Memories of You, 1/1, rated PG
Feb. 27th, 2011 11:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: Memories of You
Author: James
Rating: PG
Word Count: 725
Pairing: Steve/Christian
Notes: written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
chrisandsteve Friday Prompt #2
Summary: Steve is looking at a photo and remembering
Steve sat on the couch, just enough light from the lamp in the corner that he could make out the details of the picture in his hand. He and Christian from a day that had been full of silly photos and laughing as they'd wandered the boardwalk wasting time before a gig the following night.
It had been a good day, full of easy talk and comfortable silences, not a single argument about where to go next or what to do with their time. Steve remembered that night as well, when they'd fallen into the bed in their motel room, hands and mouths everywhere. Steve could still hear the echoes of Christian's voice strangled and wrecked as he whispered Steve's name, cried out as they made love.
Those had been good days and they'd seemed to last forever. Back then, when forever was months or weeks, or sometimes just one good, long night with nowhere to be the next day.
Now there was a bottle of Jack on the table beside him and Steve reached over to take another drink. No glass, no need for one with nobody home to share it. Nobody home to tease him about being civilized and what would your momma say if she saw.
Steve caught himself before he crumpled the photo and instead set it carefully aside. Those carefree days seemed so far out of reach now and he honestly didn't know how they'd gone from there to here. How he hadn't noticed until too late that Christian's laughter had grown less frequent, replaced by pinched expressions and glances that skittered away before Steve could catch Christian's eye.
He didn't even know what name to put to their troubles. Was there someone else? Was his lover just worn out from work, was he feeling the strain of lying to his folks about ever falling in love and settling down? Steve had no idea and he'd waited too long to ask, reaching out only to find his lover had already slipped away.
There hadn't even been angry words, no shouting or empty beer bottles flung against the wall. They'd had those sorts of screaming rages before, all passion and heat and it had always lead to apologies that melted Steve's brain and left both of them boneless in a puddle of sheets and tangled limbs. But this had been soft, too quiet to even take notice of until Steve had looked up to find out what the matter was and Christian had already walked out the door.
The bottle of Jack wasn't nearly empty enough, but Steve couldn't bring himself to reach for it again. It was Christian's favorite brand, and he'd started on it thinking Christian owed him that much, owed him the oblivion the whiskey would give him. But every taste reminded him of Christian's smile and the scent made him think of sharp blue eyes laughing at him, fingers tucked inside the waistband of Steve's jeans as they'd fumbled for that first kiss, drunk and buzzed on the high of a show in the dark hallway behind a stage. Somewhere, Steve had honestly forgotten the place, even the town, because it had been a string of gigs one after another and all of Steve's wanting had been building for so long that finally having had taken him by surprise.
He'd thought that was the end of it -- the end of searching and the beginning of forever. Now he was sitting alone and he couldn't even begin to understand how he'd been so wrong. He felt the vibration of his phone, and dug it clumsily out of his pocket. Flipped it open, he had to stare for a moment to read the words. Just two.
I'm sorry.
It took him a few tries to type back, drunk fingers slipping on the buttons. But he finally sent his reply and closed the phone again, dropping his head back onto the couch. He didn't know where Christian was, didn't know if his reply would matter.
Come home.
When he opened his eyes and saw sunlight, he felt the stiffness in his neck and the ache behind his temples he knew it was morning. A glance at the phone still in his hand shown him there was no answer to his message and Steve closed his eyes again. He dropped the phone, heard it land on the floor.
Then he smelled the coffee, and heard the faint click of pans in the kitchen.
Author: James
Rating: PG
Word Count: 725
Pairing: Steve/Christian
Notes: written for
chrisandsteve Friday Prompt #2Summary: Steve is looking at a photo and remembering
Steve sat on the couch, just enough light from the lamp in the corner that he could make out the details of the picture in his hand. He and Christian from a day that had been full of silly photos and laughing as they'd wandered the boardwalk wasting time before a gig the following night.
It had been a good day, full of easy talk and comfortable silences, not a single argument about where to go next or what to do with their time. Steve remembered that night as well, when they'd fallen into the bed in their motel room, hands and mouths everywhere. Steve could still hear the echoes of Christian's voice strangled and wrecked as he whispered Steve's name, cried out as they made love.
Those had been good days and they'd seemed to last forever. Back then, when forever was months or weeks, or sometimes just one good, long night with nowhere to be the next day.
Now there was a bottle of Jack on the table beside him and Steve reached over to take another drink. No glass, no need for one with nobody home to share it. Nobody home to tease him about being civilized and what would your momma say if she saw.
Steve caught himself before he crumpled the photo and instead set it carefully aside. Those carefree days seemed so far out of reach now and he honestly didn't know how they'd gone from there to here. How he hadn't noticed until too late that Christian's laughter had grown less frequent, replaced by pinched expressions and glances that skittered away before Steve could catch Christian's eye.
He didn't even know what name to put to their troubles. Was there someone else? Was his lover just worn out from work, was he feeling the strain of lying to his folks about ever falling in love and settling down? Steve had no idea and he'd waited too long to ask, reaching out only to find his lover had already slipped away.
There hadn't even been angry words, no shouting or empty beer bottles flung against the wall. They'd had those sorts of screaming rages before, all passion and heat and it had always lead to apologies that melted Steve's brain and left both of them boneless in a puddle of sheets and tangled limbs. But this had been soft, too quiet to even take notice of until Steve had looked up to find out what the matter was and Christian had already walked out the door.
The bottle of Jack wasn't nearly empty enough, but Steve couldn't bring himself to reach for it again. It was Christian's favorite brand, and he'd started on it thinking Christian owed him that much, owed him the oblivion the whiskey would give him. But every taste reminded him of Christian's smile and the scent made him think of sharp blue eyes laughing at him, fingers tucked inside the waistband of Steve's jeans as they'd fumbled for that first kiss, drunk and buzzed on the high of a show in the dark hallway behind a stage. Somewhere, Steve had honestly forgotten the place, even the town, because it had been a string of gigs one after another and all of Steve's wanting had been building for so long that finally having had taken him by surprise.
He'd thought that was the end of it -- the end of searching and the beginning of forever. Now he was sitting alone and he couldn't even begin to understand how he'd been so wrong. He felt the vibration of his phone, and dug it clumsily out of his pocket. Flipped it open, he had to stare for a moment to read the words. Just two.
I'm sorry.
It took him a few tries to type back, drunk fingers slipping on the buttons. But he finally sent his reply and closed the phone again, dropping his head back onto the couch. He didn't know where Christian was, didn't know if his reply would matter.
Come home.
When he opened his eyes and saw sunlight, he felt the stiffness in his neck and the ache behind his temples he knew it was morning. A glance at the phone still in his hand shown him there was no answer to his message and Steve closed his eyes again. He dropped the phone, heard it land on the floor.
Then he smelled the coffee, and heard the faint click of pans in the kitchen.