Cause we have spoken everything...
Title: Cause we have spoken everything.
Characters: Eric Staal/Jordan Staal. [Eric’s POV]
Rating: PG-13…ish?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Originally this was supposed to be for a longer fic I’m writing but I could never get it to fit in well so I just kind of pushed it aside. My mind kept coming back to it though and well, this is the result. It’s kinda short but I think I liked how it came out.
The gentle rasp of his stubble against your lips, the tip of his tongue trailing over your ear, his nose nudging your jaw, urging you to lift your head and look at him says “Nothing’s right, but maybe someday it will be.”
The way you turn your head and refuse to meet his eyes says “Maybe it’ll be worse.”
The twitch of his lips as his hand skims your waist says “Pretty” and your huff of breath says “Fuck off (but don’t go)”.
Even when you don’t speak, you speak in riddles.
The heel of your hand running along his collarbone asks “What if it never gets better? What if it’s never meant to be better for people like us?”
His thumb stroking your neck says “Don’t break; you scare me when you're fragile.” at the same time a bite to his jawbone, hard enough to bruise demands. “How could you have left me for him?” He doesn’t bother to bite your ring finger in reply; it won’t do any good. You’ve already had this argument a hundred times, both in words and fists, the two of you beating your apologies and devotions into each other’s skin and carrying the bruises for days so everyone could see how much they were cherished.
As he falls asleep your kiss in the crook of his elbow asks “Do we trust each other again yet?” his fingers slowly slipping along the indentations of your ribs says “Not yet.” but the gentle slide of his tongue over the veins of your wrist also means “Soon. Nearly.”
Every night you lie with his head on your chest, no matter how uncomfortable it gets, listening to the breath rush in and out of him as his body lifts and lowers with the rhythm of the air, knowing each rise of his chest, pushing against yours is saying “I love you, always.” and each deflation, drawing away, is begging “Tell me you love me.” You hope he’s just asking for reassurance. You hope he knows that all your inhalations mean “I do, always, even though I’ll never say it,” every time you breathe out. You hope he knows that you time your breathing so that your breaths can speak to each other all night, while everyone else sleeps.
Tell me you love me … I do, always … I love you, always … But I’ll never say it … Tell me you love me … I do, always…