FIC: Wheels of Light
Sep. 14th, 2002 12:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Title: Wheels of Light
Series: Anatomy of Love 1/? (sequel to Arthropods)
Arthropods
Author: Lobelia; lobelia321@aol.com
Pairing: Dominic / Karl
Wheels of Light
by Lobelia
Wheels of light spin through the kitchen. They dance across the ceiling. They sparkle along the ceramic mugs hanging from their hooks underneath the cupboard. They thread themselves through the column of water streaming out of the tap.
A bright circle hits Karl right in the eye. "Hey," he says, "what are you doing?"
"Hi, Karl!" says Dominic. The words sound distorted. They're coming out stretched and straightened because Dominic is smiling so widely.
"What's that you've got there?" says Karl and steps into the kitchen. He makes only that one step, from outside landing to inside tiles. There he stops, just inside the sliding door.
Dominic makes spots oscillate all over Karl's body. Circles of light crawl over Karl's button-down shirt. Circles of luminescence make snake lines down Karl's jeans legs. Bright circles waver across Karl's crotch. Electromagnetic radiation touches Karl's hair and Karl's hands and the skin between Karl's open collar.
"Is that a mirror?" says Karl. "Are you planning to make me blind?"
"Look," says Dominic, "look at this." He's still smiling. The words are still stretched.
Dominic points the mirror at the tap water. The mirror is round. The mirror is palm-size. The mirror is throwing patterns of light at the miniature waterfall in the kitchen sink. The light seems to be coming from within the water. The water seems to be producing arabesques of light.
Dominic turns the mirror over. The water goes black.
The water goes swoosh. Karl comes in. He walks, pat pat, across the tiles. He turns the tap off. He turns around. There he stands, leaning against the counter.
Karl is at the counter. Dominic is on a stool, next to the wall. Three metres of air vibrate between them.
"Hey," says Dominic. "That was my water."
"That's a waste," says Karl.
"What brings you here, anyway?" asks Dominic.
"I left something here," says Karl. "Last night. I mean, this morning."
Nobody says anything for a while. The tap goes drip, drip.
"What?" says Dominic.
"What 'what'?"
"What did you leave?"
"Oh," says Karl, "I'll tell you another time."
Dominic flips the mirror over. He touches Karl with his light. He strokes his light along Karl's arm, over the bulge where Karl has pushed up his shirt sleeve, down the down on Karl's forearm.
Karl puts his hand on the circle of light and follows it along his own arm, over his shirt bulge, down his forearm. Dominic makes the circle hop across to Karl's other arm, and Karl switches hands.
Dominic moves the light to Karl's knee. Karl bends over. The light jumps up. Karl pats his shoulder, his chest, his arm again.
The light moves down and stops on Karl's fly. Dominic's eyes follow the light.
Karl captures the light. His hand spreads over the circle. His fingers one by one by one by one, his thumb -- they stretch across the disc on his groin.
The mirror twitches. Karl's palm moves up a tiny bit. Twitch again. Karl's palm moves down. Twitch. Move. The mirror starts rotating in tiny tiny circles over Karl's crotch. Karl's palm rotates in tiny tiny circles. Karl's palm which is alight with Dominic's light.
Suddenly, the light is gone.
The air is grey. The top of the sycamore is still bright green and gold. But the sun has gone out of the kitchen. The mirror shines quietly to itself.
Drip, drip, goes the tap.
"I've brought you a present," says Karl. His voice is full of breath.
"Really?" says Dominic. He's smiling again. He's smiling all over his cheeks. Karl can hear Dominic's smile in the gloaming of the kitchen. "Another one?" Dominic's words are stretched again. They are also full of breath, just like Karl's.
"It's nothing live this time," says Karl.
"What is it then?" says breath-voiced Dominic.
There is the sound of rustling. That is the plastic bag at Karl's feet. Karl rustles the plastic, and then he pulls out the present. He leans forward and stretches, stretches, and Dominic leans forward and stretches, stretches, and snatches the present.
It's a candle.
