*kicks muses around*
Oct. 16th, 2004 04:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
windandwaterThe Muses are being uncooperative tonight. *kicks them* Maybe it's because I napped too long. Anyway, I didn't want to not post anything, so here's the stuff I was opening and closing and poking and prodding at all night.
... no, I never really work on only one thing at a time. It's bad of me, I know.
I met him on a Friday.
I knew it was Friday 'cuz the old broad on 5th, Petersen or something, always baked extra bread for the store on Fridays, so she didn't have to do it over the weekend. Fridays were the best day to try and lift something from her, but I think she had tagged me 'cuz everytime I got close to the store, she was there, swinging her broom at me like I was a pinata. 'Course, her chasing after me meant the rest of the gang could bust in and take stuff, so me having that hag on my tail for half a block wasn't such a bad thing.
I'd actually managed to knick a loaf of bread this time, the tattered broom bristles fluttering my hair as they passed over my head. I'd ducked down quick, and took off down the street. I was rounding the corner onto Press Street when I saw him. I skidded to a stop, leaning against the wall of the old Regent Theatre to make sure I wasn't being followed. I tore off a chunk of bread and stuffed it in my mouth. I had to save most of it for later tonight, to share with the others, but a bit now was deserved.
As I was chewing, I just watched him.
He was a scrawny kid, all elbows and knees, swinging his legs and humming as he sat on the faded bench of the bus stop. The buses never ran anymore, there wasn't enough money. Nobody actually sat on the benches anymore... not unless they were whinos sleeping off their drink, or druggies who didn't care what they were doing as long as they were high. But this kid... he wasn't a whino and he wasn't a druggie. I looked down the street and didn't see a pimp or an enforcer, so he wasn't a whore neither. He was just a kid, wearing a sweater that was too big for him, pushed up over his elbows. His pants were cuffed up, too. He looked clean and was bouncing a stuffed puppy on his lap, just humming to himself.
I wondered if he was crazy.
Finally, I sidled up to him. He didn't even look in my direction, just kept tugging on that damned puppy. That was my second clue. Nobody who lived on the streets was as clean as him. Nobody who lived on the streets lost track of their surroundings. This kid was way out of his league. He was younger than I had thought, maybe four, but still damned small. His brown hair was tucked behind his ears, getting shaggy like it'd been a while since he'd gotten it cut. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what a kid like him would be doing sitting at the bus stop.
"Hey, kid."
The kid didn't answer, but he stopped humming, cradling the stuffed toy against his chest.
"Hey, kid," I said again. "You deaf or somethin'?"
The kid hunched over, hugging the puppy tighter. "Mama said to not talk ta strangers."
Oh. So he was waitin' for his mom. What the fuck some broad was thinking, leaving her kid out alone, I don't know. There's lotsa stupid people on the colony. I think I've met most of them.
"Well, kid, your mom's not here right now, so she won't know," I said, leaning against the bus bench. "Where's your mom?"
The kid just shook his head and pointed his finger down the street. I turned to look, but there wasn't anybody out. It was getting near the night cycle, and nobody who was smart stayed out on the streets after dark unless you had business to do.
"I dun see her."
"Mama said she'd come back," the kid whispered. He was staring into the glossy black eyes of his toy.
I could feel something strange in my gut, twisting around like I ate something bad, or something wanted ta bust out. Shit... the kid'd been ditched, and he didn't even know. I'd seen this way too many times. Hell, even happened to me, 'cept instead of my mom leaving me on a bus bench, it was my dad who OD'ed on some bad shit. Fuck... what the hell was up with the adults? Weren't they supposed to protect us or some shit. Yeah, that's all it was... shit. Fuck the adults anyway... they'd never done anything for us.
I stood there, then shook my head to clear the thoughts. I reached out, putting my hand on the kid's too-long sleeve. "Look, kid... you better come with me."
The kid jerked his arm, rubbing the place as if he was gonna get cooties or something from me touching him, and curled up around the stuffed toy.
