Jaguar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kittydesade) wrote2007-01-23 02:28 pm
kittydesade) wrote2007-01-23 02:28 pm
Entry tags:
[Fic] Tears in Rain
Title: Tears in Rain
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: William Danvers, Richard Parry
Word Count: 1,650
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Scenes and memories long forgotten.
"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion...
I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the
Tanhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost
in time like tears in rain."
-- Roy Batty, Blade Runner
They were solving the world's problems the same way they always did, over two bottle of beer each and a joint passed between them. While the rest of the house was decorated in the kind of ostentation only Old Money could bring, the den was a haven of bachelor carelessness. Videotapes, a bottle of scotch, books and papers scattered all over the desk. There was a well-loved couch on the wall, currently occupied by two very relaxed young men.
William Danvers was lounging with his head on his friend's lap, staring at the ceiling and tracing rings in the air with the smoke. They had fallen silent, not that that mattered. They were as comfortable in silence as they were in conversation.
"Hey, pass that over. You're letting it burn down."
He reached up and passed it to Richard Parry, fingertips brushing unnecessarily but with habit. It made the other man smile.
They moved the way they had always moved, from high school senior year on through college. It wasn't cheating because their girlfriends couldn't give them what they could give each other, because sometimes the girlfriends knew and joined them and most of the time it didn't matter. There were the women you saw and then there was the Covenant.
His ankles were over Richard's shoulders, fingers curled tight in the blankets and god, he felt so damn good. It all felt good, heat and sweat and the sound of their voices sliding together, the way their bodies slid together. William pressing back again him thrusting deep and their hands met, fingers sliding together, palms digging into each other as they came one shooting after the other.
Collapsed back onto the bed. Limbs entangled, bodies no longer quite so. Panting and wet, smiling and breathless. Relaxed. Happier in the world for both being in it.
Lacrosse sticks clacked against each other and Richard tucked his hands against his body, watching. Will and Nicky Simms were running circles around the opposition and every time Will laughed he had the prickling, horrible feeling that something was happening. It wasn't the cheating that bothered him, this was just practice. It was the using.
But when Nicky was tripped and staggered off the field he shook his head, an inch to the left, an inch to the right. Just enough that Richard would see, and know.
Okay, then. He relaxed, letting his hands drop again, shaking his head and smiling a little to himself. Of course he wasn't. Will just had that laugh, that sense of humor that was a little too sharp. He liked to win. Didn't mean he had to use to get there.
It wasn't that William was unhappy about Richard getting married. It pleased him, to see his best friend happy, even if Richard would not stop pacing around the antechamber. His hand flexed, opened and closed. Because Richard's hands were flexing, open and closed.
He socked his friend on the shoulder the next time he came around.
"Hey!"
"Stop that."
Richard glared. Will stared back, calm and unflappable. Dark hair curling around his ears again and Richard reached up and tucked it back. "You could have cut it, at least."
Will snorted. "It'll be fine," he told him, pulling his friend into his arms and holding on as tight as he could. It felt a little like the last time they'd be able to do such a thing, to both of them, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it?
"Are you sure?" Richard murmured wryly, before closing his eyes and giving in to the brief moment.
"Trust me."
They recited it like catechism, like ritual. All four boys sitting around the table and repeating the words they had grown up knowing, one after the other after the other. Seamless. Timeless.
The weight of their fathers and grandfathers and their grandfathers before them sat on Richard's shoulders, and he wondered if it sat as heavy with Will, too. Life was never something to be taken too seriously with him, but he spoke the words with no sign of mocking or laughter and there were a great many things he did respect. He was a better student than Richard without trying, for one thing, while Richard struggled to keep his mind on the lessons that held his attention too briefly and were hardly challenging at all.
Richard knew the gravity of what they did, what they were; they all knew. But it weighed on Richard and there were some days he wished they had been born just normal kids.
William's arms snaked around his waist and pulled him back against his chest, chin on his shoulder.
