How much more of this can I take?
Thunder
Fandom: Linkin Park
Genre: Drama [Slash!]
Rating: R
Summary: Dedicated to Alias Stella ~ He used to love the thunder, but now it makes him uneasy [Complete]
Thunder
Written on: 04-19-02
All of the typos were of my own creation
A/N: This is for Alias Stella. I’m a sucker for a challenge! *swings a mallet at your writers block* Take that!
*~*~*~*~*~*~
I used to love thunder as a child. My father and I would sit out on the back porch, barefoot, in cheap plastic chairs before a storm rolled in and the rain hit the ground. The thunder would crack so loud at times I could feel my eardrums vibrate, tickling my inner ear. Shortly thereafter, the lightning would come shooting from the sky and my father and I would guess what it might have struck: and old barnyard, the tree towering over the local deli, my grammar school.
Now all I can think of is him when a storm bellows in. He is thunder. He pounds and growls and makes my body shake, just like my eardrums when I was young. He’s a mass of anger, of hate, of disgust and I am the calm before the storm. We’re opposites, and I think that is what he likes best. Yin and yang.
I’m not sure when the line of friendship and more blurred, but before I knew it he was living in my house. It’s not like Chester couldn’t afford his own place, we all have plenty of money. I think he just liked making me uncomfortable, when my muscles are taught and I can’t think straight. When I’m rigid for entry and mentally malleable.
I can’t say that I’m in love with him, I’m really not sure. I never told him I was, and of course he never said he was either. He would tell me how much he adores me, how he’s mad about me, how I’m the best. Those words are empty coming from him. They are nothing but lip service. A way to make him feel better about the situation.
When we are on the road, it’s not so bad. He usually leaves me be after he’s had his fun. It’s not that he doesn’t reciprocate, he does. But sometimes I wonder if he does just out of fear of me leaving him. Not that I plan to, what else have I got to do? Things might be different if Mike was willing to experiment a little, but he’s not. He’s so straight it is sickening, as are his dirty tales he brings back to the bus of the crazy places he’s banged his latest slut. He really got off on that shit. The more off the wall the location, the more he enjoys it. I guess everyone has their turn-ons.
At home I often feel trapped. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being with Chester, it’s just that sometimes a man just needs his space. But all my space is now his space. There is nowhere I can be alone. Even if I leave the house, he quizzes me on where I’m going and often tags along. I’m not sure why he does it. I’m sure it’s more of a control issue than wanting to spend time with me. Right?
Every night he comes to bed after I’ve already fallen asleep. He stalks upon me like a stranger in the dark. I actually like it, it’s pretty erotic, but wished he wouldn’t always wait until I’m asleep to slink in. My sleep pattern is all out of whack because of it.
He paws at me and never speaks. Just breathes heavy and releases an occasional grunt. When he shoves himself inside of me I can hear the thunder crack and see lightning through my clamped shut eyelids. Unconsciously, I invariably bite my bottom lip between my teeth, often breaking the skin until I taste the blood that seeps through my teeth onto my tongue.
After continuous ramming, which seems to last forever as he his skilled in the art of pacing himself, he rains his fluid into me. That part is the same every night. He’s like clockwork. When he is done he finds various ways to pleasure me, his hand, his mouth, or sometimes nothing at all.
The part I like most is his sweat. It drips from his body and mingles with my own and later dries on me as we press our bodies against each other to sleep, when there is no more sex to be had. His grip is always fierce and he never faces his back to me. Sometimes we face each other, but most of the time he positions me with my back towards him where he can secure an arm around my waist, holding me steadfast to his body.
One night, when we first started sleeping together, I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. While peeling his arm away from me, he awoke angered because I roused him from his slumber. He thought I was leaving, not simply going to relieve myself.
He hit me for alarming him, across my right cheekbone, which left a bruise for weeks. He’s a scrawny little fucker, but he’s all power. He’s a tornado hovering in the air, ready to strike the ground at any unforeseen moment, ripping up everything in its path. Now if I wake up in the middle of the night I just hold it.
Our relationship is a never-ending cycle of my numbness and his angered paranoia.
Until everything changes.
Thunder begins to pound against the back of the sky. I can make out his form on the front porch as I walk home when lighting strikes, making everything glow for a brief moment. It is a rare night where I am able to get out without him noticing. Just for a walk, some precious time alone.
