fahye | (no subject)

This is Pen's fault.

I can't believe I disturbed the hell out of myself by writing this instead of making dinner.

The very first thing is the way her hand can't quite fit all the way around a glass of Tyrol's booze.

The second is the way Kara is laughing, her face buried in Apollo's shoulder.

~

He wishes she wouldn't talk so frakking much.

~

Her hair is the colour of cold foul coffee and not quite curled, and it slides through his hand like the stream of air just after he misses a fast catch in a pyramid game. Same silken rush. Same fleeting punchgut sense of loss.

Her eyes are dark and huge and soft and her body is slim and her skin is nothing like his.

He explores the differences with his hands, clings desperately to the new curves and even harder to the spaces, the hollows. Skimming fingers and the taste of bile and cheap alcohol flooding the back of his throat.

~

In the morning his head throbs with parched tight pain and there's a rhythm to it: dah-dah. Dah-dah.

Never.

Again.

Grey stains on his grey sheets.

~

So what was the Pegasus CAP doing while –

Nice job ripping a track in the deck with that –

Think you're riding a bit heavy on the –

Lords of frakking Kobol, if he has to listen to another word from the lips of another frakking pilot, he just might scream.

Blasphemy is easier and easier.

~

The third thing is that it's the end of the world.

~

There's something like freedom in the way her mouth never touches his face; in the way he comes, hard and shaking and not really enjoying himself and gritting his teeth to hold everything in.

Other people's names are sketched into the story they are writing. Tattooed onto their lips. Somehow, blatantly audible in the silences – oh, they have the normal gasps, the normal moans, each one delivered like a dutifully memorised line. Like a fee. But other than that: no sound escapes either of them. They have to hear

leekara

the things they aren't crying out.

But they're the same, they're the same, so who gives a frak anyway.

~

Once is a twice is a three times is –

but he is a sportsman and he knows better than to let three come into it again.

~

Her palms are pale.

Everywhere else, on every other goosebumped inch of her, he knows that it is impossible to see the veins.

It's apt because he meets her eyes across a mug of cold coffee and knows that they are like this; like that; like they are running on nothing but their own savage burnt-out misery; like they are bloodless and bone dry.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

APFTHAT IS DISTURBING. I SHOULD BELIEVE IN YOUR WARNINGS MORE.

WONDERFUL THOUGH.

IN A DISTURBING WAY.

IF, STILL SHRIEKING, I CRASH THE CAR IN ABOUT HALF AN HOUR AND THERE ARE CASUALTIES, I BLAME YOU.

(it really is very good)

*puts it carefully aside*

I think I need to write something pink and sparkly.

Knowing you, it would be evil.

Too late. I just convinced myself it'd be a good idea to make this part of a longer fic.

*turns off Avenue Q and hunts up some more disturbing music*

Will there be pink, sparkly things in it? the kind that, of course, are evil.

I suppose...there could be?

Oh, well, in that case.

I watched your vid! it was amazing! did you know that for four years I've thought it was "troth," not "truth"? I feel disillusioned. Admittedly, "truth" makes more sense.

Was that an admission to actually knowing a Good Charlotte song? Ji, honey, are you feeling all right?

Hahaha! Did I not tell you? I actually know them very well. *coughs* I bought their first CD at the tail-end of their indie fame and the front-end of their moneyed fame. My brother and I liked it a lot. At the time.

YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MAKES ME, DON'T YOU. IT MAKES ME A REEDIE. I.E. SOMEONE WHO ABANDONS MUSIC THEY LIKED WHEN THE BAND STOPS LIVING ON TRASH CAN RAMEN. HOWEVER, IN MY DEFENSE, I HAVE NOT ABANDONED SOCO, AND THAT IS A SIMILARLY BLACKLISTED GROUP.

I never actually like enough of a band's music to get totally gung-ho fannish on them, with the possible exception of Matchbox 20, who I only started liking when everyone else STOPPED. I wonder if that makes me a special kind of cool.

No, it just gives you an opinion that's hard to defend at parties.

There are certain bands which become Important to me. For whatever reason. Someday I will make a list.

I need names of songs for my shiny/grubby new Disturbinating playlist.

Obviously I thought of you. You know some of what I have.

*flails* I'll help if you still need it when I come back from L.A.

Coil's "How to Destroy Angels" comes to mind.

HAHAHAHA.

I mean, hello.

I will never be clean again.

*eyes bunny morbidly*

Dude. HAH.

Awesome.

Pilots aren't the only ones who can be infidelicious!

Only less with the 'delicious' and more with the 'scary'. I should write something called Infidelirium, in which everyone is cheating on everyone else.

YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS? AN AWESOME PLAN.

YOU HEAR THAT? THAT WAS MY SANITY. KERSNAP. GOODBYE.

HAHAHAH fabulous.