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| Goodbye, Love; [Ian Fairholm] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 22 2010, 03:17 AM (183 Views) | |
| Alma | Oct 22 2010, 03:17 AM Post #1 |
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That's the machine that goes 'PING!'
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[align=center] [/align]Ian carefully shifted the tongs, holding the metal plate down against the anvil as he peered down toward it. As always the forge was almost entirely dark, with only vague amounts of natural light slipping through the windows. At this point, however, with night quickly approaching, it was becoming almost impossible to see the work that he was doing. He sighed and placed his equipment to the side, nudging a bit of hair away from his sooty face as he looked toward the window instead. Where is she? He gritted his teeth, standing absolutely still as he gazed outside the window. Where has she been hiding? It was one thing for the aloof young woman to run about and be late for work on occasion. It was another for her not to show up at all. Not since…his heart gave a small leap as he busied himself with collecting his materials and tools, putting them away where they were be kept safe. Not since what? Ian sighed softly, closing his eyes tightly and rubbing the bridge of his nose, unmindful of the dirt that he left behind there. Not since she took your hand and took your life by storm? By God, that was right, wasn’t it? The day that young woman, barely twenty years of age, spun into his shop with a broad grin and a glorious smile across that tanned face of hers, he’d been absolutely astounded. The world was brighter. The birds, their songs were more like a glorious symphony. She’d leaned across that countertop and offered him an example of the design that she’d wanted on those drawer knobs of hers and, most certainly intentionally, let her hand brush gently against his own as he took the piece of paper. A shock ran down his spine and turned his blood into wine, creating what had at the time almost felt like a drunken obsession. Oh yes, things had certainly changed. They had changed a great deal over the past year or two. But…where was she now? He closed the door of his forge and locked it, curling his lips into a contemplative frown. Was she hiding from him? And yet he knew why. He knew it very well, whether he wanted to admit it or not. “Ian?” He heard her smile on her words, a bit of hope that for some reason she persisted on carrying around with her. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned over the anvil for a moment to collect his thoughts before he turned around to see her. God, she was beautiful. She stood there in a brilliant scarlet skirt, long and flowy, so much so that it whirled around her ankles no matter how little she moved. A black tank top merely emphasized the darkness of her eyes and hair, the trace of eyeliner and mascara that highlighted her smoky gaze. And she smiled. God, she was most beautiful when she smiled. She tucked her hands against the small of her back and sashayed into the forge, her feet bare as they often were and covered in dust. As much as he’d warned her to wear shoes when working and especially when visiting the more dangerous part of the forge, he’d come to realize that to convince her to do so was hopeless. He’d begun cleaning up after himself much better after that. “Yes, Miss Santos?” Her smile turned into a coy pout at the sound of that formal address, but she knew that he couldn’t be swayed. She would be Miss Santos, regardless of how she chose to address him. “Are you about finished for the day? I thought we might…go on a little walk or something?” Yes, dear God, please yes, he thought even as his hands curled into faint fists and he shook his head. “You know that’s not a possibility. I’ve far too much to catch up with. The ledgers are outrageously out of order. My tools need to be-” “Oh, tish tosh, Ian.” She reached out and placed a hand on his fist, sending flames hotter than Hell itself creeping through every inch of his frame. The smell of lilacs swirled around her and blocked out the smell of smoke. “You work too hard. You know that. C’mon.” Another brilliant grin threatened to blind him as she tilted her head to the side, her Latina hair beautiful even in its faint mats and tangles. “Let’s go. Do it for me.” There were moments like this where all he could feel was the sense of peace that radiated from her and doused any fears he had that made him want to scoop her into his arms, carry her to the fur in front of the fireplace in his living room adjacent to the forge, and make love to her in the sweetest, most blissfully torturous way that could ever be conceived. As she leaned up on her tiptoes, tilting her head to the side as