"Will…" Richard's hands moved to undo the knot of fingers.
"What?" Soft, hot breath over his cheek. Distracting. Soothing. "You called me over."
It was different. They were married. Had children. Had settled down, or at least he thought they had. Not that he missed his friend that way any less. It was sharper some days than others.
"Will, it's different now…" And this time he did pull away. Turned to face him. "We…" Can't. Shouldn't. Something.
Will's face clouded. His eyes went black, or, no, Richard was just imagining it. Frightened by recent changes, with autumn brought the fall. It bothered him.
"What? We… what?"
"Nothing."
Will took a step back. Richard's face set into stone. It had been the wrong thing to say but neither of them were good about talking about things like this. "Damn right, nothing."
He left a half an hour later and the air was full of all the things he hadn't said. Richard sat back down at his desk and dropped his head into his hands, elbows and forearms shoving papers aside. He barely moved for several hours.
Lips met and his head slammed into the wall, fingers tight enough in his hair that it hurt but it didn't matter. Hands clawing at fabric. The need to feel skin against skin.
Things were getting worse. He hadn't wanted to look at his old friend when Will turned up at his door, wasn't looking at him now as they tumbled to the soft, thick carpet. His eyes were closed. He didn't want to see.
They were getting older. Even he creaked a little when he moved too quickly but Will's arms were more fragile than they should have been. And for the first time he was afraid of breaking him as he took, mouth to mouth and body to body, sheathed in the heat of him and taking some kind of desperate comfort that this much, at least, hadn't changed. He'd resisted. He'd tried. Didn't make it.
Mouth to mouth. Kiss to kiss, moment to moment. Stretched out on the carpet, the moment was over all too soon.
The women in the family knew that they were on the outside of something bigger than they could ever have together, and accepted it. It was a condition of remaining married into the family, of marrying there in the first place. It went deeper than a flippant adage repeated by careless husbands, or a secret fraternity at a college that was founded on money and status. Their husbands were more than friends, they were brothers, intimate in the way of growing up together.
The women in the family embraced and laughed and kissed each other's cheeks when they met, which was more frequently than most society women. The men in the family embraced just as much, with a minimum of macho backslapping. This was different.
It wasn't malice that kept them out of the inner circle. One by one, the husbands brought them in. Richard first, then Will. Then Nicky. Then Darian.
It made more sense once they knew. All the conversations were had in quiet, in a small room, the men speaking quietly and calmly to impress upon them the importance of keeping the secret. After that, there was always a separation between the women of Ipswich and their society friends.
Richard told his wife everything, after that time in the study. Both because he wanted her to understand and because he had the feeling something was ending. Afterwards she put her hand on his shoulder, and he cried a little.
No one had yet set foot in the room; no one dared. As though it was something that was contagious, that they could catch just by breathing the same air, and Richard had to look away to keep from snarling. At them, but also at himself. He was just as guilty.
He was the first and last of them to go in, Darian and Nicky fidgeting in the room beyond. The chair was turned towards the window and looked as though it was gathering dust. He turned it back to the room before kneeling in front of his friend, forcing himself to look up. He barely recognized him.
"Will…"
Lips cracked and smacked. Once-bright eyes were clouded and unfocused. It hurt, a vise tightening around his chest. His eyes were hot and stinging.
"… my p-paper…" he mumbled. "… those hostages … won't do a damn thing. Damn fool. Stuck here while they…"
"Will. They released the hostages. That was twenty years ago."
"Eh?" Something like a scowl appeared. "Don't know what you're talking about. … head out of your ass, Patrick. Should have…"
Richard turned away. He remembered that argument, the student, Patrick Dewhurst. Who had died, twelve years later, in Iraq. Politics around the breakfast table. Will didn't even know who he was.
He pronounced sentence at seven forty three p.m. By nine fifty seven they had installed him in the old colonial house with the caretaker, and Richard went straight home. The women stayed to say an awkward farewell to the widow, not-widow. Richard bid his son a very awkward good night, went out to the pool house where he wouldn't frighten the boy, and screamed.
