Title: So Many Stood Apart
Author: Leela (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leela_cat)
Pairing/Characters: Adam/Tommy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 7 x 100
Content/Warning(s): Minor character death * of original characters (children) *
Author's notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
glam_100, prompt #026: "I guess it's finally time to tell you...". Many thanks to aislinntlc and batdina for the beta. The title comes from Leonard Cohen's Our Lady of Solitude.
This is a sequel to All Summer Long He Touched Me.
"It's not that hard. All you have to do is say, 'Adam, I guess it's finally time to tell you...' whatever it is." Adam sits on the bed next to Tommy.
Nothing's ever that simple. Back bowed, refusing to curl into Adam's side, Tommy picks at his black nail polish and flicks the bits onto the hotel room floor.
"It won't change anything between us."
Chewing on his lower lip, Tommy raises his head. "You can't know that."
"I've seen the scars, baby." Adam's hand follows the curve of Tommy's shoulder blade, of the ridges that had once been wings.
>*<
Tommy drops his head down, tugging on his fringe and regretting the decision to cut the front. That the point was to prevent him from hiding behind his hair doesn't make it any less annoying right then.
"I'm not human," he finally blurts out.
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Not an angel either," Tommy says. "Or a devil."
"One of the more things in heaven and earth." Adam strokes Tommy's back again. Although who he's trying to comfort, Tommy's not sure.
"Heaven." Tommy makes a face. Then, when Adam tries to tug him closer, he adds, "And don't fucking say something sappy."
>*<
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The smile, the affection, underlying Adam's words cuts through Tommy like a knife. He begins to fidget, pulling on his clothes, running his hand through his hair, picking at the seam of his jeans like it was the guitar he's desperately missing.
"Stop." Adam catches Tommy's hands in his.
"I don't know how," Tommy says. "It's been so long, so hard, and I still miss them every fucking second of the day. It hurts to move, to breathe."
Adam pulls him close, his strength overcoming Tommy's token resistance. "You flew."
"And then I fell to earth."
>*<
"They weren't white," Tommy says, because he doesn't know where else to start. "The feathers were grey, edged with black. They were everything to me."
His back twitches. Muscle memory and phantom pain reminding him of what he's missing.
Adam stays silent, listening. He moves one hand, leaving it warm and reassuring on the nape of Tommy's neck.
"I was wild, reckless. Caught up in the joy of riding the thermals, of soaring up to the clouds and dropping down to the earth. Of making sounds and waves from air. I didn't understand that others couldn't follow where I led."
>*<
"They were children. Barely old enough to be flying without someone watching over them."
Leaning against Adam's chest, Tommy rests his ear over Adam's heart, listens to the beat that has become the bass line of his life.
"Did you know," he says, when he can talk again, "that when the wind is just right, and you flutter your wings in exactly the right way, you can make music?"
"No," Adam whispers. The yearning, the desire for something he'll never hear laces his voice.
"I was lost in it. Rising and falling, chasing the currents. Playing the air. Fucking around."
>*<
"Music's a full body experience," Adam says, "when you're doing it right."
"Fuck yeah." A half-smile curves Tommy's lips, and he swallows down the ache in his throat.
After a moment of nearly unbearable silence, Tommy continues, "They followed me. Two boy chicks and one girl. I didn't see them, didn't know they were there, but I should have. That's what the Tribunal decided."
Adam tightens his grip on the back of Tommy's neck, but he doesn't say anything.
"I can still hear them some nights." Tommy closes his eyes. "Their screams. The frantic beating of their wings. Their landing."
>*<
Adam pulls Tommy into his lap, wraps him in his arms, holding him loosely enough that he could escape if he wanted to.
"I wasn't much more than a kid myself." Tommy presses the words into Adam's shoulder. "Fucking off instead of working."
Sliding his hands beneath Tommy's t-shirt, Adam rubs a thumb over each of Tommy's scars.
Hesitant, Tommy raises his head, looks into Adam's eyes. To his relief, there's no trace of pity or forgiveness.
"You saved one of them." Adam makes it a statement, not a question.
