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Disclaimer: I do not own The Pretender or anything affiliated with it. It is owned by TNT, NBC, and Steve and Craig. No infringement is intended and no profit is being made.
Note: Okay, I think this is tame enough to warrant only an R. Hence the rating of it as this, but you must know that this is twincest. Do not read any further if you don’t want to read MP/L!
Author’s Note: Hmmm. Gratuitous overuse of italics, metaphors, commas, semicolons, and other such nonsense. I don’t think my English teachers meant for this to happen. Ah well. Con crit is always, always, always welcomed!
Summary: She knew they would end up here. They always ended up in this place.
Silence of the Ordinary
by: chopsticks
r
-----
She knew they would end up here. They always ended up in this place, the sounds draining into silence as the world moved sickeningly faster, faster, and faster still.
It always happened the same way; it was like a routine now. No, not like a routine; it was a routine. The same routine they had been sharing for many years now. She would fail to catch Jarod (always her failure, never his); he would chastise her, lecture her, belittle her (always his words, never hers); they would fight (always the both of them and their high-strung yet carefully-controlled emotions); they would end up here.
It was always the same. They relished the blinding comfort of routine, the sense of security and utter rightness it afforded them. (They knew it to be wrong and right—always a shade of gray.) In their soundless capsule of routine, they felt safe, as if everything would correct itself through their own sheer will.
She knew this wouldn’t work. He knew it as well. Yet neither of them said a word, intimately knowing it would shatter their silent routine. It would destroy their bond, and they would forever lose the heightening of it that being here provided them.
The bond that can only exist between two of the same DNA; between a man and a woman.
Their bond was both, and because it was here that they combined, it became more powerful; here became more powerful.
But there was no love. No, they would never be able to love each other. Instead, they had raw passion, something far more powerful than simple love; something heightened because they were here.
It was a passion neither had experiences before; it was a passion they would never be able to duplicate with another. She had tried with Tommy; he had tried with his Asian pets. Both had been met with failure. But once exposed to their greedy hearts, it was addictive, this soundless passion.
And so, here they were again, him standing before her in her (their mother’s) house. They were close enough to smell each other; to get a whiff of that delirious and intoxicating passion. A rush of heat ran through their bodies simultaneously, and they both knew it was coming and coming very rapidly.
They were fighting, and both could sense just how close here was. He made an acidic remark in response to one of her own, and she felt a response rise to the tip of her tongue. Just as she was about to utter it, the expected and unavoidable happened: he got to it first.
His mouth was suddenly on hers and he was looming over her. They both felt the passion—their quiet friend—take over as his tongue swept the already-forgotten remark off of her tongue. The omnipresent tumbler she had been holding fell to the ground and shattered, the glass dispersing everywhere beneath their bodies soundlessly.
It was the passion that was always their undoing here. It made their movements desperate; it made their bodies go into a fever-pitch of activity. The heat that was rushing through their bodies only served to accelerate their movements, and never in their lives did anything feel so right. Only here did everything make sense; did the unreality become the reality.
And the reality here moved fast, hard, and swiftly. His hand had crept up between their bodies and up her leg, pushing the already-short skirt even higher, his fingers gently manipulating a body he knew without even having to look at.
She moaned, the sound disappearing before it left her vocal cords. So soundless it was here.
The passion could make them dizzy; could make them act without realizing it. Her hands had, at some point in their shared delirium, removed his belt and undid his fly.
They could feel the climax of their time here arriving quickly, their only warning appearing moments before time would invariably slow once again, and everything would be wrong.
She found herself lying down, the firmness of her (their mother’s) couch at her back. The world closed in around them, pressuring them, holding them tight as he moved into her.
They were met with the blinding feeling of utter rightness as it could only exist here.
Brother and sister, combined once again. Joined together and becoming one, the world sped up and everything was so unbelievably right. Here, where there were no sounds and only an indefinable passion between the two, everything was right, if only for a few seconds.
Then it would all be over, all the feelings fading from them. He would leave, the sounds of his movements grating harshly in their ears.