she smiled coyly at him, a spark flew straight to his groin even as he pushed her away gently and scowled at her. “For God’s sake, Miss Santos, can’t you see I have work to be done?” He whirled away from her and made his way toward his tools purely on the pretense of mentally dousing himself with a bucket of ice water and reciting the various statistics about the materials in the forge until he was completely insane again. Confound that girl. No woman so young should entice such an old fool like himself. She laughed softly, a warm alto sound that shoved that metaphorical bucket of ice water as far out of his reach as possible, and he sensed her approach far before he felt her hand press against the base of his spine. “C’mon. I’ve made us a little picnic and everything. What’s wrong with that?” As if he was a man possessed, he whirled around and grabbed her biceps, barely restraining himself before he kissed that pretty mouth of hers and convinced her to forget the bloody picnic. Instead he glared at her, into those bloodshot eyes surrounded by a vast dark circle even as her dry lips curled into a frown of their own. She was shaking. “You…have got to stop this,” he hissed, narrowing his eyes. “Why?” she retorted, tossing her head with a fiery glare. “Because you’re afraid you’re gonna give in?” “Why the hell would I do that?” He snarled out his words like a hungry tiger, fingers digging into her arms in a desperate attempt to scare her off. But even as her breathing picked up, she stared back at him, never breaking eye contact. “What the hell could a girl like you ever give a man like me?” There was a moment of silence. She glared at him with daggers in her eyes for a mere moment before she slid forward in one graceful arc, pressing her body flush against his and drawing an unwilling groan from his lips. “You’ve seen exactly what I can give you, Ian.” Her words were soft and sharp, but not a single judgment existed in them. Oh, he remembered. He remembered every image from that night, whether he liked it or not, down to exactly what she was and was not wearing. He’d gladly taken her out of that…that gentleman’s club and given her a job here out of a sickening sense of righteousness, refusing to linger on the fact that he couldn’t get her nearly naked dancing body out of his mind for the many nights to come. No. He shoved her away from him, nearly knocking her to the floor. “HOW DARE YOU.” He flared his nostrils and gritted his teeth, adjusting his long apron to hide anything from her. “I gave you a JOB here, and you treat me like you are some sort of…of HARLOT?” She stared at him again, but not with daggers. Now she stared at him with wounds. “Never…NEVER use those silly simpering, flirtatious words around me again, do you hear me?!” She’d stood there for only a moment more before she fled from his very sight. She hadn’t come back. “Gabrielle,” Ian whispered, running a hand through his greasy hair and scraping his fingernails along his scalp as a desperate form of penance. God, he couldn’t stand this anymore. He just couldn’t. He needed to see her. He headed directly toward the little shack of a house she called her own, though Ian had yet to find out just where all of the money that he paid her went if not to fixing it up. She was quite close-lipped about her family. Perhaps she was sending her wages to help them? He paused in front of her door, taking in a deep breath to collect himself, before he began to pound. “Miss Santos?” he barked sharply, preparing his eyes to wither her instantly until she apologized for being so silly and came back to work straight away. No response. “…Miss Santos! Open this door! This is your boss speaking!” Nothing. Wait, was that…yes, he certainly heard a jagged cough from within. Christ, he was growing impatient with her. “I hear you in there! Now open this door or I shall break it down! You are being absolutely ridiculous!” Another thirty seconds of silence greeted him before there was more hysterical coughing, a bout unlike he’d ever heard before. Right. Nothing more to do, then. He scowled and backed up, lifting his foot and giving the door a square kick right beneath the doorknob, near the lock itself. There. Much better. Ian stormed into the shack and turned toward the only side of the one room that he could see, opening his mouth to yell. He froze. “…oh my God.” Gabrielle lifted tear-filled eyes to stare at him from her ball on the mattress, shaking like she was naked in negative temperatures. She wore next to nothing, actually. There was merely a sweat-soaked bra and panties on her emaciated frame, though it was how alarmingly her ribs jutted out that horrified Ian before any trace of her body could have possibly aroused him. “…Miss Santos? What the hell have you done to yourself?” He stumbled across the floor, his boots