Tommy sighs, kisses Adam, tastes his acceptance like a benediction.
Author: Leela (
leela_cat)Pairing/Characters: Adam/Tommy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 7 x 100
Content/Warning(s): Minor character death * of original characters (children) *
Author's notes: Written for
glam_100, prompt #026: "I guess it's finally time to tell you...". Many thanks to aislinntlc and batdina for the beta. The title comes from Leonard Cohen's Our Lady of Solitude.This is a sequel to All Summer Long He Touched Me.
"It's not that hard. All you have to do is say, 'Adam, I guess it's finally time to tell you...' whatever it is." Adam sits on the bed next to Tommy.
Nothing's ever that simple. Back bowed, refusing to curl into Adam's side, Tommy picks at his black nail polish and flicks the bits onto the hotel room floor.
"It won't change anything between us."
Chewing on his lower lip, Tommy raises his head. "You can't know that."
"I've seen the scars, baby." Adam's hand follows the curve of Tommy's shoulder blade, of the ridges that had once been wings.
Tommy drops his head down, tugging on his fringe and regretting the decision to cut the front. That the point was to prevent him from hiding behind his hair doesn't make it any less annoying right then.
"I'm not human," he finally blurts out.
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Not an angel either," Tommy says. "Or a devil."
"One of the more things in heaven and earth." Adam strokes Tommy's back again. Although who he's trying to comfort, Tommy's not sure.
"Heaven." Tommy makes a face. Then, when Adam tries to tug him closer, he adds, "And don't fucking say something sappy."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The smile, the affection, underlying Adam's words cuts through Tommy like a knife. He begins to fidget, pulling on his clothes, running his hand through his hair, picking at the seam of his jeans like it was the guitar he's desperately missing.
"Stop." Adam catches Tommy's hands in his.
"I don't know how," Tommy says. "It's been so long, so hard, and I still miss them every fucking second of the day. It hurts to move, to breathe."
Adam pulls him close, his strength overcoming Tommy's token resistance. "You flew."
"And then I fell to earth."
"They weren't white," Tommy says, because he doesn't know where else to start. "The feathers were grey, edged with black. They were everything to me."
His back twitches. Muscle memory and phantom pain reminding him of what he's missing.
Adam stays silent, listening. He moves one hand, leaving it warm and reassuring on the nape of Tommy's neck.
"I was wild, reckless. Caught up in the joy of riding the thermals, of soaring up to the clouds and dropping down to the earth. Of making sounds and waves from air. I didn't understand that others couldn't follow where I led."
"They were children. Barely old enough to be flying without someone watching over them."
Leaning against Adam's chest, Tommy rests his ear over Adam's heart, listens to the beat that has become the bass line of his life.
"Did you know," he says, when he can talk again, "that when the wind is just right, and you flutter your wings in exactly the right way, you can make music?"
"No," Adam whispers. The yearning, the desire for something he'll never hear laces his voice.
"I was lost in it. Rising and falling, chasing the currents. Playing the air. Fucking around."
"Music's a full body experience," Adam says, "when you're doing it right."
"Fuck yeah." A half-smile curves Tommy's lips, and he swallows down the ache in his throat.
After a moment of nearly unbearable silence, Tommy continues, "They followed me. Two boy chicks and one girl. I didn't see them, didn't know they were there, but I should have. That's what the Tribunal decided."
Adam tightens his grip on the back of Tommy's neck, but he doesn't say anything.
"I can still hear them some nights." Tommy closes his eyes. "Their screams. The frantic beating of their wings. Their landing."
Adam pulls Tommy into his lap, wraps him in his arms, holding him loosely enough that he could escape if he wanted to.
"I wasn't much more than a kid myself." Tommy presses the words into Adam's shoulder. "Fucking off instead of working."
Sliding his hands beneath Tommy's t-shirt, Adam rubs a thumb over each of Tommy's scars.
Hesitant, Tommy raises his head, looks into Adam's eyes. To his relief, there's no trace of pity or forgiveness.
"You saved one of them." Adam makes it a statement, not a question.
Tommy sighs, kisses Adam, tastes his acceptance like a benediction.
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drained
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