the currents too rough to cross
Another drabble Prinsessa requested~♫
Secret / Enchant - Tick-tock; Time is running out and neither has made a decision on what to do.
~ * ~
It's the shadows cast, the light reflected on the sky. Fon sees it like the red smear painted over the white of skin, hollow eyes that were once so dark and alive, and strong, possessive hands now so limp and weak - the image of a dead man weaved by dreams turned into nightmares, desire too weighty, love scorned and bitter and too human wishes. It forces a shudder out of him, and that is all it takes. These did not happen: those fond gazes and charming smiles, hushed words whispered at the dead of night. Tender moments didn't exist between them. There were no sweet kisses on lips and cheeks and eyes and temples, no fingertips that drew soothing figures on skin, no breathless moans and desperate grasping.
They are Niulang and Zhinv, separated by the rivers of heaven, and the currents are too rough to cross.
Affection burns -- violent and hurtful and too full of hate because what difference does it have from love? The Italian man's hand reaches out with possessiveness and never love, his wants always selfish, but his embrace is warm, and Fon wants to pretend how this is all just a bad dream: that fond smile, those loving hands, that gentle warmth. But Reborn has grown tired, too tired of nightmares. Because they are real: the murmur of poetry and curses between kisses and the dark gazes shared past the midnight hour, the rustles of sheets and clothing and the soundless screams and lustful pants, the touches sneaked during the lazy mornings and the taunts of the late afternoons, the taste of expresso and the sweetness of cakes in that cafe and the low hum of conversation-- they are real.
They are real when Reborn holds him closer and for once, his embrace is not so tight. They are real when Reborn kisses him sweeter and the lust is not as potent, but Fon pulls away, unbound by those chains because they're too weak, too breakable, too quick too brief too beautiful but never enough, and he smiles and pretends, and the hitman doesn't pull him back, and they wait and wait and wait and watch the shadows cast and the light reflected, and the bad dreams don't end.
They are Niulang and Zhinv, separated by the rivers of heaven, and even with the moon high on seventh's seventh, the currents are still too rough to cross.
~ fin ~
Secret / Enchant - Tick-tock; Time is running out and neither has made a decision on what to do.
~ * ~
It's the shadows cast, the light reflected on the sky. Fon sees it like the red smear painted over the white of skin, hollow eyes that were once so dark and alive, and strong, possessive hands now so limp and weak - the image of a dead man weaved by dreams turned into nightmares, desire too weighty, love scorned and bitter and too human wishes. It forces a shudder out of him, and that is all it takes. These did not happen: those fond gazes and charming smiles, hushed words whispered at the dead of night. Tender moments didn't exist between them. There were no sweet kisses on lips and cheeks and eyes and temples, no fingertips that drew soothing figures on skin, no breathless moans and desperate grasping.
They are Niulang and Zhinv, separated by the rivers of heaven, and the currents are too rough to cross.
Affection burns -- violent and hurtful and too full of hate because what difference does it have from love? The Italian man's hand reaches out with possessiveness and never love, his wants always selfish, but his embrace is warm, and Fon wants to pretend how this is all just a bad dream: that fond smile, those loving hands, that gentle warmth. But Reborn has grown tired, too tired of nightmares. Because they are real: the murmur of poetry and curses between kisses and the dark gazes shared past the midnight hour, the rustles of sheets and clothing and the soundless screams and lustful pants, the touches sneaked during the lazy mornings and the taunts of the late afternoons, the taste of expresso and the sweetness of cakes in that cafe and the low hum of conversation-- they are real.
They are real when Reborn holds him closer and for once, his embrace is not so tight. They are real when Reborn kisses him sweeter and the lust is not as potent, but Fon pulls away, unbound by those chains because they're too weak, too breakable, too quick too brief too beautiful but never enough, and he smiles and pretends, and the hitman doesn't pull him back, and they wait and wait and wait and watch the shadows cast and the light reflected, and the bad dreams don't end.
They are Niulang and Zhinv, separated by the rivers of heaven, and even with the moon high on seventh's seventh, the currents are still too rough to cross.
~ fin ~