Status: Oneshot, completed.
Eclipse.
Forever's Gonna Start Tonight.
Another night. Another hotel room.
The dance is one they are both intimately familiar with – lips and teeth and roaming hands, moans muffled by overstuffed pillows, seed splattered across unwashed sheets. And tonight is no different – the moonlight shining through the cracked window bathes them both in a soft, unearthly glow, dark hair shimmering, hazy eyes glinting in the dusky twilight of the unlit room.
It’s not the same, of course. It never was, and it never will be. But it’s close enough, Max thinks as soft lips suck hungrily on his arched neck and calloused fingers trace every contour of his sweat-dappled body. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to years-old dirty motel rooms and the cigarette-stained backseats of rented vans, and if he closes his eyes and really remembers, sometimes he can even fool himself.
To the rest of the world, they’re lovers, sweet and gentle and oh-so-perfect. But they both know that flawless image is just as much a lie as every hollow ‘I love you’ that they choke past false smiles as the days go by. They know, with every empty, loveless word passing their lips, every brush of skin on skin and moan smothered in the dark, that they are digging their inescapable grave ever deeper.
Even so, they just can’t stop.
So it comes as no surprise to Craig when Max comes, spurting over his stomach with a loud moan of his ex-boyfriend’s name. It comes as no surprise when he wriggles out from underneath the younger man, pointedly ignoring Craig’s own naked erection as he saunters over to the open window and lights a cigarette, gazing out into the scattering of faintly winking stars as his lover collapses to the blankets below.
Craig simply lies there a moment, ignoring the painful, lusty throbbing in his blood to watch pale pink lips part and set free swirling tendrils of smoke and the ghosts of memories. He opens his mouth to speak words unformed, but stops short as Max turns his head, just slightly, just enough for Craig to catch sight of the starlight glittering in his eyes and know that he’s too far gone from reality to hear anything besides the slowing thumps of his own racing heart and the phantom remains of words long since dissolved into silence.
It’s not intentional, this Craig knows. It’s not real cruelty or neglect that causes Max to detatch from him so like this. So, in that respect, Craig can’t blame him. It’s not his fault.
It was the distance.
No matter how close Craig was to the older man, no matter how often he pulled those slim hips against his own, held that soft hand in his, Max would never really be there. His mind would be a million miles away, constantly treading the path of near-forgotten memories of midnight rendezvous and drug-fueled bouts of rage until they eventually disintegrated under his feet and plunged him directly into the cold abyss of nothingness he’d torn into his own tangled mind.
He would never really be there. Not with Craig.
No matter how much Craig wanted him to be.
And that was alright, he supposed. After all, Max never had been anyone’s definition of ‘perfect’, or even ‘ordinary’, and neither had Craig himself. So it only made sense that their relationship would be the same way. He could deal with it, however. For Max, he’d be anyone in the whole world, no matter the why or how.
Still, sometimes he wished…
But no. For Max, Craig would be anyone.
Even Ronnie.
The dance is one they are both intimately familiar with – lips and teeth and roaming hands, moans muffled by overstuffed pillows, seed splattered across unwashed sheets. And tonight is no different – the moonlight shining through the cracked window bathes them both in a soft, unearthly glow, dark hair shimmering, hazy eyes glinting in the dusky twilight of the unlit room.
It’s not the same, of course. It never was, and it never will be. But it’s close enough, Max thinks as soft lips suck hungrily on his arched neck and calloused fingers trace every contour of his sweat-dappled body. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to years-old dirty motel rooms and the cigarette-stained backseats of rented vans, and if he closes his eyes and really remembers, sometimes he can even fool himself.
To the rest of the world, they’re lovers, sweet and gentle and oh-so-perfect. But they both know that flawless image is just as much a lie as every hollow ‘I love you’ that they choke past false smiles as the days go by. They know, with every empty, loveless word passing their lips, every brush of skin on skin and moan smothered in the dark, that they are digging their inescapable grave ever deeper.
Even so, they just can’t stop.
So it comes as no surprise to Craig when Max comes, spurting over his stomach with a loud moan of his ex-boyfriend’s name. It comes as no surprise when he wriggles out from underneath the younger man, pointedly ignoring Craig’s own naked erection as he saunters over to the open window and lights a cigarette, gazing out into the scattering of faintly winking stars as his lover collapses to the blankets below.
Craig simply lies there a moment, ignoring the painful, lusty throbbing in his blood to watch pale pink lips part and set free swirling tendrils of smoke and the ghosts of memories. He opens his mouth to speak words unformed, but stops short as Max turns his head, just slightly, just enough for Craig to catch sight of the starlight glittering in his eyes and know that he’s too far gone from reality to hear anything besides the slowing thumps of his own racing heart and the phantom remains of words long since dissolved into silence.
It’s not intentional, this Craig knows. It’s not real cruelty or neglect that causes Max to detatch from him so like this. So, in that respect, Craig can’t blame him. It’s not his fault.
It was the distance.
No matter how close Craig was to the older man, no matter how often he pulled those slim hips against his own, held that soft hand in his, Max would never really be there. His mind would be a million miles away, constantly treading the path of near-forgotten memories of midnight rendezvous and drug-fueled bouts of rage until they eventually disintegrated under his feet and plunged him directly into the cold abyss of nothingness he’d torn into his own tangled mind.
He would never really be there. Not with Craig.
No matter how much Craig wanted him to be.
And that was alright, he supposed. After all, Max never had been anyone’s definition of ‘perfect’, or even ‘ordinary’, and neither had Craig himself. So it only made sense that their relationship would be the same way. He could deal with it, however. For Max, he’d be anyone in the whole world, no matter the why or how.
Still, sometimes he wished…
But no. For Max, Craig would be anyone.
Even Ronnie.
♠ ♠ ♠
I like this one. it's something I wrote a few months ago and only found when I was going through my laptop earlier today. I did some major editing, then decided it was good enough to post. Let me know what you think! :)This entire story was based off of Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler. If you don't know that song, you should. I gives me a lot of extremely angsty story writing feelings. :3