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fellowshippers2003-12-27 04:54 am
cleanbc.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-12-27 04:54 am
Finally Found You
Title: Finally Found You
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cleanbc
Pairing: Can I not say? Ok, thanks.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It starts out artsy and angsty..... he's sitting on a curb smoking
Disclaimer: Um, haven't met them, this didn't happen, i hope they don't smoke
Author's Note: Ok, so right. I wrote this over two nights at like 4 am. I stole so many things from other places I don't know where to begin. No beta. I can't write sex, so I didn't. Um, my two songs of inspiration were "after an afternoon" by jason mraz and "i remember" by damien rice. Oh, and I'm not british, but I tried to make it sound like that. There's a clue on the pairing, but I will probably edit this later and take out the end (and the pairing) so I can turn it in for a creative writing piece.
Feedback: Yes, yes, yes. And I love constructive criticism, so if you have ideas, lemme know.
I’ve finally found him. He crouches in isolation on the curb of the sidewalk, near the vast vacant parking lot. The smoke he exhales from his cigarette fades into the heavy December fog and he stares off into a distance that I am unable to fathom. I don’t want to deal with this, don’t want to deal with him. Why can’t everything be perfect? It seemed to be before all of this happened. I shift my weight as I try to breathe. I will not let the anxiety of this moment overcome me as I fight the urge to flee. No, I have to deal with this now, before it’s too late, I tell myself. How did it come to this? It’s a rhetorical question, one to which I already know the answer. The murky air swirls thick around my head, a physical manifestation of my thoughts.
A picture is worth a thousand words. The cliché ran through my head as I watched him, upside down to my eyes, trying to manipulate his camera with drunkenly clumsy hands. Not that I was anymore sober than he was at the moment. My position was enough proof of that: head and hands on the floor where feet should be, legs flailing wildly in the air, trying to keep balanced long enough for him to take the picture. He grinned and I could tell he had figured something out because he held the camera up to get me in the frame. Even with the knowledge, the flash that signified my stupidity being captured forever surprised me, and I tumbled over, knocking my knee on the pool table as gravity reminded me which way was really up and which way was really down.
I could hear him laughing as I lay sprawled on the floor.
“Oh that was funny was it?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I was quite amused.”
“Fuck you.” I tried to spit the words out like I was angry, but they came out slurred and almost, dare I say, lovingly. I tried to get up, but found that somewhat difficult as my legs were tangled together. He only laughed harder as I hit the carpet once again.
“Wait, let me help you.” He offered his hand, but I mumbled a negative response and very carefully told my feet and legs and arms and hands where to go. Finally standing up correctly, I brushed the crumbs of crisps and pretzels off of my nice navy sweater, and stood resolutely.
“Another drink?” he asked, that damn cheeky grin plastered on his face. I looked around and saw everyone else’s eyes quickly dart everywhere else but where we were standing.
“Why the hell not.” I threw my hands up in resignation. It was Christmas after all; I deserved to have a little fun. I pushed away the little voice in my head that was telling me I was having a little too much fun.
He grabbed my hand and yanked me forward. He grabbed two of something that somehow were already on the edge of the bar and put one very cold, slick glass in my hand. I put it to my lips, and a fine Guinness slid down my throat. He knew me so well. This was perfect.
A bump of someone to my elbow ruined my moment. The beer sloshed out of my glass and soaked the front of both of my and his shirts.
“Oi, watch it!” he exclaimed, and pulled me to the other side of him, away from the bumbling stranger, who must have apologized in some form, because he nodded and assured the stranger that it was fine, no big deal. I wasn’t really paying attention though, because my gaze had traveled upward.
I elbowed him. “Hey,” I whispered, “Merry Christmas.” I pointed.
“Wha…” he only got that much out before he saw what I saw. “Wait a minute now, I don’t know…”
“What? Come on, it’s just a little gesture of love between friends is all. Afraid are you?” He could never back down to a challenge. I knew it, and he knew I knew it.
That grin made its way back into his lips, lips that suddenly looked very…very inviting. I looked down, and then up, asking for permission. He shrugged as if to say, you’re right, what the heck.
