Seemingly Insignificant
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
685
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
685
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Seemingly Insignificant
He wonders, honestly, how more than five millennia could mean so little to someone.
Lying in a cold bed has long become habit, sadly enough- to think point where he’d thought of siring someone, just to have someone to hold again. Not that he’d ever do that. He doesn’t know the first thing about integrating mortals into vampyric society, much less the one his family alone has seemed to made up for themselves.
A sigh as the curtain feels the need to shift just enough to let a clichéd amount of sunlight into the nearly desolate bedroom.
The bed alone once took up a large space, so he supposes the room didn’t have to be quiet so desolate as his mind make it seem- but then again, the single mattress was far less intimidating than the king he’d left from his previous visits to the house, in hopes that one day he’d be married well off and come to need a house of his own to raise family in.
Either way, the thing had gotten traded in for a more practical, smaller framework and mattress set.
He was also well aware of the taboo to never date a man with a single bed- the very same that supposedly signaled he wasn’t ready for commitment. Not that he was. Not that he’d ever be.
He was a firm believer of having, in one’s lifetime, a one true love, if you will. The devastating part of the theory came when one’s true love never deemed it necessary to love one in return.
Even more tragic was when the same love places you as a second best trophy, to be knocked aside when his own one true came calling.
His Daddy understood. His Daddy would always be there to understand. To love him, to tell him he had the right to feel what he was feeling- that it was normal to want to curl up and die after realizing exactly how wrong he’d been in hoping he could ever have his one true. His Daddy, and his children- the only things he had to keep him going.
Because he would keep going. His heart was broken and swept under the rug and he could get over it if only One True would even acknowledge that there’d been a semblance of good times when they had been together, Two True, if you would.
But not a single glance. Of all the thoughts his thought, and all the nights he’d spent aching for the familiar body to curl up beside his and tell him that he was missed, even if he wasn’t loved- of all the remembered dates, even after centuries- that he still took the time to sit down and pen a letter that would never be read, or buy a gift for the mere purpose of gathering dust beneath the bed.
He thinks, honestly, finally turning from the scalding reflection of the sun on hardwood floor, that that’s what he misses the most. The coming home to a set of comforting arms that were guaranteed to be there the next morning. The warm body that would rest behind his as a reminder that he had all he wanted in life- a lover. And at one point, even a love who’d given him what he’d hoped he’d always get- a family.
The traditionally petite body curls beneath the sheets in hopes of gathering warmth into his toes instead of getting up to shower, helplessly remembering how he’d always complain with an arm around his waist how cold the very same feet were- before reaching to tuck the limbs under blankets and his own, warmer, feet.
Most of the time he wonders why he left in the first place- why he’d give up his one true for a cold single bed, and a family separated by countries.
Then he remembers what it’s like to be seen as second best, expendable at the times he needed someone to tell him it was okay to think what he did, to feel what he felt. Considered stupid when all he wanted was a shoulder to cry on until the moment passed.
Even then, he was hesitant to say it was worth it. So what if he was called stupid, thought down on? It wasn’t as if there was anything honestly wrong with being ignored every once in a while, was there?
But there is, when your one true turns, at the drop of a hat, to his twin brother. His sire. His lover.
He’d wondered what had taken importance over him, over their children, before those few moments- until that one had walked into the house- and he knew who he’d always been fighting. Whose ghost he’d hoped to overcome for so many years and failed as seemed his trend with everything else in life.
And when again he’s told he’s stupid, by the very same face who found it so easy to lie to him through two children and too much time, for wanting to protect one of the three reasons he had left- he just wouldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let anything happen to one of his treasures when he’d gone and left them all for a man who’d, in the middle child’s famed words, never done an ounce for him.
Lying in a cold bed has long become habit, sadly enough- to think point where he’d thought of siring someone, just to have someone to hold again. Not that he’d ever do that. He doesn’t know the first thing about integrating mortals into vampyric society, much less the one his family alone has seemed to made up for themselves.
A sigh as the curtain feels the need to shift just enough to let a clichéd amount of sunlight into the nearly desolate bedroom.
The bed alone once took up a large space, so he supposes the room didn’t have to be quiet so desolate as his mind make it seem- but then again, the single mattress was far less intimidating than the king he’d left from his previous visits to the house, in hopes that one day he’d be married well off and come to need a house of his own to raise family in.
Either way, the thing had gotten traded in for a more practical, smaller framework and mattress set.
He was also well aware of the taboo to never date a man with a single bed- the very same that supposedly signaled he wasn’t ready for commitment. Not that he was. Not that he’d ever be.
He was a firm believer of having, in one’s lifetime, a one true love, if you will. The devastating part of the theory came when one’s true love never deemed it necessary to love one in return.
Even more tragic was when the same love places you as a second best trophy, to be knocked aside when his own one true came calling.
His Daddy understood. His Daddy would always be there to understand. To love him, to tell him he had the right to feel what he was feeling- that it was normal to want to curl up and die after realizing exactly how wrong he’d been in hoping he could ever have his one true. His Daddy, and his children- the only things he had to keep him going.
Because he would keep going. His heart was broken and swept under the rug and he could get over it if only One True would even acknowledge that there’d been a semblance of good times when they had been together, Two True, if you would.
But not a single glance. Of all the thoughts his thought, and all the nights he’d spent aching for the familiar body to curl up beside his and tell him that he was missed, even if he wasn’t loved- of all the remembered dates, even after centuries- that he still took the time to sit down and pen a letter that would never be read, or buy a gift for the mere purpose of gathering dust beneath the bed.
He thinks, honestly, finally turning from the scalding reflection of the sun on hardwood floor, that that’s what he misses the most. The coming home to a set of comforting arms that were guaranteed to be there the next morning. The warm body that would rest behind his as a reminder that he had all he wanted in life- a lover. And at one point, even a love who’d given him what he’d hoped he’d always get- a family.
The traditionally petite body curls beneath the sheets in hopes of gathering warmth into his toes instead of getting up to shower, helplessly remembering how he’d always complain with an arm around his waist how cold the very same feet were- before reaching to tuck the limbs under blankets and his own, warmer, feet.
Most of the time he wonders why he left in the first place- why he’d give up his one true for a cold single bed, and a family separated by countries.
Then he remembers what it’s like to be seen as second best, expendable at the times he needed someone to tell him it was okay to think what he did, to feel what he felt. Considered stupid when all he wanted was a shoulder to cry on until the moment passed.
Even then, he was hesitant to say it was worth it. So what if he was called stupid, thought down on? It wasn’t as if there was anything honestly wrong with being ignored every once in a while, was there?
But there is, when your one true turns, at the drop of a hat, to his twin brother. His sire. His lover.
He’d wondered what had taken importance over him, over their children, before those few moments- until that one had walked into the house- and he knew who he’d always been fighting. Whose ghost he’d hoped to overcome for so many years and failed as seemed his trend with everything else in life.
And when again he’s told he’s stupid, by the very same face who found it so easy to lie to him through two children and too much time, for wanting to protect one of the three reasons he had left- he just wouldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let anything happen to one of his treasures when he’d gone and left them all for a man who’d, in the middle child’s famed words, never done an ounce for him.