Private Moments- Don't it make my brown eyes blue.
((ooc: set after this))
"Ron"
He wanted it to mean something, to be the graceful, perfect puctuation to thier pleasure. Maybe a realization. Maybe a confession.
It was just hollow though.
Something as cold and dead as the man when he didn't have any use for Bruce. Something full of a fire that he couldn't touch, held just out of reach by something he couldn't understand. Didn't want to understand.
There was someone else, Bruce may have been desperate but he wasn't blind.
The distant looks, the guilt. The complusive need to flee or start a fight everytime something got to close to home.
And that closed off fire, that little something that Bruce was never allowed to touch.
He hoped he met him, or her he supposed, some day. That person who could say the other man's name the way it should have been. The person who Speirs would give the name to.
He hoped he could meet them, to see everything that he wasn't.
Hoped to meet them, even if he hated them.
Hated them everytime he saw a glimpse of that fire. Saw Speirs open and vulnerable and giving in to his own desire or whim. Hated them everytime Speirs rolled away, shied away from a touch. Hated them for having what he never could.
It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't gotten injured. If Speirs hadn't come, hadn't been worried. Hadn't turned around when he begged.
Oh god he hated them, whoever they were.
"Ron"
He wanted it to mean something, to be the graceful, perfect puctuation to thier pleasure. Maybe a realization. Maybe a confession.
It was just hollow though.
Something as cold and dead as the man when he didn't have any use for Bruce. Something full of a fire that he couldn't touch, held just out of reach by something he couldn't understand. Didn't want to understand.
There was someone else, Bruce may have been desperate but he wasn't blind.
The distant looks, the guilt. The complusive need to flee or start a fight everytime something got to close to home.
And that closed off fire, that little something that Bruce was never allowed to touch.
He hoped he met him, or her he supposed, some day. That person who could say the other man's name the way it should have been. The person who Speirs would give the name to.
He hoped he could meet them, to see everything that he wasn't.
Hoped to meet them, even if he hated them.
Hated them everytime he saw a glimpse of that fire. Saw Speirs open and vulnerable and giving in to his own desire or whim. Hated them everytime Speirs rolled away, shied away from a touch. Hated them for having what he never could.
It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't gotten injured. If Speirs hadn't come, hadn't been worried. Hadn't turned around when he begged.
Oh god he hated them, whoever they were.