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Post by LazyCat on Mar 5, 2012 17:40:16 GMT -5
What are you afraid of? The question prompted itself in the brooding corners of his mind, the question that his "Bick" had left with him only a few hours earlier. The reply had been predictable, a smirk, and a cocky comment of how he would never be as babyish as Chase to confess his fears to the world. Nothing would get past the facade that Blake was famous for. Over the years, he had built up a thick layer of protection, so even when pricked, he would not bleed. He couldn't give the world satisfaction of his weakness.
Eyes flickered as he released in a whimper of sweet fulfillment, and hands bruised the tender skin at his waist as they clumsily held him, lips and teeth nipping and sucking the skin at this throat. Chase's question weaseled it's way into his mind again, ruining the moment he was trying to build up to, he vaguely recalled his voice asking for more, rougher, and the person eagerly complied. Sweat formed at his brow, and he twisted in the sheets, he squeezed his eyes shut, clinging, for a brief, fleeting moment, and uttering one last remark, of which he could not recall, before falling back, grinding his teeth as the vicious cycle had run its course.
And then he lied there, against the sheets that have run cold, listening to the clink of a belt. It was common courtesy, he supposed, that he leave first. After all, he didn't feel like moving just yet. Peeking out, he saw him pull his shirt back on, and closed again, once the boy glanced back at the tarnished form in front of him. Exposed, and alone, for a minute the bed dips, and someone plants a kiss on his cheek, as if that makes up for all the favors paid that brief night. But it does make him feel better. He watches, again, as the boy pulls on his shoes, and leaves the hotel room.
----
He brushes his hair back, it's shorter now, but it seems to suit him. Because he isn't what he used to be. Their people, dress him, and fasten a red tie to his throat, though he would say - it feels more like a noose. Then he is placed in a car, and driven, by their command, home. It's like a parade as he arrives, excitement all around, but it's more at the expensive of them, rather an his own. Servants flutter around, greeting, respectfully, and he just nods. There is nothing to do, but wait in the drawing room. Staring at the painting above, perfect mockery of a happy family. A smiling, young boy, with familiar eyes - only kinder.
And then he wonders what has made him like this. Self-destruction? Even staying a few years away from them, he still has ended up becoming them. Fiery, selfish... cruel. "You've really grown up," a voice calls behind him, and though startled, he just nods in reply, "from that little boy, you've really become a man. Let me see you, son."
Son faces father, and the older man looks at him, as if admiring a piece of work. A model he had created after years of chipping away, the perfect bastard. He pats his shoulder, and brings him into an embrace, which is brief, as a wealthy dressed woman enters. Stunningly dressed, but simply, as her beauty is enough to capture any man's interest. He, a reflecting image of her pale skin, and dark, soft hair. Broken by his father's sharp, brown eyes.
"My son," she says softly, much too rehearsed, and tenderly kisses his cheek. Stiffly, the son, smiles at them, the people who have called him here. Suddenly this house is suffocating, and the suit is constricting. And as they tour about the house, it hurts to return to childhood. The first place his father beat him for improper behavior, the desk he couldn't leave until he finished the strict study schedule his tutor set, the window he used to watch the other kids play out of.
Then finally they leave him in front of his old room. Entering, nothing seems to have changed, it life is the same as he left it. Clothes in his drawer, hidden deep in his closet, are the less 'respectable' clothing. His desk was a stack of notebooks, full of the things he had studied here, and one wall a complete shelf of his favorite novels. Really, life had been fairly steady here... He brushed the bindings of the novels, pulling one or two from the self in mild interest. This room, was his sanctuary. Lastly, he turned toward his nightstand, opening the locked drawer, and pulling out an envelope. It's addressed to Bradford Charles Knox. He carefully unfolds it, and draws out a handwritten note.
Dearest Blake,
I'm sorry about what happened that night. I didn't mean for such things to happen, or to bring them into the situation. But you mustn't blame me, it was not my fault that this came to be. You know the risk of what you've done, and that is something that I did not want to pass, I did what I had to do. I am sorry that you are hurt by my decision, but it is something that I do not regret.
I have a favor to ask, and I am hesitant to, as it calls for a lot... But don't look for me again. Don't hurt them anymore, they don't deserve it. Do what they ask, and become better myself. I feel pitiful, to put a heavy task on your shoulders, but I do beg your favor.
