Fic: "The Only Comfort is the Moving of the River," GH, M/L, R
Title: "The Only Comfort Is the Moving of the River"
Author: monimala
Fandom: GH
Rating/Classification: R, Maxie/Lucky, angst, futurefic
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am making no profit.
Summary: 450 words. Written for Porn Battle XII, for the prompt "gone."
She's the one he turns to when everyone else is gone. When Elizabeth has left him again. When the kids would rather play on their Xboxes than hang out with their dad. When Luke is cold in the ground, and Lulu, hysterical, won't stop demanding, "Lucky, fix it!" When Nikolas and Ethan aren't even around to take up some of the slack. When Lucky can't get high on anything except a kind word and an awkward hug… that's when Maxie's there. At the edge of the world.
See, she's already lost it all: her parents, her sister, so many lovers she can't keep count. Maxie is old in her skin, in her bones-- the perfect counterpoint to Lucky's ever-youthful face. And it's so precious to her… the sparse roughness of his beard stubble, the pink of his mouth, the bright, bright blue of his eyes. She's loved him since she was a tiny little girl, and it is no trouble at all for her to love him like a woman with nothing but time.
He cries when she sinks down onto him, when she takes him inside her inch by inch and bruises the palms of her hands on the sharp angles of his collarbone. Lucky is the kind of man who cries at everything. Movies, papercuts, a thousand terrible losses. But when they make love, it's like he's washing them both clean. A tear for every gasp, for every sigh. For everything they can only have together-- these tiny bits of light in the darkness that their lives have become.
She hides her face in his neck, tasting the honest salt of his sweat and rocking her hips until he's gripping her thighs like she's his only stop before he plummets over a cliff. He whispers unintelligible things into her hair: things that might have been curses, or maybe endearments, in another life. Then, his teeth close around her earlobe and tug gently, teasingly. A remnant of the boy who used to know how to sing, who used to know how to smile. "Thank you," he tells her, when he comes. When he shudders and spends every bit of anguish and every bit of hope.
Maxie doesn't say he's welcome. She just grabs a crushed pack of Camels off the bedside table, where they've kept company with a crumpled pile of 20 dollar bills. She lights a cigarette with shaking fingers and tells him her door's always open. Her heart is, too… but he's not really so interested in that. They never are.
She's the one he turns to when everyone else is gone.
She's the one they *all* turn to.
After all, she has nothing but time.
--end--
August 2, 2011
Author: monimala
Fandom: GH
Rating/Classification: R, Maxie/Lucky, angst, futurefic
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am making no profit.
Summary: 450 words. Written for Porn Battle XII, for the prompt "gone."
She's the one he turns to when everyone else is gone. When Elizabeth has left him again. When the kids would rather play on their Xboxes than hang out with their dad. When Luke is cold in the ground, and Lulu, hysterical, won't stop demanding, "Lucky, fix it!" When Nikolas and Ethan aren't even around to take up some of the slack. When Lucky can't get high on anything except a kind word and an awkward hug… that's when Maxie's there. At the edge of the world.
See, she's already lost it all: her parents, her sister, so many lovers she can't keep count. Maxie is old in her skin, in her bones-- the perfect counterpoint to Lucky's ever-youthful face. And it's so precious to her… the sparse roughness of his beard stubble, the pink of his mouth, the bright, bright blue of his eyes. She's loved him since she was a tiny little girl, and it is no trouble at all for her to love him like a woman with nothing but time.
He cries when she sinks down onto him, when she takes him inside her inch by inch and bruises the palms of her hands on the sharp angles of his collarbone. Lucky is the kind of man who cries at everything. Movies, papercuts, a thousand terrible losses. But when they make love, it's like he's washing them both clean. A tear for every gasp, for every sigh. For everything they can only have together-- these tiny bits of light in the darkness that their lives have become.
She hides her face in his neck, tasting the honest salt of his sweat and rocking her hips until he's gripping her thighs like she's his only stop before he plummets over a cliff. He whispers unintelligible things into her hair: things that might have been curses, or maybe endearments, in another life. Then, his teeth close around her earlobe and tug gently, teasingly. A remnant of the boy who used to know how to sing, who used to know how to smile. "Thank you," he tells her, when he comes. When he shudders and spends every bit of anguish and every bit of hope.
Maxie doesn't say he's welcome. She just grabs a crushed pack of Camels off the bedside table, where they've kept company with a crumpled pile of 20 dollar bills. She lights a cigarette with shaking fingers and tells him her door's always open. Her heart is, too… but he's not really so interested in that. They never are.
She's the one he turns to when everyone else is gone.
She's the one they *all* turn to.
After all, she has nothing but time.
--end--
August 2, 2011