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: William Danvers, Richard Parry
Word Count: 1,650
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Scenes and memories long forgotten.
"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion...
I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the
Tanhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost
in time like tears in rain."
-- Roy Batty, Blade Runner
They were solving the world's problems the same way they always did, over two bottle of beer each and a joint passed between them. While the rest of the house was decorated in the kind of ostentation only Old Money could bring, the den was a haven of bachelor carelessness. Videotapes, a bottle of scotch, books and papers scattered all over the desk. There was a well-loved couch on the wall, currently occupied by two very relaxed young men.
William Danvers was lounging with his head on his friend's lap, staring at the ceiling and tracing rings in the air with the smoke. They had fallen silent, not that that mattered. They were as comfortable in silence as they were in conversation.
"Hey, pass that over. You're letting it burn down."
He reached up and passed it to Richard Parry, fingertips brushing unnecessarily but with habit. It made the other man smile.
They moved the way they had always moved, from high school senior year on through college. It wasn't cheating because their girlfriends couldn't give them what they could give each other, because sometimes the girlfriends knew and joined them and most of the time it didn't matter. There were the women you saw and then there was the Covenant.
His ankles were over Richard's shoulders, fingers curled tight in the blankets and god, he felt so damn good. It all felt good, heat and sweat and the sound of their voices sliding together, the way their bodies slid together. William pressing back again him thrusting deep and their hands met, fingers sliding together, palms digging into each other as they came one shooting after the other.
Collapsed back onto the bed. Limbs entangled, bodies no longer quite so. Panting and wet, smiling and breathless. Relaxed. Happier in the world for both being in it.
Lacrosse sticks clacked against each other and Richard tucked his hands against his body, watching. Will and Nicky Simms were running circles around the opposition and every time Will laughed he had the prickling, horrible feeling that something was happening. It wasn't the cheating that bothered him, this was just practice. It was the using.
But when Nicky was tripped and staggered off the field he shook his head, an inch to the left, an inch to the right. Just enough that Richard would see, and know.
Okay, then. He relaxed, letting his hands drop again, shaking his head and smiling a little to himself. Of course he wasn't. Will just had that laugh, that sense of humor that was a little too sharp. He liked to win. Didn't mean he had to use to get there.
It wasn't that William was unhappy about Richard getting married. It pleased him, to see his best friend happy, even if Richard would not stop pacing around the antechamber. His hand flexed, opened and closed. Because Richard's hands were flexing, open and closed.
He socked his friend on the shoulder the next time he came around.
"Hey!"
"Stop that."
Richard glared. Will stared back, calm and unflappable. Dark hair curling around his ears again and Richard reached up and tucked it back. "You could have cut it, at least."
Will snorted. "It'll be fine," he told him, pulling his friend into his arms and holding on as tight as he could. It felt a little like the last time they'd be able to do such a thing, to both of them, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it?
"Are you sure?" Richard murmured wryly, before closing his eyes and giving in to the brief moment.
"Trust me."
They recited it like catechism, like ritual. All four boys sitting around the table and repeating the words they had grown up knowing, one after the other after the other. Seamless. Timeless.
The weight of their fathers and grandfathers and their grandfathers before them sat on Richard's shoulders, and he wondered if it sat as heavy with Will, too. Life was never something to be taken too seriously with him, but he spoke the words with no sign of mocking or laughter and there were a great many things he did respect. He was a better student than Richard without trying, for one thing, while Richard struggled to keep his mind on the lessons that held his attention too briefly and were hardly challenging at all.
Richard knew the gravity of what they did, what they were; they all knew. But it weighed on Richard and there were some days he wished they had been born just normal kids.
William's arms snaked around his waist and pulled him back against his chest, chin on his shoulder.
"Will…" Richard's hands moved to undo the knot of fingers.