It's a white household candle, of medium girth, about 15 centimetres long. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. Nothing much. Nothing that any old friend wouldn't bring along to any other old friend's house of a Sunday evening. Nothing that one mightn't just casually drop over to a colleague's place after a long Sunday spent separately with other friends, doing other things, thinking other thoughts. Or not, as the case may be. Or not at all.
"This is good," says Dominic.
"That's what I thought."
"Yes, this is useful. This," says Dominic and hefts the candle in his hand, "will last longer than matches."
"You can put it on your bedside table," Karl adds helpfully.
"Yes," says Dominic. "Let's do that right now. Let's light it and see if it works. Have you got matches?"
"Matches?" Karl bursts out laughing. "You know what? I don't."
Dominic laughs, too. He rolls the candle around in his hand. He says, "Well. There might be some left on the floor. Maybe there's one last one under the bed."
"Maybe," says Karl.
"No, I know. See that knob? Yes, that one. Press it in and turn it."
Karl reaches over. He presses in and turns the knob. A poison-blue flame appears out of nowhere. It is a gas flame. It is a gas flame on the gas hob. There is a hiss-hiss sound.
The stool creaks. Dominic gets up. He's next to the hob. He's next to Karl. The kitchen is bluish-grey. The flame is yellowish-blue. The tops of the sycamore leaves are greenish-yellow. The leaves rustle. The gas flame flickers. Is it an evening breeze? Is it Karl's and Dominic's breath?
Dominic lights the candle in the gas. Karl turns the knob. The gas is off. The candle is on. The gas flame was yellowish-blue, the candle flame is orange-green. It is warm. It is hot. It lives on the wick. It lives off the wax. It shakes. It wavers. It stretches and straightens.
The candle creates a small circle in between Dominic and Karl. The wax at the top of the candle starts to pool. It forms a hard lip around the rim. The wick hisses and turns black.
Dominic lifts the candle. He lifts the mirror. He shines the candle into the mirror and the mirror into Karl's face. He holds the candle underneath Karl's chin and turns Karl's face into a horror movie-face. The shadows are upside down on Karl's face. Dominic moves the candle to the left and to the right. Karl's face changes, it morphs, it mutes, it is moulded.
Dominic puts the mirror down, clink, on the hob. He looks at the flame. He looks through the flame at Karl. He sees the flame thrice, once big, twice tiny, reflected in Karl's pupils.
The wax pools. The wick hisses. Dominic dips his forefinger into the pool. A hood of wax hardens on the soft pad of his finger. Karl looks at Dominic's finger. Karl dips his own finger into the wax. Karl collects his own waxen hood. The hoods are hot first, then they cool against the skin. The edges cool first, and the smooth undercup. The heating and then the cooling makes the skin contract. The last thing to go hard is the nipple at the top.
Dominic dips another finger into the pool. Karl dips a finger in, too.
"Ow, shit," says Karl.
He's burned himself. He waves his hand about. He sticks his finger into the drip, drip of the tap.
"Hold still," says Dominic.
Dominic steadies the candle in one hand. He moves his other hand. He moves his other hand towards Karl's hand. Very slowly. The air between the two hands gets less and less. The air disappears. Dominic's waxen hoods move across the hairs on the back of Karl's hand. Dominic takes hold of Karl's hand. He lifts Karl's hand up to his face. He closes his lips around Karl's middle finger. Very, very softly, he licks the tip of Karl's middle finger.
Then he drops Karl's hand again. The whole thing has maybe lasted three seconds.
Karl says nothing. Karl doesn't move. The candle flickers.
Finally, Karl says, "It wasn't that finger."
The candle shakes once. Because Dominic's hand shook once.
Dominic takes hold of Karl's hand again. He lifts it slowly, slowly. He looks at Karl's hand. He moves his thumb across the back of Karl's hand. He uses his thumb to bend Karl's middle finger down. He moves his pupils across the remaining fingers. Then he sucks Karl's fingers one by one by one.
Dominic sucks Karl's index finger. He sucks Karl's ring finger. He sucks Karl's little finger. Each finger gets a turn. After each turn, Dominic bends the sucked finger down. Karl's hand is now a fist. A fist with moist finger tips.
