put the shotglass on the bar out of his reach.
"I can tell you right now that drinking won't make it better," she told him in a
smooth, even tone, hand on her hip defiantly.
"Go play amateur shrink to someone else, all right? I'm not interested." Who did
this woman think she was, anyway? Taking his drink like that. If he wanted to drink, it
was his business, and no one else's. He turned to tell her that, but she was gone.
Heaving a sigh of relief, he went to call to the bartender again, but he suddenly found
himself yanked off of the barstool. "What the hell do you want?"
The woman kept a firm grip on his arm, despite his struggle to release it. "You
need to talk. I'm here to help."
He could see that she was not about to back down anytime soon. Hell, what could
it hurt? Besides, he wasn't exactly looking forward to being alone again. He allowed
himself to be led to a table in the back of the club, taking a seat across from the
woman who stared at him expectantly.
He stared back her, his gaze never faltering. "What? What do you want me to
say?"
"Well, I brought you over here so you could talk, not so that we could stare at each
other. So why don't you start talking?"
Well, she certainly was straightforward. He had to give her credit for that. But he
wasn't exactly the type of person to go around pouring his soul out to a complete
stranger, especially one who seemed so interested. She didn't give off the vibe of
having an ulterior motive, and he was usually a good judge of character. And maybe
talking a little would help ease his mind. That thought alone was enough to get him
started. "I didn't have the greatest day today," he admitted wearily. "Hell, I haven't had
the greatest past couple of years, either. I suppose all the days start adding up."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, there are factors in my life that just don't work out the way I want them to.
I expect something to go one way, or a person to do something, and then the exact
opposite happens. When you live your entire life like that, it can be somewhat
discouraging."
She was confused, and not just by his vagueness. His words were harsh, bitter,
giving him the impression of being so much older than what he looked, which she
guessed to be her own age, a solid twenty-two. He must have seen a hell of a lot to
talk like he did. Of course, so had she, but she wasn't about to tell him that. This was
his time to vent, not time to swap stories about who had been tortured the most.
"You've been hurt," she acknowledged, seeing in him a tiny spark that she recognized
in herself.
"I have," he whispered, eyes staring blindly at the table. "I have no family; they're
all dead. My friends, they have all been affected by the War. Even though we all lived
together, we didn't interact like normal people would. I couldn't stand it. I moved out,
just to get away from the madness. The only time I really talk to people is at work, and
even that is a strained effort on my part. I don't feel anything. No happiness, no anger,
nothing. It's like I'm numb." He buried his face in his hands.
This was the first time he had ever admitted any of that. He felt like the thoughts
were burying him alive, like he was being drowned in his own pool of misery. And now
that everything was out in the open... he still felt miserable.
A cool hand covered his own. He raised his head to stare in shock at the woman
across from him, whose eyes sparkled with emotion. He didn't know how he missed it
before. His own pain was mirrored in her eyes. She knew exactly how he felt because
she had been through a similar hell. And here she was, trying to make him feel better
for his sake. A flood of new emotions surged through him, overloading his brain until
the colors around him began to blur together.
"What's wrong?" she asked in concern as he squeezed his eyes shut. Her hand
was still clasped around his, and she held it tightly.
Opening his eyes, he met her gaze straight on. "Everything. Nothing." And both
were true, at least in that moment. Suddenly his problems didn't seem to matter that
much to him. The only thing that mattered was her.
She knew what he meant. There were so many things for them to be angry about,
to feel abused, abandoned, to cry over, but it wasn't even worth the effort any more.
She felt like they were the same, kindred spirits in this crazy world.
"Do you want to get out of here?"
At the unexpected question, she nodded wordlessly, and it was his turn to lead her
through the club and out the door. She was ushered into a black porsche, and they
began their silent trek to the hotel he currently called home. They took the elevator up
to the tenth floor, and he let them into his room.
And it was a pretty decent room, too. Large and lavishly furnished in mahogany
and navy, it seemed a suitable temporary home for the man. It was clean and showed
no signs of anyone even staying there, save a laptop on the kitchen table.
Locking the door, he walked over to her. "Do you want a drink?" he offered,
knowing that she did not get the bottle of water that she had originally had in mind.
"No," she answered softly, very aware of just how close he stood in front of her.
"Something to eat?" He took a step closer, standing so that they were almost
nose to nose.
"No."
"To talk?" he leaned in towards her, inching his way forward.
She shook her head slightly, her wispy bangs brushing across his forehead in the
movement. "No talking," she whispered before closing the remaining gap between
them as her lips met his.
It was the gentlest of kisses, their lips barely brushing against each other. And
then it intensified as he pulled her against him, her soft curves fitting perfectly into his
angular frame.
She moaned when his lips left her mouth and began a trail down her neck, where
they lingered on her collarbone. She was feeling so lightheaded, so dizzy, so... she
couldn't even think clearly. All that she knew was the feel of his soft, warm lips on her
neck, searing her flesh with their passion. And then she found herself pressed up
against the wall, her hands tightly clutched around his back so that her legs wouldn't
buckle beneath her.
He slid one arm around her waist to hold her steady, all the while maintaining his
assault on her neck. He felt her hands grow curious as they explored his back, finally
pulling his shirt from his pants and slipping underneath the freed cotton fabric. The
pads of her fingers pressed gently into his back muscles. He almost gasped as her
hands slid around his body and up his chest, the electricity from her fingers igniting a
wave of passion within him.
Where were all of these feelings coming from? He didn't act like this. No, he never
acted like this. He never felt anything even remotely close to this, and he never would,
because absolutely nothing could compare to the way his heart was racing as her
trembling fingers began to unbutton his shirt, finally pulling the abominable article of
clothing off of him. As she pressed herself against him, he relished in the way the silk
of her shirt trailed over his skin before he helped rid her of it.
Now it was skin against skin, smooth and warm and inviting. Her heart danced in
her chest as he expertly guided them backward to the bedroom. They fell back onto
the bed in a tangle of limbs, each holding onto the other as if their lives depended on it.
He pulled away just enough to ask, "Are you sure?" When she only captured his
mouth with hers once more, he took that as a yes as they let the passion of each other
engulf them long into the night.
So, how was it? Confusing? Mysterious? Good! That means you'll stick around (hopefully). So, any guesses as to who our nameless people are? I hope you at least figured out the female, seeing as she's the only person I use as a main character... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for the second chapter!