I love you, be safe.
He crumbled the note, and threw it to the floor, stomping on the cursed thing. How dare it ask this of him. All these years, it is this note that made him become this cruel. This is its fault. Hiding what he is, and dying with it, it is he who has crumbled. Picking up the wad of paper, in a change of heart, he straightened it out, before shutting the drawer with the envelope and note inside.
And then, he sat down, exhausted, because it wasn't over yet. That night they would have a welcome home party. He sniffed lightly to himself, the one party he would never wish to attend. It wasn't like before, nothing ever was, and all he wanted was to escape forever. To be free. But where would that lead? Blake didn't have anybody, anything, but that stupid note.
What do you fear the most? That little note, locked in the drawer, that little promise, he had made for his life.
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Post by aprettyoddgirl on Mar 5, 2012 17:44:18 GMT -5
It had been over a year since Gabe and Blake had finally gone they're true, infinite and final ways. But, as always, here he was again, at a certain Bradford's graduation party. Completely detached this time, and fully aware that no sort of miracle was going to happen; he and Blake were done. But it wouldn't be altruistic to say that Gabe was here to wish Blake a happy life; of course he had ulterior motives. Just how was Blake doing now that they had graduated high school, and each were left to their prospective family businesses? Granted, that's how it was supposed to be, anyway, with them both being sole heirs to their father's companies, but it was possible to get out of it. Gabriel, for example, denied his father's business.... which was altogether a stupid move, but he was still quite numb to it all. He wasn't going to sit behind a desk, staring at graphs and surrounded by money. Although the money was, indeed, convient... it wouldn't satisfy him. Gabe liked to create things (although those things were trouble more often than not), and so he wanted to actually try to earn something, for once. Earn a bit of money, and be able to say that he had made it out alright to a wife and kids someday. But, that was all so far away.
While he sat out in a porcelain-like chair out on the extravagant front lawn of the Knox estate, Gabe had to remind himself to think of the present. So often his mind tried to think of the past, or daydream about the future that it was hard to keep track. The weather was sunny and warm, the summer grass green and lush. Not to mention that the chairs he and other guests were sitting in where probably some sort of heirloom brought out for the special occasion. Special. Gabe lightly rolled his eyes to himself and slouched in his chair, against the proper manners he and Blake were both brought up with. This day could only be a couple of things for Blake: Uncomfortable, unnecessary and miserable. When and if Blake accepted the company, he would have to give up all that he had been trying for... which was his own identity. Gabe thought he knew him well enough that his individuality was not something Blake would so easily surrender... so it couldn't just be the money that motivated him. And if it was, maybe Gabe didn't really know him.
- - -
To be honest, Lyndon wasn't certain that he was "allowed" to be here today, at his father's so-called home, if it was humble enough of a place to call it as so. It was certainly the place Lyndon had imagined it to be, however; unnecessarily huge to accommodate three, sometimes only two, people, where as the home he was used to was much smaller and fit its inhabitants snugly inside. He shared a room with his other so-called "brothers", who probably had no idea that there was really no blood shared between them. It didn't matter so much to him; let them be happy with their ignorance.
But, in all fairness, Lyndon had received an invitation in the mail; he only didn't know if it was his father or half brother who sent it. Partly, he imagined it to be Blake; was their father really cruel enough to flaunt all of this in front of his face? Blake harbored guilt, he knew, and so maybe it had been his father who sent the invitation. It didn't matter; he was here now. He was curious as to what Blake had to be like on today of all days. Happy, like a grad should be, glad to have high school done and over with? Lyndon had been extremely excited to be finished with school once he graduated five years ago. Now, he attended the local community college, where things were
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Post by LazyCat on Mar 5, 2012 17:45:21 GMT -5
Blake had about an hour of rest in his room, to quietly prep himself for what was to come. After graduating from school, he was meant to submit himself to the family business, the job he had been trained to do since a newborn. First a party, an imitation of a proud, content family. Then Blake would say a few words, about how happy he was to be stuck in this web of deception, and lastly the tearful handshake between father and son. Of course, ever single detail, to the tears that would formulate in his father's eyes was planned out. It was a beautiful show, for those who wished to see it.