And in that moment, everything between us changed. It was somewhere between the time when our beer-stained lips met and when I realized my tongue was caressing his molars that I realized our, or rather, my innocent intentions had been smashed like the glass that had dropped from his hands, and the one that was dangerously close to leaving mine. I felt his protest before I heard it, the vibration traveling from his mouth to mine. I immediately pulled out, backed away, looked into his grey eyes. He stared at me with a kind of strangled look, one that I could not read exactly, but I knew he was struggling to speak.
“I’m sorry. I can’t… You are… I’m sorry.” His speech disintegrated as he backed away from me. I didn’t move; I just watched him turn and run out the door, leaving me standing alone next to the bar, a half-empty, lukewarm, still slick glass of Guinness in my hand.
I’ve finally found him.
He never came back to his flat. I checked. That was the first place I went to after I collected myself that night. Because we had time off for holiday, I didn’t see him at work like I usually would. A week passed. I didn’t call him. I was afraid; afraid that my voice would convey my concern, afraid of what he would say to me, afraid that I would lose everything I had with him. We were supposed to be only friends after all. Best friends.
The bass was thick. Or maybe it was my head. Either way, I wasn’t so sure I was glad that I had decided to show up at this New Year’s party. I tried to have fun, but all I could manage was forced fun. The kind of fun you have stored in a can somewhere that you pull out when you need to save face. Eventually, I found myself sitting alone at the bar, staring into my champagne. I watched as those bubbles came out of nowhere and followed their jagged, invisible path to the surface.
Quite suddenly, a hand blocked my view of the bubbles. This hand belonged to an arm that had made its way around my shoulder.
“He’s outside. I was at the Christmas party. I know. Go find him.” The words tickled my ear and I tensed up. I turned and looked. I saw kind eyes and a supporting smile. “Go.”
I nodded. And I went.
I’ve finally found him. He doesn’t seem to notice me as he finishes his cigarette, takes it between two fingers, and carefully grinds it into the pavement. I shift my weight again. This is too much. I can’t. It’s easier just to go. I’ll just go. But as I make the decision to leave, he looks up and finally sees me, standing here like the idiot that I am. He says one word and I freeze.
“Hey”
I don’t think I can move. I am trapped. For I have looked into his eyes again, and again those grey circles have caught me.
“What’s going on?” Did I say that? I must have.
“How was your week? It’s been awhile man.”
“Good, good. You know, it was good. How was yours?” Small talk? What is this?
“You know, the usual vacation stuff. Sleeping, watching six movies a day, eating constantly.” His grin doesn’t reach his eyes. I notice. I can’t see anything but his eyes.
He stands up, and approaches me. I tell myself to relax. He will notice if I’m tense. Too late. He faces me, and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” we both blurt out at the same time. That damn cheeky grin returns to his face, and I feel myself grinning too. I know that my grin has reached my eyes, because now I can see that his widens, and finally it reaches his eyes.
“I was a fool. I never should have run away like that,” he says. “I was just scared. I love you so much and…”
“Wait, hold on. What did you say?” I am frozen again. He didn’t say that. Did he?
“Yes, I’m in love with you, dammit. And I was afraid I messed up. We’re best friends. It’s not supposed to be like that.”
I start laughing. This isn’t the kind of laughter you find in a can next to the forced fun. No, this laughter was homegrown, fresh-squeezed, not-from-concentrate full-bodied genuine laughter.
“You love me?” I finally manage to ask. “No, it was I who was the fool. I am in love with you as well.” I marveled at how easily now this came off my tongue. “I was trying to be clever, I guess, that night. But we both know that clever and drunk don’t mix.”
My feet can move, and I close the distance between us. Our noses are touching. “You know, even though I was totally pissed that night, I was quite serious in my actions. Can we finish what we started?”
And in this moment, everything between us changes. Face to palm, tear to cheek, mouth to tongue, heart to heart. This time I taste smoke instead of Guinness. This time we take our time, learning and exploring, finding comfort in the familiar and excitement in the new.
“I remember it well,” he finally murmurs as he breaks away from me.
“What do you remember?” I lean my forehead against his, and I can feel his bangs tickle the bridge of my nose.
“I remember the first time that I loved you.” He speaks against my lips. “I saw your head ‘round the door, and mine stopped working.”
“That’s very poetic. I didn’t know you were a poet, Dom.”