"What?" Soft, hot breath over his cheek. Distracting. Soothing. "You called me over."
It was different. They were married. Had children. Had settled down, or at least he thought they had. Not that he missed his friend that way any less. It was sharper some days than others.
"Will, it's different now…" And this time he did pull away. Turned to face him. "We…" Can't. Shouldn't. Something.
Will's face clouded. His eyes went black, or, no, Richard was just imagining it. Frightened by recent changes, with autumn brought the fall. It bothered him.
"What? We… what?"
"Nothing."
Will took a step back. Richard's face set into stone. It had been the wrong thing to say but neither of them were good about talking about things like this. "Damn right, nothing."
He left a half an hour later and the air was full of all the things he hadn't said. Richard sat back down at his desk and dropped his head into his hands, elbows and forearms shoving papers aside. He barely moved for several hours.
Lips met and his head slammed into the wall, fingers tight enough in his hair that it hurt but it didn't matter. Hands clawing at fabric. The need to feel skin against skin.
Things were getting worse. He hadn't wanted to look at his old friend when Will turned up at his door, wasn't looking at him now as they tumbled to the soft, thick carpet. His eyes were closed. He didn't want to see.
They were getting older. Even he creaked a little when he moved too quickly but Will's arms were more fragile than they should have been. And for the first time he was afraid of breaking him as he took, mouth to mouth and body to body, sheathed in the heat of him and taking some kind of desperate comfort that this much, at least, hadn't changed. He'd resisted. He'd tried. Didn't make it.
Mouth to mouth. Kiss to kiss, moment to moment. Stretched out on the carpet, the moment was over all too soon.
The women in the family knew that they were on the outside of something bigger than they could ever have together, and accepted it. It was a condition of remaining married into the family, of marrying there in the first place. It went deeper than a flippant adage repeated by careless husbands, or a secret fraternity at a college that was founded on money and status. Their husbands were more than friends, they were brothers, intimate in the way of growing up together.
The women in the family embraced and laughed and kissed each other's cheeks when they met, which was more frequently than most society women. The men in the family embraced just as much, with a minimum of macho backslapping. This was different.
It wasn't malice that kept them out of the inner circle. One by one, the husbands brought them in. Richard first, then Will. Then Nicky. Then Darian.
It made more sense once they knew. All the conversations were had in quiet, in a small room, the men speaking quietly and calmly to impress upon them the importance of keeping the secret. After that, there was always a separation between the women of Ipswich and their society friends.
Richard told his wife everything, after that time in the study. Both because he wanted her to understand and because he had the feeling something was ending. Afterwards she put her hand on his shoulder, and he cried a little.
No one had yet set foot in the room; no one dared. As though it was something that was contagious, that they could catch just by breathing the same air, and Richard had to look away to keep from snarling. At them, but also at himself. He was just as guilty.
He was the first and last of them to go in, Darian and Nicky fidgeting in the room beyond. The chair was turned towards the window and looked as though it was gathering dust. He turned it back to the room before kneeling in front of his friend, forcing himself to look up. He barely recognized him.
"Will…"
Lips cracked and smacked. Once-bright eyes were clouded and unfocused. It hurt, a vise tightening around his chest. His eyes were hot and stinging.
"… my p-paper…" he mumbled. "… those hostages … won't do a damn thing. Damn fool. Stuck here while they…"
"Will. They released the hostages. That was twenty years ago."
"Eh?" Something like a scowl appeared. "Don't know what you're talking about. … head out of your ass, Patrick. Should have…"
Richard turned away. He remembered that argument, the student, Patrick Dewhurst. Who had died, twelve years later, in Iraq. Politics around the breakfast table. Will didn't even know who he was.
He pronounced sentence at seven forty three p.m. By nine fifty seven they had installed him in the old colonial house with the caretaker, and Richard went straight home. The women stayed to say an awkward farewell to the widow, not-widow. Richard bid his son a very awkward good night, went out to the pool house where he wouldn't frighten the boy, and screamed.