Fic: Black Kind Of Love (1/1)
Title: Black Kind Of Love
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ben/Richard
Word Count: 522
Summary: The silences are what hold their secrets. For starfoozle, who requested “ Lost fic + U2” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. General Series Spoilers; AU for Benjamin Linus’ childhood.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Title courtesy of U2.
Author’s Notes: This pretends that Ben didn’t stay long with the Dharma folk, and instead grew up with the Others -- and of course, takes a little from U2’s Sweetest Thing ;)
Black Kind Of Love
Understanding Richard Alpert is a matter of nuance, of comprehending words unsaid.
Benjamin learns this with time.
--------------------
Ben asks to stay in Richard’s tent when he’s five years old and afraid of the dark; Richard says nothing. Scared, and still unsure of the man who says so little, who knows so much, Ben wanders into the night when Richard’s back is turned and tries to find Eloise, Sandra -- Charles at the least -- someone to hold him and keep him close against the blackness.
He gasps when Richard finds him, lifts him to his chest and takes in his tears, his fear -- carries Ben him back to his tent and lets him sleep.
--------------------
Ben asks Richard if he can leave the Island with him, just once -- he can’t be more than seven. Richard tells him, flatly, “No.”
Benjamin waits another year to ask again; gets the same response.
--------------------
Ben asks Richard, in the spring, whether he misses his home, wherever it is.
Richard stares at the blossoming trees, and Ben learns how to watch a thing without ever seeing what it is.
--------------------
They’re scouting the perimeter, watching the Initiative build dangerously close to the Treaty line, waiting for them to set just a foot out of their bounds before they strike. Ben’s heart is frantic, wild in his throat, and the hands on his gun shake in the same vicious rhythm; he can tell that Richard is watching him out of the corner of his eye, but Ben can’t stop it, can’t rein it in.
“Are you scared?” he asks, because the reverse is too obvious.
“No,” Richard says, and places a cool palm on Ben’s neck, traps the hot throb of his blood against the artery wall and calms it somehow, makes it still.
Ben sighs, and Richard lets go; Ben wishes that he hadn’t.
--------------------
On the day he turns eighteen, Ben presses Richard tight against the rocks, feels his physical need rubbing hard against his thigh, and asks him, begs him to take him, to make him a man.
Richard shivers, pushes him off; silently walks away into the trees.
--------------------
Ben doesn’t ask anything of Richard for a very long time.
And then it all makes sense.
--------------------
He finds Richard in the middle of nothing and nowhere, in a place where no one goes -- he finds him, and they both stare for more moments than they have to lose, and Ben understands, now; can see the pattern, can connect the dots.
Richard will never speak for what he wants.
He draws closer, and Richard remains still -- never murmurs, never so much as shakes his head ‘no,’ and in this vision of what is and isn’t; in this hell they call a home, there’s no room for wondering, no space to hold regrets.
Ben kisses him, hard, and doesn’t ask anything; waits for Richard to kiss back. And fuck, but he does.
It’s the silences that hold the secrets, and neither of them says a fucking word.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ben/Richard
Word Count: 522
Summary: The silences are what hold their secrets. For starfoozle, who requested “ Lost fic + U2” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. General Series Spoilers; AU for Benjamin Linus’ childhood.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Title courtesy of U2.
Author’s Notes: This pretends that Ben didn’t stay long with the Dharma folk, and instead grew up with the Others -- and of course, takes a little from U2’s Sweetest Thing ;)
Black Kind Of Love
Understanding Richard Alpert is a matter of nuance, of comprehending words unsaid.
Benjamin learns this with time.
--------------------
Ben asks to stay in Richard’s tent when he’s five years old and afraid of the dark; Richard says nothing. Scared, and still unsure of the man who says so little, who knows so much, Ben wanders into the night when Richard’s back is turned and tries to find Eloise, Sandra -- Charles at the least -- someone to hold him and keep him close against the blackness.
He gasps when Richard finds him, lifts him to his chest and takes in his tears, his fear -- carries Ben him back to his tent and lets him sleep.
--------------------
Ben asks Richard if he can leave the Island with him, just once -- he can’t be more than seven. Richard tells him, flatly, “No.”
Benjamin waits another year to ask again; gets the same response.
--------------------
Ben asks Richard, in the spring, whether he misses his home, wherever it is.
Richard stares at the blossoming trees, and Ben learns how to watch a thing without ever seeing what it is.
--------------------
They’re scouting the perimeter, watching the Initiative build dangerously close to the Treaty line, waiting for them to set just a foot out of their bounds before they strike. Ben’s heart is frantic, wild in his throat, and the hands on his gun shake in the same vicious rhythm; he can tell that Richard is watching him out of the corner of his eye, but Ben can’t stop it, can’t rein it in.
“Are you scared?” he asks, because the reverse is too obvious.
“No,” Richard says, and places a cool palm on Ben’s neck, traps the hot throb of his blood against the artery wall and calms it somehow, makes it still.
Ben sighs, and Richard lets go; Ben wishes that he hadn’t.
--------------------
On the day he turns eighteen, Ben presses Richard tight against the rocks, feels his physical need rubbing hard against his thigh, and asks him, begs him to take him, to make him a man.
Richard shivers, pushes him off; silently walks away into the trees.
--------------------
Ben doesn’t ask anything of Richard for a very long time.
And then it all makes sense.
--------------------
He finds Richard in the middle of nothing and nowhere, in a place where no one goes -- he finds him, and they both stare for more moments than they have to lose, and Ben understands, now; can see the pattern, can connect the dots.
Richard will never speak for what he wants.
He draws closer, and Richard remains still -- never murmurs, never so much as shakes his head ‘no,’ and in this vision of what is and isn’t; in this hell they call a home, there’s no room for wondering, no space to hold regrets.
Ben kisses him, hard, and doesn’t ask anything; waits for Richard to kiss back. And fuck, but he does.
It’s the silences that hold the secrets, and neither of them says a fucking word.