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Here's to the night
Disclaimer: The characters of Weiss belong to their respective owners,
not
me! (Schuldich) I follow him into the hotel room, neither eager nor dreading the night to come. Presumably, he feels the same way about this, just another passing encounter to fill the time in between yesterday and tomorrow. < So denied...> He remains quiet, moving forward with a careless grace into a rented room that one might call sparse, plain, or bare - much like our relationship. <...so I lied...> This isn't the first time we've done this. No, not at all. If my recollection is correct, this would be our third meeting, pretend strangers each time encountering one another in the darkness, and mere nods consenting to our brief, intimate, and yet, impersonal rendezvous. <...are you the now or never kind> The best way to describe it is by calling it a one-night stand. As if an unspoken agreement had been made, we knew before we entered this room that what would transpire here would change nothing in our respective worlds. He would return to his flowery and rainbow life and I would return to my empty and colourless one. < In a day and a day love, I'm gonna be gone for good again> This is what I am accustomed to; there is nothing here to complicate matters, no poetic words, no emotions, just silence and sex. I've done this for as long as I can recall, assuaging my physical needs on a warm, pliant body, taking what I need, and walking away without a qualm. I like it like that. Simple, unadorned, ...and right. < Are you willing to be had...> I don't know how he feels about this relationship, about us. We never speak, and I make it a point not to delve into his mind. As per our unspoken agreement, we don't bring the outside world - meaning our outside selves - into this room. Strangely, I am content with that. Surprising, isn't it? Me, Schuldich, the one whose spectrum of emotions range from condescension to more condescension, would actually be content with not using my powers for one night, and against one of my enemies at that. I don't know if he feels the same way but I really don't care. <...are you cool with just tonight> I watch him stop by the bed, and begin to peel off his jacket. I do the same. Methodically, he begins on the rest of his ensemble, casually removing his t-shirt as if I'm not there and revealing a sleek, toned upper torso that heats my blood. I throw my jacket onto the foot of the bed and approach him from behind, walking stealthily toward my prey, my steps muffled in the thick carpet. Yet, he is not surprised when I run my hands up his biceps and turn him toward me. < Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well > And I kiss him, hot, hard, demanding, and with all the expertise I've gain throughout my life. My practiced lips move sensually against his, coaxing them to open for me so I could taste more of him. He had been much more innocent than I thought when we had first done this but what surprises me to this day is that even now, after our previous encounters, he has managed to retain that blasted purity. I hate it. I despise his goodness, his naiveté, and his pristine views of the world. I want so much to taint it, corrupt it, defile it just so I could prove to myself that it can be done. And yet, a small part of me wants to bask in it, to feel and experience what was so forbidden to my nature. Suddenly, one of his hands cups the back of my head while the other arm snakes around my waist to pull me closer, melding our bodies together. The lips beneath my own respond with an energized fervor, making me gasp in surprise as a myriad of sensations stream through my now passive body. < Here's to the nights we felt alive > The real world doesn't exist for me now. This is reality. This is what I want. His touch. His taste. His body. I don't care about him or what he feels. I don't care what I feel. I don't care... < Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry> I care about the here, the now, and the pleasure he gives me. Without breaking contact, I drag him onto the neatly made bed, and assist him in removing my own clothes. I refuse to look at his face, especially his eyes, because then, I would be tempted to read him. Remember? No past, no future, no self, only two souls briefly meeting and then parting. < Here's to goodbye / Tomorrow's gonna come to soon> *~*~*~*~* (Ken) Why are we doing this? Why am I doing this? And most importantly, why is he doing this? We are enemies, murderers who wouldn't blink an eye if we had to kill each other. But I must remind myself that tonight was nothing. When all is said and done, tonight is non-existent. < Put your name on the line along with place and time > And yet, at this moment, staring at his sleeping form beside me, I feel an odd tenderness seep through my mind and saturate my thoughts. Against all reason, I am content and enjoy the peace that washes over me. But I have to forget this all happened, don't I? It's the right thing to do, isn't it? < Wanna stay, not to go, I wanna ditch the logical> I don't know how he feels about this because unlike him, I can't read minds on a whim. I really don't care either way. I don't care if he knows that he's my escape, my retreat from everything