Author: Toria-Phoenix PM
When Wilbur was thirteen, he fell in love. Now, twenty-one, it was finally time to let go. LewisWilburRated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Chapters: 4 - Words: 8,428 - Reviews: 81 - Favs: 84 - Follows: 28 - Updated: 05-06-08 - Published: 08-20-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3736191
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Summary: A collection of Wilbur/Lewis drabbles.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em!
Warnings: Incest, slash.
A/N- I've made a Wilbur/Lewis video on youtube. Look up 'Meet the robinsons Cat and Mouse'. Or just look up 'ToriaPhoenix'. It's my only video. OH! AND REVIEW FOR HEAVEN SAKES!
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It had become an addiction. There was no other way to describe it. He loves it. He loves the way his heart pounds frantically as he tiptoes past his parents room, keeping his steps light and silent, so as not to give himself away. Loves the way his bare feet feel slightly chilled against the cold linoleum as he makes his way to the garage, using the ancient stairs in a closed off closet. It was too risky to use the travel tubes; ever since his dad had installed that damned machine that marked anyone using the travel tubes past 12:00 am, Wilbur had to be incredibly stealthy in his journey to the garage. If his parents ever found out about his late night trips, they'd surely put an end to his addiction; and Wilbur couldn't allow that to happen.
No. He couldn't give this up. They couldn't ask that of him… not when he needed it with every fiber in his body. It isn't the risk that Wilbur loves though- it isn't the way his adrenaline begins to pump as he opens the garage door, climbs into the time machine and shivers as the cold night air caresses his face. It isn't the electric jolts of nervousness shooting through his stomach as he silently climbs through the window of his home twenty-something years in the past. No. It's just… it's him.
He's aged quite a bit since Wilbur had last talked to him that day on the roof, bidding farewell to his twelve-year-old one-day father. Lewis had to be eighteen or so at this point… only a few months younger than the nineteen year old that stood in the shadows, drinking in every detail of the young inventor. Tousled blond hair clung carelessly to the sides of the blonds face as he slept. His hair has grown to just above his shoulders, completely different from his usual gravity-defying spikes.
Wilbur manages a small smile at this, because he remembers his mom tenderly showing him pictures of this younger Lewis/Cornelius, and how she would always pretend to be so exasperated that Lewis hadn't cut his hair for so long. She didn't know that Wilbur would later sneak into the family room, pull out that photo album, and hide it in his bedside drawer. She didn't know that on the nights he couldn't manage to sneak out, that he would sit in his bed, gently tracing the blond teens face over and over again, as the butterflies in his stomach fluttered with something between love and fear.
He had been doing this for a good two years now, and had yet to be caught by his parents, or the young man sleeping in the bed in front of him. It had been hard at first… Hard to look, but never touch. To be able to stare at the blond and revel at the bittersweet way his heart would pound, but never able to reveal his feelings to said blond. How could he? It was his father. Well… some-day father.
Nevertheless, Wilbur loved these moments. Loved the way Lewis's chest would slowly rise and fall, and the way he would shift anxiously over and over, as if desperately searching for something. He loved the way Lewis would somehow get twisted so deep in his blankets that he would blearily wake up for a split second, and Wilbur would catch a glimpse of those gorgeous blue eyes that he would kill for. And sometimes… he loved the way Lewis would let out a breathy moan, or a soft gasp from… a certain type of dream.
The first time it had happened, Wilbur had immediately ran back to the time machine, flushed and breathless, somehow wishing it was him causing those moans. The next few times, he had stuck around, blushing profusely, but eyes never leaving the writhing blond. It was sick, and he knew it. He was disgusting… but he couldn't help it. He… he was in love with the blond. Not because of who he would become, but because of who he was. And right now, he wasn't married- he didn't have a son named Wilbur, and that somehow comforted the raven-haired boy, no matter how sick it still was.
But even though he couldn't talk the blond, or hold him in his arms, or tell him how desperately Wilbur wished things were different, sometimes it was enough. It was enough to just watch Lewis, knowing no one would ever love the blond the way Wilbur did- not even his own mother. How could she- how could anyone understand?
He had his parents fooled. With his shoulder-length jet-black wavy hair, Wilbur had no problem attracting girls. He had restyled his hair after one of his secret trips, when he had just noticed Lewis's hair growing; and at that moment, Wilbur had decided to grow his too. Somehow, it made him feel closer to the blond, even if he didn't realize it. Getting rid of the cowlick had been tough- but somehow he had done it. Ever since then, he had girls constantly staring after him dreamily, picturing him, Wilbur Robinson as the father of their future children, Wilbur Robinson, as the devoted, loving husband.
They didn't know, of course. No one would ever know- the only person who had ever captured his attention was twenty years in the past, awkwardly attempting to capture the attention of a frog-loving girl. The only person he had ever- and would ever, love, wasn't meant to be his. And God, did it hurt.
He went out on a handful of dates with the not-so-scary stalker girls, but it was just to avoid to suspicion. After all, what kind of healthy teenage boy ignored the flirtations of an attractive female? It wasn't that he didn't try to like them… he really did! Like Emily. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes hidden behind oval-framed glasses, with a keen interest in science and inventing… but in the end, it didn't matter how wonderful she was, how wonderful any of them were, because they weren't Lewis… and that was what mattered.
It wasn't fair. All Wilbur wanted was a chance at happiness, yet he wouldn't be happy unless Lewis was in his life… and that was impossible. The only way Lewis could ever be in his life, were these late-night trysts that the blond wasn't even conscious for.
There had been times when the urge to walk closer to the blond had overwhelmed him, and the thought of being caught was more of a thrill then a terror. There were even times when he would cautiously, slowly sit on the edge of the boys' bed, and gently grasp the blonds' hand. It had all been perfectly innocent. Until… one night.
Wilbur had been in a rare mood of anger and desperation, caused by his overwhelming feelings for the young inventor, and part of him… part of him had wanted the blond to wake up. To see Wilbur, in all his desperation for the blond. And the desperation was so deep, that he had stalked over to the boy, and kissed the boys lips softly.
Lewis hadn't woken up. In fact, he hadn't even stirred. Afraid of waking the boy if he kissed Lewis again, Wilbur slowly faded into the shadows, shaking terribly. He… had kissed Lewis. The boy he had pined over for forever. And he had kissed him. And Lewis… Lewis didn't know.
When Wilbur was younger, Cornelius would tell Wilbur stories about him and Franny, and how they met and fell in love… in one of those stories, Cornelius had revealed that he hadn't had his first kiss until he was twenty. So did that mean… did that mean Wilbur was his first kiss? Despite the fact that the blond hadn't been participating, it was still a kiss, wasn't it?
It made the raven-haired boys head spin at all the technicalities. It wasn't fair that he could only have these moments in the shadows of the night. That Lewis could never know. It wasn't fair. But Wilbur would continue to come back every night that he could.
Lewis was, after all, an addiction.