Originally published in 2000. Lyrics from "40 Miles From The Sun" by Bush.
there is nowhere left to hide
there is nothing to be done...
He pretended not to notice the hand that slipped into his so affectionately. He tried to ignore the soft sighs that made his neck prickle. He fought to keep his eyes from the ones of endless blue that saw past the invisible mask he had spent years crafting, the mask he had worn for so long. It was shattered now, but he wasn’t certain he cared.
The slender fingers wove themselves around his, caressing with a touch more pleasant than light or air or sanity.
40 miles from the sun...
The night had come so silently, creeping up upon them. It seemed to know. It had a reason, it had a purpose. It knew its mission and it planned to carry it out, keeping the obtrusive and arrogant sun hostage so that a flower that blooms only by night could begin to find its roots.
as darkness craves the mind...
A head of soft golden hair nestled itself on his shoulder and an arm slid around his waist. He felt his insides buckle and break as the passion he feared to release clawed and screamed for its freedom, dying for, and willing to give, so much.
“Your heart is pounding. I can hear it.”
A gentle hand pressed itself against his breast, as if attempting to halt the senseless banging or to make certain that he indeed had a heart beneath his cloak of stone. He trembled under the angelic touch and brought his hand up, gently laying it upon the yellow locks that felt like threads of silk.
He didn’t feel right. He felt as if he was polluting the innocence at his side, the soul so pure and kind and passionate -everything he knew a wreck like himself didn’t deserve- and making it dirty with his guilty hands.
“Why don’t you hold me, Trowa?”
How could he answer a question like that? He pulled himself away and forced himself to look into those hypnotic blue eyes.
“Because I love you that much, Quatre.”
That slight but heavenly smile came to his lips and he touched Trowa’s cheek, saying, “Stop trying to make yourself miserable. Your troubles are over--the shadows are gone. So please... can’t you hold me now?”
The tone of plea would have been enough to bring Trowa to his knees, but the fact that Quatre’s beguiling smile filled him with a newfound hope kept him alive and upright. The boy had a magical way of making him believe anything he said, even if he knew it wasn’t the truth. When it was coming from Quatre... it didn’t matter.
“I... I’ll hold you, Quatre.”
The lips parted in a delightful smile as tears threatened to spill from Quatre’s eyes. He let himself be engulfed by Trowa’s maddening embrace and closed his eyes tightly.
we come undone without our pride
no time on Earth to come
all the pleasures just begun...
Acting on the instinct he though he never had, he leaned down and kissed Quatre. The boy melted in his arms and kissed him back. It was like the Time. The First Time. But without the shock and confusion. He knew now. He recognised it and accepted it and no longer had a reason to fear it.
Somehow, when he kissed Quatre, he felt himself come undone and become someone else. All the tension, all the hate, all the pain and suffering and woe and tears and bloodshed... all seemed to disappear with Quatre’s soft touch and insufferably kind and gentle voice.
in our coats beneath the layers
wash my skin of all the hate
we should sleep late
everything just kind of grates...
And when he laid next to Quatre at night, it was like another place and time. Just them, and the rawness of their predestined love in a place where Time was hung and waiting... just for them. How cruel of Destiny it was to mould them like this. How merciless It was to show them the happiness that they strove so hard to protect for others, yet lack in their own lives, only to find it within each other’s company, where they would be cursed for their unholy affairs by the multitudes of fools who simply could not understand.
Forbidden love seems to be the strongest and most passionate love of all.
And when they laid next to each other, their passions and energy spent in the aftermath of that lightning storm that wracked their bodies moments before, reducing them to beggars of love, it was like... being born all over again. Letting go of of the ugly shards of yesterday and allowing the new wholeness of tomorrow to form anew. It was not an easy process, letting go. Shards may cut and bleed, but you would hold diamonds if they cut you all the same, wouldn’t you? If they were your diamonds, your shards, your lover...
i need to lose to make it right
i’ll confront the stars tonight
i will babble i will bite
you’ll never know how much you shine...
If only there was a haven. If only there was a place for them to be without the plague of iniquity bearing down upon their young shoulders. How unfortunate that such Edens exist only in the imagination, beyond the rainbow in the cold reaches of space, Infinity. That black nothingness that holds them in silence, never pulling or pushing but holding like frailty, allowing them to drift slowly from the brash currents of murderous Time. Hand in hand, drifting.
There are currently 201 stories and a total of 1,202,518 words archived at The Bent Archive.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, places, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Characters and ideas of an original nature are the property of H.J. Bender. No money is being made from these works and no copyright infringement is intended. All rights reserved. Site (c) Bent-Halo.Net 2004-2018.