From A Shell 1/?
Title: From A Shell
Author: _matriculated
Pairing: Gerard Way / Matt Skiba (Alkaline Trio)
Rating: M
POV: Third
Summary: "If he could somehow inject the feeling the man seemed to be able to convey, simply by plucking a few strings, straight into himself, he would. It was the only time he'd ever felt like something, anything, was actually meant for him."
Disclaimer: There's a small part of us all, that wishes these things were true.
Author Notes: Under the cut. And a big thanks to Kat who sorts out my "3 am and wired on caffeine with little to no sleep writing". Haha. Ily :*
The smell of sea water was intoxicating. Gerard was sitting so close he could almost taste the salt when he breathed in. He loved it here though, the sketch pad in his lap, the smell of the water and the faint tang of the salt on his tongue. He loved sitting atop the rocks so close to the edge of the water that he could occasionally bask in the barely noticeable spray the waves created as the crashed against the stone. Most of all, he loved the lilting melody of the man playing guitar, barely feet away. He loved the way it mixed with the sound of the wind whipping and the water crashing and the gulls screaming. Sometimes, when he wasn't sketching, he'd close his eyes and breathe in the smell of the sea and get lost in the surroundings. It made him feel infinite and vulnerable all at once.
He never ever knew what the man was playing. He hadn't recognized one tune the man strummed in the weeks he'd been listening to him play. All he knew was that he was drawn to those sounds. Light and slow and haunting. If he could somehow inject the feeling the man seemed to be able to convey, simply by plucking a few strings, straight into himself, he would. It was the only time he'd ever felt like something, anything, was actually meant for him.
The first time he'd heard the man play was completely coincidental. He'd come out to the shore simply because he had nothing better to do. He had a nearly non existent social life save for a few colleagues from work. He got home and decided if he had to spend another night watching Prisoner re-runs and staring at the wall he'd lose it. So he went to the first place that came to mind.
He found a relatively solitary spot on top of the rocks at the far end of the beach. He sat for a while, watching the water and the froth collect on the rocks below. He listened to the water intently, immediately enjoying the sound, until he heard the faintest tapping sound. He looked around in confusion for a few seconds until he caught movement from the corner of his eye. That's when he saw the man for the first time.
He was tall and shockingly slender, but not so much so that he looked sickly. There was an odd elegance to him. His long legs, complimented by the snug fit of the charcoal black straight leg jeans he was wearing, led up to a square, petite waist. His hipbones were very noticeable with the way his jeans were riding, his simple button up shirt looking a size too small, riding up his torso as he moved. He wore a black skinny tie with his sleeves rolled up, revealing a vibrant splash of colorful designs adorning his forearms. From what Gerard could see, the man was very handsome, full lips and sharp chiseled features. He was wearing sunglasses and a gray newsboy cap. He carried a plain black guitar case in one hand and tapping a cane along the rock with the other.
Gerard watched as the man made his way to a spot just feet away from him and sat down indian style, tucking the cane securely underneath his legs before reaching over and popping the guitar case open. He removed the instrument and adjusted himself to a playing position with a comfortable ease. The man sat silently for a few moments, running his long fingers up and down the neck before strumming out a melody.
He knew it wasn't polite to stare but Gerard couldn't tear his eyes away from the man. Only after watching him for a few moments, did Gerard actually register why the man was carrying a cane, which only further encouraged him to stare. Gerard didn't even know if the man was aware of his presence and as rude and creepy, even, as it was, he didn't want the man to know he was there. For some reason Gerard was absolutely and completely enthralled with just watching him, listening to the music that, if he stared hard enough, seemed to be creating a certain atmosphere around the man. He felt if he even breathed too hard, the music would stop, the feeling would disappear. So he just sat and watched and listened and soaked up the amazing feeling that radiated from the man and his guitar.
That's what he's been doing for weeks now. He'd come down to the shore and sit on the rocks once a week at the same time every week and wait. He'd wait until he heard those taps, the same taps, they'd make his hair stand on end in anticipation. He'd watch as the man would settle himself and play. Sometimes he'd even sketch the man but he was never satisfied with any of them, he always failed to capture that feeling that the man and his music radiated. He sketched anyway, he wanted this image, this feeling ingrained into his brain for some reason. It was a nagging want he was never able to shake and, if he were being honest with himself, he really didn't want to.
At this point, he was more than positive the man was completely oblivious to his presence. Gerard would always be sure to arrive earlier than the man and he didn't dare make a sound when he played. He just sat and watched until the man stopped playing, gathered his things and left.
