(no subject)
TITLE: long live the car crash hearts.
AUTHOR: roadcide
FANDOM: blades of glory.
PAIRING: stranz/fairchild.
PROMPT: 01. thriller.
RATING: r.
WARNINGS: incest. bam.
NOTES: absolute rubbish. convoluted and pretentious. a fair reflection of how i spend my film studies lectures. (:
❝ long love the car crash hearts,
cry on the couch, all the poets come to life. ❞
He comforted her with second-hand phrases, the rhetoric he'd come to learn through conditioning. It wasn't heartfelt or even relevant, more a series of words designed to move the story forwards. Stranz's embrace was a cheap plot device, rehearsed to the point where the suspension of disbelief became possible; Fairchild willingly overlooked his innate emotional restrictions, and he ignored her history of histrionics, all with the intent of hastening the conclusion.
There was no twist ending, of course; every graze of her lips was a rerun, hands following predictable lines across his shoulders as she pulled at his shirt. The absence of surprise was filled instead by repetition, with every stumble choreographed through sheer experience. Stranz knew what to do when she pulled away, grabbing at her wrists and keeping her close, because it had all been done before; they'd spent the majority of their adult lives in the other's company, and most evenings ended with nail marks and cheap proclamations. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves.
But it didn't matter - the fact that he knew how it would end didn't stop him engaging, and that's where they stopped following traditional dramatic structure. His kisses were soaked in cliche, no regard for narrative theory as he traced her lips, but there was still the thrill. Stranz had heard her say his name every day, but it sounded better when she pressed it into his neck. He'd taken her hand countless times out of empathy, but it felt better when he pinned it into the sheets through need.
Stranz had been her brother for the past thirty years - following the pattern, fitting the stereotype - but it was better, so much better, when he wasn't.
AUTHOR: roadcide
FANDOM: blades of glory.
PAIRING: stranz/fairchild.
PROMPT: 01. thriller.
RATING: r.
WARNINGS: incest. bam.
NOTES: absolute rubbish. convoluted and pretentious. a fair reflection of how i spend my film studies lectures. (:
❝ long love the car crash hearts,
cry on the couch, all the poets come to life. ❞
He comforted her with second-hand phrases, the rhetoric he'd come to learn through conditioning. It wasn't heartfelt or even relevant, more a series of words designed to move the story forwards. Stranz's embrace was a cheap plot device, rehearsed to the point where the suspension of disbelief became possible; Fairchild willingly overlooked his innate emotional restrictions, and he ignored her history of histrionics, all with the intent of hastening the conclusion.
There was no twist ending, of course; every graze of her lips was a rerun, hands following predictable lines across his shoulders as she pulled at his shirt. The absence of surprise was filled instead by repetition, with every stumble choreographed through sheer experience. Stranz knew what to do when she pulled away, grabbing at her wrists and keeping her close, because it had all been done before; they'd spent the majority of their adult lives in the other's company, and most evenings ended with nail marks and cheap proclamations. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves.
But it didn't matter - the fact that he knew how it would end didn't stop him engaging, and that's where they stopped following traditional dramatic structure. His kisses were soaked in cliche, no regard for narrative theory as he traced her lips, but there was still the thrill. Stranz had heard her say his name every day, but it sounded better when she pressed it into his neck. He'd taken her hand countless times out of empathy, but it felt better when he pinned it into the sheets through need.
Stranz had been her brother for the past thirty years - following the pattern, fitting the stereotype - but it was better, so much better, when he wasn't.