Vignettes: Containment and Runaway
Title: Containment and Runaway
Author: Amber
Notes: The last two chapters (for now) in my Vignettes series. Follows: Denial, Acceptance, Release, No More Talking, Revelation, and Thank You.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone for your comments on this story. Y'all are awesome.
Containment (Luke)
My hands fumble at his back, slowly rolling my fingers against his skin. Our kiss lasts only a moment, before he breaks it to stare, unflinching into my eyes.
In a flash, I watch as the panic builds in his eyes. I try to reassure him, but it's a futile effort.
I'm not surprised at all when I hear, "I can't stay here, Luke. I have to leave."
"The world's not gonna end, because you told me your feelings," I say slowly. My hand travels along his sleek form to clutch at his hair.
"Stay with me." I plead. "Please."
His eyes track my face, darting back and forth from my eyes to my nose, to my mouth and back again.
He's trembling now. It's building, a surging storm.
Before I can react, he's gone. He leaps away from my touch like I've burned him, and walks into the bedroom.
He fumbles for his jeans on the floor. His naked ass is pink from the warm water.
Silent, I hand him a shirt.
He takes it, forces it over his head.
I want to hold him, to soothe this fear away, but there's no point. If I touch him, I run. If I stand quiet, he'll run. I just need to let this play out.
Pinpricks of moisture pool in his eyes; his shoulders convulse while he finally forces the shirt into position.
He's barefoot. Shoes are too much trouble.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice a shadow of its usual self. This is a Reid trying desperately to bury his emotions once more, to act like they never happened.
He reaches the door within seconds, and I follow him quickly. I grab his hand at the doorway, and say, "It's freezing outside. Where the hell are you going?"
His mouth opens and closes without words, and he shakes his head once, fiercely. "Out." he responds coolly.
The door closes behind him, and I wonder if I should run after him, naked, into the snow slowly falling outside.
It takes every ounce of energy for me to stay inside, but I do it. I reason that there should be only one of us freezing cold. I go to the kitchen and start boiling milk, and hot water.
I'm no doctor, but I know it's fucking stupid for a man to go into freezing weather in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt.
I'll give him five minutes, before his medical brain kicks in, I reason. Then I'll throw some clothes on, and go after him.
More than anything, he needs his space. I can feel it in every pore.
I dig into my dresser for some spare flannel underwear. I put it on, then leave the extra set on the bed for Reid. The warmth curls into my skin.
I turn the heat up several degrees, then sit down on the sofa to wait.
Five minutes, Reid. I promise. Then I'm dragging you back in here, whether you like it or not.
Runaway (Reid)
I can't stop.
His hands congeal on my shoulders, and I lean against his cheek, trying to breathe slowly and evenly. It works for about a minute, but then the terror grabs hold. I push him away, cold, controlled.
"I can't stay here, Luke." I manage. Like an alien watching from afar, I clutch at his shoulders, trying to be reassuring. "I have to leave."
I step back, leave him watching me. The stare burns into my back.
I fumble into his bedroom, put on the clothes I just removed an hour ago. They are soiled, I feel the germs leaking into my skin.
"Reid," I hear behind me.
I ignore him. Sweat stings on my skin, as the panic pulses in my lungs.
I am out of the apartment like a shot.
I run down the stairs, into the cool, crisp air.
It's fucking freezing.
At first the snow is soothing, powdered sugar bathing my body. Then the snow lands on my arms, soaks through, icy pinpricks.
I step on the icy pathway, and immediately stumble.
I get back up, and rub my arms more ferociously.
Some part of my brain realizes I am standing outside in freezing weather in nothing but jeans, bare foot. Exposed to the elements.
I put one foot in one of the other, finally reaching the snow bundled in front of the complex.
I have to go home. I think. Have to get out of here.
But the air is too tight, and my breath is too wet for reason.
I stand, staring out into the distance, watching the snow gently drift onto the ground.
The memories are psychic punches to my stomach.