"Actually," says Karl. His voice is barely audible but as he's standing so close to Dominic, the sound waves undulate and oscillate and reach Dominic's inner ear intact. "Actually, it was my thumb."
Dominic's voice, too, is at the threshold of audibility. But oh, what a marvel is the human ear. Because Karl can still hear what Dominic's voice is saying.
Dominic says, barely audibly, "I'm not sucking your thumb."
"What?" says Karl.
"No way," whispers Dominic. "No way am I sucking your thumb."
"You're not?" says Karl.
"Nope," says Dominic.
The candle doesn't move. Dominic doesn't move. The flame at the top of the candle ducks in the breeze. The sycamore tree is dark green.
Karl leans across the candle and kisses Dominic.
Karl's mouth touches Dominic's mouth. Karl's two hooded fingers touch Dominic's forearm. Dominic keeps the candle steady. The candle wavers only a tiny, tiny bit. It leans over a very few degrees, like the campanile in Pisa. Liquid wax runs down the side of the candle and collects in the crook of Dominic's thumb.
Dominic gasps. Could be because of the heat of the wax. Could be because of other things. Could be because Karl's hand has moved from Dominic's forearm to Dominic's crotch. Could be because Karl's tongue has moved from the entrance of Dominic's mouth to the inside of Dominic's mouth. Could be all of those things.
Karl moans. Could be because his finger is still hurting. Could be because of Dominic's teeth on his tongue. Could be because of Dominic's groin on his groin. Could be because his heart is shattering his rib cage.
Plok. The candle drops. It's on the floor. It's rolling across the tiles. Dominic, quick as a lizard, stomps on its end. The flame goes out. The kitchen goes grey. Dominic and Karl don't notice. They don't see a thing. They've got their eyes closed and they're all over each other's bodies.
The sycamore rustles. The plastic bag rustles under Karl's foot. Cotton rustles, and denim shuffles, and skin squeaks sweatily. Dominic's hand grips the edge of the hob. Karl's head bangs the cupboard, and all the mugs sway in concert. Karl doesn't say 'Ow, shit' this time. Karl can't talk because he's got his mouth full. Karl can also not stand any longer because his knees give way. As do Dominic's. They slide down the oven door. They're on the tiles, in among the plastic bag, rustle-rustle, and the candle and their shirts and their jeans.
There is a bed in the bedroom. It is quite narrow but wide enough for two people to lie side by side. There is a crumpled up quilt at the foot of the bed. There is a pillow on the floor, and under the pillow there is a mess of burnt and broken matches. Next to the bed is a bedside table. There is no lamp there. Only an empty matchbox. Only a pile of Dominic's bracelets. Only some flocks of dust.
Nobody's on the bed. The room turns blue, then grey, then charcoal. Two circles of light wheel across the lonely walls, from left to right and back again. Then they, too, disappear. A car engine fades into nothingness.
Now the whole house is dark. Will nobody turn on the lights?
It seems not.
-----
13 September 2002
--
After much crisis, I suddenly had a breakthrough this evening and the story wrote itself! Completely differently from what I had planned or expected -- but I am so happy! Thank you to everyone who helped to get the muses back:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
viva_gloria, eyebrowofdoom, jenfr, lazulus.
Also: Thanks todemelzagirl, I bought myself a pair of knee-high power boots today, and thanks to jenfr, I bought a Gorillaz CD. I came home and suddenly I had street cred with my 8-year old son! Hah!!
Am power babe of a mother.
Series: Anatomy of Love 1/? (sequel to Arthropods)
Arthropods
Author: Lobelia; lobelia321@aol.com
Pairing: Dominic / Karl
Wheels of Light
by Lobelia
Wheels of light spin through the kitchen. They dance across the ceiling. They sparkle along the ceramic mugs hanging from their hooks underneath the cupboard. They thread themselves through the column of water streaming out of the tap.
A bright circle hits Karl right in the eye. "Hey," he says, "what are you doing?"
"Hi, Karl!" says Dominic. The words sound distorted. They're coming out stretched and straightened because Dominic is smiling so widely.
"What's that you've got there?" says Karl and steps into the kitchen. He makes only that one step, from outside landing to inside tiles. There he stops, just inside the sliding door.
