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April 2nd, 2009

my second Short Story experiment

TITLE: Golden Watchman
AUTHOR: Gaeln
WORD COUNT: 1,675
FANDOM: my own
PAIRING: OMCs_Jameson & Ethan
WARNING: none
          AUTHOR'S NOTES: Attempt to show the dichotomy between actual internal confusion as opposed to seeming external calm when one person is wanted by and wants someone he knows he shouldn't have.
          PLUS I've added a small twist for fun. I'm to incorporate the titles of ten paintings by one of my favorite painters in a meaningful way. Some are obvious, some really aren't..
SUMMARY; I like the chase, the build-up, the need to struggle for someone over a span of time with tangible obstacles and with no certainty of winning. I like the dance, or maybe should I say the fight.


Golden Watchman

…don’t touch me because when I tremble it makes a noise
like a Chinese wind-bell it’s that I’m seismographic is all…

Frank O’Hara
For The Chinese New Year & For Bill Berkson”
Lunch Poems’


“Whatever you want I’ll do, anything you want please. Please. I’ll do anything” – hesitation – “anything you say.”

Your words, coming from somewhere behind me sudden and deep as the night, break over me, and I tremble. Your desire want need, and mine, all combine to splinter the stillness of this perilous night, and the silvery stars tremble with me. Their compassion being mine, I follow them, and not you. “Like I told you last time, there’s nothing I want from you. Nothing.” False starts lead only to false endings, my words sounding a sham even to me.

“Lair.” I am and you know it. “You can’t even look at me” – anger frustration -- “look at me.”

Racing thoughts, racing thoughts slamming through me, colliding together in me, shattering me into chaos. I can’t look at you. I can’t I can’t because, I want you. I have wanted you for so long. But I shouldn‘t. I have begged for you in my sleep, in dreams so tangible, and I have longed for you, your hands, your mouth, your body, when I’m awake. But I shouldn‘t. Not a man of any god, even I understand this is wrong, this shouldn’t be. The God-men say I can‘t understand, but I can. It’s wrong to want you. It’s wrong to need you. It’s wrong to ache for you. But I do. “Go back inside.” -- calm concern -- “Before your friends miss you, go inside.”

“No, I won’t.” Closer, closer still, you sound even closer to me now. “Look at me.”

I turn, I look behind me, but I can’t see you; you remain hidden in back alley shadow, lost in nighttime obscurity. You haven’t really moved any closer to me at all. I focus back on my silvery stars sheltering me “Go.” I almost sound, even to me, as if I mean it.

“No. I won’t” -- soft low even -- “Please. I won‘t.” There’s no hint of the anger at rejection that I know lies just beneath your surface. Your voice sounds only of pain. “I want you. I want to be with you. Please”

Your words are closer to me now; soon they will be with me, surrounding me, binding me. I am at land’s end, there is no way forward. Racing thoughts, racing thoughts beg you please please just go. I don’t want to deal with this. With you. “Just go.” Go and leave me alone. Don’t don’t touch me. Even if I know you already have in some other time, in some other place, if only in dream. I scent you, know your need as mine, a need that blinds us to what is supposed to be, and binds us to what can never be.

“Look at me” -- begged growled -- “I need you I need you please.” A whisper, “Look at me.”

I want to. I want to do more, so much more. I want to take you in my arms, and push you hard against the back alley wall, my body pressing against every inch of yours just so I can hear you moan. I want to make you moan. I want to make you whimper and cry. I want to make sure you go on begging me, just like you are now. I want you. Fuck I want you. “Go back inside.”  Watchman moon rises golden among silvery stars, arching across the blue-black sky reminding me of who I am, and of who you are supposed to be.

I feel your heat, and I lean away from you, steadying, grounding myself against the cool stone wall. Moving into me, you find your place behind me. Shaping yourself to me, you wrap your arms around me, and I don’t push you away. You lay your hands over my heart, and I lean back into you.

“Don’t say no. Don’t say no to me. It’ll be alright baby, it will. I promise. I promise you, this will be right.”

You beg your need into me, into my being, and I want you to. Please I want you to, but this is wrong. You are wrong, and I’m right. “This can’t be.”

“It can be. I’ll make it be alright I will I promise.”