that is me, my image, my stereotype, my mask of constant cheerfulness that I'm compelled to maintain. With him, I could forget all that I am. So, in short, I use him and I believe that he's using me as escape at the same time. I don't consider myself so naïve as not to realize that. < Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well > I reach over and gently trace my fingers down his cheek, surprised at the softness I encounter. With the moonlight flooding in through half-opened curtains, his partly exposed body is bathed in an ethereal glow. Suddenly, it hits me that he's breathtakingly beautiful, and for the briefest of moments, he was mine, in body if not in soul. < Here's to the nighst we felt alive > 3:30 a.m. A few more hours and this night will never have happened. Like the other times, we'll go our separate ways again, and will not hesitate to kill each other should it be required of us. I don't mind. I can easily forget. But then ... why do I feel my chest tighten at that prospect? < Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry > I have a suspicion that he's been doing this his whole life, this having passionate sex during the night and walking away without a backward glance come dawn. We never speak but I can sense it in his motions, in his touch, and in his kiss. If he can do it so easily, then it shouldn't be difficult for me to reciprocate the sentiment. < Here's to goodbye / Tomorrow's gonna come too soon > But I can't. Not this time. Not again. Blame it on my malleable and trusting nature but I don't think I can sever tonight from my memory as cleanly as I did the last two times. I like it right here, right now, like this. I like the idea of feeling, not the pretend happiness I force myself to exhibit but the real feelings of soul-piercing ecstasy mingled with gut-wrenching despair. I like the idea of truly being human. < All my time is frozen in motion > Leaning forward, I place a soft kiss on his lips, trying not to wake him but wanting to prolong the sensations as long as I can. Unexpectedly, he responds to my touch and pulls me closer to gain full access to my mouth. Overcoming my initial surprise, I surrender to his mastery, opening myself to the pleasure and pain that washes through my body. < Can't I stay an hour or two or more > He's going to forget this once the sun rises. He's going to use me and then discard me, much like I was going to do to him, a perfect mutualism in theory. And I don't care. God, I shouldn't care ... but, damn it, I think I do. *~*~*~*~* (Schuldich) He's staring at me. I can feel his eyes following my movements as I put on my clothes. It's almost sunrise. Tomorrow is almost here. Yesterday is past and gone. And I'm preparing to leave. I don't look at him. I refuse to. I don't want to see him still half-naked in bed. I don't want to see his face. I don't want to read the emotions that may be reflected there because emotions are something I never deal with. I turn my back to him as I bend down to pick up my jacket from where it had fallen earlier, and am slightly upset over its wrinkled state. He can keep his feelings to himself. I don't need them. Why would I need them? < Don't let me let you go > He's not going to speak. Neither am I. Words would only complicate and thus, we never exchanged them. I shrug into my jacket, adjusting the arms and smoothing out some of the creases marring the expensive fabric. The sun is rising. The night is over. I push all events of the past several hours from my mind. A new day begins and I am ready to walk out. Such is my routine. < Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well > But for some inexplicable reason, I look. I turn and see his wide brown eyes gazing intently at me, daring me to follow through with my actions, challenging me to face something I didn't know existed within me. And all of a sudden, the sounds, images and feelings of last night flood through my mind, refusing to be forgotten. < Here's to the nights we felt alive > Look away. Look away, I tell myself. Sometimes words don't do any damage. Sometimes a simple gesture, a simple look destroys everything you've toiled a lifetime to build. And I knew in that one look he had given me that he had broken one of our unspoken rules. He had let emotions into the equation, unbalancing everything we had created. < Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry > Then it falls upon me to keep up the appearance. I can easily walk away from this with my head held high because I've been doing this for as long as I can remember. It's quite simple really: I won't feel, even if I had been briefly drawn to the enticing drug that was Ken for an infinitely short moment in time. It is morning and it is all over. < Here's to goodbye / Tomorrow's gonna come too soon > I turn and walk out the door, the final click ending my encounter with a pair of pleading brown eyes. I close my own and take a deep breath. Then I continue to move down the hall, into the elevator, and eventually, out of the hotel. The crisp morning air hits my flushed face with a vengeance, but I ignore it, just like I ignore the hollowness that now invades my soul. Nothing happened last night. Everything is forgotten now. Gone. And I don't care, I remind myself. I don't care. End. |