Up Close Inside
by the mighty mighty m
disclaimer: not mine. yes mom, I'll put them back when I'm done playing.
Lance isn't sure how he got here, moving through the sunlight while the Master lurks in the dark, the exhausted body of Captain Willard between them. He remembers the primal glory of the camp they went through, the surge of hands and voices around them, and the simplicity of all of it. But Lance can't seem to figure out why it is that way, why it matters to him, why it speaks to him. He just knows that it does. It seems to Lance that all the whys are locked up in Willard, the one who led them here, without telling why. but the why was there, Willard knew it, he just didn't say. Lance is sure Willard has the rest of the whys still inside, waiting. If only he could get them out, if he could learn Willard's secrets, the answers would come, Lance is certain.
The Master is talking now, explainingpleadingtelling to Willard, giving him more whys to lock up, to hide inside him. Looking at him, Lance isn't sure how many more whys Willard can take, already crumpled and filthy and resigned. Resigned that he will have to do something, that a decision must be made, that, despite Kurtz's protests, a judgment must be passed. The captain has to choose, and then he has to tell them why. them. allanyeitherboth.
Lance wants those whys, he wants to know there is a reason, that there is something beyond setinstonefatedeath. It isn't enough to know that he is happy, he has to know how he got that way. but he doesn't. but he's pretty sure the captain will know. it's just the matter of getting it out of him, the how of the way you get under the skin, how you open up the ribcage and curl inside next to his heart.
Lance believes the captain is drowning inside, the whys piled up and clambering over each other to get out, pressing Willard into a smaller and smaller space, until he's trapped and cannot get out without fighting his way through the mass of tangled secrethowwhyhowwhywhy. Lance wants some of those whys though, will gladly take them, if only Willard would let him.
The Master has stopped speaking, retreating back into the shadows that he had never truly left, leaving behind Willard's slumped figure. The captain seems not to notice, his breathing unsteady and hissing through his clenched teeth, body weak but tense, eyes squeezed shut in pain, or denial. Lance approaches cautiously, as he would a wounded animal, but the other man shows no awareness of his movement. This worries Lance, having seen Willard's vigilance all the way up the river, he wonders if this man, this man who led them through war and wild, if this man was finally broken.
Lance is next to him now, close enough to touch, and he wants to, to feel that this man is more than a hollow shell collapsing in on itself. Slowly, making sure Willard can see every move, Lance brings himself up close, into the captain's personal space and he reaches out and touches, the young man's hand cupping the elder one's cheek. Willard's face doesn't change, but his breathing slows and his body sags into Lance's hands.
Permission good as any, Lance gently rubs his painted cheek against the other man's, eyes staring straight ahead. Turning his head, he scrapes his teeth across the recently healed scar on the captain's cheek, the tip of his tongue making a slick trail along the top of Willard's cheekbone, following the delicate curve under his eye, his saliva spiking the dark lashes of the other man's tightly closed eyes. Lance can feel Willard's rapid heartbeat under one hand, the other one tangling in the older man's chest hair. The dark hair is soft and fine, reminding him of the puppy lost down river, and he allows himself to remember, leaving off his examination of Willard's face to burrow against the captain's strong chest, rubbing his face against the other man like a cat seeking attention.
Now Lance can hear Willard's heart under his ear, and he wants to get closer, to be with that strength, and then Lance is roughly pressing himself to the captain's chest until smears of Lance's camo stripe Willard's muscular torso. The stripes were a symbol, of power and wildness, but they didn't belong to Lance anymore.
Lance curls against him with his hands trailing up and down Willard's body, his blond head nestled under the captain's chin, the older man's arm pressed parallel to his spine. Looking up at the older man with bright, innocent eyes, Lance asks
why are we alone
why must you choose
why is it all so simple
why isn't simple enough
why did you let this to happen to you, to us
"are you alright?"
by the mighty mighty m
disclaimer: not mine. yes mom, I'll put them back when I'm done playing.
Lance isn't sure how he got here, moving through the sunlight while the Master lurks in the dark, the exhausted body of Captain Willard between them. He remembers the primal glory of the camp they went through, the surge of hands and voices around them, and the simplicity of all of it. But Lance can't seem to figure out why it is that way, why it matters to him, why it speaks to him. He just knows that it does. It seems to Lance that all the whys are locked up in Willard, the one who led them here, without telling why. but the why was there, Willard knew it, he just didn't say. Lance is sure Willard has the rest of the whys still inside, waiting. If only he could get them out, if he could learn Willard's secrets, the answers would come, Lance is certain.
The Master is talking now, explainingpleadingtelling to Willard, giving him more whys to lock up, to hide inside him. Looking at him, Lance isn't sure how many more whys Willard can take, already crumpled and filthy and resigned. Resigned that he will have to do something, that a decision must be made, that, despite Kurtz's protests, a judgment must be passed. The captain has to choose, and then he has to tell them why. them. allanyeitherboth.
Lance wants those whys, he wants to know there is a reason, that there is something beyond setinstonefatedeath. It isn't enough to know that he is happy, he has to know how he got that way. but he doesn't. but he's pretty sure the captain will know. it's just the matter of getting it out of him, the how of the way you get under the skin, how you open up the ribcage and curl inside next to his heart.
Lance believes the captain is drowning inside, the whys piled up and clambering over each other to get out, pressing Willard into a smaller and smaller space, until he's trapped and cannot get out without fighting his way through the mass of tangled secrethowwhyhowwhywhy. Lance wants some of those whys though, will gladly take them, if only Willard would let him.
The Master has stopped speaking, retreating back into the shadows that he had never truly left, leaving behind Willard's slumped figure. The captain seems not to notice, his breathing unsteady and hissing through his clenched teeth, body weak but tense, eyes squeezed shut in pain, or denial. Lance approaches cautiously, as he would a wounded animal, but the other man shows no awareness of his movement. This worries Lance, having seen Willard's vigilance all the way up the river, he wonders if this man, this man who led them through war and wild, if this man was finally broken.
Lance is next to him now, close enough to touch, and he wants to, to feel that this man is more than a hollow shell collapsing in on itself. Slowly, making sure Willard can see every move, Lance brings himself up close, into the captain's personal space and he reaches out and touches, the young man's hand cupping the elder one's cheek. Willard's face doesn't change, but his breathing slows and his body sags into Lance's hands.
Permission good as any, Lance gently rubs his painted cheek against the other man's, eyes staring straight ahead. Turning his head, he scrapes his teeth across the recently healed scar on the captain's cheek, the tip of his tongue making a slick trail along the top of Willard's cheekbone, following the delicate curve under his eye, his saliva spiking the dark lashes of the other man's tightly closed eyes. Lance can feel Willard's rapid heartbeat under one hand, the other one tangling in the older man's chest hair. The dark hair is soft and fine, reminding him of the puppy lost down river, and he allows himself to remember, leaving off his examination of Willard's face to burrow against the captain's strong chest, rubbing his face against the other man like a cat seeking attention.
Now Lance can hear Willard's heart under his ear, and he wants to get closer, to be with that strength, and then Lance is roughly pressing himself to the captain's chest until smears of Lance's camo stripe Willard's muscular torso. The stripes were a symbol, of power and wildness, but they didn't belong to Lance anymore.
Lance curls against him with his hands trailing up and down Willard's body, his blond head nestled under the captain's chin, the older man's arm pressed parallel to his spine. Looking up at the older man with bright, innocent eyes, Lance asks
why are we alone
why must you choose
why is it all so simple
why isn't simple enough
why did you let this to happen to you, to us
"are you alright?"