I admit I got sorta pissed then. "Your mom's not coming back," I snapped out, grabbing the kid's arm again.
"NO!" the kid screeched. It was then I saw something different about him. His eyes were narrowed at me, but it was the first time I'd seen them, and I realized they were purple. I'd never seen purple eyes before. I dropped my hold on his arm. But that thought went away when I saw the kid. He was still sitting on the bench, still clutching the puppy to his chest, but there was something different about him... something that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "My mama's coming back! She said she would! She said! She did! You're a bad person and a stranger and I'm not supposed ta talk ta strangers!"
I couldn't say anything about that. I'd seen his type, too, the ones that hoped their parents would come back. They were all idiots. I shrugged, shaking off the bad feeling I had.
"Fine, kid, your funeral. Don't say I didn't warn ya."
I walked away then, towards the place where the gang was staying. Poor kid, was all I could think. He'd probably be dead by morning. If it wasn't the crazies or the pimps or the drug runners, the Federation would get him. I sniffed, making sure the loaf of bread was still tucked away. Damn kid... what the hell was he waiting for anyway?
I can admit when I'm wrong.
He sat there, on that damned bus bench with a stuffed puppy on his lap, for the whole weekend and no one touched him.
=============================================
There was something to be said about a nice hot bath on a cold day, Edward mused to himself, tossing the damp towel that had been on his hair over onto the arm of the couch. Alphonse was kneeling behind him, his fingers threading through Ed's long hair, separating the knotted strands with a comforting familiarity.
"This is like how we would help each other when we were younger, Brother," Al piped up. His fingers slid from Ed's hair as he stretched for the comb laying on the coffee table.
Ed simply let a bittersweet smile cross his lips as he deftly plucked up the comb and pressed it into Al's water-wrinkled fingers. His brother's skin, too, was rosy and flushed from their shared bath. It made Ed remember those childhood memories of how the two of them would bathe together, once their mother actually caught them and pushed them into the bathroom.
"I still can't believe you remembered that old song," Ed chuckled.
Al's fingers brushed Ed's and his bronze eyes shined adoringly up into Ed's golden ones. "You know I don't forget things like that."
The elder Elric sighed and let the fingers of his left hand stroke over Al's soft, rounded cheek. Al smiled happily, tilting his fce to nuzzle Ed's palm and Ed flushed a bit as well, but not from the bath. As quickly as he could, but without making his younger brother feel rejected, Ed moved his hand to tug at Al's hair. There was a hope and promise in Al's eyes that the elder brother didn't want to keep his thoughts lingering on. "Aren't you supposed to be combing my hair?"
Al jumped, the comb fumbling in his small hands.
"Of course, Brother!" the seven-year old acquiesed. He stood up on the cushions of the sofa, needing the extra height to properly comb. "Just turn around again!"
Edward did so, one part of his mind feeling incredibly relieved to be out from under Alphonse's sometimes too-knowing gaze, while the other part just felt incredibly guilty. The comb's teeth snagged in his hair, Al fighting to detangle it, and Ed simply winced a bit, tilting his head back to help but not uttering a sound. He deserved the slight discomforts that came with this... at least his brother was whole, healthy, alive, and human. If anything, Ed should relish this... the feeling of his brother's fingers in his hair, the sound of him breathing behind him.
Still, it was his fault. If he could've... been stronger, perhaps. Or studied the alchemical texts closer... he could've done something -- anything -- better. And there wouldn't be this twenty-year gap between he and Alphonse, instead of the one it was supposed to be. Oh, not that his physical form hindered Al any. His memories were clear and whole, even right up to the point where Ed had slapped his hands down on the alchemical circle surrounding Alphonse's armored body in a desperate bid to give his brother his body back.
Edward Elric was a genius alchemist, and the theory had worked.