As he sat there, he heard the bustling about of servants outside, followed by the voice of his father howling as things were not set accordingly. He chuckled to himself, knowing well that his blood pressure was likely higher than the norm. Perhaps the old man would have a shorter life, with all the pressure he put upon himself. Though the son knew, it was wrong to laugh, the thought appealed to his darker side. The hatred for what faults his father laid on the shoulders of others, rather than bearing them on his own. Blake and his illegitimate child, Lyndon, were clear victims.
Lyndon, the name brought silence to his mind. It cleared the doubts, and stopped the regular schemes of breaking free from his hereditary. Lyndon was the white flag, and the moment he thought of the his dear, dishonored, half brother - things complicated themselves. He owed his brother this much, living comfortably in such luxuries, while he was sentenced away as a whore's son.
Tonight was just another payment for the sins of his father. They say, like father like son, and Blake begins to wonder if there is more to the saying then there appears. Was he to absorb these injustices? To become his father? He was already well off in that direction - cruelty had somehow twisted it's way into his system. It was like a poison, an infection, and once it manifested itself it spread throughout him. Soon he'd have the same scowl on his fair complexion. At least nobody would have to worry about any extras. He snorted, no matter how far he is sickened, he doubts that it will turn him straight.
It was like the first time his father discovered him kissing the same sex - it's just something you can't change. But Mr. Knox could change anything, even his son's sexuality. A long lecturing from a volunteer priest, who told him that this was an abomination against his Lordship - that Blake would surely rot forever in the deepest pits of hell for his crimes. Yet, it wasn't too late for him to turn back now, he could he saintly as long as he strayed from the evils of temptation, and minded his righteous path - marriage, and then producing an heir for the company.
His parents believed that this would set their son straight as a pin. They could believe whatever they wanted, but it most certainly did not tame his sexuality. In fact, you could say it gave him pride in it. Flirting with boys, kissing with boys, and making love with boys... Chuckling all along, and thinking if this so-called devil is preserving a good spot for him in the deepest pits. Blake didn't pretend to believe in God or any religious preachings people fed him. It was the prospect that such an godly form existed, he could not famish it. Besides, it was awfully cruel that God created him this way, yet hated his sexuality, identity, and existence. If this was so, he sure had a sick sense of humor.
But none of that mattered now, the significant human being, the inner soul, could not exist any longer. It was time to give up that, and become the head of the Knox family. Years of defiance, and avoiding this fate, he still ended up in these shoes. And so he stood up, straightened his tie, and tucked in his shirt. Polished shoes, freshly tailored suit, and hair combed back, he was an elegant sight. An elite in society held their head high. Held a constant, annoying, smile, and their thoughts matched little to anything besides business.
Somebody else walked through the door, leaving a scared little boy behind. And all he could do, in his last matter of defiance was flip off the family portrait, which mockingly hung above the mantle piece in one of the rooms, before stepping outside.
Men, women, have all gathered for this graduation, for it is not only that, but a promotion, directly into the chair beside his father. Of course, he would not take the business right away, his father would still watch from the sidelines, ready to chew him out if he didn't do it correctly. However, this was his introduction into elite society, adulthood, a pile of shit. Childhood never existed. But then, he was here to behave.
An overly decorated women stopped him, and almost stumbling over himself, he kissed her hand, plastering on that smile. A perfect puppet he had become, but somehow it wasn't so hard. In fact, it was easier than he expected. His polite laughter did not falter, and the act was going well.
Then he saw him, Lyndon, and his lips twitched, eyes cleared for a moment, from the glowing appeal he was acting upon. It felt like his heart had stopped and was jammed up his throat, the boy might as well have ripped it in two. Why was he here? Of all people, to watch this, Blake couldn't. He wouldn't. That face that he woke to every morning in the back of his lashes, haunting, forever, endlessly... Color drained from his cheeks, he was seeing a ghost.
A woman's arm shook him, and she was busy talking. He felt like a toothpick, easily pushed over, stomped on, crushed. Like that crumpled piece of paper locked away in his drawer forever. Blake and Bradford separated, and reunited. He readjusted his posture, Bradford was not shaken by this. Excusing himself, he headed for Lyndon, intent on introducing himself, whether or not the boy had actually remembered him, he didn't know... But for Blake this had been important, so the least he could do was entertain him with the fantasy of a content teenage boy. A rich fairy, someone who took everything.