cracking against it with every step, and sank onto the mattress beside her, reaching out to touch her glistening flesh. Her shoulder bone nearly stabbed him as she twitched in an effort to get away from him. “Gabrielle…what is…” He looked all around the floor, staring at the needles that littered across it, some broken and others whole. A few empty bags lay here and there as well, wee plastic ones that he might ordinarily fit merely a sandwich in. “…I don’t understand.” “Ian, you can’t-” Gabrielle coughed again, curling into an even tighter ball as she flipped over and turned her back on him. “You can’t be here. Just leave.” Ian stared at her, positively aghast. “…are you joking? What the hell happened here?” “I don’t want you…to touch me.” “…” He shifted on the mattress, laying down behind her. As if she sensed his intent, she shivered violently. “Ian, I’m serious. I’m sick. I don’t want…please don’t…” But he curled up behind her anyway, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pressing himself against her slick body like they were two spoons in a drawer. He didn’t have a clue what the hell was wrong with her, but God knew he wasn’t leaving her to be here alone. After a few minutes of silence, she began to shake again, though this time she also sniffled. “…God, Ian, I fucked up. I can’t go on like this.” “I know.” He reached up and smoothed back her greasy, tangled hair away from her face, hovering above her for only a moment before he pressed a soft, tentative kiss to her tear-coated cheek. “I know.” |
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| Alma | Jan 7 2011, 06:03 AM Post #2 |
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That's the machine that goes 'PING!'
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[align=center] [/align]”Ian,” she whispered suddenly, hands against his chest pressing flat where they previously gripped so desperately. ”Ian, you have to stop.” His head was pounding in the most pleasurable way, blood racing to every orifice in his body, and she wanted him to stop? But Ian froze, panting, and opened his eyes from where his forehead was pressed against her own. Gabrielle stared at him with wide eyes, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed and hands still pressing in the most frustrating way. “Please, stop.” It was the please that did it, of course. Ian slid across the bed from her, his palm reluctantly giving up the smooth and hot skin under her shirt, and scowled at her very heartily. “I-it’s for the best, you know it is.” When she pressed a hand to her forehead, Ian quickly started pushing away the sheer animalistic lust beneath his skin and leaned forward. “No no, I’m fine.” Gabrielle met his eyes easily, and as he saw no sweat beaded across her brow and the fact that her breathing was sliding back to a normal rate he nodded and sat back once again. The needles were gone from the floor now, of course. The room was still completely dark and the mattress was still just laying there on the floor, but that would change in time. In the forge, even as he thought at this present time, there were raw materials laying around ready to be curved and carved into a bed frame. She would have a monstrous work of art worthy of her all-encompassing spirit. Gabrielle leaned back onto the many pillows and huffed out a long sigh, closing her eyes. “Fuck, Ian, why’d you have to wait so long?” He snorted in response. “Besides the fifteen year age difference, you mean?” “Inconsequential.” She smirked as blissfully as one can while still managing to smirk and turned onto her side, nuzzling into the pillows a little deeper. “Absolutely inconsequential. I’ve been with plenty of men your age.” The Latina squeaked when Ian suddenly reached across the mattress possessively and grabbed her bare ankle, giving it a playful tug as he arched across and loomed above her. “Which is something I’d prefer not to think about when we shall never be able to share your bed, Miss Santos.” He’d meant it snarkily, perhaps even teasingly, but she opened her eyes to stare up at him so wistfully that he felt his heart constrict as if a snake had just consumed it. “…I’m…sorry, Ian.” But he was already shaking his head and leaning down to kiss her forehead gently, closing his eyes. “Don’t you dare apologize. This was my fault, all of it. Every damn bit.” It was true, and thus she didn’t even try to disagree. Ian slid into the vacant space beside her and wrapped an arm around her waist, feeling an immediate flare of panic when he realized just how tiny it was. She had always been slender, always, but now…God, he could feel her ribs and play them as easily as a xylophone. Ian closed his eyes and nuzzled into Gabrielle’s neck, sighing softly against her smooth skin, and feeling her stiffen slightly. “Ian, I already told you we