The 00 - 00
Title: please...
Series: NaNoWriMo '09 - The 00
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content
Word Count: 1255
A/N: So this is the start. It was really meant to be something entirely different that didn't involve wangst, sex, or a first person point of view, but this is what came out when I finished writing what I started at the write-in. So here it is, in its strange glory.
EDIT: Dear god, this thing is all...all misspelled and stuff. I'll clean it later. Sorry guys.
--- - ---
I watch him from a corner of the club. It's what I do, even on days when he doesn't drag me with him as bait. Every Friday, at or around nine PM, he gets dressed in his leather pants and loose shirts, the ones that show off an amount of skin that should be made illegal - I mean, does he even know what kind of effect that has on people? ...well, he does, most likely, or he wouldn't do it. Especially the effect is has on women; I mean, he just goes around and they just throw themselves at him...
In any case, he gets dressed and goes. He usually leaves me on the sofa, studying something; he knows I hate crows. But I follow him anyway. Down to the Eighth District and the club called Siren, down into the warm darkness, music pounding like a heartbeat all around me.
And he tries on occasion to pick up women at the bar or near the dance floor. Not that he isn't successful at that a good deal of the time. After all, he has his looks and his charm, and those pants and that shirt above all... But if he's unsuccessful at that, he goes out on the dance floor and...well, that's all he has to do - dance.
He dances like he was born doing nothing but, flowing under the throbbing lights as if nothing else matter... because to him, in this time and this place, nothing else does. He doesn't care who his partner is, as long as they can more with him and share that energy that he, for lack of another word, radiates.
I danced with him once. Only once. Those three minutes were the best of my life. Moving and grinding against him, feeling every part of him as his eyes locked on mine and everything about him made the rest of the world vanish... He was focused on me, only me, dancing as if the world were ending, as if we were lovers and he knew how his touch drove me mad...
I shouldn't be here. Leaving the apartment, except for the essentials, is risky enough, but to leave for the sole purpose of watching a man dancing is asking formore trouble than I need. And in any case, he's attracted someone, just as I thought. A busty blond, his favorite type... And so, as they begin dancing, I finally leave my dark corner and head out into the night.
It's raining, and I hate that almost as much as the image of him dancing with that woman. Still, the sight is burned into my mind, just like all the other times. Which would bring up the question - why do I even bother going out like this? Though I'm sure I'd already established that I'm something of a masochist, to continue doing this... But when I watch him, I can imagine, for the briefest, hope-giving second, that he could be mine.
On nights like these, I make my slow way home through the rain. Our apartment is in the Fifth District, upscale and annoyingly expensive - but we make enough to cover it easily. The landlady would shriek if she saw the way I'm tracking water and mud across the huge rug in the entryway, but it's past midnight and she's long asleep. Upstairs, to our apartment, unlock the door and step inside, all on automatic. Shoes do off in the foyer; if I don't follow my own house rules, how can I berate him for not following them? Then a slow trudge down the hall to the bathroom and the shower. Clothes get carefully folded up and placed in the dirty clothes basket before running the hot water, almost too hot for comfort even for me. Let the hair down, put the glasses on the counter, and step in, slowly, letting the water flow through my hair and down my body, until I can no longer see for the hair and water and steam obscuring my vision. Standing like this, letting the water wash away my worries and cares is simply...
The front door opens and shuts. Not quite slamming; he knows better since the landlady scolded him after one time too many. But loud enough, and I can hear him and his date for the night both giggling. His laugh is a strange, partial giggle, completely at odds with his appearance but not at all with his personality. They make their way down the hall and into his bedroom - right next to the bathroom, and I can hear their giggles even better as the bedroom door closes; the bed squeaks as they land on it hard.
I should get out of the shower, go to my room with earplugs and get some sleep...but I stay. As the laughs turn to sighs, harder to hear but still audible over the rushing water, I sink to the floor of the shower, pressing my forehead against my knees. I should go, I need to, I'm only going to be hurt again if I remain...
He groans, and I freeze, about to stand and leave. It happens like this every time, and I lean back against the shower wall with a groan of my own. It always happens like this - sinking to the floor as I listen to his moans and hers, always imagining that I am the one under him, feeling his hands roaming my body, his soft murmurs and caresses assuring me that I am the only one in the world that matters to him, even if only for the short amount of time that I lay with him. Imagining his kisses, hist touch, the feel of him inside me...
Their moans are growing louder and louder, the headboard beginning to tap against the wall nearest me, and I bit my lip to hold back my own sounds. Easy enough to imagine him over me, his hands in place of mine on my body, driving me higher and higher, nearly insane with the pleasure... My soft whimper is lost in the mix of sound, lips moving silently as I beg for him in my mind to take me, possess me, fulfill me... And as the sounds in the bedroom become more urgent, so do mine, my groan of release, stifled by my bitten lip, matching his.
Awareness returns slowly, and finds me lying on the shower floor, hair a mess around my head. The water, now only warm to my heated body, washes away the evidence of yet another Friday night, and I watch it with disinterest as always, wondering whether I should feel guilty for doing this. As always, however, the thoughts take a backseat as sleep beckons, and I slowly stand, rising out my hair once again before turning off the water and stepping out the shower.
Barely covered by a towel, even forgetting to put my choker back on, I make my way out the bathroom and further down the hall to my bedroom. Too exhausted to even bother with sleep clothes, I fall on my bed, curling up and looking at the one picture on my nightstand. The two of us in secondary school, just -before graduation.. Him standing tall, that ever-present grin on his face as he holds on to me - small, pale little me, hair too long and framing a deceptively feminine face on an all too male body.
“Good night, Gabe,” I mumble into the pillow, falling asleep seconds later.