Scary, how cruel he wanted to be. Mock his wealth, his happiness, and somber in the burden he had laid on Bradford's shoulders. There was so much anger, so much bitterness and pain, that somehow was released from the sight of his pathetic half-brother. Goddamn, him, and all this. Bradford was stepping up the plate. "Hello, name is Bradford, thank you for joining us tonight, hope you don't mind me asking, whom might you be?"
And suddenly he resembled his father more than ever.
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Post by aprettyoddgirl on Mar 5, 2012 17:47:18 GMT -5
No one knew exactly when the ceremonies were going to start; the Knox's usually prompt and concise, were running two minutes late before a figure came into the doorway. Even from this distance, Gabe recognized the silhouette as Bradford's, with his long, lanky limbs and slight shoulders. It would probably be a little while longer, even, before anyone spoke. The Prince had to greet his guests.
As Blake approached a man who was about Blake's own height, and even had the same color hair as the other, Gabe was surprised. He wasn't going to greet the higher-ups? Unless the man was one of Knox's company, which was quite possible concerning the uncanny resemblance between Blake and the man. Gabe took it in stride however as just a freak occurrence and relaxed into his chair, caressing a goblet of champagne in his palm.
Would Bradford even greet him? Gabe wondered. Gabe was surprised that he had been invited at all after refusing to join his father's business-- maybe word hadn't spread to the Knox residence just yet. Or perhaps it had, and this was their way of proving what was proper and expected, so much that even defiant Blake bent to their touch. It was disgusting in that sense... to see this boy of anyone else, to put on the suit and tie and to trim his hair to become the formidable young man he 'should' be.
- - -
Finally, Blake made his appearance on the lawn. Now began the endless formalities of greeting the guests, telling them how glad you are that they came to wish you well, even if they had come to watch you fall, as Lyndon had. Not that he damned his brother in any way... he somehow knew this wasn't the Blake Blake wanted to be.
Lyndon was surprised whenever Blake started a bee-line right for him. Why was he approaching him before he greeted his future business associates? All the same, Lyndon put on a happy face. Had Blake really forgotten him? Well, that hurt a little. "Lyndon Cassman, Mister Knox. Congratulations." With Blake acting so formal... he didn't know what to do. Originally, he had planned on wrapping his arms around his brother, holding him tightly and wishing him well, telling him to not worry about the past and to do as life inspired him... but Blake was a totally different person now. Much different from how he had imagined... and it frightened him, made him sad deeply in the pit of his stomach. "Are you sick, I hope?" Lyndon whispered softly, looking the other in the eye in hopes of seeing through Blake's mask. The cruel mask that resembled their father whom they both hated
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Post by LazyCat on Mar 5, 2012 17:48:13 GMT -5
"Lyndon Cassman, Mister Knox. Congratulations." Blake didn't hesitate in shading a false persona of being surprised, shocked. "It has been so long, I hardly recognized you," he said, void of any particular emotion. He wanted to hurt the boy, and that happy face. So unclear to the usual, scolding he received from it's younger version, whenever he did something wrong. You will disappoint father, ah, well, yes, he would. If it wasn't for Lyndon, he might be normal. Well, closer to it. These things pressed by his father, his mother, were nothing than the burden of guilt he felt for the boy. He opened his mouth to say more, sharply, to demand what he was doing here. Perhaps to witness the damage that he had done? To watch the mockery of a perfect family, in actuality crumbling. He needed to know why, why he wanted to see Blake suffer so. His cold eyes bore into the boy, intent on dissecting him, to configure how things have come to this.
However, there was a pat on his shoulder, and a warm voice plowed it's way into his ear. 'Bradford, congratulations on your success...' a man spoke next to him, apparently unaware of the intensity of the brother's stare down. Eerily, his expression changed in an split second, from conveying nothing, to a content smile of flattery. He turned and nodded to the man, shaking his hand. Peeking out of the corner of his eye, at Lyndon's expressions twisting to discomfort, possibly hurt, regret. Good. As black hearted as it seemed, Bradford didn't care. Brushing the man away, to absently stand before his brother, glancing around at the general decor. "Are you sick, I hope?"
