Revelation [Standalone]
Title: Revelation
Author: x__bangbangxx
Rating: R
Pairing: Pierre/David
Disclaimer: *sigh* Not mine.
Summary: You’ve known him for so long and nothing should be this separating and awkward. You take a deep breath and exhale. Cold and you can see your breath. The sun is shining, it’s freezing, and you feel like puking your heart out.
Author's Notes: Inside. Alternative Universe Challenge Entry.Dedication: To you, Mila. I finally finished it! Hoping you get to read it and we get to talk again soon <3 =[
A) I’ve been working on this for almost a year. It’s not epic or anything, proving how badly I suck at anything else but drabbles anymore.
B) An entry for the AU Challenge. I was finishing up on this and realized that it fits the AU definition.
C) I also realized that this can maybe be seen as a prelude, of sorts, to my other story To Find Some Beautiful Place To Get Lost, but you don’t have to read this one to understand that one or vice versa.
D) Another revelation I had, ha, was that I’ve been finding it nearly impossible to write in any other style than what I’ve been doing. I call it ‘Snapshot’ Writing. It most likely has a real name for it, but I’m lazy. Little fragments and a wide time range.
E) Age Range of Characters: Pierre - 17&18.
David - 16&17F) rev·e·la·tion
noun
1. the speech act of making something evident.
2. an enlightening or astonishing disclosure.
We make ourselves a place apart
Behind light words that tease and flout
But oh, the agitated heart.
Till someone really find us out.
- Robert Frost, Revelation.
David is sitting next to you, hands tucked under his legs, swinging his feet, looking at you.
“Hey,” he says, nudging you with his upper arm, “cheer up okay? Christmas is in a few weeks.”
David peering at you, hair dark and falling over his eyes, honest, and God - he’s so cute.
**
“So, gonna kiss me?” you ask, David staring at you again, thoughtful; his gaze traveling from your eyes to the mistletoe above you.
He pauses briefly, “I can’t Pierre,” he says, sadly, you think, soft.
“Why not?” And really, maybe you don’t want to know.
“You’re my best friend.”
“So?”
“It’s just…we can’t.”
David with his lip between his teeth, eyes on yours and his thumbs curled under his belt loops. And maybe it’s just the way he looks right then, or maybe it’s the warm comfort of the hot chocolate emanating from your mug, burning down your throat but,
“You wouldn’t regret it.”
“I know I wouldn’t,” gently, “I think that’s the problem.”
He looks away, you swallow hard.
**
I feel for you, more than I should. A note, passed to David during AP Bio. Mentally, you’re already beating yourself up over it because some things are better left unknown. Especially this, you think. Especially this because he’s your best friend.
His eyes skim over it, fingers reaching to tuck some hair away from his face. Then his gaze meets yours briefly before he writes something back. Pen moving across the paper, words in his neat handwriting. Words to love or words to break your heart. He pauses and crosses something out; the air around you is thick with potential heartache.
It’d be better if you didn’t, is all it says, but his eyes say more, the pained look he sends you; that nervous habit he has of folding his hand around his wrist. Wrists dainty and beautiful and insecure.
But I do, you reply. You watch him take this in, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment and it looks like he’s going to cry. You hope he doesn’t. You really don’t think you could handle it.
David doesn’t acknowledge you for the rest of the class period. You see him toss the note in the garbage on his way out and it’s kind of like he threw your heart away with it.
At least that’s how it feels.
**
David has a boyfriend. David has a boyfriend and you hurt all over. This guy, he’s older than you, older than David, nineteen or maybe twenty at least, but you can already tell that he’s better than you. His hair is perfect, dark - like David’s - bringing the green out in his eyes. He has a better build than you, and even his smile is nicer. To add insult to injury, he basically looks like a model.
And you feel so angry and jealous and betrayed and you shouldn’t because David’s not even yours; never was and probably won’t ever be. David, he looks so happy with this guy too.
That’s probably what stings the most.
**
“So you can love him but you can’t love me,” words so harsh and bitter, like the wind that’s hitting your cheeks now. Outside in the spiteful winter, hands in your pockets to keep you from doing anything and you feel so frustrated.
“I don’t love him,” David replies, quietly, and you think he’s full of shit.
