This is the Alias bit from earlier...
Apr. 14th, 2005 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kolHabit
Genre: Alias: “Kol-Angst”
Spoilers: Vaguely Season 4-Season 1
Rating: PG-13/R
Wordcount 759
"He slips into her love like a familiar jacket; but the warmth he aches for has burned away."
--------------
His eyes are squeezed tight against the darkness, but he can feel her beside him, her legs trapped by his own, the single sheet clings around them both. His prison of skin and sweat and sex-- love was only a habit, a sheet to wrap around him for false modesty.
She sighs in his arms, clinging to him with arms too tight. He is stiff, wishing he was alone, wishing he could sleep. She is too close, her skin to unlike his own, and he cannot stand it anymore.
He is careless as he rises from her bed, untangling his limps from hers, uncaring if he wakes her.
But she is working the dark circles from her eyes, dead to world beyond the soft murmer of protest that slides deep inside her throat-- a faint snore deepens into a rumbling disharmony. She does not reach for him, and he is not surprised that he doesn’t care.
Three years ago, she was dead and he cried a lifetime of tears. Two years ago, she was dead and it no longer made him flinch. One year ago, the world ended and her skin walked into his life again. The lie he had forgiven himself for had returned.
Last night, his lips kissed her skin, whispering the lie again and again, feverish in his need to make it truth.
It was three in the morning and it was still a lie. His lips are dry-- he cannot sleep next to the skin he has tainted with his lies.
The confession stretches him into another person, the habit twisting him into someone less than human. His eyes are cold, but his heart is so cold it burns stale. He cannot lie again-- but he cannot tell the truth, either. He is trapped inside her, even though they are not joined by flesh.
His skin begins to crawl, the lies creeping beneath his skin. He walks to her bathroom, but he knows water cannot clean him. He hasn’t been clean inside since he saw her standing in the alley, his wedding band frost against his skin, over a year ago.
He draws the water, his hands shaking beneath the hot steam. On the surface, his skin bloomed red, but deep inside his blood was ice. But his skin no longer itches, and habit takes over. Soap, lather, rinse, repeat-- life is easy if he sticks to what has come before. The rules keep his heart pulsing. And rule number one is that he must love her.
It is not hard to live that lie. That lie was the hardest thing he has ever done.
His hands are still wet as he returns to the room, and he is not surprised to find her searching the dark room for him. She smiles when she sees him, her eyes dark with desire and love and everything he desperately wants to feel again.
Lauren has made him numb. Sydney has made him numb. He has made himself numb.
He can see in her eyes a mirror of who he was, the man who had loved her, the man who had treasured her. But that man is dead, the stale beer and the haunted kiss of a blonde the lie standing before her. But he moves towards her, hypnotized by the truth that once was, the man he use to be, the warmth he use to feel.
She reaches up to meet him, but he looks away, the only fire he feels resentment. He cannot be away from her. He knows the world is just as hallow at her side as it is apart from it, but he allows himself to forget as his lips touch her offered neck. His skin itches as he stretches into himself, and he tells himself this is habit.
But his heart knows it’s fear. He has never been alone for long. He trades skin for skin, finding himself in the moans and cries and thrusts of love. He lies to himself: that this is love, that this is enough, that he’ll be warm if he tries hard enough.
He slips into her love like a familiar jacket; but the warmth he aches for has burned away. She is feverish against him, crying for more, and his breath against her chest scorches them both. She is complete against him, but deep inside, he is only numb.
He kisses her, but it is just a habit, and his eyes close as he feigns sleep.
Deep inside, Vaughn wonders if he’ll ever be warm again.
--------------
Point A: As much as I dislike the character of Vaughn, I also feel horrible for the character as well. He killed his wife, was thrust back into a relationship with Syd too fast, and from the looks the actor who plays the character gives, it just looks feels like Vaughn is lying to himself. I really feel he moved on when he thought Syd died-- the beginning of Season 3, to me, nailed shut any perminant future the two might share.
Point B: Vaughn seems to move from woman to woman. Alice-Syd-Lauren-Syd. I think if the character *was* real, he'd have to sit by himself for a while, find himself apart from all these women, and do some serious work before he's ready to commit to a serious relationship. He just killed his wife and is living in this fantasy that hey, everything will be ok if I'm with Syd-- but it just seems clear to me that he knows it's just a fantasy.
Take the two points and you'll see why I wrote the fic :D.
BTW-- this is my first Alias fanfic, and the first non-HP fanfic I've worked on in a LONG time. I've never really felt comfortable writing in this tense, but it just seemed to work better this way.
... yeah, that's as racy as I get. SORRY XD.
