Title: Fall Apart At The Seams
Dec. 27th, 2011 10:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
j_gabrielleTitle: Fall apart at the seams
Pairing: Haddock/Tintin
Rating: PG-15 (the sex is implied, not detailed, so squint!)
Warning: It's hard to determine Tintin's exact age, so if you (in your mind) see him as an underaged kid, you might wanna skip this? According to Herge, and the laws of the time, Tintin is 17 and by law, he is a minor to be indulging in same-sex relations. JSYK.
Summary: Love for Tintin was something in the background, the hum of life; unimportant. So he shouldn't be affected when he meets a certain Captain, right?
There was time, some time ago, maybe long ago when he did not know what love was. Oh yes, he knew what love was; the love for Milou, the love of adventure and excitement, the love of the pursuit of a juicy mystery, the love of the sun on his skin, the taste of coco on a cold spring day.
He loved the taste of fresh bread, the steaming pumpkin soup from the cafes by the river. He loved the words that flew from his fingertips when he wrote.
But Tintin never knew love until it hit him like he was running into a brick wall.
It wasn’t as if he never loved. He was sure he’d loved his mother and father; although perhaps those memories were a little faint and hazy. The love of another human being was something he knew. He had his work, his dog and he was content.
Then along came Captain Archibald Haddock.
The first time he felt it, it was merely the stirrings of something; the quiet flutters of a butterfly’s wings that he pushed aside in the curiosity and intrigues of their initial meeting. Tintin couldn’t push aside however, the tingle and burn where the Captain touched his skin.
And then, when they’d been stuck in a crate for the better part of three hours whilst in pursuit of a criminal, in close quarters, the sheer knowledge that the man, his friend was so near, pressed close against the length of his body ignited a flame in his soul he never knew he missed.
It, the flame, flared into a fire, roaring constantly under his skin. Everything centred on the Captain. The colours of the outside world dulled, muted as if someone had casted a veil over everything, no longer vibrant unless the man was there, close at hand. Food no longer tasted divine as they once had until the food had been shared or at least, partaken in his midst. Nothing else besides the man held any allure.
The apex came in the silence of a stormy autumn night. Milou was curled up by the fire while they both sat in Haddock’s grand room. It was a hand on stubble cheek, heat seeping through touch alone, the gentle tilt of head, a kiss placed on the inside of a wrist. A shiver and a gasp.
They came together inelegantly; one trying for gentle, the other for everything else, both equally stubborn. It was more teeth, nails and bruises, than it were caresses. More of the races to cross the finish than it were of a joint symphony, but it was perfect. Utter perfection.
Daylight found them a tangle of bodies and sheets. Roughened fingertips ghost his skin, bringing him back from the cradles of sleep. The fire had dulled to a merry glow; still burning hot, but no longer unbearably all-consuming. A smile, a kiss on his shoulder with the hint of tongue tracing the faint freckle constellation draws him closer to the larger man. His smell should not, but it does, smell like home, like belonging. Like the remnants of smoke, sunshine and the taste of sharp ozone. Like the anticipation of an oncoming tide.
Love, Tintin will later decide, is like closing your eyes to the most beautiful, exquisite dream and at the same time opening yourself wide to the brilliance of a million different suns and feeling the avalanche of emotions that take your breath away. Love, he will decide, is a wonderful and frightening thing. The absolute adventure and the ultimate respite.
But that will be a thought for later.
.end.
A/N: Not the finest thing I ever wrote, certainly not by far my favourite. But I like it. What can you do? /le shrug
Pairing: Haddock/Tintin
Rating: PG-15 (the sex is implied, not detailed, so squint!)
Warning: It's hard to determine Tintin's exact age, so if you (in your mind) see him as an underaged kid, you might wanna skip this? According to Herge, and the laws of the time, Tintin is 17 and by law, he is a minor to be indulging in same-sex relations. JSYK.
Summary: Love for Tintin was something in the background, the hum of life; unimportant. So he shouldn't be affected when he meets a certain Captain, right?
There was time, some time ago, maybe long ago when he did not know what love was. Oh yes, he knew what love was; the love for Milou, the love of adventure and excitement, the love of the pursuit of a juicy mystery, the love of the sun on his skin, the taste of coco on a cold spring day.
He loved the taste of fresh bread, the steaming pumpkin soup from the cafes by the river. He loved the words that flew from his fingertips when he wrote.
But Tintin never knew love until it hit him like he was running into a brick wall.
It wasn’t as if he never loved. He was sure he’d loved his mother and father; although perhaps those memories were a little faint and hazy. The love of another human being was something he knew. He had his work, his dog and he was content.
Then along came Captain Archibald Haddock.
The first time he felt it, it was merely the stirrings of something; the quiet flutters of a butterfly’s wings that he pushed aside in the curiosity and intrigues of their initial meeting. Tintin couldn’t push aside however, the tingle and burn where the Captain touched his skin.
And then, when they’d been stuck in a crate for the better part of three hours whilst in pursuit of a criminal, in close quarters, the sheer knowledge that the man, his friend was so near, pressed close against the length of his body ignited a flame in his soul he never knew he missed.
It, the flame, flared into a fire, roaring constantly under his skin. Everything centred on the Captain. The colours of the outside world dulled, muted as if someone had casted a veil over everything, no longer vibrant unless the man was there, close at hand. Food no longer tasted divine as they once had until the food had been shared or at least, partaken in his midst. Nothing else besides the man held any allure.
The apex came in the silence of a stormy autumn night. Milou was curled up by the fire while they both sat in Haddock’s grand room. It was a hand on stubble cheek, heat seeping through touch alone, the gentle tilt of head, a kiss placed on the inside of a wrist. A shiver and a gasp.
They came together inelegantly; one trying for gentle, the other for everything else, both equally stubborn. It was more teeth, nails and bruises, than it were caresses. More of the races to cross the finish than it were of a joint symphony, but it was perfect. Utter perfection.
Daylight found them a tangle of bodies and sheets. Roughened fingertips ghost his skin, bringing him back from the cradles of sleep. The fire had dulled to a merry glow; still burning hot, but no longer unbearably all-consuming. A smile, a kiss on his shoulder with the hint of tongue tracing the faint freckle constellation draws him closer to the larger man. His smell should not, but it does, smell like home, like belonging. Like the remnants of smoke, sunshine and the taste of sharp ozone. Like the anticipation of an oncoming tide.
Love, Tintin will later decide, is like closing your eyes to the most beautiful, exquisite dream and at the same time opening yourself wide to the brilliance of a million different suns and feeling the avalanche of emotions that take your breath away. Love, he will decide, is a wonderful and frightening thing. The absolute adventure and the ultimate respite.
But that will be a thought for later.
.end.
A/N: Not the finest thing I ever wrote, certainly not by far my favourite. But I like it. What can you do? /le shrug