“Shut up and kiss me Billy, you wanker.”
“Ok.”
Author:
cleanbcPairing: Can I not say? Ok, thanks.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It starts out artsy and angsty..... he's sitting on a curb smoking
Disclaimer: Um, haven't met them, this didn't happen, i hope they don't smoke
Author's Note: Ok, so right. I wrote this over two nights at like 4 am. I stole so many things from other places I don't know where to begin. No beta. I can't write sex, so I didn't. Um, my two songs of inspiration were "after an afternoon" by jason mraz and "i remember" by damien rice. Oh, and I'm not british, but I tried to make it sound like that. There's a clue on the pairing, but I will probably edit this later and take out the end (and the pairing) so I can turn it in for a creative writing piece.
Feedback: Yes, yes, yes. And I love constructive criticism, so if you have ideas, lemme know.
I’ve finally found him. He crouches in isolation on the curb of the sidewalk, near the vast vacant parking lot. The smoke he exhales from his cigarette fades into the heavy December fog and he stares off into a distance that I am unable to fathom. I don’t want to deal with this, don’t want to deal with him. Why can’t everything be perfect? It seemed to be before all of this happened. I shift my weight as I try to breathe. I will not let the anxiety of this moment overcome me as I fight the urge to flee. No, I have to deal with this now, before it’s too late, I tell myself. How did it come to this? It’s a rhetorical question, one to which I already know the answer. The murky air swirls thick around my head, a physical manifestation of my thoughts.
A picture is worth a thousand words. The cliché ran through my head as I watched him, upside down to my eyes, trying to manipulate his camera with drunkenly clumsy hands. Not that I was anymore sober than he was at the moment. My position was enough proof of that: head and hands on the floor where feet should be, legs flailing wildly in the air, trying to keep balanced long enough for him to take the picture. He grinned and I could tell he had figured something out because he held the camera up to get me in the frame. Even with the knowledge, the flash that signified my stupidity being captured forever surprised me, and I tumbled over, knocking my knee on the pool table as gravity reminded me which way was really up and which way was really down.
I could hear him laughing as I lay sprawled on the floor.
“Oh that was funny was it?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I was quite amused.”
“Fuck you.” I tried to spit the words out like I was angry, but they came out slurred and almost, dare I say, lovingly. I tried to get up, but found that somewhat difficult as my legs were tangled together. He only laughed harder as I hit the carpet once again.
“Wait, let me help you.” He offered his hand, but I mumbled a negative response and very carefully told my feet and legs and arms and hands where to go. Finally standing up correctly, I brushed the crumbs of crisps and pretzels off of my nice navy sweater, and stood resolutely.
“Another drink?” he asked, that damn cheeky grin plastered on his face. I looked around and saw everyone else’s eyes quickly dart everywhere else but where we were standing.
“Why the hell not.” I threw my hands up in resignation. It was Christmas after all; I deserved to have a little fun. I pushed away the little voice in my head that was telling me I was having a little too much fun.
He grabbed my hand and yanked me forward. He grabbed two of something that somehow were already on the edge of the bar and put one very cold, slick glass in my hand. I put it to my lips, and a fine Guinness slid down my throat. He knew me so well. This was perfect.
A bump of someone to my elbow ruined my moment. The beer sloshed out of my glass and soaked the front of both of my and his shirts.
“Oi, watch it!” he exclaimed, and pulled me to the other side of him, away from the bumbling stranger, who must have apologized in some form, because he nodded and assured the stranger that it was fine, no big deal. I wasn’t really paying attention though, because my gaze had traveled upward.
I elbowed him. “Hey,” I whispered, “Merry Christmas.” I pointed.
“Wha…” he only got that much out before he saw what I saw. “Wait a minute now, I don’t know…”
“What? Come on, it’s just a little gesture of love between friends is all. Afraid are you?” He could never back down to a challenge. I knew it, and he knew I knew it.
That grin made its way back into his lips, lips that suddenly looked very…very inviting. I looked down, and then up, asking for permission. He shrugged as if to say, you’re right, what the heck.