But instead of seeing his 19-year old brother standing before him, or even his 10-year old one, a naked, crying infant had lay in the center of the array. Ed could still remember how it felt when he had collapsed after the transmutation, dredging up the last reserves of his strength and crawling towards the center of the array after the blue flare had died down. He remembered the mixed disbelief, joy, horror and a million other things he had felt when he picked up the tiny child in his hands. And then the baby had blinked open his bronze-colored eyes and stopped crying, his little face reflecting his unwavering joy and happiness and love for his older brother. And Edward KNEW and held the baby -- Alphonse -- close to his chest and wept for the first time in over five years.
The comb snagged again, and Edward couldn't contain his yelp as he was jolted back to the present. "Oi, Al! Be careful back there!"
Small knuckles rapped Ed on the back of the head. "Quiet, Brother. This is a lot harder than it was when you were six. Your hair is a lot longer and... gah! It was better when your hair was braided, at least it didn't get so many snarls."
Edward chuckled a little, knowing that Al liked to tug on his ponytail and play with the gathered tail of hair, which was the main reason why he didn't braid it anymore. "Your hair is getting long, too, Al. You need another haircut."
Al huffed behind him. "Maybe I want to have my hair long, too."
"You would just look stupid."
The same small knuckles punched Ed's bare shoulder. "Brother! That's mean!"
===========================================
The first time had been an accident.
In the dead of the night, one hand grasped firmly around his hard and ready flesh, he had struggled not to make any sounds as pleasure poured through his senses. His hand jerked and stroked, quickening its pace of almost its own will, and he had clenched his jaw tight, stifling the moans and shouts that would have issued from his throat. Was this a forbidden exercise? He didn't know, but couldn't have been made to stop, no matter what punishments or retraining he would have had to endure. But still, he remained quiet, toes digging into the thin mattress, hips pumping up even further into his tight grip.
But the sensory input was overwhelming and he had slapped his free hand over his mouth, muffling his own cries. And it was an accident... a miscalculation of his own strength. His hand-eye coordination had been not up to par and as he choked on his own pleasure, fire building in his belly, his hand pressed further and further against his mouth and nose. Stifling and already gasping, he could feel the blackness creep into the edges of his mind, even as his body exploded in a triumphant release.
And it was good. And it was an accident. And he lay on his tangled and sweat-soaked sheets, struggling to suck precious oxygen into his deprived yet sated body.
The second time had been an accident.
In an inconspicuous dormatory room, he had writhed against the standard-issued sheets, hips pressing and rubbing insistently against the mattress. For once his nighttime thoughts had not been filled with death and missions. He had been caught up in a pleasant dream that turned into waking fantasy, leaving him trembling and wanting. Face down, he thrust, soft groans escaping his throat as he sought friction and pressure and that unnameable heat again. And he knew that he had to be quiet, because the walls here were thin, and so it was only by chance that he pressed his face into his own pillow.
He moaned incoherently into the feathery mass, consumed by the driving force of pure animal lust and need between his legs. And with every thrust, his hands coming to graps himself again, his face was buried farther against the yeilding object. But even as it made way for him, it closed around him, cutting off the precious supply of air. But he hadn't cared... eager, seeking that same plataeu that he had never been able to find again since that first accidental time.
And he saw his eyesight dimming, felt his senses focusing only on the wanton lust on his groin and the lack of oxygen in his lungs. He panted, pressing his face and hips farther, harder, and as he came, steams of cum staining his hands and bed, the black that licked his mind completely consumed him.
He woke later, head turned to the side, panting and sweaty and laying in his own release. And he felt good. Better than before.
The third time had not been an accident.
I'm having terrible problems getting a handle on Roy's character. *kicks him in the head* And I was kinda busy watching VH-1 to cue up WinAmp and get inspired for the "Crush" fic, so that's right out.
*grumbles unflattering things* I WILL finish SOMETHING tomorrow. Or today. Or when I wake up again. Whatever. This bunny needs sleep.
... no, I never really work on only one thing at a time. It's bad of me, I know.
I met him on a Friday.