“Where did you go?” he asks sounding almost defeated as I approach. I am surprised to not hear the biting anger that he always has for me when I pull such a stunt.
“Out. Just for a walk.” My tone is almost guilty. I stare down at his bare feet sticking out of his trousers that still pool around his ankles even though he is sitting.
“You should have told me, I would have gone with you.” He takes a drag off of his cigarette. “The house is so quiet and empty without you in it.”
“I’m sorry,” I sigh.
“It’s okay. If you needed to get out, then you needed to get out. I just didn’t know you were leaving...I was worried.” His tone is of general concern and quite foreign to me. Perhaps he’s been drinking? That’s the only time I’ve ever seen him become partially emotional. Partially.
“About what?” I am curious about what is running through his head, this turning into and odd conversation, at least an odd conversation for us.
“I don’t know.” He sharply inhales another puff from his cigarette. “I guess I wondered if you had just left on your own accord...maybe not coming back.”
“You thought I left you?”
“I don’t know...” He looks like a wounded child. I am thoroughly confused.
“Do you think I have a reason to leave you?” I question.
He shrugs.
“That’s not much of an answer,” I state blankly.
“I’m not very nice. Not like how I should be...”
“I’ve never complained.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your eyes. They used to sparkle and dance, and since we’ve been together they’ve grown dull.” His voice is quiet, almost hoarse. Thunder gently fading to the sound of lighting.
I sit down on the porch step beside him and place a hand on his knee. Chester stares down at his toes, wiggling them against the concrete. “What brought all of this on?” I ask while giving his knee a light squeeze.
Chester fidgets and rubs his feet on top of one another. He hangs his head down, and even though it is dark, I am certain I see a tear fall from his eye. An actual tear. “I’m...I’m not sure. I guess it’s been building for a while. It just struck home when I found you gone and you didn’t tell me you were going out and I was alone in the quiet of the house. I thought I had finally pushed you too far. It made me think of all of the things I did wrong. All of the things I should have said and never did. All of the times I snapped at you and you just silently took it. It wasn’t fair of me to treat you like that. I could see the pain and disappointment on your face, and you never said anything. I didn’t deserve that. I deserved to have it all thrown back in my face. But you were silent.”
I am the calm before the storm.
Thunder cracks again causing me to shiver and breaks the slight trance I had fallen under while absorbing his words. Where are these words of his coming from? I don’t know, but I know I like the way they sound, like rain droplets plinking happily away against a tin roof.
“Let’s go out back,” I whisper, standing up and extending my hand to him. He grabs it and I help hoist him up so that he is standing.
“What are we doing?”
“Just come with me.”
I walk around the house to the back porch with Chester close behind me. I grab two of the chairs from the patio table and pull them to the edge of the deck, motioning for him to sit down. I sit in the seat beside him and prop my feet up against the porch railing after removing my shoes and socks. Chester follows suit and I grab his hand in mine, resting it on my thigh. Though no more words have passed between us, I know Chester’s outpouring held much more than what was just spoken on the surface level. My heart tugs inside of me and I remember all of the things that first attracted me to Chester. Maybe I did care for him, at least more than I allowed myself to believe.
“When I was young my father and I would sit like this on our porch when a storm was coming in. We’d sit for as long as we could before the rain started falling on us and we would have to scurry into the house where my mother had towels to wipe us dry.”
“You’ve never told me about your father before,” Chester speaks in a smooth, even tone.
“I know. But I’m telling you now.” Like his words, mine hold more depth than what is actually articulated. We have never been ones to really talk, to lay everything on the line. I know he understands the significance of my sentiment, my father having been gone for over ten years.
Thunder cracks followed quickly by a flash of lighting indicating that rain is imminent. When it finally begins to fall we continue to sit, hand in hand, feet propped up, until the rain forcefully falls from he sky drenching us. We sit, soaked, not wanting the moment to end. An imperfect moment perhaps for any other couple, but perfection for us.
When the rain subsides and the boom of thunder tapers off, Chester squeezes my hand and whispers, almost inaudibly. “I love you, Rob.”
I smile, feeling my stomach jump and whisper in return, “I know.”
[THE END]
Alrighty. I’m really not sure what to say, except, did you notice that Mike wasn’t a main part of the story...for once? I barely believe it myself!
