fiction: sink (HP, Terence/Marcus, PG)
Title: sink
Author: ihatefastcars (girlcalledjane @ yahoo.com)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Terence Higgs/Marcus Flint
Rating: PG
Summary: Terence hates the lake. 400 words. (8/12/04)
Disclaimer: I wouldn't want it even if it was given to me.
Feedback: Feedback (general or con-crit) is always welcome.
Spoilers: No.
Warnings: MALE/MALE. LE ANGST. HATRED OF LAKES.
- - - -
now the water to my ankles/now the water to my knees
-- PJ Harvey, "Water"
- - - -
He hates the lake.
He hates the monotonous lapping of the waves on the shore and the way the sunlight bounces off the surface and right into his eyes. He hates the way that just looking at it makes him feel small and the way the wind will blow across the surface, picking up just enough wet to leave him feeling soggy when it hits him. He hates the squid and the merpeople and the idiots who take the boat rides right out into the middle of all of it.
He hates the boat rides most of all. Because he can't stop himself from watching them. Because he knows that one day the water will part and take down the boat and all the stupid little people on it. Open up like a great, gaping mouth and down they'll go -- screaming and thrashing until their last, pathetic breaths bubble out of their mouths and up to the surface. Until they're nothing but skeletons stuck in the muck and memories of people who used to be.
He thinks that Marcus is like the lake. Quiet sometimes but dangerous always. Bigger and deeper and darker than he looks at first glance. Easily underestimated and never wise to trust. With something mysterious always waiting and calculating just below the surface.
And if Marcus is the lake then he is the ancient and tiny tour boat. He is the boat and he is the people and he is the captain's little bell and one day Marcus will swallow him up and that will be the end.
If he's honest with himself, he knows there's not very far to go now. Because he doesn't think that he's even floating anymore. He thinks that he has been sinking for a long time, deeper and deeper every day. He thinks that every look and breath and touch has punched itself a tiny hole in his skin. And it won't be much longer before there isn't enough left of him to keep the crushing flood of Marcus' existence from rushing in, filling him up, and pulling him down.
But he doesn't really care. Because Marcus' hands are rough but careful and his mouth always tastes of peppermint and his eyes are blue like water could only hope to be and Terence can't imagine his life any differently.
He hates the lake.
He wishes he could hate Marcus.
end of story.
originally posted to ihatefastcars on 08.12.04.