Fan Fiction ❯ Not My Idea ❯ Part Three ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

AN: It passes by with an R. I really don't know how to write lemons......

"The Dolls" (c) by W. B. Yeats.

PART THREE
CHAPTER FIVE

*You thought I was a little girl.

You thought I was a little mouse.

You thought you'd take me by surprise.

Now I'm here burning down your house.*

about a week later, Cornerian Air Force Base, courtyard

There was a modest little courtyard outside, near the cafeteria on the second story. A set of rusted metal stairs led down from the small helipad into the garden, lush and well-kept albeit its size. It was one of Fox's favorite places, quiet and simple and fresh.

The scorching summer heat had rolled in full force, and the air conditioning was, as expected, out once again. Everyone had dispersed from the hot and stagnant air of the cafeteria, opting have their lunch some where else, preferably cooler. Fox however, stubborn as always, found a shady spot out in the courtyard to enjoy his lunch. The breeze was cool enough, and it smelled of fragrant spice and lotus, and something else that he'd never been able to define.

He was off daydreaming, staring at the clouds when Bill approached, panting from the heat, his grey tail drooping, the pant legs of his plain olive green air force issue jumpsuit rolled up, the top unzipped and tied around his waist, a white wifebeater sticking to his sweaty fur.

"Hot as hell out here," he muttered, bringing Fox back to reality.

"Mn?"

"I said it's HOT!" Bill barked, plopping down in the shade next his friend.

"I hadn't noticed," Fox said under his breath, rolling his eyes. He took a bite of his sandwich, watching as Bill reached across him, grabbing a few of his potato chips. With out asking.

"Don't get snippy."

"I'm not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Uh huh."

Fox sighed. Bill grinned, winking through his sunglasses. "I win."

They sat in silence for a moment, Fox nibbling on his PBJ (the staple of a bachelor's diet), and contemplating his newest favorite color, blue, while Bill pilfered chips, staring up at the clear sky. Fox pretended not to notice.

"So what's up, then? I mean, I haven't seen you around in a while."

Fox blushed, suddenly becoming very interested with the bee buzzing around a flower near his knee. Bill wouldn't let him get out of it so easily, though, and with one of his all-too-familiar maniac grins plastered across his face, he piped up again.

"So... Who is she, then?"

Fox coughed, nearly choking on one of the pickles in his PBJ.

"I won't let you get out of it that easily. Now I know it isn't Fay, 'cos I talked to her, and she said it didn't work out. Pretty cute girl, ya know. Really nice eyes. Anyways, then there's Katt, but it couldn't be her, 'cos I got the feeling she hates your guts, don't know why, great figure, but anyways, then there's that mechanic chick, but she's such a frigid bitch and all, what a waste, too, beautiful set of legs, and then there's that one girl working at the information desk, who's got a really nice rack, if you ask me, but she isn't your type, and neither is--"

"Bill!"

"What?"

"Bill, it's not....it's not like that...." Fox swallowed, hard. Could he really say it? Could he really tell Bill? The guy had been his best friend since they were both pups, they'd been through everything together, hell, they'd even been thought a war, but....could he really say it? It.

During the past week, Fox had found his life thoroughly rearranged, fastened, almost securely anchored. It had been good, all of it, although not all pretty. Only Katt knew about he and Falco, and she accepted it, even if she wasn't entirely happy about it. But Fox wasn't stupid, innocent maybe, and a little naive, but definitely not stupid. He knew others wouldn't be so accepting. And that was the horrible thing about it, he was the son of a celebrity, the most skilled pilot Lylat had ever known, and being a pretty good fighter himself.....

Well, that's where things started to get complicated.

Notoriety was a bitch, something all of them had ended up with after the war, something none of them had asked for. They were heroes, legends even, and even if the media didn't hound them on a daily basis like they had a year ago, they still kept tabs.

As the son of James McCloud, the James McCloud, Fox was expected to get married, settle down, and pass the genes on. Maybe get a white picket fence, a cute little house with a two-car garage, a big screen TV, have that beautiful wife, and the 2.5 pups. Suffice to say, things hadn't gone as planned. Not only was he involved with a co-worker, he happened to be romantically linked with Falco, with a man--

And if that ever got out, shit would hit the proverbial fan.

