The Nature of Scorpions

The Nature oorpiorpions

Don\'t fret, precious, I\'m here
Step away from the window
Go back to sleep
\'Pet\' -- A Perfect Circle


He woke with a start, staring into the darkness as his vision slowly made out shapes, distinct in the light of a half moon outside the window. Not a void, not a black hole sucking at his soul, just the absence of light. A bed beneath him, the night stand beside him, and the illumination of the tile floor through the shadows of window panes. The clock read 3 am.

He rose quietly, folding the covers rather than pitching them aside. Violence had surrounded him every day for months, which made his every action simple, quiet, and peaceful. Small comforts he took in the quiet moments afforded the troops. Lighting a cigarette in the silence of dawn, or carefully resting his gun against the wall of the trenches. It was his only respite.

The war was barely over, though. And old habits would die hard. Gren had stepped over the bodies of comrades and foes alike with the very feet that carried him inexorably toward the window and the hands that touched the glass had been stained with blood one time too many. Sometimes, even in dead silence, he swore he could hear the cry of dying men and the incessant automatic fire of guns. Tonight, it lingered from a dream, and yet subsided as he stared out at the compound; sleepy and silent in the dead of night save for the march of boots to announce the night watch\'s presence.

\"Shouldn\'t you be asleep?\"

The voice startled Gren out of his revelries, turning sharply at the sound of a voice both familiarly beautiful and terrifying. \"Vicious?\"

\"Do the sounds of the war drums still haunt your dreams?\"

He stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the gentle green floorlights issued from the dimmed hallway. An arm snaked out, grasping the door and shutting it quietly. Gren stood stiffly by the window, fingers still pressed against the cool glass as if it would save him from his fascination. Vicious\' movements always held him in thrall. The serpentine grace and cold fluidity of his body and how the curtain of silver hair shadowed his features appropriately. It wasn\'t until Vicious was there, beside him, within the light of the window, that he realized he wore only a pair of drawstring pants. No shirt, no shoes, nothing to indicate he was simply awake and wandering at this time of night.

\"Vicious, what are you doing here?\"

A hand reached out and closed over his, strangely warm despite the expectancy of chill. Vicious was well known for being a cold fish. Even if they were all comrades, teammates, it was only Gren who tried to see something good in him. Everyone else wrote Vicious off long ago.

\"I heard something. I came to investigate,\" came the response, as vague as Vicious liked to be, leaving one to wonder just what he heard, or if he really heard anything at all. Gren felt one hand drawn away from the window, and then the other. The heat of Vicious\' body so close was too much for his weary mind to comprehend. How long had he loved him? Wanted for this kind of contact only to hold back for fear of being rebuffed?

\"What did you hear?\" he asked, sounding far more hoarse than he wanted. Withdrawing, he took back his personal space and Vicious did not attempt to invade it again, standing by the window with his smile half illuminated, the rest hidden in inky shadows. What game was this? And why did he choose to play it now, of all times? Gren found himself stepping backwards until his heel struck the post to his bunk and he simply fell backwards ungracefully, landing in a half sitting position on the sheets. That smile always melted him down, feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl spotting the lofty senior boy\'s smile, knowing he\'s untouchable but willing to dream of it anyway. And to hope. To hope for something he had already convinced himself would simply never be.

Vicious shrugged his shoulders, turning so the liquid shadows melded over his features and hid his expression. \"You were crying out. It woke me. I can hardly sleep with someone being so bothersome as to have noisy nightmares.\"

\"I\'m ... I\'m sorry,\" Gren stammered. Now that sounded more like the Vicious he knew. Kindness given in one breath, and an insult in the next, or a slap, depending.

\"What were you dreaming?\" Vicious asked. He moved toward the bed as silently as a demon riding the shadows of hell into the land of the living. \"Tell me. I\'m curious.\" Gren slid aside as he found his wartime comrade sitting beside him suddenly. There was nothing between them but air, and not much of it.

\"It, it was nothing. Just me having another flashback or something,\" Gren was quick to reply. Vicious leaned in, forcing Gren to bend backwards. Even then, they were nearly nose to nose and even in the darkness, he could see those eyes. Cold as the depths of the ocean, and just as deep and secretive.

\"Did you hear the war drums again? Do you think you\'ll ever stop hearing them?\" he asked in a breathy whisper.

There wasn\'t even time for an answer. Just as Gren parted his lips to reply, he found Vicious\' mouth on his. Stunned, he held deathly still for only a moment, and it was all that was necessary to have him pinned on his back against the bed less than a moment later.

Gren gave in without a fight, not when this was something he had long fantasized about and never expected to come to fruition. Vicious lived up to his name, taking the musician without much preamble or foreplay. They joined on the bed in near silence save for the ragged noise of their breathing growing rapid and harsh and the moans that Gren couldn\'t help. He dug his fingers into the flesh of Vicious\' back and gave off a muted cry as he felt himself let go utterly and completely, spilling his seed onto his belly as his lover thrust in once... twice more and threw his head back suddenly, hands above the musician\'s shoulders, gripping the sheets tightly. It was the only indication that he\'d enjoyed the act, for Vicious barely made a sound. The weight of his body dropped and instinctively, Gren found himself holding on, fingers smoothing over the sheen of sweat covering his lover\'s back.

In that moment, Gren could have died and never been the wiser. In retrospect, much later, as he heard the sound of boots rushing up the stairs toward his little apartment and the demanding voice for him to open up. When he felt the cold steel of handcuffs on his wrists and stood before the tribunal to answer their questions about crimes he\'d never committed, then he would wish that Vicious had closed his hands around his throat and killed him in that bed. While he was still euphoric, and still holding out hope for the one he\'d fallen in love with, despite himself.

They lay there like that; heartbeats competing against each other until Vicious finally withdrew, sitting up on the edge of the bed to fish for his pants in the darkness. Gren felt his heart sink a little, having hoped that the other would stay. But that wasn\'t Vicious. He should have known. \"Why?\"

There was no answer, at first. Vicious rose, slipping back into his pants again fluidly. Gren wondered if he\'d ever know why. \"Gren. Did you ever hear the story of the scorpion and the tortoise?\"

Gren lifted a brow at that, sitting up to search for the pack of cigarettes he left on the night stand. \"Yes. The scorpion asks the tortoise for a ride across the river, then stings the tortoise halfway across. But you know they both died that way...\" he trailed off, finding the aroma of tobacco suddenly distasteful, ashes in his mouth. \"Vicious... what are you getting at?\"

\"It is my nature, the scorpion said.\" Vicious turned, that cryptic smile half illuminated again. \"That\'s what the scorpion said when the tortoise asked why.\"

There was nothing left but dead silence between them. Vicious waited a moment, as if he expected Gren to reply in some manner. And when there was nothing said, he turned, opening the door to leave and yet pausing.

\"But then it shed its skin and swam to the shore. A snake in scorpion\'s clothing.\"

The door closed after him hollowly, leaving Gren in the darkness and in desperate need for a cigarette again.