Startled. Blake leveled for a moment, his heart gave a squeeze, a throb, to the general concern in that delicate voice, he had adored once. The face of a boy, so full of heart, so full of joy, pulled out of the comfort of his home. Oh, but the way he still there. To play games, telephone, or generally there to give advice. He wanted to be like him. To be with him. However, when things came to an end, that night, Lyndon didn't want to be found. He didn't want to be Blake's brother. The mask slipped, for a split second, and his hands gripped into fists, clearing the expression of a hurt, guilty two year old. His eyes casting away, quickly, hesitantly whispering his reply... venomously. "I am only what you've wished I'd become," and then he retreated, back into the crowd of people.
It was unsettling, to know that he still had a heart. He thought he locked that away, in that drawer. Perhaps, he couldn't be the perfect model, his father had asked for. He inhaled shortly, releasing his clenched fist, and with it the useless, burdening emotions. A soft, complacent smile trained itself onto his face, as he shook the hands of more than dozen men and women. They all congratulated him, some asked about his future plans, for the company, which he had rehearsed more than a dozen times. Finally, after about an hour of hellos, and faces Blake had been trained to know since his childhood, he made his way to the head table. Beside his father and mother.
His mother hugged him, in a fabulous act of pride, and tears, she tenderly kissed his cheek. Announcing how she was so pleased on how her boy had grown into a fine gentleman. He held her hand, sweeping his thumb over the soft skin, and seeing a break in the actress's piece of work. It was hardly a second long, but it was more than clear, the emotion of pity that crossed past her loveliness. Mr. Knox shook his hand, with a tight grip, grinning beyond belief. "Unbelievable, unbelievable," he boomed in that voice, "my son, all grown up, into quite the man. I couldn't be more pleased."
Then everyone looked expectantly for his speech. This moment he had prepared for his whole life. Pathetic, to build it all up to one moment. A period of time. The hard work, the pain, the pleasure, all for this. "Lovely to have you all here tonight," he spoke smoothly, voice clear, tone balanced, "just to congratulate me on my performance in school, how endearing, and to be recognized by so many intellectuals, well, it is quite humbling. You're making me sweat," he cocked a grin, which seemed to earn various chuckles and claps. He waited until silence returned. "It is my hope, that my efforts continue to please, and impress you... I wish for results, as do you all. This gathering is not only a celebration for my work in my studies, but a happy announcement of my entrance into the business my grandfather has built ground up. It will be hard to follow in my father's footsteps, but promise to offer the fullest of my abilities, cultivated to no less than this task."
There was applause, and he looked into the eyes, the soul of the crowd. They were a great melting pot of one fate, a monster ready to swallow him up. He didn't flinch, simply watched, as it twisted it's foul breath his way. He was made to be the master of this beast. Turning, he raised a glass before them, which was mimicked by the crowd, "now let us celebrate, I will look forward to your criticism in the morning." There was laughter, as he sipped his champagne, then was enveloped back into the crowd. Skirting his way around, and talking to various acquaintances, and strangers. It was all done now. Except, he didn't feel fulfilled. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all.
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Post by aprettyoddgirl on Mar 5, 2012 17:48:29 GMT -5
He felt so out of place here. This was not his home, not his life... Blake was hardly even a brother. But, he could resume responsibility for that, after all. While it wasn't his fault that his father, their father, he should say, was a real prick, or that he slept with two women instead of one, as he should have. Not his fault that, out of the two, the man had decided to outcast his eldest born who had been born out of wedlock. Not much lay to his fault, actually, nor to Blake's, but he couldn't help but feel a little badly about it all. Badly, as in jealousy and also pity. Although Blake's future was tightly constricted, at the same time, it had the promise of prosperity. So what if he couldn't do what he really loved... he would be rich forever. And growing up in much poorer conditions than the Knox family, Lyndon could especially learn to appreciate wealth, as badly as that sounded.
And, so, he couldn't let Blake mess that up for himself. If only one of them could live happily, comfortably, then it had to be Blake. Lyndon was used to working for everything he got now, so the world would stay the same. If Blake were to be the one who was not the heir, after doing so his whole life, the world would be such a dark place. And even if they were only half brothers, hardly knowing of each other, well, Lyndon just couldn't let him screw that over.