Dominic makes spots oscillate all over Karl's body. Circles of light crawl over Karl's button-down shirt. Circles of luminescence make snake lines down Karl's jeans legs. Bright circles waver across Karl's crotch. Electromagnetic radiation touches Karl's hair and Karl's hands and the skin between Karl's open collar.
"Is that a mirror?" says Karl. "Are you planning to make me blind?"
"Look," says Dominic, "look at this." He's still smiling. The words are still stretched.
Dominic points the mirror at the tap water. The mirror is round. The mirror is palm-size. The mirror is throwing patterns of light at the miniature waterfall in the kitchen sink. The light seems to be coming from within the water. The water seems to be producing arabesques of light.
Dominic turns the mirror over. The water goes black.
The water goes swoosh. Karl comes in. He walks, pat pat, across the tiles. He turns the tap off. He turns around. There he stands, leaning against the counter.
Karl is at the counter. Dominic is on a stool, next to the wall. Three metres of air vibrate between them.
"Hey," says Dominic. "That was my water."
"That's a waste," says Karl.
"What brings you here, anyway?" asks Dominic.
"I left something here," says Karl. "Last night. I mean, this morning."
Nobody says anything for a while. The tap goes drip, drip.
"What?" says Dominic.
"What 'what'?"
"What did you leave?"
"Oh," says Karl, "I'll tell you another time."
Dominic flips the mirror over. He touches Karl with his light. He strokes his light along Karl's arm, over the bulge where Karl has pushed up his shirt sleeve, down the down on Karl's forearm.
Karl puts his hand on the circle of light and follows it along his own arm, over his shirt bulge, down his forearm. Dominic makes the circle hop across to Karl's other arm, and Karl switches hands.
Dominic moves the light to Karl's knee. Karl bends over. The light jumps up. Karl pats his shoulder, his chest, his arm again.
The light moves down and stops on Karl's fly. Dominic's eyes follow the light.
Karl captures the light. His hand spreads over the circle. His fingers one by one by one by one, his thumb -- they stretch across the disc on his groin.
The mirror twitches. Karl's palm moves up a tiny bit. Twitch again. Karl's palm moves down. Twitch. Move. The mirror starts rotating in tiny tiny circles over Karl's crotch. Karl's palm rotates in tiny tiny circles. Karl's palm which is alight with Dominic's light.
Suddenly, the light is gone.
The air is grey. The top of the sycamore is still bright green and gold. But the sun has gone out of the kitchen. The mirror shines quietly to itself.
Drip, drip, goes the tap.
"I've brought you a present," says Karl. His voice is full of breath.
"Really?" says Dominic. He's smiling again. He's smiling all over his cheeks. Karl can hear Dominic's smile in the gloaming of the kitchen. "Another one?" Dominic's words are stretched again. They are also full of breath, just like Karl's.
"It's nothing live this time," says Karl.
"What is it then?" says breath-voiced Dominic.
There is the sound of rustling. That is the plastic bag at Karl's feet. Karl rustles the plastic, and then he pulls out the present. He leans forward and stretches, stretches, and Dominic leans forward and stretches, stretches, and snatches the present.
It's a candle.
It's a white household candle, of medium girth, about 15 centimetres long. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. Nothing much. Nothing that any old friend wouldn't bring along to any other old friend's house of a Sunday evening. Nothing that one mightn't just casually drop over to a colleague's place after a long Sunday spent separately with other friends, doing other things, thinking other thoughts. Or not, as the case may be. Or not at all.
"This is good," says Dominic.
"That's what I thought."
"Yes, this is useful. This," says Dominic and hefts the candle in his hand, "will last longer than matches."
"You can put it on your bedside table," Karl adds helpfully.
"Yes," says Dominic. "Let's do that right now. Let's light it and see if it works. Have you got matches?"
"Matches?" Karl bursts out laughing. "You know what? I don't."
Dominic laughs, too. He rolls the candle around in his hand. He says, "Well. There might be some left on the floor. Maybe there's one last one under the bed."
"Maybe," says Karl.
