Well it seems there was more to the story that needed to be told....I think the voices are happy now
Title:Puppetry part 2
Fandom:Zikki
Rating:Angsty PG
Length:Just a short drabble
Disclaimer:If I owned Zac Efron I'd be doing more than a PG rating!
Summary:" He wishes it was different, but he's a boy not a man, shadow not substance......"
It's easy to slip away, to hide and get lost and will himself away, black on black blending in with the shadows and thats how she finds him eyes closed watching but not and he feels so much, wants too much but the words get stuck in his throat. Then it's brown on blue and a whispered Nikki B and an answered Zac E and he's free falling into something so familiar yet unknown and he wonders if you can know yet not know when somethings been infront of you all this time.
Then it's an avalanche of words, regrets and needs an he reaches for the one thing that will make him feel alive, all the while the silver band on his finger like a vice aound his heart.
She's soft and warm, truth and innocence and soso open. It's lips on lips, heart on heart, and he can't get enough, and he wishes for more, for a life without regrets and secrets and the wrongness of this right. It's hands in hair, tears on cheek and promises he knows he can't ever keep. Then it's tongue on tongue and desperation hits and it's frantic and need and soso warm until it's flames that burn, threatening to consume them both and damn them from here into eternity. It's silence yet noise, their moans a song he'll remember long after the memory of this fades and footsteps that approach hurtling them back from dreams into reality.
Then it's his own hands in hair, on lips and straightening of clothes, nervous laughter and sideways glances and it feels like a time so long gone of purity and playgrounds and stolen kisses behind bleachers and for a second just one he's new and old and shiny and bright.
He tries to hold onto that feeling and as they move to rejoin the lights and bright, noise and chaos, he savors the brush of shoulder and hand and the taste of wholeness on his tongue and prays for a way to make it all right, for a life and love and a fairytale ending.
But it's smoke and mirrors and masters and subjects and his role is one of following not leading and when he feels the vibration against his thigh he remembers who he is and what he is and makes excuses with words but apologizes with eyes and tries to ignore the recognizable sheen of heartbreak mirrored in brown.
As the strings pull tight and turn him around, leading him away, he wishes he was different but he's a boy not a man, shadow not substance, a puppet paid to peform not feel.
Fandom:Zikki
Rating:Angsty PG
Length:Just a short drabble
Disclaimer:If I owned Zac Efron I'd be doing more than a PG rating!
Summary:" He wishes it was different, but he's a boy not a man, shadow not substance......"
It's easy to slip away, to hide and get lost and will himself away, black on black blending in with the shadows and thats how she finds him eyes closed watching but not and he feels so much, wants too much but the words get stuck in his throat. Then it's brown on blue and a whispered Nikki B and an answered Zac E and he's free falling into something so familiar yet unknown and he wonders if you can know yet not know when somethings been infront of you all this time.
Then it's an avalanche of words, regrets and needs an he reaches for the one thing that will make him feel alive, all the while the silver band on his finger like a vice aound his heart.
She's soft and warm, truth and innocence and soso open. It's lips on lips, heart on heart, and he can't get enough, and he wishes for more, for a life without regrets and secrets and the wrongness of this right. It's hands in hair, tears on cheek and promises he knows he can't ever keep. Then it's tongue on tongue and desperation hits and it's frantic and need and soso warm until it's flames that burn, threatening to consume them both and damn them from here into eternity. It's silence yet noise, their moans a song he'll remember long after the memory of this fades and footsteps that approach hurtling them back from dreams into reality.
Then it's his own hands in hair, on lips and straightening of clothes, nervous laughter and sideways glances and it feels like a time so long gone of purity and playgrounds and stolen kisses behind bleachers and for a second just one he's new and old and shiny and bright.
He tries to hold onto that feeling and as they move to rejoin the lights and bright, noise and chaos, he savors the brush of shoulder and hand and the taste of wholeness on his tongue and prays for a way to make it all right, for a life and love and a fairytale ending.
But it's smoke and mirrors and masters and subjects and his role is one of following not leading and when he feels the vibration against his thigh he remembers who he is and what he is and makes excuses with words but apologizes with eyes and tries to ignore the recognizable sheen of heartbreak mirrored in brown.
As the strings pull tight and turn him around, leading him away, he wishes he was different but he's a boy not a man, shadow not substance, a puppet paid to peform not feel.