Samson, Don't Cry [Part One]
Title: Samson, Don't Cry [Part One]
Characters: Gabriel Gray/Sylar and Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG to PG-13
Warnings: Angst, depression. Self-worth/self-respect issues and potential sabotage of a relationship. (I would like to be warned for) Homosexual marriage implications.
Setting: Post the Wall/BNW/S4
A/N: Some of my inspiration was drawn from reading Lornrocks’ fic Lead Me Out To The Moonlit Floor. While I don’t particularly agree with the content, it factored in to my writing nonetheless.
A/N #2: My other inspiration and long time love affair is found here in Regina Spektor’s 'Samson' (no, it’s not Samson Gray). My besties let me rip this in June while we were on a bachelorette roadtrip. I’ve wanted this song for years, but it does make me a little sad to listen to it, so I always put off buying it. I HIGHLY suggest listening to the music as you read, but I can’t force you.
A/N #3: I would like to thank my beta and RP buddy a lot, Game_byrd. Her support of this piece made me brave enough to post it. It’s also her birthday present, even though she has already read it.
A/N #4: I own only the words and ideas I’ve written and that regrettably does not include characters or lyrics.
“So….do you….you know, want to?”
Gabriel’s head snapped up from his book. He usually allowed the word to pass over him without any unnecessary touching. The question was…tenderly; awkwardly; embarrassingly; thoughtfully; kindly; lovingly directed at him - at him.
His mouth quirked trying to decide what to do with itself. “What do you mean, Peter?” he asked, needing to hear whatever it was spoken aloud, not just…alluded to, but he had the feeling it would be drastic.
“Do you want to get married?” Peter was trying to look at him and away at the same time, suddenly so very shy. Oh no. Oh yes. Please.
Gabriel’s throat proceeded to lock up and he didn’t know how to answer that or even begin to address it. Peter wasn’t being as horribly specific as ‘marry ME’, so he took a somewhat stalling shot in the dark, his fingers suddenly numb to the paper of his book. “To you?” he whispered tightly. But we can’t do that…
Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew his mother was falling apart from rolling over in her grave so much, every kiss was probably a new pair of scissors to her heart, but what was he to do about that? She was dead and he was still alive. So was Peter. Here, with him.
Marriage. Wedding. Husband. Am I even the marrying type?
Peter nodded, beginning to sense that Gabriel was having a stumbling block with all this. He came to sit beside his bookworm of a boyfriend, touching his arm very gently in a way that never failed to calm Gabriel. It worked as always - Gabriel calming and tensing at once.
“Yeah, to me,” Peter spoke it aloud.
Gabriel’s hand left his book and came to rest, solidly over Peter’s smaller, rougher hand. Peter didn’t fit into any gay/relationship book he’d ever skimmed through or heard about. He was a class all his own, so very special, so one-of-a-kind without being fake or cliché.
“Of-of course I do,” he strangled out, stuttering from reaction, “Of course I do.”
It wasn’t lost on him the use of ‘I do’ in his replies.
Peter beamed and kissed him, the happy kind of kiss he gave when he was excited, damp and mushy and jam-packed with love. Peter’s arms went around his neck and he gave the biggest Italian Petrelli hug of them all and Gabriel, big and lanky, was lost in it, resting his chin on his…boyfriend’s? fiance’s? shoulder.
His face reflected Peter’s joy until it was hidden by the hug; then it turned long and contemplative. The hug he tried to lose himself in was suddenly much more meaningful for Gabriel while Peter was unawares. Maybe if he could lose himself in Peter’s hug, the smaller hero would fight off his problems.
But you’re not supposed to be wasting your life with me, Peter.
~x~o~x~o~
You are my sweetest downfall.
I loved you first. I loved you first.
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth.
I have to go.
I have to go.
Your hair was long when we first met.
Samson, go back to bed.
Not much hair left on his head.
He ate a slice of Wonder bread and went right back to bed.
And the history books forgot about us.
And the Bible didn’t mention us.
The Bible didn’t mention us…not even once!
Samson came to my bed, told me I was beautiful, came into my bed…
I cut his hair, myself, one night. A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I’d done alright, kissed me til the morning light. The morning light.