Series: NaNoWriMo '09 - The 00
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content
Word Count: 1255
A/N: So this is the start. It was really meant to be something entirely different that didn't involve wangst, sex, or a first person point of view, but this is what came out when I finished writing what I started at the write-in. So here it is, in its strange glory.
EDIT: Dear god, this thing is all...all misspelled and stuff. I'll clean it later. Sorry guys.
--- - ---
I watch him from a corner of the club. It's what I do, even on days when he doesn't drag me with him as bait. Every Friday, at or around nine PM, he gets dressed in his leather pants and loose shirts, the ones that show off an amount of skin that should be made illegal - I mean, does he even know what kind of effect that has on people? ...well, he does, most likely, or he wouldn't do it. Especially the effect is has on women; I mean, he just goes around and they just throw themselves at him...
In any case, he gets dressed and goes. He usually leaves me on the sofa, studying something; he knows I hate crows. But I follow him anyway. Down to the Eighth District and the club called Siren, down into the warm darkness, music pounding like a heartbeat all around me.
And he tries on occasion to pick up women at the bar or near the dance floor. Not that he isn't successful at that a good deal of the time. After all, he has his looks and his charm, and those pants and that shirt above all... But if he's unsuccessful at that, he goes out on the dance floor and...well, that's all he has to do - dance.
He dances like he was born doing nothing but, flowing under the throbbing lights as if nothing else matter... because to him, in this time and this place, nothing else does. He doesn't care who his partner is, as long as they can more with him and share that energy that he, for lack of another word, radiates.
I danced with him once. Only once. Those three minutes were the best of my life. Moving and grinding against him, feeling every part of him as his eyes locked on mine and everything about him made the rest of the world vanish... He was focused on me, only me, dancing as if the world were ending, as if we were lovers and he knew how his touch drove me mad...
I shouldn't be here. Leaving the apartment, except for the essentials, is risky enough, but to leave for the sole purpose of watching a man dancing is asking formore trouble than I need. And in any case, he's attracted someone, just as I thought. A busty blond, his favorite type... And so, as they begin dancing, I finally leave my dark corner and head out into the night.
It's raining, and I hate that almost as much as the image of him dancing with that woman. Still, the sight is burned into my mind, just like all the other times. Which would bring up the question - why do I even bother going out like this? Though I'm sure I'd already established that I'm something of a masochist, to continue doing this... But when I watch him, I can imagine, for the briefest, hope-giving second, that he could be mine.
On nights like these, I make my slow way home through the rain. Our apartment is in the Fifth District, upscale and annoyingly expensive - but we make enough to cover it easily. The landlady would shriek if she saw the way I'm tracking water and mud across the huge rug in the entryway, but it's past midnight and she's long asleep. Upstairs, to our apartment, unlock the door and step inside, all on automatic. Shoes do off in the foyer; if I don't follow my own house rules, how can I berate him for not following them? Then a slow trudge down the hall to the bathroom and the shower. Clothes get carefully folded up and placed in the dirty clothes basket before running the hot water, almost too hot for comfort even for me. Let the hair down, put the glasses on the counter, and step in, slowly, letting the water flow through my hair and down my body, until I can no longer see for the hair and water and steam obscuring my vision. Standing like this, letting the water wash away my worries and cares is simply...
The front door opens and shuts. Not quite slamming; he knows better since the landlady scolded him after one time too many. But loud enough, and I can hear him and his date for the night both giggling. His laugh is a strange, partial giggle, completely at odds with his appearance but not at all with his personality. They make their way down the hall and into his bedroom - right next to the bathroom, and I can hear their giggles even better as the bedroom door closes; the bed squeaks as they land on it hard.
I should get out of the shower, go to my room with earplugs and get some sleep...but I stay. As the laughs turn to sighs, harder to hear but still audible over the rushing water, I sink to the floor of the shower, pressing my forehead against my knees. I should go, I need to, I'm only going to be hurt again if I remain...
He groans, and I freeze, about to stand and leave. It happens like this every time, and I lean back against the shower wall with a groan of my own. It always happens like this - sinking to the floor as I listen to his moans and hers, always imagining that I am the one under him, feeling his hands roaming my body, his soft murmurs and caresses assuring me that I am the only one in the world that matters to him, even if only for the short amount of time that I lay with him. Imagining his kisses, hist touch, the feel of him inside me...
Their moans are growing louder and louder, the headboard beginning to tap against the wall nearest me, and I bit my lip to hold back my own sounds. Easy enough to imagine him over me, his hands in place of mine on my body, driving me higher and higher, nearly insane with the pleasure... My soft whimper is lost in the mix of sound, lips moving silently as I beg for him in my mind to take me, possess me, fulfill me... And as the sounds in the bedroom become more urgent, so do mine, my groan of release, stifled by my bitten lip, matching his.
Awareness returns slowly, and finds me lying on the shower floor, hair a mess around my head. The water, now only warm to my heated body, washes away the evidence of yet another Friday night, and I watch it with disinterest as always, wondering whether I should feel guilty for doing this. As always, however, the thoughts take a backseat as sleep beckons, and I slowly stand, rising out my hair once again before turning off the water and stepping out the shower.
Barely covered by a towel, even forgetting to put my choker back on, I make my way out the bathroom and further down the hall to my bedroom. Too exhausted to even bother with sleep clothes, I fall on my bed, curling up and looking at the one picture on my nightstand. The two of us in secondary school, just -before graduation.. Him standing tall, that ever-present grin on his face as he holds on to me - small, pale little me, hair too long and framing a deceptively feminine face on an all too male body.
“Good night, Gabe,” I mumble into the pillow, falling asleep seconds later.