Watchmen Kink Meme 3. Weeeeeeee.
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work just as well.
2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for you! Art and such is also acceptable/awesome. Multiple people may respond to ( Read more... )
The heat is becoming unbearable, and the humidity makes it worse. That morning, a few of Deng's classmates knock on his dorm door and ask him if he wants to go swimming before their usual rendezvous. Deng jumps up and almost hits his head on the top bunk in his eagerness. He looks to Red, who is busy making another sign at the other end of the room.
"You can go first," Deng says. "We'll be there later."
But Red is not easily cajoled (not that Deng thought it would be an easy task). Deng's first few entreaties are met with that same stoic disdain, lip curling upwards slightly, the hint of an incisor.
"But the water will be so nice and *cool*," Deng sighs, half resignation, half indulgence.
"Better things to do with time," Red's voice is flat. "You go ahead. Will see you later tonight." A pause, then, "if at all."
The prospect of a whole day without Red by his side is intensely disconcerting to Deng, who decides not to question the validity of this emotion for the time being. He catches his face reddening again, and snaps, "fine. Swim in your own sweat, then."
Red's expression shutters closed and Deng curses himself even as his body moves on autopilot, gathering his things into his knapsack and swinging it over his shoulder. He's halfway down the hall when he turns on his heel and heads back again, barging into the room, almost kicking the door.
"You can't swim, can you?" He announces, a little too loudly. But he's right-- the way Red ducks his head a little and doesn't meet his eyes, Deng knows. Water is too ambivalent a medium for Red to move in, for someone who is as solid as the ground.
"Come on," Deng tries again. "There's no shame-- you should learn. You never know when you'll be thrown into the ocean by some reactionaries."
The joke falls flat and uncertain, even to Deng's untrained ears, but the factual threat in the statement seems to convince Red. "Good skill to have," he says, voice as gravel-thick as ever. "Should learn."
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They're there at the shallow end of the pool until well past lunchtime, Deng's stomach reduced to a concave, twisting ghost of an organ. But Red hadn't wanted to leave until he could at least lie on his back without Deng's help, of which the first few attempts had left him coughing lungfuls of water, eyes as red as his name.
His relatives and his parents all say that patience is one of his best qualities. Deng told Red that he couldn't do this without help, without growing accustomed to the feeling, at first, of floating or kicking in the water without limitations. And Red had pushed him away, had tried again and again, wading into the deep end until his head was submerged under the water, until he finally realized that his frantic thrashing wouldn't speed the learning process by any means. Deng, fortunate enough to take swimming lessons as a child, a bourgeois luxury he'd taken for granted, would nonetheless imitate the instructor of his sepia-toned memory, regardless of the fact that altruism was not his primary motivation.
On the infinite-numbered try, Deng had propped his hands under Red's back before the other man could sink. Red's skin was slippery and standard in the way all skin feels under water, and Deng would be lying if he said it had not been difficult to just command him to relax, to arch his back, and if it helped, to close his eyes, the inside of his mouth like cotton all the while.
Now, Deng's stomach is growling and his hands are clenching and unclenching around muscle memory, the cafeteria tray a poor substitute for the fluid ambivalence of water-sluiced skin.
Late afternoon: Tiananmen greets them with all the sullenness of a scorned mistress, sun hung low over the broad expanse of her concrete belly like the suggestion of a replacement-lover's touch-- the air is hot and oppressive and they're breathing deeply but their efforts fail to satisfy. Millions of microorganisms swarm, and if Red is too tired to look alert, if his muscles are growing dense with acid, acrid soreness, Deng will be there to shoulder him home.
---
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Unabashed use of photoshop filters, as usual. D: Original picture of student protest is somewhere on the net, I just adapted it for my fangirlish needs.
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This continues to be just beautiful. Deng teaching Red to swim is really touching. Let me say also for the thousandth time I love the imagery you use.
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Now I cannot get the image of Ror in a dirty, too-small speedo kind of thing out of my head. I blame the kinkmeme. *headdesk*
LOVE the imagery in the last paragraph. I can almost feel the hot air burning when I breathe. And a shoulder to lean on means so much, especially with these two. Amazing job. <33
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