"Yo, Lylat to Fox, come back to me buddy..." Bill's good-natured teasing tore Fox from his depressing reverie. In the end, it wouldn't matter, he'd have to tell Bill sometime, he had a right to know, after all, they'd been friends since puphood, and he was his best friend, after all, and--

And he was stalling.

Fox licked his lips, closing his eyes for a moment.

Oh, fuck....

"Hey, Fox? You look kinda...well, kinda green. You okay? Uh.....Fox?"

"Um, Bill?"

"Yeah?"

Fox drummed up a mental image of Falco, his quiet smirk that wasn't quite a smile, his haunted green eyes, and that small plait of feathers that always seemed to hang in his eyes....

Falco....

He opened his eyes, preparing to take the plunge.

"Um, Bill, remember...remember when you told me....I mean, you thought that I was, uh..."

Hell, he still couldn't say it.

"Gay?"

Fox blushed. "Uh, yeah. I'm...I've been seeing, I-I mean, I'm.....I'm dating..."

"Falco?"

Fox jumped, blushing. He looked away, bracing himself for the taunts, the teasing, the discriminating names. Waiting for Bill to turn his nose up and dump the rest of his chips on his head. Bill would do something like that.

But when nothing came, Fox cautiously opened one eye, then the other, only to find Bill munching on a potato chip, thoughtfully almost, as if he thought of things other than T n' A.

"Well," Bill said, pausing for another chip. "It's about fucking time."

Fox blinked. Was he serious?

"So, um, you're okay with it?"

Bill shrugged. "Fox, do you think I would've hung out with you and stuff if I had a problem with it? I mean, I did think you were, before..."

Well, that was true, at least.

Fox blinked, a smile slowly forming on his face. So, Bill accepted him. He didn't care, after all. It was a small victory for him, but a victory nonetheless. He took another bite of his banana/pickle PBJ, smiling again as he looked towards the sky.

Maybe things were going to be okay, after all.

CHAPTER SIX

*This is not my idea of a good time.

This is not my idea of a good time.

This is not my idea of a good time.

This is not my idea.*

Falco and Katt's trailer, next day, late after noon, Corneria City

It had been another hot day, humid this time, with low clouds that hung in the wet air. It had rained off and on during the entire day, which only served to keep the atmosphere unpleasantly torrid instead of cooling it down.

Mercifully enough, both Fox and Falco had the day off, spending it together in all their sweaty, furry, feathery glory. They'd had a peaceful lunch together, retiring to Falco's room afterwards, which was sadly the coolest place in the trailer. Fox was on his stomach, stretched on Falco's bed, flipping through the channels, and typically, there was nothing good on. Falco sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, head resting against Fox's arm.

Fox sighed, turning the TV off, rolling on his back, throwing an arm over his face. He was lost in his thoughts, or the lack of them, it was much too hot to think, failing to acknowledge that Falco had moved. Fox moved his arm away, jumping slightly when he realized that Falco had moved, and was standing next to the bed, arms crossed, silently observing him.

A tiny smirk pulled at Falco's lips, feathers falling gently into his eyes. Fox blushed, feeling exposed almost, under Falco's scrutiny. The stillness was maddening; the silence. Oppressive tension and shared desire pervaded the quiet tranquility of the room, and Fox all at once realized his fingers were digging into the bed sheets.

(A doll in the doll maker's house

Looks at the cradle and bawls:

"That is an insult to us.")

Falco reached down slowly, hands resting on either side of Fox's head. Fox blushed, smiled, looking away. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look in Falco's eyes, a tired smile settling over his lips. Falco finally bridged that gap between them, pressing his mouth to Fox's, lips massaging, working to open Fox's mouth.

There had always been an unspoken agreement between the two of them, something that told Falco when to stop and when to keep going, Fox being of the inexperienced sort. Falco kept his control, cherishing Fox's purity, and respecting his wishes, although his body often said otherwise. Fox returned the kiss with eager force, and Falco felt that control slip a notch, a hair, his fingers tangling more desperately into Fox's fur.

Wait......

(But the oldest of all the dolls,

Who had seen, being kept for show,

Generations of his sort,)

Paws tugged desperately at Falco's shirt, clumsily undoing the buttons, kisses growing longer and more heated. Fox's finger got caught on a button, a whimpered groan escaping his lips as he fiddled usefully his Falco's shirt, a sharp rip settling in the air. Falco chuckled, pulling Fox's paws away, holding them in his larger hands. He pulled away slightly to start a trail down Fox's neck, blue eyes settling closed in rapture.

