an old dance copyright © 2003 by d. mckay (a.k.a. d2r/d2ragnarok). all rights reserved.

Status Completed [July 2003]; Rewritten [October 2003]

Warnings Slash (as in: two guys having a relationship, as in: homosexuality), Underage (as in: one of said homosexual males is under the age of 18)

.     :     a f t e r          a l l          t h e y          s h a r e d     :     .

an   old   dance

by d2ragnarok
[]

for strangeshy, just because you rock

He forgot remembered things. The rustle of fabric and familiar weight dipping into his mattress; the contrasts of touches from the same hands and the colours he could associate with each one; a whispered breath sealing his empty words with a kiss. And the one thing that undid him in the dark: a flash of icy mahogany eyes melting and closing. Only the images, noises, and ghostly sensations that made his mind ache and his heart quicken stayed rooted firmly in his skull. In the end, it all came down to a single name: Zero.

There was nothing more to remember or forget, other than the fact that it had been hopeless to begin with. The word hung heavily in his mind: Hopeless. Emphasis that into your thick cranium, de Rosa; at least pretend to comprehend the concept of ‘legal action’. There was a cool numbness in him now, one that he couldn’t dispel of easily, though he tried. When tears failed to come, he closed his eyes and held his head in his hands.

It was impossible to pretend that it was okay, that the world outside didn’t notice them. It was all a lie. Someone would eventually notice the undertone of their words, their lingering touches; time would betray their secrets. It was inescapable, as eventual as the coming winter. I want to—I have to—I can’t—it’s not about you—it’s me and the fact that I’m your father’s—no, I’m doing this because I l— He took a breath and thought it out. Try to remember why you’re here.

He remembered. How could he forget? He opened his eyes and lifted his head. I’m here to break something invaluable. Fuck, the right choices always make people feel like shit. He couldn’t—didn’t want to—walk away, but he had to. It made him feel better knowing this. Delusional, and maybe more than a little bit bitter, but considerably better.

I think… I’ve just crossed over the fine line of thinking and entered the kingdom of the clinically depressed. Well, fuck me and call me Alexis… I’m brooding. That would have amused his lover, certainly, as he thought Alexan was incapable of such solemnity. It just wasn’t a natural part of him, at least not in the way his head was connected to his neck. It made him smile to remember such private conversations, but it crumbled too quickly.

He needed to be rational. It was essential that he be calm before initiating The Talk, otherwise he would fall apart, ramble on about insignificant things, and possibly bawl like a newborn. He took a breath and released it, attempting to gather his wits.

Alexan mulled over the facts as best he could.

He was just being melodramatic about the whole situation for the sake of melodramatic. Part of him knew this was untrue, but he pushed it away. Moreover, he was sulking over imported vodka. Well, the liqueur was doing a fine job with his already muddled mind, wasn’t it? It would be an understatement to say that this wasn’t an ideal situation to be in, but if he didn’t end it now, it would end later, possibly in a courtroom with a lawsuit and multiple charges with the word UNDERAGE against him. It was imperative to end the clandestine relationship now; otherwise it would cost him everything.

When Alexan reviewed his thoughts, he realized he sounded like he was lecturing himself. It was all facts and seriousness. Where had that sudden need for indifference come from anyway? It was a short-lived sentiment. One look at the bed could crush whatever coldness he built up around himself.

An addiction, he thought drunkenly, that’s what he is.

Zero was half-hidden between the twisted linen sheets and blankets; the pillows were pushed up against the headboard, and most of the bed space was taken up by arms and legs. Zero’s right arm lay stretched towards Alexan, his hand barely over the edge of the bedside, as if beckoning for Alexan from the realm of sleep. His slender fingers were just curled enough to sustain that illusion. Alexan took a stiff shot of vodka, grimacing as it burned down his throat.

The window was open; a slow draft teased the parted curtains and swayed at the flirtation. It was a welcomed hint of autumn in the summer heat. From a cheap signboard outside Alexan’s studio flat, a dim light spread over the sinuous boy on the bed, paling Zero’s naturally fawn complexion to an ivory white. It was a rather flattering look on him. His usually hardened features were softened by the glow, making him look younger, more fragile. Which was an exceptional deception.

Something akin to warmth spread through Alexan’s chest at the sight, as if taking it in for the first time.

Alexan knew Zero’s body as well as his own, having explored them over and over, having burned every contour of flesh, all the sensations of his skin and tongue, deep into his memory. Words failed, he only had his memories to go by. He could still feel the beauty of Zero’s skin haunting his palms and fingers. It was like trying to press your hand against the breeze, just as elusive and indefinable. And only he, Alexandre Dimitri de Rosa, had been allowed to touch Zero any way he pleased.

It had surprised him to be able to touch the untouchable. Zero had that quality, the kind that made your fingers twitch, knowing that he was unresponsive to any touch. It even surprised Alexan more when he discovered Zero reacted to his caresses with those private sounds he loved to hear. He always imagined Zero to be a cold and cruel lover, taking but never giving. It had been part of the allure, wondering what Zero was like behind bedroom doors. It was partially what drew Alexan in, what fascinated him.

He gripped the neck of the bottle tightly, pained.

This has to be the last time. Of course, it was an empty promise. It only served to ease his guilt, admittedly, though part of him wished he could keep true to his word. He was a pathetic bastard, wasn’t he? He took another stiff shot, letting it scald his tongue before swallowing, as a sort of penance. Why did it have to be you and not someone I could just walk away from? You, with your insufferable defiance and impossible warmth, who has no need for me other than what I offer. And even those aren’t substantial enough for your logical head, and yet you stay despite the calculated risks. You’re the only one I know who could possibly stand against the world and not cower.

