Rooms' Halloween Memories Tasting (roomstasting) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-11-05 21:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, plot: halloween |
halloween: reveal
WHO: I'm a war
WHAT: Reveal (WHO COULD IT BE?)
WARNING/RATING: Reference to sex but light
He woke up with a start, an automatic response after many years on the run, the room humming around him as the metal shook in preparation. After realizing where he was again, he let out a deep breath and released his powers. The apartment he was camping out in, he'd been jumping from place to place after watching citizens leave their homes for a week or weekend here and there, was quiet around him. He was dressed in his suit, surprisingly, for he certainly did not go to sleep in it. It was disheveled and while he washed up after his bout of sex, he still felt the looseness in his muscles and the clarity only a rush of blissful orgasm could give him.
The woman was extraordinary, and he meant to look her up, once he had the chance. They both seemed comfortable with no strings attached, and now he had that itch scratched, it might be more irritating from here. Still, he didn't dwell too long on that. The memories were thick still on his tongue, but none of them left a mark. He knew who he was, and others could see what they wanted. He was only slightly annoyed by that horrific display of love and hope, for it would give them the wrong idea, he knew how dark it got, how everything in that memory was destroyed soon after. But that left an ache, one he could not fully push aside. You love him, she said, you want him. He agreed with her both times. Yes he loved Charles. Yes he wanted Charles. In his delirium even Preston pointed out the obvious, and he hissed at him to be silent, but it wasn't a surprise to Charles. He was an open mind to his friend for too long to be able to hide.
But he doubted it was returned. Not now. Charles said he would come if Erik was dying, but that was hardly a profession of love. If he wanted him, he could have had him a long time ago. The memory of their one and only kiss, angry and drunk, was seared into his mind, and Charles flinched. So that was it. He could not change to suit the professor. As much as the weak part of him longed to go home, his only home, and to bask in those blue eyes, he knew it was impossible.
He stared at his journal, thinking, uncertain who to message or what to say. So for now he ran fingers through his hair, and he lingered on the good memory in the restaurant. A beautiful woman naked on a bar, and a taste of glory on his tongue.