"No, I know. See that knob? Yes, that one. Press it in and turn it."
Karl reaches over. He presses in and turns the knob. A poison-blue flame appears out of nowhere. It is a gas flame. It is a gas flame on the gas hob. There is a hiss-hiss sound.
The stool creaks. Dominic gets up. He's next to the hob. He's next to Karl. The kitchen is bluish-grey. The flame is yellowish-blue. The tops of the sycamore leaves are greenish-yellow. The leaves rustle. The gas flame flickers. Is it an evening breeze? Is it Karl's and Dominic's breath?
Dominic lights the candle in the gas. Karl turns the knob. The gas is off. The candle is on. The gas flame was yellowish-blue, the candle flame is orange-green. It is warm. It is hot. It lives on the wick. It lives off the wax. It shakes. It wavers. It stretches and straightens.
The candle creates a small circle in between Dominic and Karl. The wax at the top of the candle starts to pool. It forms a hard lip around the rim. The wick hisses and turns black.
Dominic lifts the candle. He lifts the mirror. He shines the candle into the mirror and the mirror into Karl's face. He holds the candle underneath Karl's chin and turns Karl's face into a horror movie-face. The shadows are upside down on Karl's face. Dominic moves the candle to the left and to the right. Karl's face changes, it morphs, it mutes, it is moulded.
Dominic puts the mirror down, clink, on the hob. He looks at the flame. He looks through the flame at Karl. He sees the flame thrice, once big, twice tiny, reflected in Karl's pupils.
The wax pools. The wick hisses. Dominic dips his forefinger into the pool. A hood of wax hardens on the soft pad of his finger. Karl looks at Dominic's finger. Karl dips his own finger into the wax. Karl collects his own waxen hood. The hoods are hot first, then they cool against the skin. The edges cool first, and the smooth undercup. The heating and then the cooling makes the skin contract. The last thing to go hard is the nipple at the top.
Dominic dips another finger into the pool. Karl dips a finger in, too.
"Ow, shit," says Karl.
He's burned himself. He waves his hand about. He sticks his finger into the drip, drip of the tap.
"Hold still," says Dominic.
Dominic steadies the candle in one hand. He moves his other hand. He moves his other hand towards Karl's hand. Very slowly. The air between the two hands gets less and less. The air disappears. Dominic's waxen hoods move across the hairs on the back of Karl's hand. Dominic takes hold of Karl's hand. He lifts Karl's hand up to his face. He closes his lips around Karl's middle finger. Very, very softly, he licks the tip of Karl's middle finger.
Then he drops Karl's hand again. The whole thing has maybe lasted three seconds.
Karl says nothing. Karl doesn't move. The candle flickers.
Finally, Karl says, "It wasn't that finger."
The candle shakes once. Because Dominic's hand shook once.
Dominic takes hold of Karl's hand again. He lifts it slowly, slowly. He looks at Karl's hand. He moves his thumb across the back of Karl's hand. He uses his thumb to bend Karl's middle finger down. He moves his pupils across the remaining fingers. Then he sucks Karl's fingers one by one by one.
Dominic sucks Karl's index finger. He sucks Karl's ring finger. He sucks Karl's little finger. Each finger gets a turn. After each turn, Dominic bends the sucked finger down. Karl's hand is now a fist. A fist with moist finger tips.
"Actually," says Karl. His voice is barely audible but as he's standing so close to Dominic, the sound waves undulate and oscillate and reach Dominic's inner ear intact. "Actually, it was my thumb."
Dominic's voice, too, is at the threshold of audibility. But oh, what a marvel is the human ear. Because Karl can still hear what Dominic's voice is saying.
Dominic says, barely audibly, "I'm not sucking your thumb."
"What?" says Karl.
"No way," whispers Dominic. "No way am I sucking your thumb."
"You're not?" says Karl.
"Nope," says Dominic.
The candle doesn't move. Dominic doesn't move. The flame at the top of the candle ducks in the breeze. The sycamore tree is dark green.
Karl leans across the candle and kisses Dominic.