“It’s just…he’s such a fucking tool,” you say. Your words are angry, but you’re so emotionally worn out you can’t bring yourself to back them up.
David shrugs, hands in his pockets and he looks tired too, “He treats me well.”
And you laugh, but it’s strained and laced with fury because you know you could treat him so much better. All you’ve wanted for the longest time is to make him happy; to pamper him and hold him and do whatever he says, but you can’t. He won’t let you.
Neither of you speak for a while. You’ve known him for so long and nothing should be this separating and awkward. You take a deep breath and exhale. Cold and you can see your breath. The sun is shining, it’s freezing, and you feel like puking your heart out.
“You know what,” you say, as somber as you can manage because otherwise you think you’d be laughing hysterically, “I’ve wasted so much fucking time pining over you and I just, I give up. I’m going to find someone who actually wants me.”
“Fucking hell Pierre, I do want you,” David spits, looking at you finally, eyes wild with some emotion you can’t quite place.
And you think to yourself, stop lying.
**
Christmas Eve and you’re in the middle of an early Christmas mass. Your youngest cousin is sitting to the left of you, picking bits of wax off the candle where it has gathered over years of reuse. Her mom is on the other side of her and she’s not paying attention. And then there’s David with his family in the pew across from yours. He keeps looking at you; mouth opening as if to say something and your shrug, looking away just as the final prayer starts. You bow your head and clasp your hands together but you don’t close your eyes. Not anymore.
You doubt it makes any difference.
**
January arrives and brings with it a fresh sheet of snow. Pure white covers the slushy brown on the streets and you feel changed, too. It’s two in the morning and you’re by your frosted-over window, breath tainting the glass but you want to take advantage of this moment. Soon the plows will come and take your snow away but you won’t let them take your hope with it.
Your phone vibrates next to you, David’s name on the screen. David reminds you of hope.
“Did I wake you?” he asks and you feel as though you should be the one asking that.
“No,” you reply and it’s the truth.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about you,” he admits, chuckling, “does that sound totally gay?”
You shrug even though he can’t see you, “We are gay.”
“Right. I uh, I broke up with him,” David, stumbling over his words like it was something hard to say.
“Oh.”
“I just thought - like, it didn’t even matter to me, you know? It was so easy and I feel like I should feel bad about it but I don’t.”
“Oh - well…”
“Pierre,” he pauses as if searching for the right words and continues, “I don’t think I’m scared anymore.”
And he hangs up. It’s 2:17 and you feel alive.
**
End of February and the sidewalks are waterwaterwater. Melting and taking away your trepidation, off down the sides of the streets in small torrents. Quick and perfect and you want to run your fingers through them and feel the icy sting of renewal.
But you don’t because David has his fingers wrapped around three of yours and you’d like to keep him there. He hasn’t confirmed or denied anything when it comes to the two of you, but right now he’s yours and you’re not about to let him go.
David right beside you, humming some song and sipping tea out of a mug and you ask him, who walks and drinks tea out of a mug? David doesn’t respond, just smiles around the brim and moves closer to you.
“This is nice,” he says, not quite looking at you, not quite looking at anything.
“Perfect,” you respond and hope you’re talking about the same thing.
**
David is soft against you, warm and you can’t help but trail your fingers down his sides. His shirt is riding up and you love the feel of his skin under your fingertips. He’s so close and so above you, you can hardly stand it. You’ve spent what seems like a lifetime just thinking about this and you’re so overwhelmed because you can have this now.
David’s hair brushes your forehead as he leans over you; lips unhurried against yours, everything slow and you grasp him a little tighter. You flip your positions around so you’re on top of him and you still because, shit, he’s so beautiful. Fully clothed and you love the way the soft cotton of his shirt clings to him like a second skin; red shirt, dark jeans cuffed around the ankles and it’s so effortless. It almost makes you uneasy, the extent to which you adore him.
He pulls away from you slightly, looking in your eyes, smiling.
“We’re going to have so much sex once we’re married,” he says and laughs, the sound genuine and his eyes light up, too.
You kiss him and wish you could have just a fragment of his perfection.
