Fic: Of Times to Come (Part 4/5)
Aug. 2nd, 2008 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cutthroatpixieTitle: Of Times to Come (Part 4/5)
Author: McKenzie
Pairing: Selene/Ed
Prompt: #04- Months
Rating: R
Ed slams the door with a final, 'Goodbye,' and Selene just shakes her head.
---
Months from now, he has established a new life, a new place in the world, for himself. His job pays well; his apartment has a great view of the city around him. His art, art that hasn't flowed from his fingertips since this whole ordeal began, comes easily, and beautiful. It is a little bluer than before, a little darker, more filled with emotional energy than it ever once was before he met her. She had been his muse, allowing him to create pieces he would never have thought possible, and it seems she is still continuing to inspire him, even though they have not spoken nor seen one another in months.
Months from now, a pretty young blonde working in his office catches his eye. She's a secretary, or personal assistant, or whatever those girls are called, and she seems to fancy him. She brings him coffee every morning, mail every afternoon, and goodbyes every evening. She is quick to smile, and even quicker to laugh. She is gorgeous. After a few weeks of beating around the bush, flirting, stealing glances, he asks her out. She happily obliges, and he picks her up later that night.
Months from now, he is sitting across from a beautiful young woman, eating dinner and speaking easily. He's making her eyes sparkle with laughter, and she's trying to return the favour. He smiles, sincerely, full-heartedly, but it does not quite reach his eyes. Too busy enjoying his company, she does not notice. They speak of her dreams, her hopes, her aspirations. He dodges personal questions, avoids talk of his previous relationships, and turns every well-meaning question she asks into a discussion about her. She's sweet and funny and caring and everything he does not want right now, but she'll do.
Months from now, his mouth in hers (but not the ‘her’ he wants), he is running gentle hands down soft skin (but not the skin he needs), and he trying not to focus on her face (not the face he craves). He blocks out any soft noises she makes, his mind converting them into the sounds he so longs to hear. He doesn't look at her brown eyes, wanting to see green instead. He can't help but notice that her hair is the wrong shade of blonde, not light enough. Her hair is not soft enough, either, but he runs his hands through it anyway, pretending it holds another texture, another colour. He pretends it belongs to another person entirely. He pretends, for the briefest of moments, as he climaxes on top of her painfully transparent body, that she is the girl he so desires.
Months from now, some poor, naive, ignorant girl is being used as a proxy, and she has yet to realise that fact. She's curling up to his warm body, petting his sweaty hair, kissing his temple, and she's drifting off to sleep in arms. Her breathing evens out, her eyes close, and she's gone. He's still awake, but that does not last. He keeps his eyelids firmly together, holds her closer to him, and whispers a name that does not belong to her as he joins her in slumber.
---
Months from now, she is a club, as she is most nights, dancing and laughing and having the time of her life. Jeremy is off in some corner, being his typical antisocial self, while she is smiling seductively at any boy who looks her way. A pair of soft blue eyes catches hers, and she grins. The boy attached to those eyes walks closer, asks her dance, and she accepts. They dance, hands and arms, hips and thighs, stomachs and sides, touching and sliding and slipping over them. He presses a kiss to her neck; she wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. He smiles into her skin, and she knows she won't be sleeping alone tonight.
Months from now, she is leaving a club with a tall, nameless stranger, and she is enjoying every minute of it. They barely make it the whole cab ride to her apartment without shedding any clothing, and the second they go through her front door, hands are ripping at zippers and buttons and seams, tearing and removing every last fabric barrier. They slowly go toward her bedroom, leaving a trail of unwanted clothing in their wake. She kisses his slightly chapped lips, and a quiet voice in the back of her head tells her that they should be softer than this, but she ignores it and just deepens the kiss.
Months from now, she is pushing an unknown boy onto her bed, fully intending to live up to every unspoken promise she gave him. She is running her hands down his chest, kissing and nipping and licking at every inch of his tanned skin, tugging on his short blond hair.
Months from now, they finish up their drunken session, and he leaves shortly after a misplaced name escapes her lips. He leaves a number and a smile, and he exits her life.
Months from now, nights later, she is going through the cycle all over again, trapping another pair of blue eyes, running her finger tips over different skin, kissing a new set of lips. She is having fun, she is enjoying herself, she is back to normal, she is over him, she is completely fine. She does not miss him, or want him, or need him, or love him. Most assuredly not that last one.
Months from now, she is living in false bliss, pushing down the lies she tells herself, hoping that one day, she will believe them to be the truth, even if they never end up that way.
---
Months from now, they're moving on. They're getting better. They're seeing other people (lots of other people, in her case), and they are attempting to deny any unhealthy thoughts of the other, they are rationalising their choices in partners, they are pushing away any sign that they are not over this all just yet.
