Title: Confusion will be my epitaph
Fandom: RPS - X Factor
Characters: Henry - Matthew
Pairing: Henry / Matthew - Henry hints / Sara
Rating: PG13
Genre: Introspective one-shot
Word count: 1198 (counter word)
Warnings: mild slash .
Summary: "Here you can eat music, drink music, you can breathe, you inhale ... It 's like a drug."
Disclaimer: These people are real but what is said there is absolutely fabricated. We will gain much less want to hurt anyone!
Note: Some . XD
Join Temporal-mind and the prompt is just below the title which is taken from the beautiful song King Crimson, Epitaph .
a mega big thank you to my beta, Mary, who helped me in his usual meticulous spirit without understanding who were the guys I'm talking about! Priceless!
I know that, as usual, "my" pair will be very popular but it is a fate to which I can not subtract. So be patient. I do not think I'll write more RPS.
Confusion will be my epitaph
"And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike." (Thriller - Michael Jackson)
I know how I feel when I'm
around you I do not know how I feel when I'm around you
(System of a Down - Roulette)
Even silence has a sound in the loft and this concert is quiet breaths, several . Or the rhythmic drip of the aquarium where we left it to soak the glasses on shaky terrine.
I can not sleep. In the darkness that broods m'avvolge mind thoughts and notes and I think the race tomorrow.
This place is a prison. A prison that I chose yes, but no less dangerous. Here you can eat music, drink music, you can breathe, you inhale ... It 's like a drug. Sometimes you forget who you are, what you know, what you want to be. It often seems that there is nothing more important than them and our need to sing. It ties me in ways I never imagined.
"Do not you sleep?"
His voice is musical. That hoarse whisper softly of who has run just woke up ... I hold her against my chest and I feel the irresistible instinct to steal his breath to silence him.
shake my head in slow motion and advance his next question by pressing his palm over his mouth so nice.
I just want you to understand that I need to fix the dark thoughts and nothing in this place without distorting its illusory me from thinking.
Above him and his voice.
I could go out tomorrow. It could leave him.
do not know what scares me more, but there is no doubt that intimidates me. My heart was beating in my throat so I have to open her mouth for air in a mournful sigh. He does not talk but I want her lips against his Adam's apple by following the mad movement. The string
more to me.
"I'm fine," I say. "Sleep."
waited patiently as you can in the limited space systems of my bed.
"No. But I'm quiet, "he says.
Curved lips into a smile that lasts only a moment and try not to think about the weight of his head on his shoulder and that it is misleading, however, the pleasure she puts me through.
But the loft is a deceptive world.
close my eyes and comes out strong and uncontested picture of my wife.
Of her eyes, her smile trembling, my love reflected in his face.
I miss Sara.
I miss the real world but too often I find myself thinking that I do not miss as it should, that when I get out of here in this loft will miss you so much for me to feel sick with ferocity and desire.
I'm confused.
Being on stage is like being on an unstable border.
What attracts me in front of me as what I have behind.
sing for her and I think of him. Hug him and I struggle not to find the smell of Sara. The taste of her lips. Of his skin.
Suddenly
m'è unbearable it in her arms.
"You should go in your bed, now," whispered.
"I should, but I'm not going," he replies in the same tone wheezing with laughter in his voice.
I do not want to discuss but I can not restrain a gesture of annoyance. I unfasten from him and sat me isso.
"Explain what?" He asks after a long moment of silence.
In the gloom I see the shape it. He, too, he was sitting at the foot of the bed. In moving the blankets have fallen into a dark spot on the floor.
"I want to go out," I tell him to lie but also knew not to.
"This is fucked up and you know, "he replies quiet.
I shook my head and lifted her hand to massage unable to think calmly.
"Maybe ..." I say. "Or maybe not."
"And this desire to change anything? It will change your commitment? "Ask me and I know he is smiling although I can not see the face. You can hear his voice.
"Never."
"And then you make too many thoughts," he tersely rising. "I go to bed."
Only when his shadow is in the frame of the door lock with the question m'è remained stranded in a while ':
"If we were to go to run-off and me, who takes Marco?" And at the exact moment when I realize that I ask a stupid question. A question that neither of us really want to do. And before he can come up with some of his gun's mine:
"I hope you choose."
And this sentence hides many things, lies and truth. It 's just the final part of an argument can be wrong from the beginning, but I would not say anything or to explain it.
He stands still and know that I fixed narrowing his eyes, not understanding.
"If you think you would go out less confused you are a jerk."
shake my head.
No, of course I have no illusions.
's just that this is a strange night. One of those nights that never end.
One of those who can not wait to pass, but you are afraid of fucking later.
's the night before the race.
days after dissection notes and harmonies until worn out, and try to nausea, do you realize your on a night like this you could lose every moment that you cursed and loved viscerally.
This is what everyone dreams about.
A world where if you talk about scales, chords and harmonies you do not need to add anything else to explain what you feel.
What excites you a voice, a gesture.
Well, maybe he love his voice and the way in which he uses.
"It does not seem smart to start a discussion like this in the middle of night. Not the night before the race, "he says in the tone and I take a repressed hatred.
"No, you're right. I'm sorry, "I reply, and I feel so tired. Why do I want here, close to me. Because he knows exactly how I feel, I swear. But at the same time I can not wait that finally the door openings. Think of us, now, this place makes me sick with disgust.
The silence extends to infinity. He is just a black silhouette against a gray background.
"What do you want from me?" She asks, but it seems to ask himself.
"to hear you sing as long as possible," I reply. And it's true. This is one of the things to bet on the vocal cords.
I feel it makes me laugh and feel good right now, on this night of shit.
"It 's the same for me, big guy," he says, and seems to conclude the speech but still hesitates to come back and let the silence envelop you with its concert of drips and minor breathing.
Like the first time we take a look at our respective templates for a time that seems endless as if there were a thousand things to say to justify what is happening there. Words able to stop, block, delete. But no. We both know. The first time we will not stop. It was night time and as the silence was the same and we both had the chin and throat full of notes ed'euforia.
not escapes, no one can save us from ourselves.
hear this silence and we still stranded in the throat and euphoria known to inflate the chest, but now we know that for as long as we are locked here in this prison of music we want to stay.
Since we want to escape.
Final notes: Perhaps this story will seem very relevant to the prompt you choose, but I decided to embark on a daring subtlety to this work. The beast referred to is not a person, why is not my intention to make the people involved here at the heart of my story. The soul of the story is the music, the competition itself, this force to the point that confuses volersene able themselves to leave but did not subtract. On this night before the race this beast ready to hit play without possibility of escape with the feelings of those who are subjected.
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