[ficlet] Your Defeat
Jan. 13th, 2006 04:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
clayangel.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wl_fanfictionTitle: Your Defeat
Author: Clay
Pairing: vague Greg/Colin (Greg's POV)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He wants so badly to trust me, but he can’t, and I can’t blame him.
Author's Notes: Um... this isn't a full story in the least. It's a scene that may or may not play a part in a larger story later on. It's inspired by a scene from "Lost."
“C’mon, Mochrie.”
I’m smiling at him, and I’m startled to find that I actually mean it. I don’t know when it was that I started to like him, started to consider him a friend, but here I am, hand outstretched, both feet planted firmly on the ground.
He only scowls at me, and honestly I’m not surprised. I don’t think I would be able to muster up a smile had it been I hanging off a cliff, jagged rocks dwindling into the ocean maybe a hundred feet below, the only thing keeping me alive being the off chance that a root had found its way to the cliff face, hanging in the open air, jutting out from the dirt and clay.
The veins in his arms stand out clearly against his tanned skin. His grip slips, and he drops a few inches before digging his heels into the cliff with a strangled gasp.
The next time he looks at me his eyes are wide with fear, large, dark pupils obscuring all but a thin line of his irises. He wants so badly to trust me, but he can’t, and I can’t blame him. Hell, I wouldn’t trust me.
His forehead beads with sweat that is immediately cooled and swept away along a wind that threatens to rip him away and toss him into the ocean. He scrabbles at the root, yanking hard to bring his body as close to the cliff as possible, trying in vain to hide from the wind.
Fuck this. I get down on hands and knees before reaching out to him again, wrapping my fingers around his forearm.
“Grab my arm!”
But Colin just shakes his head. “I can’t.”
I lick my lips. They’re chapped from the sun and the damned wind that wants to haul me off this rock so I can join Colin. I dig my left hand into the grass, hooking my fingers through the spindly bundle of roots beneath. I lean down as far as I dare, looking right in his eyes. “I won’t let go.”
He still doesn’t trust me; I can see it in his eyes just before they slide shut. He’s suddenly unnaturally still. Even the wind still buffeting us doesn’t seem to move him. He’s calm; his breath leaves him in slow, measured exhales. For just a moment I think he’s going to let go, let himself fall, and for just a moment, I hope he does.
But then his eyes are open, and his arm has turned in my grasp to grab me back. His other hand leaves the root as well to clutch at my sleeve, fingers digging and twisting in the material, searching for purchase and praying nearly as hard as I am that he doesn’t pull us both off the cliff in the process. Colin is strong, and adrenaline gives him just enough strength to scrabble up the cliff and over my back. He crawls in jerky, broken movements, scurrying away and only letting himself collapse when he’s far, far from the edge.
Moments later I’m on my feet, running to him and dropping back down to my knees to scoop him into a tight hug. Without thinking, I kiss him, a brief, firm press of my lips against his.
Colin returns the pressure eagerly, arms wrapping around me almost painfully tight, breathing in shallow, shuddering breaths through his nose, something akin to a whimper making his throat tremble.
There’s nothing sexual about it. It’s nothing more than a “thank you” and a “thank God you’re okay.”
Author: Clay
Pairing: vague Greg/Colin (Greg's POV)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He wants so badly to trust me, but he can’t, and I can’t blame him.
Author's Notes: Um... this isn't a full story in the least. It's a scene that may or may not play a part in a larger story later on. It's inspired by a scene from "Lost."
“C’mon, Mochrie.”
I’m smiling at him, and I’m startled to find that I actually mean it. I don’t know when it was that I started to like him, started to consider him a friend, but here I am, hand outstretched, both feet planted firmly on the ground.
He only scowls at me, and honestly I’m not surprised. I don’t think I would be able to muster up a smile had it been I hanging off a cliff, jagged rocks dwindling into the ocean maybe a hundred feet below, the only thing keeping me alive being the off chance that a root had found its way to the cliff face, hanging in the open air, jutting out from the dirt and clay.
The veins in his arms stand out clearly against his tanned skin. His grip slips, and he drops a few inches before digging his heels into the cliff with a strangled gasp.
The next time he looks at me his eyes are wide with fear, large, dark pupils obscuring all but a thin line of his irises. He wants so badly to trust me, but he can’t, and I can’t blame him. Hell, I wouldn’t trust me.
His forehead beads with sweat that is immediately cooled and swept away along a wind that threatens to rip him away and toss him into the ocean. He scrabbles at the root, yanking hard to bring his body as close to the cliff as possible, trying in vain to hide from the wind.
Fuck this. I get down on hands and knees before reaching out to him again, wrapping my fingers around his forearm.
“Grab my arm!”
But Colin just shakes his head. “I can’t.”
I lick my lips. They’re chapped from the sun and the damned wind that wants to haul me off this rock so I can join Colin. I dig my left hand into the grass, hooking my fingers through the spindly bundle of roots beneath. I lean down as far as I dare, looking right in his eyes. “I won’t let go.”
He still doesn’t trust me; I can see it in his eyes just before they slide shut. He’s suddenly unnaturally still. Even the wind still buffeting us doesn’t seem to move him. He’s calm; his breath leaves him in slow, measured exhales. For just a moment I think he’s going to let go, let himself fall, and for just a moment, I hope he does.
But then his eyes are open, and his arm has turned in my grasp to grab me back. His other hand leaves the root as well to clutch at my sleeve, fingers digging and twisting in the material, searching for purchase and praying nearly as hard as I am that he doesn’t pull us both off the cliff in the process. Colin is strong, and adrenaline gives him just enough strength to scrabble up the cliff and over my back. He crawls in jerky, broken movements, scurrying away and only letting himself collapse when he’s far, far from the edge.
Moments later I’m on my feet, running to him and dropping back down to my knees to scoop him into a tight hug. Without thinking, I kiss him, a brief, firm press of my lips against his.
Colin returns the pressure eagerly, arms wrapping around me almost painfully tight, breathing in shallow, shuddering breaths through his nose, something akin to a whimper making his throat tremble.
There’s nothing sexual about it. It’s nothing more than a “thank you” and a “thank God you’re okay.”
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