Your Love is Based on Affection |
![]() Your need for love is very primal and basic. You can't imagine living without love. And for you, love is something that's best expressed through touch. You're always up for a hug or a cuddle. And you feel a bit rejected when you don't get enough affection. Whether you're sharing a blanket or sharing an order of fries, you thrive when you're close to the person you love. Why your love can last: You express your love freely and frequently Why your love can fail: You can come off as clingy, and this freaks people out |
Apr. 28th, 2008
[MitS] 009 -- "Bed" by Semisonic
Apr. 28th, 2008 02:51 pm[ooc:
recreating_eden!verse, Peter is
its_myturn, and used/fantasized about with permission.]
My little darling I'm a tangled mess // When you tease me the way you do
And what it would be like I can only guess // If you'd please me like I wanna please you
Well show me a friendship that's pure and chaste // And I'll show you an engine that's dying to race
There were moments when he thought Peter might have figured it out. Oh, not the virus, not that it hadn't been an accident, not that Adam was not the hero he pretended to be. He lived in fear of that, sometimes, or would if he allowed himself to dwell on it, but he was very good at not dwelling when things seemed so problematic. No, what he wondered, the thoughts he didn't keep shielded so well, was how Peter could remain so very oblivious to Adam's far more visceral urges. How he could not realize how badly Adam's fingers itched to reach out, brush through his hair, tease along the edge of his jaw. Every now and then he imagined there was a glimmer of something when brown eyes met blue. This would be the moment, he'd think, when recognition would blossom, and the ache that seemed constant in his presence would nearly burst. He'd watch that crooked smile, which came far too infrequently these days, and his breath would catch with a deep seated longing to feel it curve against his own lips.
It wasn't as if it was a secret that Adam's inclinations swung that way, nor was the fact that he did not spend every night in Elle's bed hidden. So, it wasn't ignorance of Adam's sexual orientation, or some misguided belief that he was bound only to Elle. He supposed his relationship with Hiro might slide blinders over Peter's eyes, but, really, at the end of the day...Peter lived in the same house. He had to know about the random ways Adam got through nights that were far too long for someone who barely slept. He had to know, and yet, it seemed he didn't.
He didn't see the looks for more than those of a friend. He didn't feel when Adam's eyes lingered. He didn't hear the note of longing that throbbed under the words Adam spoke. He didn't seem to taste that edge of desire that laced the air, nearly making Adam whimper.
( And it was slowly, methodically, driving Adam insane. )
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My little darling I'm a tangled mess // When you tease me the way you do
And what it would be like I can only guess // If you'd please me like I wanna please you
Well show me a friendship that's pure and chaste // And I'll show you an engine that's dying to race
There were moments when he thought Peter might have figured it out. Oh, not the virus, not that it hadn't been an accident, not that Adam was not the hero he pretended to be. He lived in fear of that, sometimes, or would if he allowed himself to dwell on it, but he was very good at not dwelling when things seemed so problematic. No, what he wondered, the thoughts he didn't keep shielded so well, was how Peter could remain so very oblivious to Adam's far more visceral urges. How he could not realize how badly Adam's fingers itched to reach out, brush through his hair, tease along the edge of his jaw. Every now and then he imagined there was a glimmer of something when brown eyes met blue. This would be the moment, he'd think, when recognition would blossom, and the ache that seemed constant in his presence would nearly burst. He'd watch that crooked smile, which came far too infrequently these days, and his breath would catch with a deep seated longing to feel it curve against his own lips.
It wasn't as if it was a secret that Adam's inclinations swung that way, nor was the fact that he did not spend every night in Elle's bed hidden. So, it wasn't ignorance of Adam's sexual orientation, or some misguided belief that he was bound only to Elle. He supposed his relationship with Hiro might slide blinders over Peter's eyes, but, really, at the end of the day...Peter lived in the same house. He had to know about the random ways Adam got through nights that were far too long for someone who barely slept. He had to know, and yet, it seemed he didn't.
He didn't see the looks for more than those of a friend. He didn't feel when Adam's eyes lingered. He didn't hear the note of longing that throbbed under the words Adam spoke. He didn't seem to taste that edge of desire that laced the air, nearly making Adam whimper.
( And it was slowly, methodically, driving Adam insane. )
1792
Less than two decades before he had sworn to find disciples, hubris throwing him high in the air as he felt his place was in the heavens with God himself. He was what God had feared, after all, a man who had eaten from the tree of life, at least metaphorically. To prevent this occurrence, Adam and Eve had been cast from the garden, lest they eat from the second tree and truly become like God. If that was what separated them from God, then what barrier was there for him, immortal as he was? Another name, another life, another country. He wandered, the seed of the idea Evan had inadvertently planted inside of him, growing, making him even more restless.
It wasn't enough to survive. It wasn't enough to ghost his way through courts and countries, to smile at kings and queens and change his name to suit his new allegiance or uniform he wore. It wasn't enough to flirt, to let his lips ghost over perfumed skin, then to stare into a face that haunted his dreams and memories--Yaeko, but not. There was a bitter victory in Yumi's love, the way her eyes followed him, adoring, the defiance she showed in marrying a gaijin without knowing that the stories she told him that her great-grandmother had passed down ripped into him and hurt more with each breath, but that victory wasn't enough.
His restlessness struck out, and he found himself in the wilderness of the country he had fought to keep from being free, fleeing further to the lands France still held, running from shadows and ghosts that gnashed their teeth at his heels with the ever present litany of not enough, never enough. Not life, not love, not him.
( And then it stopped. )
Less than two decades before he had sworn to find disciples, hubris throwing him high in the air as he felt his place was in the heavens with God himself. He was what God had feared, after all, a man who had eaten from the tree of life, at least metaphorically. To prevent this occurrence, Adam and Eve had been cast from the garden, lest they eat from the second tree and truly become like God. If that was what separated them from God, then what barrier was there for him, immortal as he was? Another name, another life, another country. He wandered, the seed of the idea Evan had inadvertently planted inside of him, growing, making him even more restless.
It wasn't enough to survive. It wasn't enough to ghost his way through courts and countries, to smile at kings and queens and change his name to suit his new allegiance or uniform he wore. It wasn't enough to flirt, to let his lips ghost over perfumed skin, then to stare into a face that haunted his dreams and memories--Yaeko, but not. There was a bitter victory in Yumi's love, the way her eyes followed him, adoring, the defiance she showed in marrying a gaijin without knowing that the stories she told him that her great-grandmother had passed down ripped into him and hurt more with each breath, but that victory wasn't enough.
His restlessness struck out, and he found himself in the wilderness of the country he had fought to keep from being free, fleeing further to the lands France still held, running from shadows and ghosts that gnashed their teeth at his heels with the ever present litany of not enough, never enough. Not life, not love, not him.
( And then it stopped. )