And in that moment, everything between us changed. It was somewhere between the time when our beer-stained lips met and when I realized my tongue was caressing his molars that I realized our, or rather, my innocent intentions had been smashed like the glass that had dropped from his hands, and the one that was dangerously close to leaving mine. I felt his protest before I heard it, the vibration traveling from his mouth to mine. I immediately pulled out, backed away, looked into his grey eyes. He stared at me with a kind of strangled look, one that I could not read exactly, but I knew he was struggling to speak.
“I’m sorry. I can’t… You are… I’m sorry.” His speech disintegrated as he backed away from me. I didn’t move; I just watched him turn and run out the door, leaving me standing alone next to the bar, a half-empty, lukewarm, still slick glass of Guinness in my hand.
I’ve finally found him.
He never came back to his flat. I checked. That was the first place I went to after I collected myself that night. Because we had time off for holiday, I didn’t see him at work like I usually would. A week passed. I didn’t call him. I was afraid; afraid that my voice would convey my concern, afraid of what he would say to me, afraid that I would lose everything I had with him. We were supposed to be only friends after all. Best friends.
The bass was thick. Or maybe it was my head. Either way, I wasn’t so sure I was glad that I had decided to show up at this New Year’s party. I tried to have fun, but all I could manage was forced fun. The kind of fun you have stored in a can somewhere that you pull out when you need to save face. Eventually, I found myself sitting alone at the bar, staring into my champagne. I watched as those bubbles came out of nowhere and followed their jagged, invisible path to the surface.
Quite suddenly, a hand blocked my view of the bubbles. This hand belonged to an arm that had made its way around my shoulder.
“He’s outside. I was at the Christmas party. I know. Go find him.” The words tickled my ear and I tensed up. I turned and looked. I saw kind eyes and a supporting smile. “Go.”
I nodded. And I went.
I’ve finally found him. He doesn’t seem to notice me as he finishes his cigarette, takes it between two fingers, and carefully grinds it into the pavement. I shift my weight again. This is too much. I can’t. It’s easier just to go. I’ll just go. But as I make the decision to leave, he looks up and finally sees me, standing here like the idiot that I am. He says one word and I freeze.
“Hey”
I don’t think I can move. I am trapped. For I have looked into his eyes again, and again those grey circles have caught me.
“What’s going on?” Did I say that? I must have.
“How was your week? It’s been awhile man.”
“Good, good. You know, it was good. How was yours?” Small talk? What is this?
“You know, the usual vacation stuff. Sleeping, watching six movies a day, eating constantly.” His grin doesn’t reach his eyes. I notice. I can’t see anything but his eyes.
He stands up, and approaches me. I tell myself to relax. He will notice if I’m tense. Too late. He faces me, and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” we both blurt out at the same time. That damn cheeky grin returns to his face, and I feel myself grinning too. I know that my grin has reached my eyes, because now I can see that his widens, and finally it reaches his eyes.
“I was a fool. I never should have run away like that,” he says. “I was just scared. I love you so much and…”
“Wait, hold on. What did you say?” I am frozen again. He didn’t say that. Did he?
“Yes, I’m in love with you, dammit. And I was afraid I messed up. We’re best friends. It’s not supposed to be like that.”
I start laughing. This isn’t the kind of laughter you find in a can next to the forced fun. No, this laughter was homegrown, fresh-squeezed, not-from-concentrate full-bodied genuine laughter.
“You love me?” I finally manage to ask. “No, it was I who was the fool. I am in love with you as well.” I marveled at how easily now this came off my tongue. “I was trying to be clever, I guess, that night. But we both know that clever and drunk don’t mix.”
My feet can move, and I close the distance between us. Our noses are touching. “You know, even though I was totally pissed that night, I was quite serious in my actions. Can we finish what we started?”
And in this moment, everything between us changes. Face to palm, tear to cheek, mouth to tongue, heart to heart. This time I taste smoke instead of Guinness. This time we take our time, learning and exploring, finding comfort in the familiar and excitement in the new.
“I remember it well,” he finally murmurs as he breaks away from me.
“What do you remember?” I lean my forehead against his, and I can feel his bangs tickle the bridge of my nose.
“I remember the first time that I loved you.” He speaks against my lips. “I saw your head ‘round the door, and mine stopped working.”
“That’s very poetic. I didn’t know you were a poet, Dom.”
“Shut up and kiss me Billy, you wanker.”
“Ok.”