**
Summer comes and David is still keeping you around. Gorgeous, David in a pair of jeans he cut off just above the knees and the new Converse you bought for him; shirt blue and eyes happy.
“I really like them,” he states, swinging his feet beneath him off the edge of the dock.
“I really like you, too,” you counter and David beams at you.
“I love you,” he pauses, softer, not joking anymore, “I always have.”
The words catch in your throat, jumbled on the tip of your tongue. You just drape your arm around him; kiss his temple when he rests his head on your shoulder. Compensation for the words you have, the clumsy beautiful words that won’t come out when you need them.
*
Somewhere between promising your mother the two of you would be right back and leaving the grocery store, David got you pinned underneath him in the backseat of your car. His soft pants of breath warm against your cheek and his hands, smaller than yours, undoing your belt buckle. Somewhere between wondering what the hell had gotten into him and being suddenly aware that your lower half had been exposed, David managed to get his hand wrapped around you. Fist loose and perfect and if you didn’t know better you’d think he’s done this a lot.
And really, you’re not exaggerating when you say this came out of nowhere. Honest. You’re not complaining though.
David removes his lips from your neck, touches the mark there with his free hand and he’s a mind reader, you swear.
“I just, really wanted to do this,” he nods looking into your eyes, hand slowing and more sincere, “for you.”
He lets you kiss him before he continues.
“Because I really appreciate you waiting for me, I really do. You have to understand my apprehension on the whole real sex thing…” he trails off and looks away from you fleetingly, his hand speeding up in some sort of compensation. You cum partly from the way he looks then, flustered and innocent.
“Why?” you ask later, still a bit out of it; breathing deep; breathing David. David blushes even more and whines, almost, Pierre, and covers his face momentarily. “Pierre,” more firmly now, “I’m obviously the one who is going to take.”
You’re brought back the reality with those last few words and the images stuck in your mind with them. Fuck. “Oh,” you say, “Oh, well,” and you fluster too, “David…you don’t have too.”
He looks at you then, confident suddenly, a smile gracing his lips, certain.
“I want to,” he replies, a look you haven’t seen before dancing in his eyes; his lips quirked up on the sides. He wraps his arms around your neck and touches his nose with yours. And then he laughs. Laughs like you didn’t just have the most embarrassing/awkward/promising conversation in the entire span of time you’ve known each other.
“Oh, I want to. Pierre - you have no idea.”
*
When school starts again, you are not prepared for the sudden onslaught of attention; not prepared for all the whispered statements about how Oh that Desrosiers is getting so tiny. and Pierre’s probably keeping him hard at work, if you know what I mean. David, you think, isn’t either, considering the way he met you at lunch, looking small and bewildered, attaching himself to your arm.
“Apparently you’re fucking me daily,” he says, finally, quiet and humiliated.
You shrug in response, “It could be worst.”
He nods, agreeing, “Funny how they didn’t seem to care last year.”
You think this over for a moment, David detaching himself from you to take a seat at a table. “Maybe we got hotter.”
“Well,” he starts, a sly smile easing away his anxiety, “at least I did,” and laughs and you love that, his laugh.
And if it wasn’t so true, you might’ve felt offended.
*
You heard once that there was a way things happen and a way you remember them. When it comes to the first time you and David did it, you’re sure they were one and the same.
You remember David’s hands shaking as he undid your belt buckle - something different about it this time around - David’s whole body trembling nervously as you slipped slick fingers into him. David rocking onto your hand as you murmured silent profanities into his neck.
You remember the first few awkward thrusts into him. David groaning in discomfort, nails on your lower back and you thinking, oh great. I suck. Another clumsy frustrated glide and David arching up to you - mouth open and fingers moving to your hair. You cumming, too soon, fingers searching out David’s spot in some sort of request for forgiveness.
Then afterwards, embarrassment and sweet consolation from David.
“I’m sorry,” you said, sheepish and unable to meet his eyes. But you were trying.
“It’s okay Pierre. It was our first, it wasn’t meant to be perfect,” David replied, soft laughter in his words. You laughed nervously in response.
“Besides,” he continued - that look in his eyes again, “we can always try again.”
*
Thunderstorm. Cold rain, branches torn from trees and David under your sheets. A loud clash of lightening, lucid and wonderful and David tucking into you just that bit more. You tighten your arms around him and feel very lucky.