I knew it was Friday 'cuz the old broad on 5th, Petersen or something, always baked extra bread for the store on Fridays, so she didn't have to do it over the weekend. Fridays were the best day to try and lift something from her, but I think she had tagged me 'cuz everytime I got close to the store, she was there, swinging her broom at me like I was a pinata. 'Course, her chasing after me meant the rest of the gang could bust in and take stuff, so me having that hag on my tail for half a block wasn't such a bad thing.
I'd actually managed to knick a loaf of bread this time, the tattered broom bristles fluttering my hair as they passed over my head. I'd ducked down quick, and took off down the street. I was rounding the corner onto Press Street when I saw him. I skidded to a stop, leaning against the wall of the old Regent Theatre to make sure I wasn't being followed. I tore off a chunk of bread and stuffed it in my mouth. I had to save most of it for later tonight, to share with the others, but a bit now was deserved.
As I was chewing, I just watched him.
He was a scrawny kid, all elbows and knees, swinging his legs and humming as he sat on the faded bench of the bus stop. The buses never ran anymore, there wasn't enough money. Nobody actually sat on the benches anymore... not unless they were whinos sleeping off their drink, or druggies who didn't care what they were doing as long as they were high. But this kid... he wasn't a whino and he wasn't a druggie. I looked down the street and didn't see a pimp or an enforcer, so he wasn't a whore neither. He was just a kid, wearing a sweater that was too big for him, pushed up over his elbows. His pants were cuffed up, too. He looked clean and was bouncing a stuffed puppy on his lap, just humming to himself.
I wondered if he was crazy.
Finally, I sidled up to him. He didn't even look in my direction, just kept tugging on that damned puppy. That was my second clue. Nobody who lived on the streets was as clean as him. Nobody who lived on the streets lost track of their surroundings. This kid was way out of his league. He was younger than I had thought, maybe four, but still damned small. His brown hair was tucked behind his ears, getting shaggy like it'd been a while since he'd gotten it cut. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what a kid like him would be doing sitting at the bus stop.
"Hey, kid."
The kid didn't answer, but he stopped humming, cradling the stuffed toy against his chest.
"Hey, kid," I said again. "You deaf or somethin'?"
The kid hunched over, hugging the puppy tighter. "Mama said to not talk ta strangers."
Oh. So he was waitin' for his mom. What the fuck some broad was thinking, leaving her kid out alone, I don't know. There's lotsa stupid people on the colony. I think I've met most of them.
"Well, kid, your mom's not here right now, so she won't know," I said, leaning against the bus bench. "Where's your mom?"
The kid just shook his head and pointed his finger down the street. I turned to look, but there wasn't anybody out. It was getting near the night cycle, and nobody who was smart stayed out on the streets after dark unless you had business to do.
"I dun see her."
"Mama said she'd come back," the kid whispered. He was staring into the glossy black eyes of his toy.
I could feel something strange in my gut, twisting around like I ate something bad, or something wanted ta bust out. Shit... the kid'd been ditched, and he didn't even know. I'd seen this way too many times. Hell, even happened to me, 'cept instead of my mom leaving me on a bus bench, it was my dad who OD'ed on some bad shit. Fuck... what the hell was up with the adults? Weren't they supposed to protect us or some shit. Yeah, that's all it was... shit. Fuck the adults anyway... they'd never done anything for us.
I stood there, then shook my head to clear the thoughts. I reached out, putting my hand on the kid's too-long sleeve. "Look, kid... you better come with me."
The kid jerked his arm, rubbing the place as if he was gonna get cooties or something from me touching him, and curled up around the stuffed toy.
I admit I got sorta pissed then. "Your mom's not coming back," I snapped out, grabbing the kid's arm again.
"NO!" the kid screeched. It was then I saw something different about him. His eyes were narrowed at me, but it was the first time I'd seen them, and I realized they were purple. I'd never seen purple eyes before. I dropped my hold on his arm. But that thought went away when I saw the kid. He was still sitting on the bench, still clutching the puppy to his chest, but there was something different about him... something that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "My mama's coming back! She said she would! She said! She did! You're a bad person and a stranger and I'm not supposed ta talk ta strangers!"