have to-” “I am not an animal, Gabrielle,” he murmured, rubbing her side soothingly as he opened his eyes again. “I was quite capable of controlling myself when I saw you in that…that den of sin, and I’m quite capable of controlling myself now.” “You can call it a strip club. I’m pretty sure the world won’t explode or anything.” He flinched, sneering against her pulse. “I’d rather not connect you with such a disgusting practice anymore, my dear.” They fell into a comfortable silence again, each left to their own thoughts, and Ian found he couldn’t close his eyes again. He only stared at the wall, studying the claw marks down the wood and letting his thoughts and memories nearly overwhelm his mind. She was twenty years old now. He’d known her for two years and wasted them so cruelly. She courted him, and he spurned her. He took her away from that den of inequities, yes, but he forced her into substituting poison for his arms. And now…now how long did they have? Ian tightened his grip around her protectively, and Gabrielle sighed as she snuggled back into him, as tight as two spoons in a drawer. “Would I could take it all back, Gabrielle,” he whispered into her hair, thick and curly and nearly all in his mouth. “Would I could be fifteen years younger…” “Don’t you dare start regretting, Fairholm,” Gabrielle prodded back, smoothing her hair under her head until she could see him from the corner of her eye. “Don’t you dare. I’ve not even hit AIDS yet. There’s still plenty of time to enjoy each other.” “But in what way?” He sighed, rolling away from her, and she flipped to her other side to stare at him with those deep, fathomless black eyes of hers. “I might hold you. I might kiss you. I might take you to dinner and romance you, but at what cost?” “Are you seriously sitting there and crying about how you’ll never get to sleep with me?” He always did like that feisty side of her. “That is a cost, I won’t lie. But,” He held up a hand, stifling her protest before it began. “Not the greatest.” Ian crossed his legs and leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his knees and relied on the natural intensity of his gaze to keep her silent. “If I could, I would be at your side for every single second from now until you pass. But enjoy you? How could I…enjoy you when I know you are going to die? And that it is my fault?” “This was my decision.” Gabrielle pointed at the trash bag by the door, full to the brim with dirty needles, and glared at him. “I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but your damn chastity didn’t make it happen.” “But it helped.” And when she was silent, he knew it was true. “…and if I smiled and waltzed you around a room and pretended that everything was peachy keen, truly enjoyed you? I would be the most magnificent bastard on the face of the planet.” “But maybe…” “…maybe…what?” “…maybe I want you to.” She looked every inch her twenty years in that instant, so young and fragile that Ian felt that faint sense of shame at having cupped her breast so lustfully only minutes before. When he was looking forward to beginning his apprenticeship, she was learning to walk. When he was creating his first sword in Master Brandon’s forge, she was off to her first day in kindergarten. Ian sighed and dragged his hand through his hair, long turned so obnoxiously greasy that it was now nearing the bend again and almost appearing clean. “Gabrielle…” “Ian, I don’t want to sit here and pretend I’m dying.” She scooted across the mattress and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his instead of fearing the constant heavy lines of dirt in his palm or the sharp calluses. “I want…I want to imagine that somehow this will go away. That maybe there’ll be a cure. That maybe you can have time to fall in love with me properly and…and marry me one day.” He looked up at her, nearly searing her with his gaze, and parted his lips to speak, but no words would come to him. “Goddammit, Ian, I wanna have your children, and I want them to have your nose, and-” “No one should ever have my nose,” he murmured, a little horrified. For her credit, Gabrielle smiled and leaned forward to kiss the gargantuan tower on his face that also occasionally breathed for him. “I love your nose. And I love you.” He sighed, cursing under his breath as he reached forward and drove his hand into her thick and matted hair, scowling at her. “Gabrielle, I’m so sorry for all of this.” “Stop apologizing.” And even though her body was thin enough that it should have snapped at the slightest movement, she scrambled over to him and coaxed him down onto the mattress. When she gently lay against his chest, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. “Just hold me.” He held her until the sun rose again. |
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12:13 AM Jul 11