Boinks (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} not_the_hero) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} cone_and_deryck,@ 2004-09-25 03:44:00 |
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Title: Sinful and Sacred
Chapter: One(Standalone)
Rating: PG
Summary: Ficlette. It's a random standalone I wrote. It deals with homophobia and being afraid to come out of the closet, and basically the fear and confusion you go through when you find out that the majority considers it 'morally wrong'. It's considerably fluffy.
Dedications:sumfartieone_, kitty_vicious, explicitmurry37, and same_old_shit
At moments like this, you don't even think about how wrong it is or how it's frowned upon. At moments like this, words like sin don't even matter. All that matters is the fact that he's with you, and you're both happy.
When the soft lilt from the stereo's music drowns out any other sound in the room, and the blankets are warm but his body is even warmer. And your legs are tangled with his, and his head is laying on your chest, and all you have to do is shut your eyes and you feel like you're in a safe place where no one can get you or hurt you. And it's that feeling of contentment when you're both alone that makes it all so worth it.
You know it's wrong. You both know it is. There are moments where his calm exterior would slip away and he would be near hysteria, eyes wide and panicky like a small child that had been caught doing something wrong by their parent. He was afraid, and he felt guilty, and all that seemed to register to him was that it was wrong. Discrimination and close-mindedness made it wrong, and he knew that neither of you would be accepted for the way you were. And you knew it, too.
What was the most heartwrenching about his fear was the moments he would treat it almost like a disease you both had. When he would look you in the eye, feeling almost ashamed of himself, and finally speak in that uncharacteristically shaky way of his-- "Jay, what's wrong with us?"
And you actually have to think it over before you finally place your hands on his shoulders, pulling his smaller body against yours, and peck him on the lips. He always reacts the same way, freezing up at first, before giving in and indulging in the contact. Then you just pull away and hold him out at arm's length to look in his brown eyes, before speaking:
"We love each other."
And his features would soften as he gives in and leans into the embrace that was waiting for him moments later. And you can't help but think that, if this did mean you both were diseased, you hope they never find a cure for it. It's those moments of fear, guilt, and then calmed revelation that make you realize how what you were doing was almost sacredly wrong.
But your favorite moments where when neither of you thought about it at all. Moments like now, when you're wrapped up with him in your cocoon of blankets, too tired and comfortable to face the day, opting to lurk in bed for a few more hours. And you open your eyes a little to watch his face, relaxed and innocent as he slept beside you. And it didn't matter how it wasn't accepted, or how it made you both different. All that mattered was him.
And when he'd finally stir and open his eyes, you didn't think about how it was sinful and sacred, you thought about those soft brown eyes and that dimpled smile as he whispered that he loved you.
You wouldn't trade moments like that for any salvation in the world.
Chapter: One(Standalone)
Rating: PG
Summary: Ficlette. It's a random standalone I wrote. It deals with homophobia and being afraid to come out of the closet, and basically the fear and confusion you go through when you find out that the majority considers it 'morally wrong'. It's considerably fluffy.
Dedications:
sumfartieone_, kitty_vicious, explicitmurry37, and same_old_shitAt moments like this, you don't even think about how wrong it is or how it's frowned upon. At moments like this, words like sin don't even matter. All that matters is the fact that he's with you, and you're both happy.
When the soft lilt from the stereo's music drowns out any other sound in the room, and the blankets are warm but his body is even warmer. And your legs are tangled with his, and his head is laying on your chest, and all you have to do is shut your eyes and you feel like you're in a safe place where no one can get you or hurt you. And it's that feeling of contentment when you're both alone that makes it all so worth it.
You know it's wrong. You both know it is. There are moments where his calm exterior would slip away and he would be near hysteria, eyes wide and panicky like a small child that had been caught doing something wrong by their parent. He was afraid, and he felt guilty, and all that seemed to register to him was that it was wrong. Discrimination and close-mindedness made it wrong, and he knew that neither of you would be accepted for the way you were. And you knew it, too.
What was the most heartwrenching about his fear was the moments he would treat it almost like a disease you both had. When he would look you in the eye, feeling almost ashamed of himself, and finally speak in that uncharacteristically shaky way of his-- "Jay, what's wrong with us?"
And you actually have to think it over before you finally place your hands on his shoulders, pulling his smaller body against yours, and peck him on the lips. He always reacts the same way, freezing up at first, before giving in and indulging in the contact. Then you just pull away and hold him out at arm's length to look in his brown eyes, before speaking:
"We love each other."
And his features would soften as he gives in and leans into the embrace that was waiting for him moments later. And you can't help but think that, if this did mean you both were diseased, you hope they never find a cure for it. It's those moments of fear, guilt, and then calmed revelation that make you realize how what you were doing was almost sacredly wrong.
But your favorite moments where when neither of you thought about it at all. Moments like now, when you're wrapped up with him in your cocoon of blankets, too tired and comfortable to face the day, opting to lurk in bed for a few more hours. And you open your eyes a little to watch his face, relaxed and innocent as he slept beside you. And it didn't matter how it wasn't accepted, or how it made you both different. All that mattered was him.
And when he'd finally stir and open his eyes, you didn't think about how it was sinful and sacred, you thought about those soft brown eyes and that dimpled smile as he whispered that he loved you.
You wouldn't trade moments like that for any salvation in the world.