Ten years old, thrilled beyond measure at the reopening of my favorite library. Bound outside to tell him. He's drunk and stoned, and stares at me, impassive, for a long moment.
The response, cold and flat: Fuck you.
Throwing me to the wolves on my first competitive chess match, pressing the knight into my palm until it burned.
He never touched me, but words wound, just as much.
The years passed, getting repeated mixed messages from a drunken fool. I love you, go away. You're gonna make us rich, now get out of my sight, you miserable piece of shit.
He found me touching myself as a teenager, grabbed the magazine and threw it out the window. "None of my kin is gonna be a fag." he growled.
I shut my eyes, trying to shut out the interminable images. They are a brutal parade on my brain; I thought I'd buried them, far beyond any human's reach.
I curl my hands around my waist, shivering in the night air.
I feel him, watching me.
It's so cold.
I finally assent, and turn my head to find him.
I reach my hands out, silently. I can't speak. I can't believe I told him all that disgusting shit about my past. I don't share my past with anyone. It's irrelevant to the present. Letting him see those fucked up parts of me - no. It's totally at odds with my confident image. But instead of rejecting me, he's standing in the snow, watching me shake.
"All I am is a doctor," I mumble, not realizing I've spoken out loud. "It's all that matters."
"You don't believe that," he answers somberly. "You wouldn't have come to check on me, if all you were is a doctor. You're also human, Reid Oliver. You believe you can just shut out your emotions, bury them deep down. Because they're a sign of weakness. But they're not, Reid. All that shit your uncle put in your head - "
"He was right," I interrupt.
"NO! He was wrong. He was wrong to force you into those chess matches, and wrong to berate you constantly. Reid, he's gone. He can't hurt you again, unless you let him. But, Reid -" he steps closer, he grabs my freezing palm with his hand - "I'm here." he's pleading now. I hear the crack in his voice. "I'm here, and I want to build a life with you. Together, we can work on all that crap he did to you."
I stare at him for several seconds, shivering. A million words course through my mind.
"Shut up." I say finally.
His mouth opens, and I see him about to speak.
I put two fingers on his lips, and caress them gently.
"Seriously, shut up. I don't want to do this. I don't want to reveal anymore of my secret pain. I just want to go back inside, and fuck your brains out. And afterward, I wanna cradle you in my arms, and tell you amazing you are. How much I love you for listening to me spill my guts, like some emotional sap. That'll be the last sentiment you get from me for awhile. How does that sound?"
He pushes my fingers aside with his tongue.
"Sounds good, Reid." he says huskily.
I let him walk me back inside, which is a good decision, because my feet are growing numb.
I pull the door closed, and tug on his hand before he moves further inside.
"Luke?" I say softly.
He turns to look back at me, and his face is almost too careful. I have no idea how he feels about my little diatribe.
"Yeah?"
A shiver wracks my body, and I state the obvious.
"I'm freezing," I whisper.
"We're almost there." he replies.
"What I said earlier," I begin. "About dispensing with sentiment - I didn't mean it. It's just - it's too much. I can't -" I fumble to a halt, and glare at the carpet.
"You don't have to do anything, change anything about yourself." he stresses. His hands have enclosed my waist, and before I know it, he's hugging me, loosely.
My own hands fall onto his back, and hold there, tightly. All of these revelations have exhausted me, and I just latch onto him for dear life. Ordinarily, I would call it a disgusting display of sentiment, but I don't have it in me anymore to fight how I feel.
His loose hold is causing goosebumps on my skin.
"Tighter," I mumble. "I'm cold." My hands coast up his back, and pull tight against his shoulders.
He obliges, and begins to rub my back repeatedly, warm, smooth strokes, to restore the circulation.
"I love you," I whisper, soft enough that only he can hear me. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
"I know," he says, his voice a tender shard. "I love you too."
We stand in the hallway, clinging to each other, comfortable, yearning, everlasting.
Despite everything, I know that I'll be fine.
