PLIANT LAMENT
- - -
Faint
- - -
A/N: To Crary. A fair exchange for Dem Paquin's return, no?
- - -
He was soft. Contained a feather lightness.
Pliant, pliant, pliant.
Faint.
-
A lament...a lament...he will be gone for many years...maybe he will be with us again...maybe...what if there was someone different to rule you in his absence?
-
He had shorn hair. Shaded in with mints and dark browns. Cool. Cool, that freezing temperament. Impetuousness. Harsh, harsh. His words were muttered against my throat, his kiss piercing. Rushing against my skin, lips, mouth flushed with heat. My mouth. His taste, his scent on my tongue. Inside me. Over me.
Viridescent.
Jaded eyes. Or could it have been that they were jade? Polished smooth, sleek with intelligence, drenched...His hair again. Tossed in front of them. Obscurers, those straight fringes. Coarse with texture, light with a fresh fragrance. Told you, mentioned on occasion, that he was masculine. The angles. The sharpness. But his face. The curved smile. The lingering caress of being untouched. Touch. Leaning over, brush back my hair, mark with your fingers the line of my jaw, the trail of your kiss. Down, down to my throat. To the hollow just there. Pressing his thumb against the pulse...Pound. Pound.
-
"Try to answer!"
He smiled. "And lie to myself."
"Don't lie! Just answer!"
And they cried out. The scream. The lament.
"He does not believe!"
-
Why? Alone in a dying universe. My photograph. My photographs are fading. Will they be shredded into pieces? Will someone come to slice them up, to tear your colors, your features from me?
-
The afternoon sun poured through one of the windows and the golden hue made him look like...he was punished, he was punished and no one could doubt his sincerity...tell me, what if you die with a mortal sin on your soul? But what if you're left out of heaven in the end?
-
His hand is against my spine. A sensitive touch, fingers splayed. I still feel it. The icy touch. The rigidity of your lines against mine. Your warmth, your body. I was shorter than you. I placed myself in your arms to steady myself, to lie and rest surrounded by the calmness of you. To hide. To just feel hands running against my chest, along the edges of my clothes, across tense muscles and my sudden intakes of breath. Those smirks as replies to my little moans. My few tears. The pleasured sighs.
-
"Confess him!"
"What are your sins?"
"I don't have any," he said softly.
"Tell me one sin," I pleaded.
"I have not sinned! It is God who has sinned against me!"
"Don't say that," I begged him.
"Why? Because it is the truth?" he questioned. "Because you refuse to see the truth, or to accept me because I do not believe in your lies! I say God has sinned against me and I can have no love!"
-
I miss you, Trowa.
I miss him. I've even become an atheist for you. I've remained cynical for you. To keep your ideals alive. To keep your skewed judgments and criticisms nearby. To accept that I might never see you. Never touch you.
-
"I am the priest and I have absolved him of his sins!"
And I slowly picked myself up...and wouldn't cry, but my eyes filled with Trowa's unshed tears.
"I only wanted to be with you guys."
I kissed him and he closed his fragile eyes. His broken body weighing me down.
But I had judged him.
And he was absolved.
-
And he was my lover.
He drowned. He drowned and the sun glistened through his hair. Stole the softness away. The shadows lengthened and he was...
Pliant.
Faint.
- - -
- - -
- - -
The sections in italics were taken from the novel Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya. They were partially edited/manipulated and taken severly out of context for the purpose of this one-shot.