Fandom: Linkin Park
Genre: Drama [Slash!]
Rating: R
Summary: Dedicated to Alias Stella ~ He used to love the thunder, but now it makes him uneasy [Complete]
Thunder
Written on: 04-19-02
All of the typos were of my own creation
A/N: This is for Alias Stella. I’m a sucker for a challenge! *swings a mallet at your writers block* Take that!
*~*~*~*~*~*~
I used to love thunder as a child. My father and I would sit out on the back porch, barefoot, in cheap plastic chairs before a storm rolled in and the rain hit the ground. The thunder would crack so loud at times I could feel my eardrums vibrate, tickling my inner ear. Shortly thereafter, the lightning would come shooting from the sky and my father and I would guess what it might have struck: and old barnyard, the tree towering over the local deli, my grammar school.
Now all I can think of is him when a storm bellows in. He is thunder. He pounds and growls and makes my body shake, just like my eardrums when I was young. He’s a mass of anger, of hate, of disgust and I am the calm before the storm. We’re opposites, and I think that is what he likes best. Yin and yang.
I’m not sure when the line of friendship and more blurred, but before I knew it he was living in my house. It’s not like Chester couldn’t afford his own place, we all have plenty of money. I think he just liked making me uncomfortable, when my muscles are taught and I can’t think straight. When I’m rigid for entry and mentally malleable.
I can’t say that I’m in love with him, I’m really not sure. I never told him I was, and of course he never said he was either. He would tell me how much he adores me, how he’s mad about me, how I’m the best. Those words are empty coming from him. They are nothing but lip service. A way to make him feel better about the situation.
When we are on the road, it’s not so bad. He usually leaves me be after he’s had his fun. It’s not that he doesn’t reciprocate, he does. But sometimes I wonder if he does just out of fear of me leaving him. Not that I plan to, what else have I got to do? Things might be different if Mike was willing to experiment a little, but he’s not. He’s so straight it is sickening, as are his dirty tales he brings back to the bus of the crazy places he’s banged his latest slut. He really got off on that shit. The more off the wall the location, the more he enjoys it. I guess everyone has their turn-ons.
At home I often feel trapped. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being with Chester, it’s just that sometimes a man just needs his space. But all my space is now his space. There is nowhere I can be alone. Even if I leave the house, he quizzes me on where I’m going and often tags along. I’m not sure why he does it. I’m sure it’s more of a control issue than wanting to spend time with me. Right?
Every night he comes to bed after I’ve already fallen asleep. He stalks upon me like a stranger in the dark. I actually like it, it’s pretty erotic, but wished he wouldn’t always wait until I’m asleep to slink in. My sleep pattern is all out of whack because of it.
He paws at me and never speaks. Just breathes heavy and releases an occasional grunt. When he shoves himself inside of me I can hear the thunder crack and see lightning through my clamped shut eyelids. Unconsciously, I invariably bite my bottom lip between my teeth, often breaking the skin until I taste the blood that seeps through my teeth onto my tongue.
After continuous ramming, which seems to last forever as he his skilled in the art of pacing himself, he rains his fluid into me. That part is the same every night. He’s like clockwork. When he is done he finds various ways to pleasure me, his hand, his mouth, or sometimes nothing at all.
The part I like most is his sweat. It drips from his body and mingles with my own and later dries on me as we press our bodies against each other to sleep, when there is no more sex to be had. His grip is always fierce and he never faces his back to me. Sometimes we face each other, but most of the time he positions me with my back towards him where he can secure an arm around my waist, holding me steadfast to his body.
One night, when we first started sleeping together, I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. While peeling his arm away from me, he awoke angered because I roused him from his slumber. He thought I was leaving, not simply going to relieve myself.
He hit me for alarming him, across my right cheekbone, which left a bruise for weeks. He’s a scrawny little fucker, but he’s all power. He’s a tornado hovering in the air, ready to strike the ground at any unforeseen moment, ripping up everything in its path. Now if I wake up in the middle of the night I just hold it.
Our relationship is a never-ending cycle of my numbness and his angered paranoia.
Until everything changes.
Thunder begins to pound against the back of the sky. I can make out his form on the front porch as I walk home when lighting strikes, making everything glow for a brief moment. It is a rare night where I am able to get out without him noticing. Just for a walk, some precious time alone.
