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fellowshippers2004-07-21 05:04 pm
cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-07-21 05:04 pm
Desire, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lotrpschallenge #13
Title: Desire
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cloudlessclimes
Rated: R-ish
Pairing: OB/EW
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one
Summary: Angsty, somewhat obnoxious break up fic. completely dialogue free! wee!
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing
Notes: Written forlotrpschallenge #13. Title comes from the Langston Hughes poem I've quoted, not the U2 song.
Desire to us
Was like a Double death,
Swift dying
Or our mingled breath,
Evaporation
Of an unknown strange perfume
Between us quickly
In a naked
Room.
-Langston Hughes
Elijah thinks Orlando is saying he’s sorry the only way he knows how. A litany of regret and apology is spoken with softly stroking fingertips and hungry, searching mouth. Gentle touches to the thousand secret places revealed with the passing of years. Pressing and pushing and soothing across a smooth expanse of belly and hip and thigh.
This is no room for anger in the gloaming half-light of almost dawn. Elijah closes his eyes against the fever-bright rage climbing like a brush fire in his veins. He gives himself up to the lick kiss press of Orlando’s mouth on his cock. He turns to the sound of his hitching breath, rather than give life and sound to the acrimony behind his every exhalation.
Theirs is a dance at once familiar and strange. Like a favourite song played at the wrong speed. Slow and twisted and no longer itself. Fierce possession masquerading inside the languid tangle of limbs. A challenge unbidden to questions never asked. Elijah will not open his eyes. He refuses to fall prey to a velvet soft glance lit by pretty lies. He refuses to acknowledge there is any truth left as sunlight spreads like a stain across the darkened room.
Orlando confuses Elijah’s silence with acceptance. He pretends the warmth of Elijah’s body is enough to thaw the ice that gathers around the dark hollow nothing in side of him. He gulps greedily as, soundless and shuttered behind feather soft lashes, Elijah fills his mouth with a bitter sweetness; the taste of tears unshed. He consoles himself with the notion that sharing sweat and come and sex and breath is just the same as sharing laughter and happiness and life and truth.
He closes his eyes and wills Elijah to see what he sees. But an empty sadness, crawling over the twisted wreck of snow-white sheets, threatens to swallow them both. As Orlando pounds onto and into Elijah, his hands read a strange Braille just there, under the surface. Too little. Too much. Too soon. Too late. Orlando cannot change what is. Too late is forever.
Elijah knows Orlando is saying good-bye the only way he knows how. Beneath grasping hands and crying mouth he is memorising the shape and feel of what once was. Holding close and willing to memory the shape and form of what is lost. Marking his soul with the ghost of what can never be.
Author:
cloudlessclimes Rated: R-ish
Pairing: OB/EW
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one
Summary: Angsty, somewhat obnoxious break up fic. completely dialogue free! wee!
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing
Notes: Written for
lotrpschallenge #13. Title comes from the Langston Hughes poem I've quoted, not the U2 song.Desire to us
Was like a Double death,
Swift dying
Or our mingled breath,
Evaporation
Of an unknown strange perfume
Between us quickly
In a naked
Room.
-Langston Hughes
Elijah thinks Orlando is saying he’s sorry the only way he knows how. A litany of regret and apology is spoken with softly stroking fingertips and hungry, searching mouth. Gentle touches to the thousand secret places revealed with the passing of years. Pressing and pushing and soothing across a smooth expanse of belly and hip and thigh.
This is no room for anger in the gloaming half-light of almost dawn. Elijah closes his eyes against the fever-bright rage climbing like a brush fire in his veins. He gives himself up to the lick kiss press of Orlando’s mouth on his cock. He turns to the sound of his hitching breath, rather than give life and sound to the acrimony behind his every exhalation.
Theirs is a dance at once familiar and strange. Like a favourite song played at the wrong speed. Slow and twisted and no longer itself. Fierce possession masquerading inside the languid tangle of limbs. A challenge unbidden to questions never asked. Elijah will not open his eyes. He refuses to fall prey to a velvet soft glance lit by pretty lies. He refuses to acknowledge there is any truth left as sunlight spreads like a stain across the darkened room.
Orlando confuses Elijah’s silence with acceptance. He pretends the warmth of Elijah’s body is enough to thaw the ice that gathers around the dark hollow nothing in side of him. He gulps greedily as, soundless and shuttered behind feather soft lashes, Elijah fills his mouth with a bitter sweetness; the taste of tears unshed. He consoles himself with the notion that sharing sweat and come and sex and breath is just the same as sharing laughter and happiness and life and truth.
He closes his eyes and wills Elijah to see what he sees. But an empty sadness, crawling over the twisted wreck of snow-white sheets, threatens to swallow them both. As Orlando pounds onto and into Elijah, his hands read a strange Braille just there, under the surface. Too little. Too much. Too soon. Too late. Orlando cannot change what is. Too late is forever.
Elijah knows Orlando is saying good-bye the only way he knows how. Beneath grasping hands and crying mouth he is memorising the shape and feel of what once was. Holding close and willing to memory the shape and form of what is lost. Marking his soul with the ghost of what can never be.
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I like that.
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As Orlando pounds onto and into Elijah, his hands read a strange Braille just there, under the surface. Too little. Too much. Too soon. Too late. Orlando cannot change what is. Too late is forever.
Just...yeah. So sad.
Loved it. <3
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The whole thing reads like prose poetry
I take this as such a compliment, you have no idea.
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Your imagery was painful and beautiful and just... ouch.
My favourite part: "As Orlando pounds onto and into Elijah, his hands read a strange Braille just there, under the surface. Too little. Too much. Too soon. Too late. Orlando cannot change what is. Too late is forever."
Brilliant and definitely win-worthy :)
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Love this line. Very poetic and just aching.
Lovely.
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*loves you up*
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