#050½ - Hopeless
Bunny bit me after I went to bed last night. This was the first thing I scribbled in the Bumblebee notebook and it wound up not fitting one of the mood prompts =_=
...So I made my own.
Hopeless
On the occasion that they were human, Waspinator liked to wake first, so he could look at Inferno uninterrupted.
Waspinator wasn’t allowed to look at him during the day; Inferno always barked at him to stop staring. But here, in the precious few moments of the morning, he could look all he wanted. And he did like to look…
He watched the way Inferno’s chest rose and fell, an affirmation that he was still online. The way his pale eyelashes fluttered; his hair fell over his forehead in a silky cascade. Despite his fire and passion, Inferno’s was a cold beauty. He was lethal, efficient, unfeeling; almost mechanical still. His gaze was piercing, smiles mirthless. He was beautiful in a powerful, terrifying sort of way.
But he was different, somehow, in the early mornings, while he was asleep.
Asleep, he was a picture of innocent fragility, and Waspinator sometimes let himself be fooled into thinking that this powerful, unstoppable creature needed him -- Him, little, useless Waspinator.
It was dangerous to be caught staring, but the little bug like the waking up moments the best. When Inferno slit his eyes open; when he remembered that he wasn’t alone; never alone…That split second look of relief and joy at knowing he hadn’t been left on his own; it never lasted, but it was enough for Waspinator to know…He mattered.
The way Inferno kissed in the morning; the touches, so soft, none of the usual clinging; none of his usual dominating bravado -- As if he was again reassuring himself of his companion’s presence; that Waspinator was still there and would be, no matter what.
The mornings almost made all the fighting -the hurt, the careless words- worth it.
Almost.
Those moments were indeed pleasant, but they were hollow at the same time. When Inferno kissed him in the morning, the usual lightheaded, fuzzy sensation came coupled with a hopeless, sinking feeling. As if he should savor them, because someday he would wake up and this ritual would no longer be necessary. In the beginning, he didn’t understand how, when they were so close, he could possibly feel so lonely.
But in the end, Waspinator knew. It was because these moments weren’t real. This soft, vulnerable Inferno would never be real; he was make-believe and existed only in the dawn.
...So I made my own.
Hopeless
On the occasion that they were human, Waspinator liked to wake first, so he could look at Inferno uninterrupted.
Waspinator wasn’t allowed to look at him during the day; Inferno always barked at him to stop staring. But here, in the precious few moments of the morning, he could look all he wanted. And he did like to look…
He watched the way Inferno’s chest rose and fell, an affirmation that he was still online. The way his pale eyelashes fluttered; his hair fell over his forehead in a silky cascade. Despite his fire and passion, Inferno’s was a cold beauty. He was lethal, efficient, unfeeling; almost mechanical still. His gaze was piercing, smiles mirthless. He was beautiful in a powerful, terrifying sort of way.
But he was different, somehow, in the early mornings, while he was asleep.
Asleep, he was a picture of innocent fragility, and Waspinator sometimes let himself be fooled into thinking that this powerful, unstoppable creature needed him -- Him, little, useless Waspinator.
It was dangerous to be caught staring, but the little bug like the waking up moments the best. When Inferno slit his eyes open; when he remembered that he wasn’t alone; never alone…That split second look of relief and joy at knowing he hadn’t been left on his own; it never lasted, but it was enough for Waspinator to know…He mattered.
The way Inferno kissed in the morning; the touches, so soft, none of the usual clinging; none of his usual dominating bravado -- As if he was again reassuring himself of his companion’s presence; that Waspinator was still there and would be, no matter what.
The mornings almost made all the fighting -the hurt, the careless words- worth it.
Almost.
Those moments were indeed pleasant, but they were hollow at the same time. When Inferno kissed him in the morning, the usual lightheaded, fuzzy sensation came coupled with a hopeless, sinking feeling. As if he should savor them, because someday he would wake up and this ritual would no longer be necessary. In the beginning, he didn’t understand how, when they were so close, he could possibly feel so lonely.
But in the end, Waspinator knew. It was because these moments weren’t real. This soft, vulnerable Inferno would never be real; he was make-believe and existed only in the dawn.