A Recollection of What You Were [william/skandar]
Title: A Recollection of What You Were
Pairing: William Moseley/Skandar Keynes
Rating: M
Warnings: Adult concepts, mild language
Disclaimer: Absolute fiction.
Summary: Your voice. Its there, in my head. "William," it says, "do you love me?" But I don't remember.
As the hours pass, days pass, I find it more difficult to recall the sound of your voice. It's like I've never even heard you speak, yet we've spoken everyday for almost a year.
Time creeps by. I begin to notice the viral hollowness crawling under my skin. A void that has only recently been emptied, leaving a space that now has no purpose. Cobwebs and dust will soon be the only thing residing there.
Seconds tick by on the clock on the wall. By now, I barely notice. One second or a thousand, it's really all the same. Universal time doesn't make much sense to me since your departure. I find my existence is better served just floating in timelessness.
I am struggling now, to remember your eyes, the ones I know looked upon me a billion times in a million different lights and shades. But, even so, I cannot remember.
Still, I concerntrate. And there are some things I can recall. Small things, exquisite moments and trembling sounds. Yeah, I can remember these things... small, exquisite, trembling things.
Like your hands, smaller than mine, and paler. But so good, so precise when they touched me. I know your little hands were warm, hot even, when they explored my body, caressed my skin. Your hot little hands, I remember those.
You had strong legs, I know that. Know that when I lay between them, covered your body with mine, your legs held me close. Pulled me closer. Wrapped around my hips, holding me there, holding me where you liked it. Yeah, you had strong legs, they never let go. Never let me pull away. Your stong, slender legs, they let me know what you wanted. How you wanted it.
The curve of your back, the way it arched when I did something just right, touched you just there, fucked you like that. I remember the curve of your back. The way I could fit my body against it. I do remember.
Your stomach. When you wanted my hand between your legs, under the sheets. I knew. Your stomach would rise and fall quickly with each breath, ragged and anxious. And even when your own sweat and sticky, white fluids were smeared across your abdomen, even then you still looked... innocent. With your eyes closed and lips parted. Yeah, you still looked innocent.
The only thing I struggle to recall, still cannot remember, is your voice. The sounds you made. The breaths you would take. I cannot remember! I knew those sounds not long ago. Some were small, quiet as a whisper, moans and gasps, "pleases" and "oh's and ah's". I can hear them, but I can't remember. The way your voice changed with your mood, when you were sad, and happy, content and annoyed, nervous and horny. The things you would whisper in my ear, what you wanted me to do, what you wanted me to say.
Your voice. It's there, in my head. When I sleep and when I don't, its there. Soft and sweet. Saying my name, "William," it says, "do you love me?"
But I don't remember.