But I’m not like you, Zero.

Alexan stared absently at Zero, contemplating.

The thoughts came to a quiet end when Zero stirred from his slumber, eyes fluttering and opening to reveal mahogany eyes. He blinked a few times, rather languidly, and finally noticed Alexan sitting beside the bed on a chair. Zero’s eyebrows scrunched up in slight confusion as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Alexan?” his voice was rough and human. Those dark eyes regarded Alexan for a moment when he didn’t respond. “Alexan… what’re you doing?”

Alexan hid his past contemplations with a smile. “Nothing,” he answered tiredly. “I just had a sudden urge to watch you sleep. That’s all.”

“How fun,” Zero responded dryly as he began rearranging the pillows.

“Have I ever told you that you look inhuman when you sleep?” His voice was surprisingly firm, but heavy from alcohol-induced fatigue. Fuck. The words left his mouth without his brain’s consent.

“What?”

“You do,” Alexan insisted before he could stop himself. “You’re so still, it’s almost as if you were sculpted. I kept thinking that if I touched you, your skin would be white alabaster, as cool and smooth as marble. It’s like falling in love with art again.”

Zero blinked owlishly at him. “It’s way too early to be going on about stuff like that,” he yawned as he straightened out the blankets. “If you were sober, I doubt you’d have the nerve to say what you just said with a straight face. Moron.” He was always so knowing, never failing to miss the beat, always one step ahead of the opposition.

Alexan grinned stupidly. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Zero ignored him, satisfied with the arrangement of sheets. He relaxed, literally sinking into the warmth of the bed, and turned over on his side to face Alexan’s gaze. He pulled the blankets to his chin and sighed, eyes darkening from the comfort. His eyes darken when he comes. Just before his eyes close I can see oblivion swallowing the colour of his eyes, just like that… except twenty times more intense. They observed each other in silence.

“When did you get home?” Zack asked some time later.

“Late,” Alexan answered vaguely, as he took another bitter shot of vodka.

The mahogany-eyed boy stared at the half-consumed bottle that Alexan lowered to rest on his knee. There was another stretch of silence. A tenser one that left his mouth dry… or maybe that was just the alcohol. Zero looked up at Alexan, and for a moment, it looked as though he would say something.

Don’t, Alexan thought desperately, just don’t.

But Zero said nothing of it. Perhaps he read some message in Alexan’s eyes and knew it was better not to ask. Zero was always observant like that. Instead, Zero slid back towards the wall and drew the blanket forward. “It’s cold,” he said quietly, lifting the blankets for Alexan. “Come to bed.”

I can’t do this, Alexan thought. There are so many reasons for me to say no. But they had vanished from his mind, more quickly than lightning ever hoped to be. Action. Reaction. Consequence. The only chain I can be certain of. It should be easy to turn away, to make the right choice. But Alexan found that it wasn’t as simple as it seemed, walking away was a choice he couldn’t—wouldn’t—make. Not with the emotions that entangled him to the boy on the bed, who beckoned and waited patiently, as if knowing what was going through his mind, as though it had crossed his as well. Perhaps Zero couldn’t resist either, couldn’t give up what they’ve built together, and that made Alexan feel a little better.

“Tempt me,” he grinned, because it was expected and like him. “I’ll consider joining you then.”

Zero’s arm fell limply back to the bed as he sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why I even put up with you and your games.”

“Because I’m cute and lovable,” he replied playfully as he put the bottle on the night table. “C’mon, be a sport.”

There was a moment’s consideration on Zero’s part, as he reflected over seduction tactics. But it must have bored him, because he went for the sure thing. Zero slid away from the covers and sat up, reaching out to Alexan as a lover would. To see Zero naked was like witnessing the mirror image of a miracle, one that couldn’t be ignored or forgotten.

“Come,” he murmured eloquently, “before I get cold.” Alexan couldn’t find it in himself to deny the younger man, and found himself taking off his shirt and filling the arms that were held out for him. They were warm and brought him close.

I betray you either way, Zachary. You just don’t know it yet.

Their lips met, effectively silencing him. Of all the kisses Alexan managed to steal, or those rare ones Zero willingly gave him, this one lacked the playful pretences. No second agenda, no illusions, just a silent offering to help ease his dilemma. He could only marvel at the depth and scope of Zero’s perception, at the kindness he so seldom gave and was offering freely now. From anyone else, it would have meant nothing to him, but from Zero it was enough to regret how deeply he cared. You deserve better than me. You know you do. But Alexan had made his choice.

He sank deeper.

I can’t say it. I just can’t…

.     :     h o w          c o u l d          h e          s i m p l y          s a y          n o     :     .

BGM: After All, Delerium. Off of Chimera.

Note: An Old Dance is part of my Between Us universe, though I believe AOD could be a standalone in its own right. Between Us is a novella/multipart which I’ve yet to complete, but I plan to! ^-^ I never intended to post AOD on fictionpress, or any other website that offers homes to original slash fiction, but boredom makes for a very persuasive catalyst.

AOD is one of my few concept stories, which explains why it’s messy and all over the place. ^-^ Or, at least, in my opinion it is. AOD unfolds during the actual novella/multipart, which may or may not have resulted in confusion. I hope not. I worked hard at rewriting so that you’d be able to read and understand wtf is going on.

Further Note: Zachary/Zero is 17, while Alexan is in his mid/late twenties. I figured I’d clear that up for you.

I welcome criticism of all kinds, as long as it’s in good taste (as in: helpful and in topic to writing).