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11 October 2007 @ 01:36 am
Such scary FIC!  
Alright, so everybody else is writing sexy fics, and I'm writing trash. TRASH! But this is just what I've been up to, as opposed to working or anything productive.

So yeah, burn your eyes! BWAAAAHAHAHAHAAAA!

TITLE: December Drifts
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Philip Shooter/Bob Walker (AGAIN!)
WORD COUNT: 815
A/N: God, I can't leave them alone! They're amazing if you get past the squick and embrace them! YEAH! *fails* But, anyway...snogging, fluff, etc. You are warned.








The Reverend Philip Shooter stood in his cold, dark office, waiting for the plow to come by and clear the thick drifts of settling snow collecting in the high pockets and wide stoops of dark-windowed shops. He’d waited three hours already, three cold, quiet hours, reflecting on his actions, both good and evil, and on the souls he tried so hard to save, cast down into the depths of Hell for crimes he should have stopped.

It was so cold in that room, so desolate. He raised a hand and placed it flat against the window pane, feeling the frost creeping into his flesh, reaching for the marrow of his bones. Fat flakes clinging to the opposite side of the glass melted, sliding like leeches down the icy window, until the cold stole their lives and turned them into pale scars, a history of short traumas.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, blinking as if it hurt, as if it took all his strength of effort. The weight of snow pressed against his heart, suffocating his body, crushing his limbs. The dim light of Christmas couldn’t even cast a glow across his face, little candles hidden by the oppressive darkness of lonely, solemn nights.

Slowly, he stepped toward the glass, reaching up with his other hand to mimic the first, leaning his head forward. He could watch this world march past, he could watch it freeze and die, he could watch it all and never feel any of it, so long as he kept this glass and this distance. As long as he kept this collar…

“What’re you doing?”

The words were gentle and quiet, murmured against his scalp. Two arms circled around him, hands clasped beneath his breastbone, pulling him back against a warm, strong chest. Lips brushed his temple, a nose nuzzled the side of his head, eyelashes tickled his skin.

“Waiting for you,” Philip smiled.

Bob chuckled warmly, giving Philip a little squeeze; he was explosively ticklish, despite his old age, and Bob wasn’t in the mood for rough-housing. He just wanted to warm Philip, to hold him, to push out the somber sadness of deep winter nights and loneliness of empty homes.

“I’m glad,” Bob said softly, smiling with his eyes as Philip turned to study his face.

“I know,” Philip replied, resting his head in the crook of Bob’s neck. He sighed before murmuring, “I just wish you would…”

Bob pulled away slowly, turning Philip to face him so that his hands pried free of Winter’s grip, the wind picking up to herald its loss. Bob took Philip’s hands in his own, stepping close enough that their hands were trapped between their chests, Bob’s lips just inches from Philip’s ear as they huddled close in the dark room.

“I do, too,” Bob admitted, ignoring Philip’s attempt to interrupt, “But…we can’t, love.”

Philip looked away, toward the obscure corners and formless pictures scattered about his suddenly unfamiliar office. His heart wasn’t broken; it had shattered years before. He felt tired, exhausted, world-weary. He felt ready, but God wasn’t listening.

Warm, strong hands cupped his face, pulled him close, turned his field of vision until it was filled with his lover’s face, his eyes half-lidded, pleading silently for his heart to stay strong. He leaned in close, so very close, his nose brushing Philip’s cheek, and only after a moment’s hesitation, an unspoken question and acknowledgment, did their lips meet so tentatively it felt at first as if they weren’t at all.

Philip’s hand came up, sneaking through the short hair at the back of Bob’s neck, leaning his body into the sinewy height of the other. Arms around the small of his back caught him, cradled him, kept him from falling and falling and falling. Their lips tangled slowly, methodically, relishing the contact and chasteness, but leave it to the Reverend to not be satisfied. He was the one to part his lips first, to taste more greedily of such forbidden fruit, to try the patience of God and defy the teachings of the Lord in such a blatant show of affection for another man.

Bob did not hesitate now, feeling the intrusion and accepting it willingly, needily. They’d discussed these aspects of their lives in excruciating detail, laboring over their feelings with the kind of painstaking care that detectives or private investigators use for unraveling high-profile murders. They had to be brutally sure this was really what they wanted, along with the consequences they might meet in this life and the next.

All they cared about was one another, their feelings, their love.

Their mouths disengaged slowly, their faces remaining close, sharing fleeting kisses, saving the last of their warmth like a candle shielded between them.

“Tonight,” Bob whispered, making Philip gaze hopefully into his eyes, their foreheads touching. “Just for tonight, I suppose…”

For tonight, they wouldn’t be alone.
 
 
Current Mood: lonelylonely
 
 
 
lacking in glitter: subtexttawg on October 11th, 2007 06:54 am (UTC)
Fat flakes clinging to the opposite side of the glass melted, sliding like leeches down the icy window, until the cold stole their lives and turned them into pale scars, a history of short traumas.
Wow. Two paragraphs in and you've blown me away.

His heart wasn’t broken; it had shattered years before. He felt tired, exhausted, world-weary. He felt ready, but God wasn’t listening.
Oh wow, again.

They’d discussed these aspects of their lives in excruciating detail, laboring over their feelings with the kind of painstaking care that detectives or private investigators use for unraveling high-profile murders.
I can just imagine that, so timid and uncertain and hopeful and...

I'm really liking what you're doing with these two. And I really liked the way you handled Philip's conflict (and Bob's too, I suppose) because it was very delicate and sensitive, but you also tapped into underlying frustration and restlessness. You managed to do a lot in so few words :)
mikes_grrl on October 11th, 2007 01:12 pm (UTC)
Very, very nice. Great words describing a chilly mood filled with longing. What a lovely piece of writing!

Thank you.