I couldn't say anything about that. I'd seen his type, too, the ones that hoped their parents would come back. They were all idiots. I shrugged, shaking off the bad feeling I had.
"Fine, kid, your funeral. Don't say I didn't warn ya."
I walked away then, towards the place where the gang was staying. Poor kid, was all I could think. He'd probably be dead by morning. If it wasn't the crazies or the pimps or the drug runners, the Federation would get him. I sniffed, making sure the loaf of bread was still tucked away. Damn kid... what the hell was he waiting for anyway?
I can admit when I'm wrong.
He sat there, on that damned bus bench with a stuffed puppy on his lap, for the whole weekend and no one touched him.
=============================================
There was something to be said about a nice hot bath on a cold day, Edward mused to himself, tossing the damp towel that had been on his hair over onto the arm of the couch. Alphonse was kneeling behind him, his fingers threading through Ed's long hair, separating the knotted strands with a comforting familiarity.
"This is like how we would help each other when we were younger, Brother," Al piped up. His fingers slid from Ed's hair as he stretched for the comb laying on the coffee table.
Ed simply let a bittersweet smile cross his lips as he deftly plucked up the comb and pressed it into Al's water-wrinkled fingers. His brother's skin, too, was rosy and flushed from their shared bath. It made Ed remember those childhood memories of how the two of them would bathe together, once their mother actually caught them and pushed them into the bathroom.
"I still can't believe you remembered that old song," Ed chuckled.
Al's fingers brushed Ed's and his bronze eyes shined adoringly up into Ed's golden ones. "You know I don't forget things like that."
The elder Elric sighed and let the fingers of his left hand stroke over Al's soft, rounded cheek. Al smiled happily, tilting his fce to nuzzle Ed's palm and Ed flushed a bit as well, but not from the bath. As quickly as he could, but without making his younger brother feel rejected, Ed moved his hand to tug at Al's hair. There was a hope and promise in Al's eyes that the elder brother didn't want to keep his thoughts lingering on. "Aren't you supposed to be combing my hair?"
Al jumped, the comb fumbling in his small hands.
"Of course, Brother!" the seven-year old acquiesed. He stood up on the cushions of the sofa, needing the extra height to properly comb. "Just turn around again!"
Edward did so, one part of his mind feeling incredibly relieved to be out from under Alphonse's sometimes too-knowing gaze, while the other part just felt incredibly guilty. The comb's teeth snagged in his hair, Al fighting to detangle it, and Ed simply winced a bit, tilting his head back to help but not uttering a sound. He deserved the slight discomforts that came with this... at least his brother was whole, healthy, alive, and human. If anything, Ed should relish this... the feeling of his brother's fingers in his hair, the sound of him breathing behind him.
Still, it was his fault. If he could've... been stronger, perhaps. Or studied the alchemical texts closer... he could've done something -- anything -- better. And there wouldn't be this twenty-year gap between he and Alphonse, instead of the one it was supposed to be. Oh, not that his physical form hindered Al any. His memories were clear and whole, even right up to the point where Ed had slapped his hands down on the alchemical circle surrounding Alphonse's armored body in a desperate bid to give his brother his body back.
Edward Elric was a genius alchemist, and the theory had worked.
But instead of seeing his 19-year old brother standing before him, or even his 10-year old one, a naked, crying infant had lay in the center of the array. Ed could still remember how it felt when he had collapsed after the transmutation, dredging up the last reserves of his strength and crawling towards the center of the array after the blue flare had died down. He remembered the mixed disbelief, joy, horror and a million other things he had felt when he picked up the tiny child in his hands. And then the baby had blinked open his bronze-colored eyes and stopped crying, his little face reflecting his unwavering joy and happiness and love for his older brother. And Edward KNEW and held the baby -- Alphonse -- close to his chest and wept for the first time in over five years.
