|Link V: Silver
Author: Guede Mazaka
A gray wall now, clawed and bloody. Is there no way out of the mind? Steps at my back spiral into a well. --From "Apprehensions," Sylvia Plath
Concrete was a sharp, brutal surface. Even with layers of combat clothing between the wall and his back, Alec could still feel the bloody scrapes ripping into his skin. The cold quickly froze the pain to his flesh, readying it to be rasped away by the next thrust.
James was in a mood tonight. Snappish and black beneath his cool slickness, taking chances where there were none, and ignoring every woman in sight. Alec would normally be happy at the last one, but he suspected that Bond's focus had, in fact, nothing to do with him. Something about the way James kept looking away from Alec's face, the way James' nails bit deep into Alec's thighs, but didn't bother to move. As if they'd been rooted into place.
He brushed his lips over Alec's neck every so often, like following a pattern. Tongue, mouth, teeth. And when Alec tried to strike some spark of recognition from the cold flint, rake his fingers down James' back-nothing came except a hiss and a slam. Air driven out of Alec as the blood soaked through his clothes. His wrists were wrenched up over his head so he could either fall or clench his legs about James' waist. Which he did, staring at the breath fogging up the air between his wild panting and bluestone eyes.
They never seemed to blink. Like a mirror, reflecting ice and clotted blood and the scattered dead. Alec felt the old divide rise up again, cracking deeper and deeper. Crevasse now, going from the center of the earth to the top of his heart. The air thickened in his throat, and for a moment he thought he was drowning.
But then the surface broke open and let Alec through so he could stare at the vast, unending nothingness around him.
It hadn't been his name. After all these years-
From his blood, the ancient call came. Beckoning only to him, depending only on him. And this time, he wholeheartedly answered.