half-spoken (for 100colors)
Gerard/Bert
Standalone (930 words)
PG
written November 2007.
Notes: For 100colors prompt 27, cream.
Nobody gets it.
Logically speaking, yeah, it's hard to understand, but this isn't about logic. This is about the way they feel when they're together -- hot fingers burning as they dig past layers of fabric and finally make contact with aching, needy flesh. It's about mouths falling open in pleasure, heads thrown back and eyes closed. Moans trapped in the back of the throat and screams from the depths of the soul. Bruised, darkened lips coming together again and again with increasing desperation as the hours tick by. It's about exhausted laughter and sweaty, heavy limbs, tangled hair. Smiles. More kisses. Sleeping so deeply there's no time for dreams.
It's about the feelings, the sensations they can't seem to replicate with anyone else. God knows they've both tried. And, more importantly, it's about the ache they feel when they're apart.
But it's more than that, and it's hard to explain to anyone else. As they lie in bed, tangled up in the sheets and each other, in snatches of half-written lyrics and half-spoken words, Bert feels free. Alive in a way that nobody else makes him feel. Everything is done at full intensity; laughing, fucking, fighting. They kiss until it hurts and make love until they pass out. That's why it would never work -- theirs is a greedy, insatiable love that takes and takes and demands more, even when there's nothing left to give.
But it is love, and Bert's not going to deny it. It might not be happily ever after, but it's love and it will always be there. In the back of his head. At the end of every laugh and every sigh. His final thought when he closes his eyes at night.
Sometimes it hurts to know they can never be together openly, but at least he knows they'll never stop. They'll never stop meeting in neutral territory (quiet, mid-market hotel rooms) for a few days of sex and sleep, shared showers and take-out, whispered confidences and endearments in the dark. They'll be doing this when they're old men -- when they're grandfathers, if they live that long -- pressing their lips against wrinkled skin, running their stiff-jointed fingers through grey hair. Bert wants his fucking deathbed to look something like this.
And it's not cheating, not really. Or if it is, they're cheating on each other with the women in their lives and not the other way around. Girlfriends, fiancees, wives ... if it came to the crunch, they'd be sacrificed first. They will never admit it, not even to each other, but that's the way it is.
Bert toys with the idea of saying this to Gerard when they're in bed one afternoon. He's lying in Bert's lap, eyes closed, smiling faintly as he feels gentle fingers in his hair. He's thinner these days and his hair is longer, face pale as ever but drawn, almost haggard. Gerard will never look his age, but there's something missing in his face. Something that aches. Bert worries about him, although he doesn't say so; it would only make Gerard worry ... and the whole vicious cycle would start again. So he just smiles.
"Tired?" Bert asks, voice thick as he realises just how much this fragile, tortured man means to him.
"Mmm."
"Oh, while you're down there -- "
"Shut up," Gerard says with a laugh, showing a row of small, off-white teeth as he smiles. He opens his eyes and looks up at Bert, brows raised. "Maybe later."
Bert grins and hums happily. "Promise?"
Gerard shakes his head, still laughing, and closes his eyes again. For a few moments they're silent, breathing in sync as their smiles fade, until Bert clears his throat.
"Hey Gee?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't tell you often enough, y'know, but I love you. I really fucking do."
The hazel eyes open again, and this time they're shining. "I know. And I love you too."
"I mean ... more than anything."
There's a pause, and Gerard's the first to look away. "Bert, don't. Not now."
"It's just that -- "
Gerard sits up and runs his fingers through his hair. "Please," he murmurs. "Not today."
They're both naked, and even at a charged moment like this, Bert can't help appreciating the sight of Gerard's body; an expanse of creamy skin broken by scant dark hairs and the odd shiny scar, the sheet pooling sensuously over his groin. He's lost so much weight it's ridiculous. Bert remembers nuzzling the little round belly, now almost flat, only a few months before. He wants to feed him candy and pastries and make him drink syrupy coffee until his face softens and his thighs thicken; he wants to tell him jokes and make him laugh until he cries. He wants to reach into Gerard's head and pull out every monster that torments him, then hold him until the fear is gone. He wants to make Gerard feel as free as he does.
He wants Gerard to say he loves Bert the most.
But he's doing anything to avoid Bert's eyes and the hollows in his cheekbones cast ghoulish shadows in the late-afternoon light. And Bert gives up, because he'd rather have a part of Gerard than nothing at all.
"Okay," he says, breaking the silence. "Forget I said anything."
"You know how I feel," Gerard says after a moment. "Why isn't it enough?"
"I-I guess I'm just a selfish fucker," Bert says with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood, and Gerard smiles faintly.