Months from now, they are just as miserable as ever, but they are doing a better job of hiding that fact.
Author: McKenzie
Pairing: Selene/Ed
Prompt: #04- Months
Rating: R
Ed slams the door with a final, 'Goodbye,' and Selene just shakes her head.
---
Months from now, he has established a new life, a new place in the world, for himself. His job pays well; his apartment has a great view of the city around him. His art, art that hasn't flowed from his fingertips since this whole ordeal began, comes easily, and beautiful. It is a little bluer than before, a little darker, more filled with emotional energy than it ever once was before he met her. She had been his muse, allowing him to create pieces he would never have thought possible, and it seems she is still continuing to inspire him, even though they have not spoken nor seen one another in months.
Months from now, a pretty young blonde working in his office catches his eye. She's a secretary, or personal assistant, or whatever those girls are called, and she seems to fancy him. She brings him coffee every morning, mail every afternoon, and goodbyes every evening. She is quick to smile, and even quicker to laugh. She is gorgeous. After a few weeks of beating around the bush, flirting, stealing glances, he asks her out. She happily obliges, and he picks her up later that night.
Months from now, he is sitting across from a beautiful young woman, eating dinner and speaking easily. He's making her eyes sparkle with laughter, and she's trying to return the favour. He smiles, sincerely, full-heartedly, but it does not quite reach his eyes. Too busy enjoying his company, she does not notice. They speak of her dreams, her hopes, her aspirations. He dodges personal questions, avoids talk of his previous relationships, and turns every well-meaning question she asks into a discussion about her. She's sweet and funny and caring and everything he does not want right now, but she'll do.
Months from now, his mouth in hers (but not the ‘her’ he wants), he is running gentle hands down soft skin (but not the skin he needs), and he trying not to focus on her face (not the face he craves). He blocks out any soft noises she makes, his mind converting them into the sounds he so longs to hear. He doesn't look at her brown eyes, wanting to see green instead. He can't help but notice that her hair is the wrong shade of blonde, not light enough. Her hair is not soft enough, either, but he runs his hands through it anyway, pretending it holds another texture, another colour. He pretends it belongs to another person entirely. He pretends, for the briefest of moments, as he climaxes on top of her painfully transparent body, that she is the girl he so desires.
Months from now, some poor, naive, ignorant girl is being used as a proxy, and she has yet to realise that fact. She's curling up to his warm body, petting his sweaty hair, kissing his temple, and she's drifting off to sleep in arms. Her breathing evens out, her eyes close, and she's gone. He's still awake, but that does not last. He keeps his eyelids firmly together, holds her closer to him, and whispers a name that does not belong to her as he joins her in slumber.
---
Months from now, she is a club, as she is most nights, dancing and laughing and having the time of her life. Jeremy is off in some corner, being his typical antisocial self, while she is smiling seductively at any boy who looks her way. A pair of soft blue eyes catches hers, and she grins. The boy attached to those eyes walks closer, asks her dance, and she accepts. They dance, hands and arms, hips and thighs, stomachs and sides, touching and sliding and slipping over them. He presses a kiss to her neck; she wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. He smiles into her skin, and she knows she won't be sleeping alone tonight.
Months from now, she is leaving a club with a tall, nameless stranger, and she is enjoying every minute of it. They barely make it the whole cab ride to her apartment without shedding any clothing, and the second they go through her front door, hands are ripping at zippers and buttons and seams, tearing and removing every last fabric barrier. They slowly go toward her bedroom, leaving a trail of unwanted clothing in their wake. She kisses his slightly chapped lips, and a quiet voice in the back of her head tells her that they should be softer than this, but she ignores it and just deepens the kiss.
Months from now, she is pushing an unknown boy onto her bed, fully intending to live up to every unspoken promise she gave him. She is running her hands down his chest, kissing and nipping and licking at every inch of his tanned skin, tugging on his short blond hair.
Months from now, they finish up their drunken session, and he leaves shortly after a misplaced name escapes her lips. He leaves a number and a smile, and he exits her life.
Months from now, nights later, she is going through the cycle all over again, trapping another pair of blue eyes, running her finger tips over different skin, kissing a new set of lips. She is having fun, she is enjoying herself, she is back to normal, she is over him, she is completely fine. She does not miss him, or want him, or need him, or love him. Most assuredly not that last one.
Months from now, she is living in false bliss, pushing down the lies she tells herself, hoping that one day, she will believe them to be the truth, even if they never end up that way.
---
Months from now, they're moving on. They're getting better. They're seeing other people (lots of other people, in her case), and they are attempting to deny any unhealthy thoughts of the other, they are rationalising their choices in partners, they are pushing away any sign that they are not over this all just yet.
Months from now, they are just as miserable as ever, but they are doing a better job of hiding that fact.