Blake spoke so coldly, but again, it was to be accounted for. Now he really wondered who had invited him... it had to have been their father. Blake didn't want to see him again, didn't want to relive that kind of hurt, surely enough. Lyndon took his seat and took a drink from the champagne that probably cost more than his transportation into the Knox home.
- - - -
Somehow, Gabe had managed to be left unseen... which was almost troubling. He wanted to see Blake... talk him out of all this, if it were possible. He was so different now, so unlike himself, that it turned his stomach in knots. His beautiful hair, all chopped off, his smile void of all ambition. This wasn't a graduation; this was a funeral. The tone of his speech said otherwise, artfully crafted to give the right impression. But Gabe liked to think that, by now, he knew who Blake was... or, who he had been. He clapped with the crowd as Blake came back into the masses, before he stood and set out to find the boy. Once he did, however, he kept his space, allowing Blake either to approach him, or ignore him. Regardless of his choice now, he would be speaking with the brunette before the night was through. He wasn't going to leave until he did so.
- - - -
Chase didn't know just why he had been invited to such a torturous event. Sure, he was Blake's friend and all... but this was a much more formal ocassion. Especially in comparison to Chase's graduation plans which were coming up in the next month. He and his family just had a little barbeque planned out... nothing like this. No champagne or speeches, just probably some booze and laughter.
He felt incredibly uncomfortable, sitting in his chair with his out dated and out-of-fashion clothes that didn't even fit him too well. He came from a very modest home, and while he could have asked Blake to borrow some clothes, he had a feeling of how stressed the boy was. Chase was yet to return to the states, to his home, and so he had been around Blake more than usual. But, as the summer turned, so did Blake. First, they started talking less often. Then their plans got cancelled. Then Blake chopped off his hair. None of it made sense anymore... Chase had never been clued in about something so serious. Sure, he knew that Blake's family had a business and all... but, really... this was uncalled for. It left him hurt, even. But since Blake had personally invited him to the ceremony, he supposed that proved that he hadn't been dumped completely, at least.
All of this had left him extremely worried. It just all seemed to happen so quickly. Too quickly. He hardly even remembered the conversation about their fears from a while ago... but he did remember Blake leaving shortly after that conversation. He still would never put two and two together, especially in this case. Blake was on a whole other level.
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Post by LazyCat on Mar 5, 2012 17:48:46 GMT -5
There were so many hands to shake, so many words in his ears, so many faces to see. It was too much, an overload. Words turned into buzzing in his ears, faces turned into shadows of faceless creatures... And hands, they reached out to grab him, as if they all wanted a piece, a taste, to feast on him. It was in this mass of people, that Bradford started to sweat. Sipping on his champagne lightly, walking about like a zombie, smiling, and laughing. He felt disconnected from his body, as if he was shifted on auto pilot, while, inside, he shook to contain himself. He felt like he was drowning, the beast he fought to contain was going to eat him. Anger bloomed in his stomach, burning at his side as cold sweat burst across his forehead, he was already here. There was no going back. Why should he feel sick, now, of all times? Frustrated, by his own weakness, he politely excused himself from a politician chatting idly at his ear.
He weaved his way through, to the back of the house. He leaned against one white pillar. He pressed his forehead to the cool marble, letting it absorb away the stress. He let out a shaky breath, feeling his tense muscles finally start to relax for the first time in months. All those months he spent worrying over the summer, preparing, thinking, dreaming... But now it was all over, he was here, he was done, and starting again, as Bradford. His true fate, his true name. Blake was just an escape, from a life that was already planned out for him. But he couldn't run away forever. That summer, Blake had lived, and never been more alive. Now, he was tucking those things away.
Eddingborough had been the prime of his escape. The mischief he got up to there, it made him chuckle. And, now, with all the ties he had severed over time- Wynn, Daniel, Adam, Christian, and Oliver... Chase was the only one left. It was funny that the peckish boy had been his last string, all summer, Blake had clung to him, like a life rope. And, slowly, he sawed it away. Conversations becoming short. Dates canceled, broken phone calls. Alas, this was the final farewell. One last blow to his dear Chase. For he knew, if he had just told him the news, the boy would certainly not accept it. Now, as it were in his face, after a gradual period, there was nothing more he could do, but accept it.