“Where did you go?” he asks sounding almost defeated as I approach. I am surprised to not hear the biting anger that he always has for me when I pull such a stunt.
“Out. Just for a walk.” My tone is almost guilty. I stare down at his bare feet sticking out of his trousers that still pool around his ankles even though he is sitting.
“You should have told me, I would have gone with you.” He takes a drag off of his cigarette. “The house is so quiet and empty without you in it.”
“I’m sorry,” I sigh.
“It’s okay. If you needed to get out, then you needed to get out. I just didn’t know you were leaving...I was worried.” His tone is of general concern and quite foreign to me. Perhaps he’s been drinking? That’s the only time I’ve ever seen him become partially emotional. Partially.
“About what?” I am curious about what is running through his head, this turning into and odd conversation, at least an odd conversation for us.
“I don’t know.” He sharply inhales another puff from his cigarette. “I guess I wondered if you had just left on your own accord...maybe not coming back.”
“You thought I left you?”
“I don’t know...” He looks like a wounded child. I am thoroughly confused.
“Do you think I have a reason to leave you?” I question.
He shrugs.
“That’s not much of an answer,” I state blankly.
“I’m not very nice. Not like how I should be...”
“I’ve never complained.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your eyes. They used to sparkle and dance, and since we’ve been together they’ve grown dull.” His voice is quiet, almost hoarse. Thunder gently fading to the sound of lighting.
I sit down on the porch step beside him and place a hand on his knee. Chester stares down at his toes, wiggling them against the concrete. “What brought all of this on?” I ask while giving his knee a light squeeze.
Chester fidgets and rubs his feet on top of one another. He hangs his head down, and even though it is dark, I am certain I see a tear fall from his eye. An actual tear. “I’m...I’m not sure. I guess it’s been building for a while. It just struck home when I found you gone and you didn’t tell me you were going out and I was alone in the quiet of the house. I thought I had finally pushed you too far. It made me think of all of the things I did wrong. All of the things I should have said and never did. All of the times I snapped at you and you just silently took it. It wasn’t fair of me to treat you like that. I could see the pain and disappointment on your face, and you never said anything. I didn’t deserve that. I deserved to have it all thrown back in my face. But you were silent.”
I am the calm before the storm.
Thunder cracks again causing me to shiver and breaks the slight trance I had fallen under while absorbing his words. Where are these words of his coming from? I don’t know, but I know I like the way they sound, like rain droplets plinking happily away against a tin roof.
“Let’s go out back,” I whisper, standing up and extending my hand to him. He grabs it and I help hoist him up so that he is standing.
“What are we doing?”
“Just come with me.”
I walk around the house to the back porch with Chester close behind me. I grab two of the chairs from the patio table and pull them to the edge of the deck, motioning for him to sit down. I sit in the seat beside him and prop my feet up against the porch railing after removing my shoes and socks. Chester follows suit and I grab his hand in mine, resting it on my thigh. Though no more words have passed between us, I know Chester’s outpouring held much more than what was just spoken on the surface level. My heart tugs inside of me and I remember all of the things that first attracted me to Chester. Maybe I did care for him, at least more than I allowed myself to believe.
“When I was young my father and I would sit like this on our porch when a storm was coming in. We’d sit for as long as we could before the rain started falling on us and we would have to scurry into the house where my mother had towels to wipe us dry.”
“You’ve never told me about your father before,” Chester speaks in a smooth, even tone.
“I know. But I’m telling you now.” Like his words, mine hold more depth than what is actually articulated. We have never been ones to really talk, to lay everything on the line. I know he understands the significance of my sentiment, my father having been gone for over ten years.
Thunder cracks followed quickly by a flash of lighting indicating that rain is imminent. When it finally begins to fall we continue to sit, hand in hand, feet propped up, until the rain forcefully falls from he sky drenching us. We sit, soaked, not wanting the moment to end. An imperfect moment perhaps for any other couple, but perfection for us.
When the rain subsides and the boom of thunder tapers off, Chester squeezes my hand and whispers, almost inaudibly. “I love you, Rob.”
I smile, feeling my stomach jump and whisper in return, “I know.”
[THE END]
Alrighty. I’m really not sure what to say, except, did you notice that Mike wasn’t a main part of the story...for once? I barely believe it myself!