Often times when he sitting at home and occasionally at work, he'd find himself sketching the man over and over. He hardly even realized what he was doing until he'd find himself trying meticulously to remember the color and placement of the man's tattoos. He didn't know why the man and his music seemed to be stuck with him but really, he didn't mind it. He looked forward to going down to the shore and watching, listening, basking in the unexplainable feeling the man radiated.
--
He sat down at his usual place atop the rock and waited, watching the waves as he usually did. He perked up immediately when he heard the faint tap tap tap against the rock and turned to watch as the man approached. His face fell though as he noticed how the man, instead of taking his usual route to the same spot he sat every week, he seemed to be walking toward Gerard.
Gerard sat, frozen in the spot as the man sat directly in front of him. He swallowed hard and watched dumbfounded as the man, without a word, completely expressionless, reached over and opened his case. He did everything the exact same way he usually did, except he was mere inches away from Gerard. Had Gerard leaned forward even the teeniest bit, his knees would be pressed against those of the man sitting in front of him.
Floundering, Gerard looked directly at the man, the man seeming to look directly back at him. Gerard couldn't tell though because the man was wearing sunglasses, just like every week. He watched himself in the reflection of the man's lenses, completely at a loss for what to do.
After a few moments of the man remaining completely silent and stone face, Gerard scrambled to grab his notepad with intentions of high tailing it out of there. He was halfway up when he was startled by the man's voice, sharp and husky, "Don't go".
He froze then, lifting his head slowly to see the slightest of grins tugging at the man's lips. Even though everything in Gerard's body was screaming at him that he'd already made enough of a fool of himself and to just leave, he sat himself back down in front of the man.
Gerard watched as the man titled his head slightly, the tiny grin still playing on his features. They sat like that, in complete silence for a few minutes. Gerard fidgeting nervously, not able to pull his gaze away from the reflection in the man's sunglasses, the man not saying anything, leaning slightly on the guitar in his lap.
It wasn't until the man's knees brushed against his own that he even realized the man was leaning forward, reaching out. His long tattooed fingers brushed barely noticeably against Gerard's cheek. Gerard's breath hitched as the man's fingers lingered there for a brief moment before he pulled his hand back. Gerard felt the heat rising in his cheeks as the man skillfully gripped the neck of his guitar. Giving him such a dazzling smile it made Gerard's stomach flip, the man began to play.
----
Uh, okay. I have about 3 chapters of this written now. This is my first chaptered story and my first real attempt at writing something solid, if that makes any sense.
Continue? Con-crit welcome.
Author: _matriculated
Pairing: Gerard Way / Matt Skiba (Alkaline Trio)
Rating: M
POV: Third
Summary: "If he could somehow inject the feeling the man seemed to be able to convey, simply by plucking a few strings, straight into himself, he would. It was the only time he'd ever felt like something, anything, was actually meant for him."
Disclaimer: There's a small part of us all, that wishes these things were true.
Author Notes: Under the cut. And a big thanks to Kat who sorts out my "3 am and wired on caffeine with little to no sleep writing". Haha. Ily :*
The smell of sea water was intoxicating. Gerard was sitting so close he could almost taste the salt when he breathed in. He loved it here though, the sketch pad in his lap, the smell of the water and the faint tang of the salt on his tongue. He loved sitting atop the rocks so close to the edge of the water that he could occasionally bask in the barely noticeable spray the waves created as the crashed against the stone. Most of all, he loved the lilting melody of the man playing guitar, barely feet away. He loved the way it mixed with the sound of the wind whipping and the water crashing and the gulls screaming. Sometimes, when he wasn't sketching, he'd close his eyes and breathe in the smell of the sea and get lost in the surroundings. It made him feel infinite and vulnerable all at once.
He never ever knew what the man was playing. He hadn't recognized one tune the man strummed in the weeks he'd been listening to him play. All he knew was that he was drawn to those sounds. Light and slow and haunting. If he could somehow inject the feeling the man seemed to be able to convey, simply by plucking a few strings, straight into himself, he would. It was the only time he'd ever felt like something, anything, was actually meant for him.
The first time he'd heard the man play was completely coincidental. He'd come out to the shore simply because he had nothing better to do. He had a nearly non existent social life save for a few colleagues from work. He got home and decided if he had to spend another night watching Prisoner re-runs and staring at the wall he'd lose it. So he went to the first place that came to mind.
He found a relatively solitary spot on top of the rocks at the far end of the beach. He sat for a while, watching the water and the froth collect on the rocks below. He listened to the water intently, immediately enjoying the sound, until he heard the faintest tapping sound. He looked around in confusion for a few seconds until he caught movement from the corner of his eye. That's when he saw the man for the first time.