Falco pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind, his own fingers pulling at Fox's shirt after stripping himself of what was left of his. He pulled farther away for a moment, staring down at Fox, sprawled beneath him, panting, eyes dark and face flushed. Neither spoke, simply holding each other in a agaze.

Falco swallowed heavily.

(Out-screams the whole shelf: "Although

There's not a man can report

Evil of this place,)

Fox looked back up at Falco eyes wide, earnest. A ghost of a smile graced his lips, and he clumsily tugged Falco down atop him, arms wrapping around his back, fingers tangling into soft feathers. Fox's sensitive nostrils twitched, inhaling the rich, spicy scent of Falco's cologne.

Falco squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing again, burying his face again the silky fur of Fox's neck.

(The man and woman bring

Hither, to our disgrace.

A noisy and filthy thing.")

Falco's finger crawled downward, brushing Fox's pants, feeling him sharply intake another breath, tensing slightly.

"Falco....."

Fox's arms wound more tightly around him, Falco slowly unzipping his pants, pushing them down Fox's hips. He struggled out of Fox's grip, tugging his pants down slender legs, tossing them unceremoniously on the floor. Fox, heady, dazed, stared back, quietly assuring himself the he was ready for whatever was to come next.

Falco looked back down at Fox, reaching out, gently brushing his fingertips against one furry cheek. Fox smiled, turning into the caress, eyes dark and half lidded, full of lust and love, a pure kind of love that Falco knew he didn't deserve.

Fox pulled Falco down again, his now naked body pressing against him, tearing away his last shred of control.

(Hearing him groan and stretch

The doll-maker's wife is aware

Her husband has heard the wretch,)

Falco pressed against Fox, panting, fingers fumbling with his own zipper, pushing his shorts down to his knees. Fox was nearly limp in his wings, allowing Falco to do as he pleased--trusting him-- completely, utterly, face awash with love, imbibing him with a sweet glow. Falco hooked his wings under Fox's knees, pulling them up to his chest, staring down at Fox for one, final moment.

No--stop me, don't stop me--please, just let me do the right thing!

"I'm sorry," Falco whispered, sudden desperation clouding his face.

Fox could only stare for a moment, perplexed, watching as Falco grimaced--

And there was a sudden rush of pain, searing, shattering his insides. Fox's mouth fell open, a hiss of air escaping him, eyes tearing up. He gave no voice to the overwhelming pain consuming him, tried to, but couldn't, feeling himself being torn open again and again in rhythmic thrusts.

Fox's head fell to the side, part of his mind crawling back inside itself as Falco continued, his eyes scanning the wall with blurry vision, trying to find something, anything to distract himself from the burning agony ripping through him.

His eyes rested on a poster, worn with ripped corners, with bends and creases. It was a grey fox, silver fur shimmering in a dark backdrop, one grotesquely beautiful, ratty wing ascending from his back. His face was turned down, wrists cuffed and bleeding, raised above his head in a silent prayer. It screamed of torment, and a sudden sob was ripped from Fox's lips, the loneliness and despair roiling within him finally released.

Falco...

Fox turned away, closing his eyes, tears running down his face, breaths coming out in harsh gasps under the torment of emotional and physical strain.

(And crouched by the arm of his chair,

She murmurs into his ear,

Head upon shoulder leant:)

Falco's mind was in a haze, his body in ecstacy, drinking heavily from the blissful heaven of Fox, hating himself for it. He grunted, crying out, bracing himself for the oncoming wave, fingers digging into Fox's back.

His body shuddered, Fox's name uttered harshly under his breath as he came, vision going blurry white for a moment. He buried his face against Fox's neck again, breathing deeply, fingers tangling in the fur atop Fox's head. With a shuddery sigh, he finally pulled out, looking down upon the broken heavenly creature beneath him.

("My dear, my dear, O dear,)

Falco swallowed, mind reeling in horror with the realization of what he'd done. He quickly pulled up his shorts and zipped them, pulling Fox to his chest, his own tears finally coming. Falco buried his face in Fox's fur, whispering apologizes in a bittersweet mantra as Fox curled up on himself, crying in Falco's chest.

Falco rocked him back and forth desperately, not knowing what else to do.

(It was an accident.")