TITLE: His Eyes
ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag...hehe.
SPOILERS: Humpty Dumpty
RATING: Strong R
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY: In night's darkness, truth lay still.
PROMPT: 94. Why does it feel so good? you murmured while
losing consciousness after wave on wave
smashed into you & shook you to the bone.

NOTES: For the House Rareathon on LJ.

Legs tangled, mingling with the deep burgundy of the covers, twisting and growing cold in the morn's air.

A gentle moan coaxed her eyes awake, form already distancing itself from land's slumber, but body too cowardly to completely sever the ties from comfort.

She blinked away exhaustion, methodically going through the sore areas that her body presently boasted, and the reasoning behind it. A small smile graced her lips, reflecting the events that night's darkness had offered.

He had come to her under the false pretense of returning her key, done in a drunken stupor according to his self-diagnosis. However, the lack of scotch's pungent aroma nor the looseness in his joints warned her of ulterior motives, giving her sufficient time to withdraw from his presence.

But her door swung open, wider than intended, inviting disaster into her house. The storm was beginning to brew.

The evening would start with few words spoken, just stolen glances that spoke more than words expressed. It was the same. It was comforting. Television would bring them closer and his remarks would close the gap between them, a certain ease settling, just as she expected would.

Another look would spark an action, and that action would force a reaction to ignite something between them, and after that, the storm would start its slow yet frenzied build to its maximum strength. The breath from his mouth whispered winds, blowing icy air that would prickle her skin with goose bumps until his warm clouded hand would smooth them out. Rain would moisten her eyes, which she fought hard to blink back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of affection.

During the eye of the storm, everything was calm. The tempests would calm, but never fully dying, sometimes giving heed of their imminent revival.

A few innocent touches later found them wrapped in each other's arms, lips tasting while hands continued to explore familiar territory falsely deemed uncharted. They knew their bodies well, a little too well though either was quick to account such discoveries as flukes, despite continuing to tease the 'right spot' and knowing just when to pull back.

He never entered her right away, opting instead to prolong the painful pleasure up until the cusp of breaking, before joining her in riding wave on wave, as they smashed into them, shaking them to the bone. He was considerate that way, almost to a point of surprising romantic, but a snide look would immediately correct that discovery.

She knew that this, in his mind, was a mercy fuck - a way to condescendingly pat her on the head and whisper that everything was going to turn out all right. Most of the time, he would write it off a mere concoction of boredom, of a simple manifestation of man plus woman and the aforementioned results that were produced from such a coupling. The disappointing twitches that needled her pricked tears to her eyes, but her one saving factor pushed her to continue, to grasp for more: even in darkness, the eyes revealed truths too vulnerable to expose themselves in daylight. In obscurity, falseness shrivels, leaving away the foundation of accuracy.

His whole state of being hid in light's glare, and despite rumors abound, very few had seen his light in twilight's blanket. But bodies tend to whisper when they slide together, friction carrying thoughts withheld by apprehensive terror. She accepted that her body spoke to him when sidled near, cried out to him when pressed against, and cooed feelings of sickening love when their sweat lingered together on glistening bodies. She knew he was aware, and she expected the same withdrawing reaction each and every time. Bothered by such behaviour at first, it had become part of their routine as an immunity began to build itself around her; roughing up her senses and bringing fewer and fewer self-critical statements to mind.

She began to look, soon thereafter. She began to look and feel instead of just experiencing the latter. She began to look, to indulge her eyes in his, to treat her nose to his scent and her mouth to familiarize in his taste. Her senses were slowly being broken in, willingly conforming to him. Above all, save for feeling, she loved to look. She loved to delight her eyes, reveling in discoveries made but withheld.

When in one of their shared moments, she ignored the look in his eyes, the one that held a curious sparkle easily translatable as love. The slight glimmer only seen when ecstacy opened its gates, unintentionally forcing such an alien emotion out. She even ignored the sound of his voice, when words of love accidently tumbled out, in sync with his and hers shared journey to a climaxing summit, when her name was whispered over and over in her ear, almost like a mantra.

She ignored it then, only reacting to it when his eyes had long been sheltered from reality, opening the door to dreams and hauntings in another dimension.

The sound of shuffling jarred her from her thoughts, distant-staring eyes focusing on the form sitting busily on the bed, pants being pulled up with frustration. She knew he pretended to be angered, for ire perfectly neutralized the bubbling desire to converse. When she heard the rattling of his pill bottle, her soft whimper begged him to stay.

Boldness forced the words from her mouth. "I heard you last night."

"Accident." His words were curt, his eyes downcast as he buttoned up his wrinkled shirt.

"...and the night before."


"Liar," she goaded him, wanting any fibre to deny, wanting to spark some conflict to excite.

He ignored her, grabbing his cane and reaching for the door.

"I feel the same." Her whispered words were intended for him to hear, and she raised her eyes, breathing in his reaction. She awaited a snide remark, and insult or a look of disgust, but all he offered her was a blank expression, void of any emotion or reaction.

...except for that look in his eyes.