Sonata: In The Dark Of The Night
folder
+. to F › Cowboy Bebop
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,841
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+. to F › Cowboy Bebop
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,841
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Cowboy Bebop, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Sonata: In The Dark Of The Night
Author's Notes: I promised a friend that I would write her a Bebop story, and here it is. I got kind of experimental with it, and it turned out a little more serious than I'd intended, and quite a bit less smutty. But I like it, and I hope you all do too.
*****
Overture
The heat is broken.
They’re all finding ways to keep warm: Ed and Ein in a pile near the central console, Faye wrapped in everything she can lay hands on, Spike running through an endless series of katas. Only Jet is as usual, his one concession to the cold a small woven cap perched on his head.
Spike is keeping Jet warm.
Between pivots, between the gentle glide of each flowing movement and in the spaces between his hands, he watches Jet. His dark eyes are molten, liquid as his limbs as he moves. Each gesture is a singular entity, punctuated by the promise implicit in his gaze, and melding perfectly with the next motion. Spike is beautiful, gracefully fluid as a lake of fire.
Jed wonders how one is expected to make love to fire.
Second Movement
Hands grope in the chill dark of Jet’s room, grasping at clothes, shoving them aside, searching for the heat of bare skin. Their breath comes out blue clouds, mingles and hangs in the air, framing the outline of shadowy faces.
Jet is rough, hungry, his flesh and blood hand eagerly devouring the smooth muscles that ripple across Spike’s chest. Spike is graceful, cool and calm and collected. His long fingers rake through the coarse black hair covering Jet’s chest, grasping and tugging till the both of them tumble to the bed.
“It’s cold,” whispers Spike.
“It’s like a meat locker,” Jet corrects him, and Spike laughs softly. The sound echoes and reverberates and shivers into a low moan as the chill metal of Jet’s cybernetic hand draws gently along his hipbone.
“Keep me warm,” Spike murmurs, and Jet knows he doesn’t just mean physically.
Third Movement – Scherzo
They laugh as they move, pressing and touching, rubbing together. Jet’s laughter is low, a rumbling thunder that vibrates in his ribcage. Spike is quieter, more reserved though no less amused. Their kisses are interrupted, broken by a smile, shifted by a bubbling of mirth.
Hands move swiftly in the dark, stroking along heated skin, drawing out gasps and moans between chuckles. Neither feels slighted by the other’s laughter. It’s a natural expression of pleasure, of happiness. They’re comfortable enough in each other’s presence that the laughter isn’t taken personally.
One of the perks of fucking your best friend.
A finger slides in, then two, then three. Spike writhes and claws, nails drawing sharp lines across Jet’s shoulders. Still, he laughs. Choked and bubbling, yes, but it is laughter and Jet drinks it up like wine. Drunk on Spike’s temporary joy, he presses in and they move together.
Up and down. Back and forth. e ane and take. They strain and sweat in the dark, building something between them. Pressure and warmth and something that they never gave voice to. Something that has no name and never will.
Jet speaks it in his mind when Spike comes across his stomach.
It’s in Spike’s laugh when Jet explodes inside him.
Finale – Rondo
They clean up in silence. It’s always that way. It always will be. They can’t acknowledge what they do, because that will ruin the understanding. Both of them know it, and both abide by the rules.
Jet wishes sometimes that he didn’t.
There is one last kiss before Spike leaves the room, lips lingering on lips, arms tightening around waists. There’s always one last kiss. It will tingle on Jet’s lips for days, or weeks, or however long until the next such meeting. It will stay in the back of Spike’s throat, teasing him with the memory of Jet’s hands on his skin.
Spike wishes sometimes that it wouldn’t.
They leave separately to avoid suspicion. Faye probably knows, but she never says anything. Ed is oblivious to all. Ein can smell it on them, but he can’t talk and the secret is safe. Neither is sure anymore why it stays a secret. Spike won’t let himself admit it, and Jet forces himself to respect that. There was another before him, and she ruined Spike. That’s the way of the world. Both are practical enough to realize that.
Sometimes, in the dark aold,old, they wish that they weren’t.
*****
Overture
The heat is broken.
They’re all finding ways to keep warm: Ed and Ein in a pile near the central console, Faye wrapped in everything she can lay hands on, Spike running through an endless series of katas. Only Jet is as usual, his one concession to the cold a small woven cap perched on his head.
Spike is keeping Jet warm.
Between pivots, between the gentle glide of each flowing movement and in the spaces between his hands, he watches Jet. His dark eyes are molten, liquid as his limbs as he moves. Each gesture is a singular entity, punctuated by the promise implicit in his gaze, and melding perfectly with the next motion. Spike is beautiful, gracefully fluid as a lake of fire.
Jed wonders how one is expected to make love to fire.
Second Movement
Hands grope in the chill dark of Jet’s room, grasping at clothes, shoving them aside, searching for the heat of bare skin. Their breath comes out blue clouds, mingles and hangs in the air, framing the outline of shadowy faces.
Jet is rough, hungry, his flesh and blood hand eagerly devouring the smooth muscles that ripple across Spike’s chest. Spike is graceful, cool and calm and collected. His long fingers rake through the coarse black hair covering Jet’s chest, grasping and tugging till the both of them tumble to the bed.
“It’s cold,” whispers Spike.
“It’s like a meat locker,” Jet corrects him, and Spike laughs softly. The sound echoes and reverberates and shivers into a low moan as the chill metal of Jet’s cybernetic hand draws gently along his hipbone.
“Keep me warm,” Spike murmurs, and Jet knows he doesn’t just mean physically.
Third Movement – Scherzo
They laugh as they move, pressing and touching, rubbing together. Jet’s laughter is low, a rumbling thunder that vibrates in his ribcage. Spike is quieter, more reserved though no less amused. Their kisses are interrupted, broken by a smile, shifted by a bubbling of mirth.
Hands move swiftly in the dark, stroking along heated skin, drawing out gasps and moans between chuckles. Neither feels slighted by the other’s laughter. It’s a natural expression of pleasure, of happiness. They’re comfortable enough in each other’s presence that the laughter isn’t taken personally.
One of the perks of fucking your best friend.
A finger slides in, then two, then three. Spike writhes and claws, nails drawing sharp lines across Jet’s shoulders. Still, he laughs. Choked and bubbling, yes, but it is laughter and Jet drinks it up like wine. Drunk on Spike’s temporary joy, he presses in and they move together.
Up and down. Back and forth. e ane and take. They strain and sweat in the dark, building something between them. Pressure and warmth and something that they never gave voice to. Something that has no name and never will.
Jet speaks it in his mind when Spike comes across his stomach.
It’s in Spike’s laugh when Jet explodes inside him.
Finale – Rondo
They clean up in silence. It’s always that way. It always will be. They can’t acknowledge what they do, because that will ruin the understanding. Both of them know it, and both abide by the rules.
Jet wishes sometimes that he didn’t.
There is one last kiss before Spike leaves the room, lips lingering on lips, arms tightening around waists. There’s always one last kiss. It will tingle on Jet’s lips for days, or weeks, or however long until the next such meeting. It will stay in the back of Spike’s throat, teasing him with the memory of Jet’s hands on his skin.
Spike wishes sometimes that it wouldn’t.
They leave separately to avoid suspicion. Faye probably knows, but she never says anything. Ed is oblivious to all. Ein can smell it on them, but he can’t talk and the secret is safe. Neither is sure anymore why it stays a secret. Spike won’t let himself admit it, and Jet forces himself to respect that. There was another before him, and she ruined Spike. That’s the way of the world. Both are practical enough to realize that.
Sometimes, in the dark aold,old, they wish that they weren’t.