Please…Roy - Chapter 4 (no slash, kris)
author's notes: I think this chapter is slightly confusing. sorry for that. my organisation skills are lacklustre. All my language teachers tell me that…
warnings: swearing.
Hughes felt something warm flow down the side of his face. Reluctantly he pulled away from Roy, only to find streams of hot tears making their way down porcelain cheeks. What had he done…
"I…I'm sorry Roy…I don't know what overcame me….I just…"
Hughes sighed deeply and brushed tears that were not his own off his face. What he had done was not pardonable, but it was justifiable. What did one do when the two came together? These conditions were like the two sides of the same coin. They might be on the same coin but they were altogether different things – and Hughes knew the two sides of a coin never met.
"It was platonic, Roy, nothing more. I…I have a girlfriend?"
Hughes blurted out his attached status almost like a question. As if it wasn't good enough a reason for the kiss to be purely chaste and based on a friendship basis.
Was it, really?
Roy stood stock still, shell-shocked from what had just occurred. Hughes had kissed him… He found his brain processing information very slowly at that point. It was as if all his nerve impulses had been converted to molasses and they were dribbling their way slowly to his cortex. It annoyed him. Fuck Hughes…a MAN had kissed him! Roy thumbed his lips, still moist from last contact. He couldn't deny he enjoyed it. The sparks that had run helter-skelter up his spine served as a reminder to what his body was thinking of this whole issue. Roy felt his tears drying on his face. He wondered why they had fallen, they had not been called.
Riza stood at the doorway watching the pair. If she had been some other hapless officer she would have been disturbed at the intimacy between the two men. They would have appropriately and promptly labelled the two "gay". But Riza was none of that sort. She saw through the hazy confines of social norms. She saw the platonic love that had existed between the two the moment their lips had met. It wasn't the wanton passion that males in her office were often and periodically overcome with. This somehow, was pure. It was as if the two had meant to be as one right from the beginning of time.
Roy knew this was what romance novels called "the start of a beautiful friendship". To him, however, it meant more. This man, Hughes, had stepped into his life almost coercively. It was disturbing. Roy hadn't let anyone into his life since it had happened. He had remained guarded for close to 4 years now. His heart likened to a winter rose shrouded in frost and ice – rare, beautiful but recondite and abstruse. The part of him which had known love had been long encased in the hermetic confines of his life of self-segregation and isolation. It was a case of one bitten twice shy. Gone was the fake veneering of a rambunctious and confident man. Gone was the façade of a womanizing and cocky Lt. Col. What was left behind, however, was a broken soul, fragmented spirit, and a cadaverous body.
Roy felt his emotions threaten to overcome him. He wanted nothing more than to ensconce himself in Hughes' arms and soak up all the friendship and love Hughes was willing to give, but the dark side of him in which his soul had been holed up for 4 years questioned his actions. Can you trust him? Are you sure you can trust him? What if history repeats itself? What will you do then?
Roy wanted to trust, needed to trust. But the grievous hurt inflicted upon him previously had left him scarred. He couldn't take another emotional beating. Inexorably, the memories starting flooding back…
He struggled silently beneath Fuhrer's heavy form – he had screamed himself hoarse hours ago.
"Not much of a looker are you? Pudgy thing." a raspy voice sounded in his ear.
"No, sir…I….please!"
Roy's voice was down to a whisper. Why was the Fuhrer doing this to him?
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He had officially been in the military for no more than 40 minutes when the Fuhrer summoned him to his office. Initially he'd been thrilled, summoned by the Fuhrer on his first day, but the look on the secretary's face killed his joy. Pity? Sorrow? Sympathy? He couldn't read her expression, only the lines etched into her face told him she wore this face often. He stepped into the Fuhrer's office feeling most uncomfortable.
Roy saluted smartly, the tension was culpable.
"Come here, Lt. Col. I must see your face properly."
Roy's instincts told him something was very wrong with the way the Fuhrer was eyeing him. The Fuhrer – King Bradley, his voice was unmistakeably husky. Roy stepped up to the large imposing desk. From then on it was a flurry of unwarranted action. He remembered vaguely being slammed on the desk and relieved of his crisp new uniform.
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The Fuhrer called it an initiation rite. Roy called it rape.
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Roy collapsed sobbing into Hughes arms, emotionally drained.
Hughes had seen Roy's internal debate and struggle. His eyes gave away almost everything to anyone who looked carefully.
"Trust me, Roy…please."