Comfortably Numb.

Author: Buddy

Pairing: Need you ask?

Rating: No idea, but it’s not really explicit.

Disclaimer: If I married Joss Whedon would this mean I owned half the characters under Californian law? Ok, that’s never going to happen, not mine, his.

Beta: Sue (Spikeyvamp) Spod extraordinaire. Tell me all the names of the Magnificent Seven.

 

He sits, suffocated by material solace and wishes for hardship to wake him from sleep. Pumped heat warms his bones and soft shag pile cossets his skin; fabric that would shield pens him in. Rain spatters against double glazed panes and the thunder is muted outside his head. If he lets them, the trappings of luxury will lull him, the pull takes him back to false security.

To the place where he is most comfortably numb.

A gesture from the one who loves him leads from one escape to the next; a scenic journey of revealed pretty pictures.

Soft sighs and whispers, kisses and caresses rival the thunder, seduce with promises of apathy. It would be easy to live here, to get lost in the silence, not thinking or feeling, just the need to assuage.  Endless years stretch before him in a gilded cage; will he swing in it blindly as the thunder rolls by?

The thunder holds menace, threat and destruction, a promise to strip all that keeps him so still. He can turn away, yet the echo only allows brief respite, of feminine fragrance and featherlike strokes.That coat and surround him, would appease hunger, and they try to delve deep but they don’t reach beneath.

He’s been here so often and he could settle, for contentment; it is relieving to his body and placating to his mind.

Gentle pressures, reverence and honey soaked pleasure, not enough, he wants passion and worship; pain with his spice. His shackles are velvet and hold no restraint; if the thunder gets nearer he will slip their tenuous hold.

Burying hard length into bittersweet treasure with a sigh, he wishes he is the one plundered, with a snarl. Kisses of love and words to reassure him, when he craves biting and bloodletting to make him feel whole.

Will the comfort take him another time, when his loins rage with the need for release and attention? Even when the thunder is so loud he bleeds from his ears? Can he get lost in the velvet, a protection eternal, or will he ache for the steel to bring him into the cold?

Hands in soft places he tries to return it, to give something back for the succour he steals.

Writhing in torment, this bittersweet pleasure leaves him satisfied and wanting so much more.There’s thunder at the door and he feels it, he wants to go out and revel in the storm.  Promises of a better tomorrow call him back with a sirens song, mapping out a future, all he’s never had before.  Violent weather beckons, then demands to be answered, roaring a warning that he will disappear should he stay.

He casts off trappings and disowns the easy, giving up euphoria to live in the truth.  The thunder offers awakening, not solace but rapture as he sinks into flesh and bone unlike his own.It’s blonde and like granite and it tastes of the earth, with sulphur snapping as it renders his flesh.

He doesn’t need glamours to make it palatable, he’ll take the harshness and the alien and it will feel like home.

Thunder with blue eyes that flash life and religion; it ignites his heart with fire and ice.  Excited and frightened as the winds whip around him he feels exposed not barren, cold yet not raw.  Melded to alloy, there is humanity to be found, superior to his kinsmen, and it wraps around him, armour of reality.  It encases him and feels like everything he wants, needs, covets.

And it’s his.