Because I have Luke.
Author: Amber
Notes: The last two chapters (for now) in my Vignettes series. Follows: Denial, Acceptance, Release, No More Talking, Revelation, and Thank You.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone for your comments on this story. Y'all are awesome.
Containment (Luke)
My hands fumble at his back, slowly rolling my fingers against his skin. Our kiss lasts only a moment, before he breaks it to stare, unflinching into my eyes.
In a flash, I watch as the panic builds in his eyes. I try to reassure him, but it's a futile effort.
I'm not surprised at all when I hear, "I can't stay here, Luke. I have to leave."
"The world's not gonna end, because you told me your feelings," I say slowly. My hand travels along his sleek form to clutch at his hair.
"Stay with me." I plead. "Please."
His eyes track my face, darting back and forth from my eyes to my nose, to my mouth and back again.
He's trembling now. It's building, a surging storm.
Before I can react, he's gone. He leaps away from my touch like I've burned him, and walks into the bedroom.
He fumbles for his jeans on the floor. His naked ass is pink from the warm water.
Silent, I hand him a shirt.
He takes it, forces it over his head.
I want to hold him, to soothe this fear away, but there's no point. If I touch him, I run. If I stand quiet, he'll run. I just need to let this play out.
Pinpricks of moisture pool in his eyes; his shoulders convulse while he finally forces the shirt into position.
He's barefoot. Shoes are too much trouble.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice a shadow of its usual self. This is a Reid trying desperately to bury his emotions once more, to act like they never happened.
He reaches the door within seconds, and I follow him quickly. I grab his hand at the doorway, and say, "It's freezing outside. Where the hell are you going?"
His mouth opens and closes without words, and he shakes his head once, fiercely. "Out." he responds coolly.
The door closes behind him, and I wonder if I should run after him, naked, into the snow slowly falling outside.
It takes every ounce of energy for me to stay inside, but I do it. I reason that there should be only one of us freezing cold. I go to the kitchen and start boiling milk, and hot water.
I'm no doctor, but I know it's fucking stupid for a man to go into freezing weather in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt.
I'll give him five minutes, before his medical brain kicks in, I reason. Then I'll throw some clothes on, and go after him.
More than anything, he needs his space. I can feel it in every pore.
I dig into my dresser for some spare flannel underwear. I put it on, then leave the extra set on the bed for Reid. The warmth curls into my skin.
I turn the heat up several degrees, then sit down on the sofa to wait.
Five minutes, Reid. I promise. Then I'm dragging you back in here, whether you like it or not.
Runaway (Reid)
I can't stop.
His hands congeal on my shoulders, and I lean against his cheek, trying to breathe slowly and evenly. It works for about a minute, but then the terror grabs hold. I push him away, cold, controlled.
"I can't stay here, Luke." I manage. Like an alien watching from afar, I clutch at his shoulders, trying to be reassuring. "I have to leave."
I step back, leave him watching me. The stare burns into my back.
I fumble into his bedroom, put on the clothes I just removed an hour ago. They are soiled, I feel the germs leaking into my skin.
"Reid," I hear behind me.
I ignore him. Sweat stings on my skin, as the panic pulses in my lungs.
I am out of the apartment like a shot.
I run down the stairs, into the cool, crisp air.
It's fucking freezing.
At first the snow is soothing, powdered sugar bathing my body. Then the snow lands on my arms, soaks through, icy pinpricks.
I step on the icy pathway, and immediately stumble.
I get back up, and rub my arms more ferociously.
Some part of my brain realizes I am standing outside in freezing weather in nothing but jeans, bare foot. Exposed to the elements.
I put one foot in one of the other, finally reaching the snow bundled in front of the complex.
I have to go home. I think. Have to get out of here.
But the air is too tight, and my breath is too wet for reason.
I stand, staring out into the distance, watching the snow gently drift onto the ground.
The memories are psychic punches to my stomach.