Your words smooth across my skin, they flutter into my mouth, they quiver over my eyes, and I almost sigh. I barely tremble “You can’t, and you know it. You can’t make this right.” Your silence confirms what I know, what we know. We’re dancers on a plane, we’ve been sparing across time, we’re balanced between what‘s right…what is supposed to be and what‘s wrong…what is hungered after. But that would be betrayal. I lay my head back against your shoulder. “So, where’s your wife? I couldn’t help but notice that she isn’t here with you, with you and your friends. What? She doesn't like my restaurant, the food, the atmosphere, the service? What?”

You are quick in front of me. You move as an atom would, as an electron of light would, in an instant from behind to in front of me. You look more desperate than you have ever sounded, so shaken to your core. Your eyes reveal only confusion. Like what? I’d forgotten she exists? What else could this be about? I’m sorry, so sorry, but I haven’t forgotten, and neither have you

“Home. She‘s…she isn’t feeling well, a cold, but she didn’t want me to miss out on dinner with our friends, so….” Your hands cradling my face, your thumbs stroking my eyebrows, you try to soothe me, to pacify me. You try to stave off what is yet to come. Your eyes now show fear. “Why?”

“You live what, ten minutes away?” I look into your eyes, your warm brown eyes, your bedroom eyes, I look at your lips, your soft sweet lips, your just parted lips, and you barely nod. “Then – eager glad -- here’s our plan. We'll go by your place, it‘s early yet, she won‘t be asleep…yeah? and we’ll tell her how you want to fuck me and how you want me to fuck you. Because once--”

“No.” As breath, as nothing more. Your hands tighten, your fingertips digging into my temples. Your eyes now show panic.

”Once she agrees, then, I can give you everything that you want. Then, I can take from you everything that I want. Then, there won’t be any guilt. Once she agrees.” Your panic vibrates sharp from you, scaring me. I want nothing more than for this to be done. “Then, what you want between us won’t be wrong. Then, like you said, it will be alright. So there shouldn’t be any problem with us just dropping by your--”

“There’s no need.” Your fingertips digging, hard into my skin, there will be bruising tomorrow. Your mouth teasing, barely an inch from mine, just a flick of my tongue and I would taste you. “She’s my responsibility so--”

“Yeah?” My hands on your chest, pushing shoving you away, away from me, getting that teasing mouth away from mine, getting those bedroom eyes the fuck off of me. “Well, thing is, I can’t have your woman come screaming into my restaurant about what I’m doing with her husband. Being a well respected businessman and all, such behavior would be unseemly.” Self-preservation always being my main motivation, just ask anyone, always the self. Except, “And another thing, you made a promise. Not me. You took a fucking vow. Not me. So, fucking live up to your promises, your vows.” Go away please please before I can’t let you go. We’re dancers on a divided plane, travelers without a bridge across, with no possible way to each other without the stain of guilt, of shame.

“You don’t give a fuck about promises, about vows. You don’t give a fuck about any marriage bull--”

“No. I don’t. I don't give a fuck. But you baby, you do…yeah? You give a fuck, and so does she. So be a man and go home, go home to your woman. Go home to your wife, and leave me alone.” I can’t let you into me; the odds aren’t in my favor. Why should I play if the odds aren’t in my favor? “Ethan, go back inside before someone comes looking for you. I don’t want trouble.” Christ you make me ache, make me need. I want to reach for you, to pull you down into me, to make you mine.

“Jamey please please want me, I need you--”

“You made your choice, so tell me, what do I want with some fucking married man? What do I need with that? Tell me. Tell me. What do I need with you?” You shrink back, you shrink away, down into yourself. I scent your defeat, as I have before. “Get the hell away from me. Now. And stay the hell away. Got it?” You wanting to say more, you wanting to beg more, you wanting me wanting me, but I can’t let you have me. I can’t let you in. “Go the fuck away.”

You shove me -- pain frustration rejection -- hard against the back alley wall, and you leave. Alone with the emptiness of you no longer with me, I focus into the swirling universe over Manhattan, and I mourn. Silvery stars mourn with me even as I can see that golden watchman moon is proud. When it begins to rain, I go back inside where I find that you’ve gone, even if your friends, her friends, haven’t. I should be satisfied that you’ve left. I should be relieved. I should even be grateful. But I’m not.
The End


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