The sounds made it wrong here, where they always ended up.
-----
the end.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
Note: Okay, I think this is tame enough to warrant only an R. Hence the rating of it as this, but you must know that this is twincest. Do not read any further if you don’t want to read MP/L!
Author’s Note: Hmmm. Gratuitous overuse of italics, metaphors, commas, semicolons, and other such nonsense. I don’t think my English teachers meant for this to happen. Ah well. Con crit is always, always, always welcomed!
Summary: She knew they would end up here. They always ended up in this place.
by: chopsticks
r
-----
She knew they would end up here. They always ended up in this place, the sounds draining into silence as the world moved sickeningly faster, faster, and faster still.
It always happened the same way; it was like a routine now. No, not like a routine; it was a routine. The same routine they had been sharing for many years now. She would fail to catch Jarod (always her failure, never his); he would chastise her, lecture her, belittle her (always his words, never hers); they would fight (always the both of them and their high-strung yet carefully-controlled emotions); they would end up here.
It was always the same. They relished the blinding comfort of routine, the sense of security and utter rightness it afforded them. (They knew it to be wrong and right—always a shade of gray.) In their soundless capsule of routine, they felt safe, as if everything would correct itself through their own sheer will.
She knew this wouldn’t work. He knew it as well. Yet neither of them said a word, intimately knowing it would shatter their silent routine. It would destroy their bond, and they would forever lose the heightening of it that being here provided them.
The bond that can only exist between two of the same DNA; between a man and a woman.
Their bond was both, and because it was here that they combined, it became more powerful; here became more powerful.
But there was no love. No, they would never be able to love each other. Instead, they had raw passion, something far more powerful than simple love; something heightened because they were here.
It was a passion neither had experiences before; it was a passion they would never be able to duplicate with another. She had tried with Tommy; he had tried with his Asian pets. Both had been met with failure. But once exposed to their greedy hearts, it was addictive, this soundless passion.
And so, here they were again, him standing before her in her (their mother’s) house. They were close enough to smell each other; to get a whiff of that delirious and intoxicating passion. A rush of heat ran through their bodies simultaneously, and they both knew it was coming and coming very rapidly.
They were fighting, and both could sense just how close here was. He made an acidic remark in response to one of her own, and she felt a response rise to the tip of her tongue. Just as she was about to utter it, the expected and unavoidable happened: he got to it first.
His mouth was suddenly on hers and he was looming over her. They both felt the passion—their quiet friend—take over as his tongue swept the already-forgotten remark off of her tongue. The omnipresent tumbler she had been holding fell to the ground and shattered, the glass dispersing everywhere beneath their bodies soundlessly.
It was the passion that was always their undoing here. It made their movements desperate; it made their bodies go into a fever-pitch of activity. The heat that was rushing through their bodies only served to accelerate their movements, and never in their lives did anything feel so right. Only here did everything make sense; did the unreality become the reality.
And the reality here moved fast, hard, and swiftly. His hand had crept up between their bodies and up her leg, pushing the already-short skirt even higher, his fingers gently manipulating a body he knew without even having to look at.
She moaned, the sound disappearing before it left her vocal cords. So soundless it was here.
The passion could make them dizzy; could make them act without realizing it. Her hands had, at some point in their shared delirium, removed his belt and undid his fly.
They could feel the climax of their time here arriving quickly, their only warning appearing moments before time would invariably slow once again, and everything would be wrong.
She found herself lying down, the firmness of her (their mother’s) couch at her back. The world closed in around them, pressuring them, holding them tight as he moved into her.
They were met with the blinding feeling of utter rightness as it could only exist here.
Brother and sister, combined once again. Joined together and becoming one, the world sped up and everything was so unbelievably right. Here, where there were no sounds and only an indefinable passion between the two, everything was right, if only for a few seconds.
Then it would all be over, all the feelings fading from them. He would leave, the sounds of his movements grating harshly in their ears.
The sounds made it wrong here, where they always ended up.
the end.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