Ten years old, thrilled beyond measure at the reopening of my favorite library. Bound outside to tell him. He's drunk and stoned, and stares at me, impassive, for a long moment.
The response, cold and flat: Fuck you.
Throwing me to the wolves on my first competitive chess match, pressing the knight into my palm until it burned.
He never touched me, but words wound, just as much.
The years passed, getting repeated mixed messages from a drunken fool. I love you, go away. You're gonna make us rich, now get out of my sight, you miserable piece of shit.
He found me touching myself as a teenager, grabbed the magazine and threw it out the window. "None of my kin is gonna be a fag." he growled.
I shut my eyes, trying to shut out the interminable images. They are a brutal parade on my brain; I thought I'd buried them, far beyond any human's reach.
I curl my hands around my waist, shivering in the night air.
I feel him, watching me.
It's so cold.
I finally assent, and turn my head to find him.
I reach my hands out, silently. I can't speak. I can't believe I told him all that disgusting shit about my past. I don't share my past with anyone. It's irrelevant to the present. Letting him see those fucked up parts of me - no. It's totally at odds with my confident image. But instead of rejecting me, he's standing in the snow, watching me shake.
"All I am is a doctor," I mumble, not realizing I've spoken out loud. "It's all that matters."
"You don't believe that," he answers somberly. "You wouldn't have come to check on me, if all you were is a doctor. You're also human, Reid Oliver. You believe you can just shut out your emotions, bury them deep down. Because they're a sign of weakness. But they're not, Reid. All that shit your uncle put in your head - "
"He was right," I interrupt.
"NO! He was wrong. He was wrong to force you into those chess matches, and wrong to berate you constantly. Reid, he's gone. He can't hurt you again, unless you let him. But, Reid -" he steps closer, he grabs my freezing palm with his hand - "I'm here." he's pleading now. I hear the crack in his voice. "I'm here, and I want to build a life with you. Together, we can work on all that crap he did to you."
I stare at him for several seconds, shivering. A million words course through my mind.
"Shut up." I say finally.
His mouth opens, and I see him about to speak.
I put two fingers on his lips, and caress them gently.
"Seriously, shut up. I don't want to do this. I don't want to reveal anymore of my secret pain. I just want to go back inside, and fuck your brains out. And afterward, I wanna cradle you in my arms, and tell you amazing you are. How much I love you for listening to me spill my guts, like some emotional sap. That'll be the last sentiment you get from me for awhile. How does that sound?"
He pushes my fingers aside with his tongue.
"Sounds good, Reid." he says huskily.
I let him walk me back inside, which is a good decision, because my feet are growing numb.
I pull the door closed, and tug on his hand before he moves further inside.
"Luke?" I say softly.
He turns to look back at me, and his face is almost too careful. I have no idea how he feels about my little diatribe.
"Yeah?"
A shiver wracks my body, and I state the obvious.
"I'm freezing," I whisper.
"We're almost there." he replies.
"What I said earlier," I begin. "About dispensing with sentiment - I didn't mean it. It's just - it's too much. I can't -" I fumble to a halt, and glare at the carpet.
"You don't have to do anything, change anything about yourself." he stresses. His hands have enclosed my waist, and before I know it, he's hugging me, loosely.
My own hands fall onto his back, and hold there, tightly. All of these revelations have exhausted me, and I just latch onto him for dear life. Ordinarily, I would call it a disgusting display of sentiment, but I don't have it in me anymore to fight how I feel.
His loose hold is causing goosebumps on my skin.
"Tighter," I mumble. "I'm cold." My hands coast up his back, and pull tight against his shoulders.
He obliges, and begins to rub my back repeatedly, warm, smooth strokes, to restore the circulation.
"I love you," I whisper, soft enough that only he can hear me. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
"I know," he says, his voice a tender shard. "I love you too."
We stand in the hallway, clinging to each other, comfortable, yearning, everlasting.
Despite everything, I know that I'll be fine.
Because I have Luke.