"I am too. The difference is, I pretend I'm not."
Standalone (930 words)
PG
written November 2007.
Notes: For 100colors prompt 27, cream.
Nobody gets it.
Logically speaking, yeah, it's hard to understand, but this isn't about logic. This is about the way they feel when they're together -- hot fingers burning as they dig past layers of fabric and finally make contact with aching, needy flesh. It's about mouths falling open in pleasure, heads thrown back and eyes closed. Moans trapped in the back of the throat and screams from the depths of the soul. Bruised, darkened lips coming together again and again with increasing desperation as the hours tick by. It's about exhausted laughter and sweaty, heavy limbs, tangled hair. Smiles. More kisses. Sleeping so deeply there's no time for dreams.
It's about the feelings, the sensations they can't seem to replicate with anyone else. God knows they've both tried. And, more importantly, it's about the ache they feel when they're apart.
But it's more than that, and it's hard to explain to anyone else. As they lie in bed, tangled up in the sheets and each other, in snatches of half-written lyrics and half-spoken words, Bert feels free. Alive in a way that nobody else makes him feel. Everything is done at full intensity; laughing, fucking, fighting. They kiss until it hurts and make love until they pass out. That's why it would never work -- theirs is a greedy, insatiable love that takes and takes and demands more, even when there's nothing left to give.
But it is love, and Bert's not going to deny it. It might not be happily ever after, but it's love and it will always be there. In the back of his head. At the end of every laugh and every sigh. His final thought when he closes his eyes at night.
Sometimes it hurts to know they can never be together openly, but at least he knows they'll never stop. They'll never stop meeting in neutral territory (quiet, mid-market hotel rooms) for a few days of sex and sleep, shared showers and take-out, whispered confidences and endearments in the dark. They'll be doing this when they're old men -- when they're grandfathers, if they live that long -- pressing their lips against wrinkled skin, running their stiff-jointed fingers through grey hair. Bert wants his fucking deathbed to look something like this.
And it's not cheating, not really. Or if it is, they're cheating on each other with the women in their lives and not the other way around. Girlfriends, fiancees, wives ... if it came to the crunch, they'd be sacrificed first. They will never admit it, not even to each other, but that's the way it is.
Bert toys with the idea of saying this to Gerard when they're in bed one afternoon. He's lying in Bert's lap, eyes closed, smiling faintly as he feels gentle fingers in his hair. He's thinner these days and his hair is longer, face pale as ever but drawn, almost haggard. Gerard will never look his age, but there's something missing in his face. Something that aches. Bert worries about him, although he doesn't say so; it would only make Gerard worry ... and the whole vicious cycle would start again. So he just smiles.
"Tired?" Bert asks, voice thick as he realises just how much this fragile, tortured man means to him.
"Mmm."
"Oh, while you're down there -- "
"Shut up," Gerard says with a laugh, showing a row of small, off-white teeth as he smiles. He opens his eyes and looks up at Bert, brows raised. "Maybe later."
Bert grins and hums happily. "Promise?"
Gerard shakes his head, still laughing, and closes his eyes again. For a few moments they're silent, breathing in sync as their smiles fade, until Bert clears his throat.
"Hey Gee?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't tell you often enough, y'know, but I love you. I really fucking do."
The hazel eyes open again, and this time they're shining. "I know. And I love you too."
"I mean ... more than anything."
There's a pause, and Gerard's the first to look away. "Bert, don't. Not now."
"It's just that -- "
Gerard sits up and runs his fingers through his hair. "Please," he murmurs. "Not today."
They're both naked, and even at a charged moment like this, Bert can't help appreciating the sight of Gerard's body; an expanse of creamy skin broken by scant dark hairs and the odd shiny scar, the sheet pooling sensuously over his groin. He's lost so much weight it's ridiculous. Bert remembers nuzzling the little round belly, now almost flat, only a few months before. He wants to feed him candy and pastries and make him drink syrupy coffee until his face softens and his thighs thicken; he wants to tell him jokes and make him laugh until he cries. He wants to reach into Gerard's head and pull out every monster that torments him, then hold him until the fear is gone. He wants to make Gerard feel as free as he does.
He wants Gerard to say he loves Bert the most.
But he's doing anything to avoid Bert's eyes and the hollows in his cheekbones cast ghoulish shadows in the late-afternoon light. And Bert gives up, because he'd rather have a part of Gerard than nothing at all.
"Okay," he says, breaking the silence. "Forget I said anything."
"You know how I feel," Gerard says after a moment. "Why isn't it enough?"
"I-I guess I'm just a selfish fucker," Bert says with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood, and Gerard smiles faintly.
"I am too. The difference is, I pretend I'm not."