[Fic] Defying Gravity
Title: Defying Gravity
Pairing: TezuRyo (AtoRyo for comfort)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3885
Summery: Ryoma can't seem to move on...
A/N: Heavy Angst.
“So if you care to find me
Look to the western sky
As someone told me lately
Everyone deserves a chance to fly
And if I’m flying solo
At least I’ll be flying free!”
“Defying Gravity”, Wicked
Ryoma nearly arched off the bed as the boy-nameless, but looked enough like Tezuka that Ryoma could pretend it really was him-as the boy pushed inside with a moan. Ryoma ignored the ringing dizziness in his head as he finally allowed his iron self-control to let him release.
They both fell back to the bed with a silent sigh, the nameless one falling asleep immediately, earning Ryoma’s distaste as he got off the bed to go into the bathroom to wash himself off. By the time he came back in, the other one was snoring, earning Ryoma’s contempt forever more as he got into his clothes and left the hotel.
Tezuka fell into step behind him. “You’re going to break more hearts than Fuji if you continue that up.” His voice is mild, but there is enough of a hint of disapproval to make Ryoma bristle.
“Yeah, well, it’s better than nothing,” Ryoma snapped, then wished he could take his words back as Tezuka looked lost and sad. He wants nothing more than to tiptoe-he still isn’t as tall as he would have liked-and brush his lips ever so gently with Tezuka’s, but they’ve come so far now, not touching, that Ryoma refuses to break the barrier.
Tezuka raises a hand as if touch Ryoma’s hair, but then drops it again as Ryoma enters his apartment house and into the elevator that leads to his flat. Ryoma watches the white-clothed Tezuka out of the corner of his eye from his position in the corner, and then feels his arousal return when Tezuka places his hands on either side of his head, is he really going to, oh yes-
Tezuka brushes his lips ever so slightly, making Ryoma sigh in contentment, the contentment he never felt with anyone else, no matter how much they looked like him. He wrapped his arms around Tezuka’s neck, and leaned forward-
Abruptly, Ryoma sat up, not caring at how the sheets dark with sweat bunched around his waist as he drew in lungfuls of bitterly cold air-he had left a window open, he recalls now, as he stands and goes to close it.
As he stands in the open frame, letting the bitter wind rip across him, almost through him, he wipes away stray tears. He doesn’t want to dwell too much on whether it’s from the recurring dream or from the wind in his eyes, but all he knows is how he suddenly drops to the floor, letting the tears fall and stain the beige carpet. He must have made some sort of noise, because suddenly there are arms around him, soothing him in comforting tones, stroking his hair ignoring the sweat rapidly congealing there.
But it isn’t Tezuka.
It isn’t Tezuka because Tezuka went jogging down a road at 2 in the morning because he couldn’t sleep due to a terrible row he and Ryoma had about whether Ryoma was being faithful (he was) and Tezuka was wearing dark clothing, and the car that had come ripping through there hadn’t seen him in time to hit the breaks.
The owner of the arms-Atobe-cries with him, and if Ryoma had been the boy he was 2 months ago he would have been shocked, but now, nothing touches him.
Except that dream.
Ryoma looks up from Atobe’s lilac-clad shoulder to see Tezuka, dressed in white like in his dream, the exact white suit they buried him in, look at him.
For a moment Ryoma forgets how to breathe.
Tezuka raises his left arm, and looks more gentle than he had ever been in life-Ryoma’s throat closes, and he gulps reflexively-and points to the west.
Tears are streaming down Ryoma’s face, but he can’t bring himself to care as he watches breathlessly. Tezuka points to the west, and smiles, a smile full of comfort. His eyes are telling Ryoma I’ll wait for you so we can make the journey together.
Ryoma finishes the thought as Tezuka’s ghost disappears. Like I always have.
“Death is not the end, merely the beginning to a different story.”
Pairing: TezuRyo (AtoRyo for comfort)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3885
Summery: Ryoma can't seem to move on...
A/N: Heavy Angst.
“So if you care to find me
Look to the western sky
As someone told me lately
Everyone deserves a chance to fly
And if I’m flying solo
At least I’ll be flying free!”
“Defying Gravity”, Wicked
Ryoma nearly arched off the bed as the boy-nameless, but looked enough like Tezuka that Ryoma could pretend it really was him-as the boy pushed inside with a moan. Ryoma ignored the ringing dizziness in his head as he finally allowed his iron self-control to let him release.
They both fell back to the bed with a silent sigh, the nameless one falling asleep immediately, earning Ryoma’s distaste as he got off the bed to go into the bathroom to wash himself off. By the time he came back in, the other one was snoring, earning Ryoma’s contempt forever more as he got into his clothes and left the hotel.
Tezuka fell into step behind him. “You’re going to break more hearts than Fuji if you continue that up.” His voice is mild, but there is enough of a hint of disapproval to make Ryoma bristle.
“Yeah, well, it’s better than nothing,” Ryoma snapped, then wished he could take his words back as Tezuka looked lost and sad. He wants nothing more than to tiptoe-he still isn’t as tall as he would have liked-and brush his lips ever so gently with Tezuka’s, but they’ve come so far now, not touching, that Ryoma refuses to break the barrier.
Tezuka raises a hand as if touch Ryoma’s hair, but then drops it again as Ryoma enters his apartment house and into the elevator that leads to his flat. Ryoma watches the white-clothed Tezuka out of the corner of his eye from his position in the corner, and then feels his arousal return when Tezuka places his hands on either side of his head, is he really going to, oh yes-
Tezuka brushes his lips ever so slightly, making Ryoma sigh in contentment, the contentment he never felt with anyone else, no matter how much they looked like him. He wrapped his arms around Tezuka’s neck, and leaned forward-
Abruptly, Ryoma sat up, not caring at how the sheets dark with sweat bunched around his waist as he drew in lungfuls of bitterly cold air-he had left a window open, he recalls now, as he stands and goes to close it.
As he stands in the open frame, letting the bitter wind rip across him, almost through him, he wipes away stray tears. He doesn’t want to dwell too much on whether it’s from the recurring dream or from the wind in his eyes, but all he knows is how he suddenly drops to the floor, letting the tears fall and stain the beige carpet. He must have made some sort of noise, because suddenly there are arms around him, soothing him in comforting tones, stroking his hair ignoring the sweat rapidly congealing there.
But it isn’t Tezuka.
It isn’t Tezuka because Tezuka went jogging down a road at 2 in the morning because he couldn’t sleep due to a terrible row he and Ryoma had about whether Ryoma was being faithful (he was) and Tezuka was wearing dark clothing, and the car that had come ripping through there hadn’t seen him in time to hit the breaks.
The owner of the arms-Atobe-cries with him, and if Ryoma had been the boy he was 2 months ago he would have been shocked, but now, nothing touches him.
Except that dream.
Ryoma looks up from Atobe’s lilac-clad shoulder to see Tezuka, dressed in white like in his dream, the exact white suit they buried him in, look at him.
For a moment Ryoma forgets how to breathe.
Tezuka raises his left arm, and looks more gentle than he had ever been in life-Ryoma’s throat closes, and he gulps reflexively-and points to the west.
Tears are streaming down Ryoma’s face, but he can’t bring himself to care as he watches breathlessly. Tezuka points to the west, and smiles, a smile full of comfort. His eyes are telling Ryoma I’ll wait for you so we can make the journey together.
Ryoma finishes the thought as Tezuka’s ghost disappears. Like I always have.
“Death is not the end, merely the beginning to a different story.”