Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ Breakfast and Other Stories ❯ Secret ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Sorcerer Hunters, but that hasn't stopped me from writing about them.

Warning: This story contains the themes of incest, and sex, and male/male relationships. If any of these may offend you, then stop reading. If, however, you do read this, in spite of my warnings, and find it offensive, then I have to say it is your own fault. This scene is of an erotic nature, but I have attempted to write it as tastefully as my ability allows.

Note: I will not accept any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference between flames and criticisms so I don't have to explain it. Here are some reason why I don't accept flames: 1) they generally include an attack on the author's character without regard to previous or future works that may or may not be in the same vein, 2) not only are they childish, but they make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material contained herein, 3) flames help neither the author nor the flamer to improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, 4) if something is so offensive as to elicit the impulse to flame then it is better forgotten and not dwelled upon, 5) you waste time writing it and I waste time reading and then deleting it, 6) it won't do you any good to point out my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don't I care, but I won't listen.

So, anyway, please review and no flames.

Secret

I know your secret, the one you keep in the darkest parts of your being. Do you know that I know? You must. Your eyes have a new intensity to them. Dark pools of moving power stare at me from behind your thin-rimmed reading glasses. The air seems strangely electric like the moment before some momentous release of energy.

I've been thinking about your secret. I don't know what to say to you, what to do. I'm still in shock. What would the others say? Or do they already know? Did you tell them, but never told me? I thought we kept no secrets…well…not big ones like this. But now it isn't a secret anymore, is it? And still I'm in shock, confused, maybe even frightened, not of you, of course, but of myself, of my own secrets that are hidden from my consciousness. Too many 'if's fog my mind, weigh me down and fatigue me. So many decisions can be made, will have to be made, now that I know your secret.

You ask me what's wrong. You're probably wondering why I'm watching you. I reply, "I'm thinking." You smile and wonder with light mocking if the world is ending. Me thinking. Me. Thinking. Those words don't come together too often in my case. But I have been thinking. You have a secret.

I feel it slid about the damp cavity of my mouth. The secret balances precariously upon the tip of my tongue and threatens verbal suicide. I sense destruction, the end. If I give voice to this dark secret, will we be trapped in an internecine affair? We are linked already.

You disturb my thoughts with your elegant movements as you approach me with concern. Your face is ever the open book. You could never lie convincingly. Could you lie convincingly to save my life? It's funny that you can't bring yourself to lie like the rest of us. You have become the master of evasive ambiguity. You manage to skirt outright falsehoods and maintain a perimeter of inexact truths.

"What are you thinking?" you ask softly as you sit beside me on the window seat. The book in your hands is worn down to the cardboard backing in some places from years of handling. The tattered leather spine shows a myriad of hairline cracks indicating places where the book was opened for prolonged periods. Have you been staying up late and studying again? Another secret…How many do you have now? Or is it still the one? The one I know, now.

"Honestly?" You nod. I tilt my head back and glance down at you through nearly closed lids. My eyelashes blur your face into light and shadows, yet your eyes remain brilliant, piercing. Pierced.

My mouth moves slowly as if tasting the words I'm about to issue. I must be precise. I must be economical. Like clouds the words fill my lips and press against the back of my teeth, my lips, and hover at the exit to the outside. Only one escapes

"You." You look surprised, or the blur of your face seems to be. I lower my head and open my eyes wider. You come into focus. I am unnerved at the intensity thrumming through your body. Are you waiting in anticipation? Apprehension? What will I say? Are you a mind reader?

No, you read bodies, not minds. But bodies often more clearly illustrate the thoughts with greater facility than vocal projections. Maybe my face and my body are open books to you. But I am a fresh book. Untouched by the dedicated scholar. My pages remain uncut, though my exterior retains the darkness where I have been shelved. Within my papery core a secret has been written. Your secret is now written.

"About me?" you ask with a soft, disbelieving laugh. "I am not that fascinating a study." Your eyes watch me, peer into the corners of my brain and probe the ethereal thoughts drifting about. I am convinced you know that I know your secret.

"I know," I tell you softly, gently as if you are still a child. Perhaps that's where my fault lies. I am like a parent who can't believe that the child is grown and capable of making decisions, of feeling the harsh edge of reality. I still see you holding my hand in the lush darkness of the forest outside our house. I still feel you trembling with fear as I pretend to be brave and grown up. Now you're taller than I am.

Your face pales beautifully with those two words. You seem unable to articulate the pounding of your mind. Then you withdraw from me emotionally. Calmly you ask me what I know. I stare at you with failing courage. I don't want things to change. I do. I'm still torn by the angry ravens of ambivalence. To change or not to change, which would inflict the greatest wounds? Which would lessen the pain? Are you in pain?

"I know…"

Your secret.

* * *

From Sarryn:

This is another one of my forays into different styles of writing. The intention was to blend together a sort of first/second PoV stream of musings. I'm not thrilled with it, but I don't hate myself for it, either. That says a lot.

For all intents and purposes, it is a Carrot/Marron piece. Carrot's the 'I,' and Marron's the 'you.' Of course, if you hate/despise that pairing, then you can pretend that it's whoever you want it to be. Imaginations are wonderful things, aren't they? Additionally, they aren't a couple in this writing. This collection of PWP's is comprised of independent works, though they do seem to have a common thread.

Why did I leave it off there? Well, an old elementary school teacher once told me that it is good to leave the reader thinking. This is my pathetic attempt to do just that. You may conclude this how ever you wish, whether mentally or by actually writing something out. Upon the latter idea, I would be thrilled if someone considered this a challenge and decided to run with it, but whatever.

If anyone feels inclined to point out that Marron doesn't wear glasses, I will strongly disagree and then send you links to sites that show a picture of Marron wearing glasses. He, apparently and according to the SH creator, needs them for reading only. He doesn't seem to get much of a chance to read in the series, though. Poor lad.

Much Love,

S-girl