Karl's mouth touches Dominic's mouth. Karl's two hooded fingers touch Dominic's forearm. Dominic keeps the candle steady. The candle wavers only a tiny, tiny bit. It leans over a very few degrees, like the campanile in Pisa. Liquid wax runs down the side of the candle and collects in the crook of Dominic's thumb.
Dominic gasps. Could be because of the heat of the wax. Could be because of other things. Could be because Karl's hand has moved from Dominic's forearm to Dominic's crotch. Could be because Karl's tongue has moved from the entrance of Dominic's mouth to the inside of Dominic's mouth. Could be all of those things.
Karl moans. Could be because his finger is still hurting. Could be because of Dominic's teeth on his tongue. Could be because of Dominic's groin on his groin. Could be because his heart is shattering his rib cage.
Plok. The candle drops. It's on the floor. It's rolling across the tiles. Dominic, quick as a lizard, stomps on its end. The flame goes out. The kitchen goes grey. Dominic and Karl don't notice. They don't see a thing. They've got their eyes closed and they're all over each other's bodies.
The sycamore rustles. The plastic bag rustles under Karl's foot. Cotton rustles, and denim shuffles, and skin squeaks sweatily. Dominic's hand grips the edge of the hob. Karl's head bangs the cupboard, and all the mugs sway in concert. Karl doesn't say 'Ow, shit' this time. Karl can't talk because he's got his mouth full. Karl can also not stand any longer because his knees give way. As do Dominic's. They slide down the oven door. They're on the tiles, in among the plastic bag, rustle-rustle, and the candle and their shirts and their jeans.
There is a bed in the bedroom. It is quite narrow but wide enough for two people to lie side by side. There is a crumpled up quilt at the foot of the bed. There is a pillow on the floor, and under the pillow there is a mess of burnt and broken matches. Next to the bed is a bedside table. There is no lamp there. Only an empty matchbox. Only a pile of Dominic's bracelets. Only some flocks of dust.
Nobody's on the bed. The room turns blue, then grey, then charcoal. Two circles of light wheel across the lonely walls, from left to right and back again. Then they, too, disappear. A car engine fades into nothingness.
Now the whole house is dark. Will nobody turn on the lights?
It seems not.
-----
13 September 2002
--
After much crisis, I suddenly had a breakthrough this evening and the story wrote itself! Completely differently from what I had planned or expected -- but I am so happy! Thank you to everyone who helped to get the muses back:
viva_gloria, eyebrowofdoom, jenfr, lazulus.Also: Thanks to
demelzagirl, I bought myself a pair of knee-high power boots today, and thanks to jenfr, I bought a Gorillaz CD. I came home and suddenly I had street cred with my 8-year old son! Hah!!Am power babe of a mother.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-13 04:51 pm (UTC)Will re-read & send proper fb later when not at work.
thank you
Date: 2002-09-13 04:58 pm (UTC)We must chat / email again sometime soon!
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-13 05:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-14 12:46 am (UTC)thank you
Date: 2002-09-16 02:52 pm (UTC)But thanks again.
Re: thank you
Date: 2002-09-18 11:34 am (UTC)sure i like your writing i allways like i think your ideas are different not like the normal blabla stuff and im allways happy to see a new fic :)
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-14 06:47 am (UTC)That was gorgeous. And...*fans self*...good gracious.
The light moves down and stops on Karl's fly. Dominic's eyes follow the light.
Karl captures the light. His hand spreads over the circle. His fingers one by one by one by one, his thumb -- they stretch across the disc on his groin.
The mirror twitches. Karl's palm moves up a tiny bit. Twitch again. Karl's palm moves down. Twitch. Move. The mirror starts rotating in tiny tiny circles over Karl's crotch. Karl's palm rotates in tiny tiny circles. Karl's palm which is alight with Dominic's light.
That was so hot I think my ovaries exploded. Great job. :)
o good!
Date: 2002-09-14 07:15 am (UTC)Thank you so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-15 07:22 pm (UTC)And not a creepy crawly in sight! Thanks!
thank you
Date: 2002-09-16 03:01 pm (UTC)But alas, I thought this was "breakthrough" but have plunged straight back into writing crisis. Drat it all.
Thanks again for reading!