And he had not forgotten Gabe. His fair love Gabriel. He could have laughed, at their vague half-baked plans to open a company together, to be partners, in more than one way. But that was ripped to shreds, for the truth was, Gabriel never loved him. He loved the idea of him. As for Blake, he wasn't steady, even from the beginning, he was tentative of lasting relationships. For Blake would have to step aside one day, soon, and make room for Bradford. For all these reasons, and more, they would never move past the past. There was nothing more of Gabe, but a taunt on his heart. A memory, a ghost.
Composed, again, Bradford straightened up, readjusting his tie, so it wasn't as tight to his throat. And then, he turned, looking back toward the crowd, scanning the endless faces. One, in particular capturing his attention. Speaking of the devil... Or rather thinking. He didn't stop to think that he was staring, gawking, intently at the figure in front of him. His eyes devoured the image, the line of the suit against smooth muscle. The combed dirty, blond hair, how it felt between his fingers. That neck, he had tucked away into so many times, lining it with love bites. The ears he had whispered love to, over and over... The arms that held him, the legs that brushed against his own at night. The room. Their room. Their passion. Their love. Them. Us.
It all flooded to him at once, and if he were any less than himself, he would of fell to his knees and sobbed. Crying to a form so perfect, so familiar, so taunting to him. What was he doing here? Of all people? To break him down like this. And without permission, his legs carried him forward, shakily at first, but soon with more confidence. With determination, he made his way to him, standing nose to nose. Assessing, to be sure that this was real, and not some dream. A nightmare. "Gabriel?" he whispered at first, a little timid, unsure. But then, of course, came a wavering smile, "looking good as usual, I see."
Right. Keeping it together Blake. Bradford. Blake. Blake. Gabriel.
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Post by aprettyoddgirl on Mar 5, 2012 17:48:59 GMT -5
Did he dream up that voice? The timid, little bit insecure crack that was yet to be sealed? Perhaps it was through just that sliver that Blake shone through again... but Bradford paved it over with a sly looking good as usual, I see, something the 'real' Blake would never let Gabe have the pleasure of. Gabe was never allowed to win whenever it came to Blake, not even the smallest compliment such as that. But, for just a moment, with the tender, quiet outcry of his own name, Blake was there. And he almost smiled because of it.
"Thank you, Bradford," the boy murmured easily enough. He wasn't conforming to the boy's name that he went by now; rather, that was what Blake had always been to him; Blake was his Bradford, and Gabe, his Gabriel. And he would refuse to believe otherwise until the boy actually ripped it from him. Perhaps Blake thought he had already done that much whenever they broke up during their second year at Eddingborough.. he didn't know. Either way, Gabe clung on.
"Congratulations," he murmured quietly, feeling that the words were a little stingy on his tongue. Congrats on what? On becoming the true sell out you were destined to be? Gabe had never though that that he was going to be the one to break away from his family's lineage. He had denied the family business, decided to make his own money, even if it got rough. And of course his father disowned him, and now he was living from pay check to pay check, with only the material possessions he had acquired over the years from his former inheritance. Blake always struck him as the courageous one, and himself the coward. Perhaps he had been wrong.
He was disappointed. Disappointed that Blake was going to throw everything he loved away to please other people. That wasn't the Blake he had known, but perhaps he had never really known him at all, if it was just an act of rebellion, so to say that he had lived, at least for a little while. There was a bitter taste on his tongue, a need to break from this shallow, inconsistent talk and really try to get to the man, make him understand what he was doing... But Blake already understood. He never ever had done things half-assed. He knew what was going on.
So the boy stood there with his lips pursed simply, finding that, for once, he had little to nothing he could actually say to him. He loved this boy, he had come to realize for sure, and yet this was not the same boy. Blake was gone, wasn't he? And Gabe was supposed to completely forget that he had ever existed, just as Blake tried to convince himself. "What is your problem?" he finally blurted out. He couldn't hold it back; the taste on his tongue made him want to vomit if he didn't release it soon enough. There weren't many people around. "Why... Why are you doing this?"
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