*
Fall turning more into winter with each passing day. Darker nights and colder days, foreboding and somehow you just know.
You haven’t seen David for three days; hasn’t called, hasn’t come to school. But then he shows up at your doorstep, timid and tired and somehow you know. You know he cheated on you before he tells you. And he really cheated on you; not just looked at another boy or kissed another boy but more like let another boy blow him.
“It was at a party,” he says.
“You don’t even drink,” you counter, slightly upset but more confused than anything.
“I wasn’t drunk. I was completely aware of everything that was happening,” a shrug and thinking back on it, maybe that was where the anger set in. White hot and burning inside of you, building, in the worst way.
“Why are you being so fucking nonchalant about this? You cheated on me.”
He blinks at you then, obviously taken aback and maybe a little frightened. “I’m not being nonchalant, I’m just being honest. I cheated on you, and before you start getting all overdramatic about it, yes - I love you, yes - I’m sorry and yes - I wish I could take it all back but at least I’m fucking telling you about it!”
The silence that follows is awkward and wonderful and you have no idea how you should be feeling anymore.
“I cheated on you,” David repeats, but more to himself than to you, “fuck.” A slight laugh but it’s anything but a laugh - hands through his hair and tears forming in his eyes.
You clear your throat but you’ve got nothing to say. When you speak your voice is stiff, entire body stiff, “Maybe we should…take a break? Maybe? Until you’re, or we’re, I guess, sure how we really feel?”
David raises his head, sad eyes meeting your own and he looks desperate, “Pierre - I love you.”
You shrug at him, feeling repentant and cold and nauseous, “Maybe not as much as you think you do if it was so easy to let someone else touch you when you already have me.”
The look he sends you then, like you were supposed to forgive him easily and the way he’s acting now is giving you this feeling of disillusionment you never wanted to have with David.
“I’m still in love with you though,” you call out just before the door slams shut.
*
After the fourth night alone in your bed, window locked with no chance of David sneaking in and a headache on the way, you wonder - finally - how much of a good idea starting something with your best friend was.
You’re still nursing the wounds that were inflicted on your ego by David’s confession of infidelity. You had always known you would never be good enough for him. You think you’d be quite content to spend the rest of the night sulking - but then a thought dawns on your and ohshit.
You realize - and promptly feel utterly heartbroken and horrified - that you practically forced David into being with you. You ignored him, got angry with him and made him uncomfortable. So of course, you think, of course he would have finally given in. Of course he cheated on you. Of course. But then - he’s done a lot and said too much for it to be all half-hearted and fuck you don’t know.
You’d say that you can feel your heart breaking as you fall asleep, but then you’d just be overdramatic.
*
You find conversation with David nearly impossible. You think you should be mad at him and maybe you are, but at the same time you’re fighting off the desire to make out with him.
It’s a lot more conflicting then it sounds.
“I really just want to have your babies, you know?”
You turn to look at him, cheeks red and eyes repentant. “Not really possible. Sorry David.”
He huffs at you, “I was trying to apologize.”
You shrug and feel a bit better, “I know…I kind of have to apologize too.”
David blinks at you then, looking elsewhere, “What for?”
“I’ve been thinking these last few nights that maybe I pushed you into this more than I should have.”
“Did you not hear what I said about carrying your children?” he asks, “I’m not toying with you or anything; I’m completely in love with you.”
You shrug, again and feel stupid. “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t love out of pity.”
David moves closer to you, hand on your forearm and you fight to urge to cuddle him.
“I don’t pity you,” he says, eyes on yours - honest, “I wouldn’t let just any boy fuck me. Nor would something like what we have last this long if I wasn’t ridiculously smitten with you.”
“I love you too,” you say, the sun bright on the side of your face and the snow soaking through your Converse but you don’t care, “want to make out?”
The sound of David’s laughter makes you soar.
*
With David, you think, time passes fast enough to make your stomach turn. Soundgarden and Smashing Pumpkins and Jeff Buckley on your stereo. Long walks and even longer conversations. Kissing David and feeling invincible.
A month until graduation and you’re confident and ready for life.
You’ve got David and you’ve never felt more alive.
End.