The comb snagged again, and Edward couldn't contain his yelp as he was jolted back to the present. "Oi, Al! Be careful back there!"
Small knuckles rapped Ed on the back of the head. "Quiet, Brother. This is a lot harder than it was when you were six. Your hair is a lot longer and... gah! It was better when your hair was braided, at least it didn't get so many snarls."
Edward chuckled a little, knowing that Al liked to tug on his ponytail and play with the gathered tail of hair, which was the main reason why he didn't braid it anymore. "Your hair is getting long, too, Al. You need another haircut."
Al huffed behind him. "Maybe I want to have my hair long, too."
"You would just look stupid."
The same small knuckles punched Ed's bare shoulder. "Brother! That's mean!"
===========================================
The first time had been an accident.
In the dead of the night, one hand grasped firmly around his hard and ready flesh, he had struggled not to make any sounds as pleasure poured through his senses. His hand jerked and stroked, quickening its pace of almost its own will, and he had clenched his jaw tight, stifling the moans and shouts that would have issued from his throat. Was this a forbidden exercise? He didn't know, but couldn't have been made to stop, no matter what punishments or retraining he would have had to endure. But still, he remained quiet, toes digging into the thin mattress, hips pumping up even further into his tight grip.
But the sensory input was overwhelming and he had slapped his free hand over his mouth, muffling his own cries. And it was an accident... a miscalculation of his own strength. His hand-eye coordination had been not up to par and as he choked on his own pleasure, fire building in his belly, his hand pressed further and further against his mouth and nose. Stifling and already gasping, he could feel the blackness creep into the edges of his mind, even as his body exploded in a triumphant release.
And it was good. And it was an accident. And he lay on his tangled and sweat-soaked sheets, struggling to suck precious oxygen into his deprived yet sated body.
The second time had been an accident.
In an inconspicuous dormatory room, he had writhed against the standard-issued sheets, hips pressing and rubbing insistently against the mattress. For once his nighttime thoughts had not been filled with death and missions. He had been caught up in a pleasant dream that turned into waking fantasy, leaving him trembling and wanting. Face down, he thrust, soft groans escaping his throat as he sought friction and pressure and that unnameable heat again. And he knew that he had to be quiet, because the walls here were thin, and so it was only by chance that he pressed his face into his own pillow.
He moaned incoherently into the feathery mass, consumed by the driving force of pure animal lust and need between his legs. And with every thrust, his hands coming to graps himself again, his face was buried farther against the yeilding object. But even as it made way for him, it closed around him, cutting off the precious supply of air. But he hadn't cared... eager, seeking that same plataeu that he had never been able to find again since that first accidental time.
And he saw his eyesight dimming, felt his senses focusing only on the wanton lust on his groin and the lack of oxygen in his lungs. He panted, pressing his face and hips farther, harder, and as he came, steams of cum staining his hands and bed, the black that licked his mind completely consumed him.
He woke later, head turned to the side, panting and sweaty and laying in his own release. And he felt good. Better than before.
The third time had not been an accident.
I'm having terrible problems getting a handle on Roy's character. *kicks him in the head* And I was kinda busy watching VH-1 to cue up WinAmp and get inspired for the "Crush" fic, so that's right out.
*grumbles unflattering things* I WILL finish SOMETHING tomorrow. Or today. Or when I wake up again. Whatever. This bunny needs sleep.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-16 07:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-16 03:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-16 09:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-16 09:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-16 09:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-17 05:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-16 09:18 am (UTC)now I know I ticked off the wrong option in the poll. >_>
I kind of want to know what happens to Duo and Solo more than I want to know about... you know... how Heero chokes himself on his boa. not that that's not interesting too!
I'm just sayin', ya know?
*slinks off to go imagine Duo sitting there with his stuffed puppy some more*
T_T awwww...
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-16 03:29 pm (UTC)*cuddles* The Solo fic is probably gonna get finished tonight. Muse!Solo has woken up and he's not being forced to do something deviantly sexual, so he's willing to cooperate with me.