He was tall and shockingly slender, but not so much so that he looked sickly. There was an odd elegance to him. His long legs, complimented by the snug fit of the charcoal black straight leg jeans he was wearing, led up to a square, petite waist. His hipbones were very noticeable with the way his jeans were riding, his simple button up shirt looking a size too small, riding up his torso as he moved. He wore a black skinny tie with his sleeves rolled up, revealing a vibrant splash of colorful designs adorning his forearms. From what Gerard could see, the man was very handsome, full lips and sharp chiseled features. He was wearing sunglasses and a gray newsboy cap. He carried a plain black guitar case in one hand and tapping a cane along the rock with the other.
Gerard watched as the man made his way to a spot just feet away from him and sat down indian style, tucking the cane securely underneath his legs before reaching over and popping the guitar case open. He removed the instrument and adjusted himself to a playing position with a comfortable ease. The man sat silently for a few moments, running his long fingers up and down the neck before strumming out a melody.
He knew it wasn't polite to stare but Gerard couldn't tear his eyes away from the man. Only after watching him for a few moments, did Gerard actually register why the man was carrying a cane, which only further encouraged him to stare. Gerard didn't even know if the man was aware of his presence and as rude and creepy, even, as it was, he didn't want the man to know he was there. For some reason Gerard was absolutely and completely enthralled with just watching him, listening to the music that, if he stared hard enough, seemed to be creating a certain atmosphere around the man. He felt if he even breathed too hard, the music would stop, the feeling would disappear. So he just sat and watched and listened and soaked up the amazing feeling that radiated from the man and his guitar.
That's what he's been doing for weeks now. He'd come down to the shore and sit on the rocks once a week at the same time every week and wait. He'd wait until he heard those taps, the same taps, they'd make his hair stand on end in anticipation. He'd watch as the man would settle himself and play. Sometimes he'd even sketch the man but he was never satisfied with any of them, he always failed to capture that feeling that the man and his music radiated. He sketched anyway, he wanted this image, this feeling ingrained into his brain for some reason. It was a nagging want he was never able to shake and, if he were being honest with himself, he really didn't want to.
At this point, he was more than positive the man was completely oblivious to his presence. Gerard would always be sure to arrive earlier than the man and he didn't dare make a sound when he played. He just sat and watched until the man stopped playing, gathered his things and left.
Often times when he sitting at home and occasionally at work, he'd find himself sketching the man over and over. He hardly even realized what he was doing until he'd find himself trying meticulously to remember the color and placement of the man's tattoos. He didn't know why the man and his music seemed to be stuck with him but really, he didn't mind it. He looked forward to going down to the shore and watching, listening, basking in the unexplainable feeling the man radiated.
--
He sat down at his usual place atop the rock and waited, watching the waves as he usually did. He perked up immediately when he heard the faint tap tap tap against the rock and turned to watch as the man approached. His face fell though as he noticed how the man, instead of taking his usual route to the same spot he sat every week, he seemed to be walking toward Gerard.
Gerard sat, frozen in the spot as the man sat directly in front of him. He swallowed hard and watched dumbfounded as the man, without a word, completely expressionless, reached over and opened his case. He did everything the exact same way he usually did, except he was mere inches away from Gerard. Had Gerard leaned forward even the teeniest bit, his knees would be pressed against those of the man sitting in front of him.
Floundering, Gerard looked directly at the man, the man seeming to look directly back at him. Gerard couldn't tell though because the man was wearing sunglasses, just like every week. He watched himself in the reflection of the man's lenses, completely at a loss for what to do.
After a few moments of the man remaining completely silent and stone face, Gerard scrambled to grab his notepad with intentions of high tailing it out of there. He was halfway up when he was startled by the man's voice, sharp and husky, "Don't go".
He froze then, lifting his head slowly to see the slightest of grins tugging at the man's lips. Even though everything in Gerard's body was screaming at him that he'd already made enough of a fool of himself and to just leave, he sat himself back down in front of the man.
Gerard watched as the man titled his head slightly, the tiny grin still playing on his features. They sat like that, in complete silence for a few minutes. Gerard fidgeting nervously, not able to pull his gaze away from the reflection in the man's sunglasses, the man not saying anything, leaning slightly on the guitar in his lap.
It wasn't until the man's knees brushed against his own that he even realized the man was leaning forward, reaching out. His long tattooed fingers brushed barely noticeably against Gerard's cheek. Gerard's breath hitched as the man's fingers lingered there for a brief moment before he pulled his hand back. Gerard felt the heat rising in his cheeks as the man skillfully gripped the neck of his guitar. Giving him such a dazzling smile it made Gerard's stomach flip, the man began to play.
----
Uh, okay. I have about 3 chapters of this written now. This is my first chaptered story and my first real attempt at writing something solid, if that makes any sense.
Continue? Con-crit welcome.