Kissed me til the morning light…
~x~o~x~o~
I have to go.
Part II
Characters: Gabriel Gray/Sylar and Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG to PG-13
Warnings: Angst, depression. Self-worth/self-respect issues and potential sabotage of a relationship. (I would like to be warned for) Homosexual marriage implications.
Setting: Post the Wall/BNW/S4
A/N: Some of my inspiration was drawn from reading Lornrocks’ fic Lead Me Out To The Moonlit Floor. While I don’t particularly agree with the content, it factored in to my writing nonetheless.
A/N #2: My other inspiration and long time love affair is found here in Regina Spektor’s 'Samson' (no, it’s not Samson Gray). My besties let me rip this in June while we were on a bachelorette roadtrip. I’ve wanted this song for years, but it does make me a little sad to listen to it, so I always put off buying it. I HIGHLY suggest listening to the music as you read, but I can’t force you.
A/N #3: I would like to thank my beta and RP buddy a lot, Game_byrd. Her support of this piece made me brave enough to post it. It’s also her birthday present, even though she has already read it.
A/N #4: I own only the words and ideas I’ve written and that regrettably does not include characters or lyrics.
“So….do you….you know, want to?”
Gabriel’s head snapped up from his book. He usually allowed the word to pass over him without any unnecessary touching. The question was…tenderly; awkwardly; embarrassingly; thoughtfully; kindly; lovingly directed at him - at him.
His mouth quirked trying to decide what to do with itself. “What do you mean, Peter?” he asked, needing to hear whatever it was spoken aloud, not just…alluded to, but he had the feeling it would be drastic.
“Do you want to get married?” Peter was trying to look at him and away at the same time, suddenly so very shy. Oh no. Oh yes. Please.
Gabriel’s throat proceeded to lock up and he didn’t know how to answer that or even begin to address it. Peter wasn’t being as horribly specific as ‘marry ME’, so he took a somewhat stalling shot in the dark, his fingers suddenly numb to the paper of his book. “To you?” he whispered tightly. But we can’t do that…
Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew his mother was falling apart from rolling over in her grave so much, every kiss was probably a new pair of scissors to her heart, but what was he to do about that? She was dead and he was still alive. So was Peter. Here, with him.
Marriage. Wedding. Husband. Am I even the marrying type?
Peter nodded, beginning to sense that Gabriel was having a stumbling block with all this. He came to sit beside his bookworm of a boyfriend, touching his arm very gently in a way that never failed to calm Gabriel. It worked as always - Gabriel calming and tensing at once.
“Yeah, to me,” Peter spoke it aloud.
Gabriel’s hand left his book and came to rest, solidly over Peter’s smaller, rougher hand. Peter didn’t fit into any gay/relationship book he’d ever skimmed through or heard about. He was a class all his own, so very special, so one-of-a-kind without being fake or cliché.
“Of-of course I do,” he strangled out, stuttering from reaction, “Of course I do.”
It wasn’t lost on him the use of ‘I do’ in his replies.
Peter beamed and kissed him, the happy kind of kiss he gave when he was excited, damp and mushy and jam-packed with love. Peter’s arms went around his neck and he gave the biggest Italian Petrelli hug of them all and Gabriel, big and lanky, was lost in it, resting his chin on his…boyfriend’s? fiance’s? shoulder.
His face reflected Peter’s joy until it was hidden by the hug; then it turned long and contemplative. The hug he tried to lose himself in was suddenly much more meaningful for Gabriel while Peter was unawares. Maybe if he could lose himself in Peter’s hug, the smaller hero would fight off his problems.
But you’re not supposed to be wasting your life with me, Peter.
~x~o~x~o~
You are my sweetest downfall.
I loved you first. I loved you first.
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth.
I have to go.
I have to go.
Your hair was long when we first met.
Samson, go back to bed.
Not much hair left on his head.
He ate a slice of Wonder bread and went right back to bed.
And the history books forgot about us.
And the Bible didn’t mention us.
The Bible didn’t mention us…not even once!
Samson came to my bed, told me I was beautiful, came into my bed…
I cut his hair, myself, one night. A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I’d done alright, kissed me til the morning light. The morning light.
Kissed me til the morning light…
~x~o~x~o~
I have to go.
Part II