Genre: Alias: “Kol-Angst”
Spoilers: Vaguely Season 4-Season 1
Rating: PG-13/R
Wordcount 759
"He slips into her love like a familiar jacket; but the warmth he aches for has burned away."
--------------
His eyes are squeezed tight against the darkness, but he can feel her beside him, her legs trapped by his own, the single sheet clings around them both. His prison of skin and sweat and sex-- love was only a habit, a sheet to wrap around him for false modesty.
She sighs in his arms, clinging to him with arms too tight. He is stiff, wishing he was alone, wishing he could sleep. She is too close, her skin to unlike his own, and he cannot stand it anymore.
He is careless as he rises from her bed, untangling his limps from hers, uncaring if he wakes her.
But she is working the dark circles from her eyes, dead to world beyond the soft murmer of protest that slides deep inside her throat-- a faint snore deepens into a rumbling disharmony. She does not reach for him, and he is not surprised that he doesn’t care.
Three years ago, she was dead and he cried a lifetime of tears. Two years ago, she was dead and it no longer made him flinch. One year ago, the world ended and her skin walked into his life again. The lie he had forgiven himself for had returned.
Last night, his lips kissed her skin, whispering the lie again and again, feverish in his need to make it truth.
It was three in the morning and it was still a lie. His lips are dry-- he cannot sleep next to the skin he has tainted with his lies.
The confession stretches him into another person, the habit twisting him into someone less than human. His eyes are cold, but his heart is so cold it burns stale. He cannot lie again-- but he cannot tell the truth, either. He is trapped inside her, even though they are not joined by flesh.
His skin begins to crawl, the lies creeping beneath his skin. He walks to her bathroom, but he knows water cannot clean him. He hasn’t been clean inside since he saw her standing in the alley, his wedding band frost against his skin, over a year ago.
He draws the water, his hands shaking beneath the hot steam. On the surface, his skin bloomed red, but deep inside his blood was ice. But his skin no longer itches, and habit takes over. Soap, lather, rinse, repeat-- life is easy if he sticks to what has come before. The rules keep his heart pulsing. And rule number one is that he must love her.
It is not hard to live that lie. That lie was the hardest thing he has ever done.
His hands are still wet as he returns to the room, and he is not surprised to find her searching the dark room for him. She smiles when she sees him, her eyes dark with desire and love and everything he desperately wants to feel again.
Lauren has made him numb. Sydney has made him numb. He has made himself numb.
He can see in her eyes a mirror of who he was, the man who had loved her, the man who had treasured her. But that man is dead, the stale beer and the haunted kiss of a blonde the lie standing before her. But he moves towards her, hypnotized by the truth that once was, the man he use to be, the warmth he use to feel.
She reaches up to meet him, but he looks away, the only fire he feels resentment. He cannot be away from her. He knows the world is just as hallow at her side as it is apart from it, but he allows himself to forget as his lips touch her offered neck. His skin itches as he stretches into himself, and he tells himself this is habit.
But his heart knows it’s fear. He has never been alone for long. He trades skin for skin, finding himself in the moans and cries and thrusts of love. He lies to himself: that this is love, that this is enough, that he’ll be warm if he tries hard enough.
He slips into her love like a familiar jacket; but the warmth he aches for has burned away. She is feverish against him, crying for more, and his breath against her chest scorches them both. She is complete against him, but deep inside, he is only numb.
He kisses her, but it is just a habit, and his eyes close as he feigns sleep.
Deep inside, Vaughn wonders if he’ll ever be warm again.
--------------
Point A: As much as I dislike the character of Vaughn, I also feel horrible for the character as well. He killed his wife, was thrust back into a relationship with Syd too fast, and from the looks the actor who plays the character gives, it just looks feels like Vaughn is lying to himself. I really feel he moved on when he thought Syd died-- the beginning of Season 3, to me, nailed shut any perminant future the two might share.
Point B: Vaughn seems to move from woman to woman. Alice-Syd-Lauren-Syd. I think if the character *was* real, he'd have to sit by himself for a while, find himself apart from all these women, and do some serious work before he's ready to commit to a serious relationship. He just killed his wife and is living in this fantasy that hey, everything will be ok if I'm with Syd-- but it just seems clear to me that he knows it's just a fantasy.
Take the two points and you'll see why I wrote the fic :D.
BTW-- this is my first Alias fanfic, and the first non-HP fanfic I've worked on in a LONG time. I've never really felt comfortable writing in this tense, but it just seemed to work better this way.
... yeah, that's as racy as I get. SORRY XD.
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Date: 2005-04-15 06:06 am (UTC)wow . . .
Date: 2005-04-15 03:37 pm (UTC)Re: wow . . .
Date: 2005-04-15 09:48 pm (UTC)