It's been a while hasn't it? Well I'm back and, fortunately I am not dead
or quitting with this. Just out of curiosity, are there any heterosexual
relationships, romantic or otherwise anyone would like to see? I'm
experimenting and am open to suggestions.
I'm dedicating this chapter to Ninjette, because she was my most recent reviewer when I wrote this and told me to get my butt in gear to write more. I like recent reviewers hint hint.
Oh, one more thing, this does coincide with "The Art in Him." I was playing with the idea of Raistlin having an ulterior motive for giving Dalamar the five gaping chest wounds, and wanted to explore the idea of them having a great, angsty and misunderstood romance. I don't really like how it turned out, but ah well.
On with the show.
Special Thanks to: Inka Lakhala, grammar falls from her lips like spittle falls from the lips of my dog – in great streams
Ficlet Five: "Mine"
Working alongside him daily has become difficult. I am attached, it threatens my ambitions. Standing next to him, it becomes difficult to classify him in relation to myself. I know that we are no longer just master and apprentice, whatever titles he might call me by. He knows too, - I can tell in the way he turns his head, and in the shape of his eyes when he looks at me, that there is something else there. But we do not speak unless it is necessary to our task; we do not socialize, so how can I consider this tie between him and myself a friendship? He offers companionship unconsciously, but he cannot be called a "companion". A lover, then? This feels more correct, but there is no love and there is no sex between us. How, then, is he a lover? Why does he seem so?
My world is words, and I have none for what he is to me.
In the brush of fingers, the passing of components, it is there. That thing which makes him beyond what I can describe. I wonder if I touched him more, everywhere, how it would feel. Would I understand then; when his clothes and composure were stripped away, would I find the definition I was looking for? Would destroying him be worth finding it?
The smells of sweat and stains of herbs on my skin are so familiar, but what would they be on his? I imagine mapping them with my hands and tongue [like] {as if} they were tangible and permanent. I wonder if he has scars, and how many of them are the ones I gave him. I wonder at the strange flash of emotion in my chest, how it makes me want him to bear only my scars, have only me inside and around and over. What it would be like to creep so deep inside what he was, what he is, that I never really left him. No matter what he claims to feel about darkness he is of a pure race, and his light is innate. If I could claim him, could I make his light mine as well? A novel idea, I have never been a pure thing.
I see the light in his eyes that I can't command. I'll teach him, but he will never be of my caliber, and what when he cannot go on, cannot learn more? How will I get into him then? He must not leave until I know the words, the key to what he is to me.
But I can't find them and I don't know how to get further inside him than skin deep. So instead I'll give him something from me that he'll never forget. The very least thing I can do.
I'll give him scars to remember.
I'm dedicating this chapter to Ninjette, because she was my most recent reviewer when I wrote this and told me to get my butt in gear to write more. I like recent reviewers hint hint.
Oh, one more thing, this does coincide with "The Art in Him." I was playing with the idea of Raistlin having an ulterior motive for giving Dalamar the five gaping chest wounds, and wanted to explore the idea of them having a great, angsty and misunderstood romance. I don't really like how it turned out, but ah well.
On with the show.
Special Thanks to: Inka Lakhala, grammar falls from her lips like spittle falls from the lips of my dog – in great streams
Ficlet Five: "Mine"
Working alongside him daily has become difficult. I am attached, it threatens my ambitions. Standing next to him, it becomes difficult to classify him in relation to myself. I know that we are no longer just master and apprentice, whatever titles he might call me by. He knows too, - I can tell in the way he turns his head, and in the shape of his eyes when he looks at me, that there is something else there. But we do not speak unless it is necessary to our task; we do not socialize, so how can I consider this tie between him and myself a friendship? He offers companionship unconsciously, but he cannot be called a "companion". A lover, then? This feels more correct, but there is no love and there is no sex between us. How, then, is he a lover? Why does he seem so?
My world is words, and I have none for what he is to me.
In the brush of fingers, the passing of components, it is there. That thing which makes him beyond what I can describe. I wonder if I touched him more, everywhere, how it would feel. Would I understand then; when his clothes and composure were stripped away, would I find the definition I was looking for? Would destroying him be worth finding it?
The smells of sweat and stains of herbs on my skin are so familiar, but what would they be on his? I imagine mapping them with my hands and tongue [like] {as if} they were tangible and permanent. I wonder if he has scars, and how many of them are the ones I gave him. I wonder at the strange flash of emotion in my chest, how it makes me want him to bear only my scars, have only me inside and around and over. What it would be like to creep so deep inside what he was, what he is, that I never really left him. No matter what he claims to feel about darkness he is of a pure race, and his light is innate. If I could claim him, could I make his light mine as well? A novel idea, I have never been a pure thing.
I see the light in his eyes that I can't command. I'll teach him, but he will never be of my caliber, and what when he cannot go on, cannot learn more? How will I get into him then? He must not leave until I know the words, the key to what he is to me.
But I can't find them and I don't know how to get further inside him than skin deep. So instead I'll give him something from me that he'll never forget. The very least thing I can do.
I'll give him scars to remember.