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A Sweet Day for Eternity ;___; [Aug. 25th, 2007|03:42 pm]
pills & thrills & lollerskates


Here is a fic I wrote for pygmalism who longed for the sweet delicacy of wrinkle slash.

A grim winter rain fell softly against the windows of the retirement home. Marr lay back in his wheelchair and sighed. Gone were the merry days of youth when he would run through fields of daisies and chortle with the pixies. Gone were the days of his youthful summer. He waited quietly for death’s cold embrace and he shivered into his course, grey blankets. The vast fields before him were lifeless and dull. A stray blackbird pecked for worms inside the icy mud. Soon the worms would find his desiccated body as they lowered it into the unforgiving earth. All those years ago he had seen the endless possibilities of England’s green meadows. There had been years of sunshine and light summer evenings. He had thought those times would last into eternity. Yet they had turned sour so quickly and he was left to look to the dark horizon with a heavy heart. Marr touched his wrinkled face as a single tear made its way through the untouched crevices. Once his face had been youthful and flushed with the soft pinkness of youth. Now it was sunken and pale.

Marr turned his head slowly as the familiar squeak of a walking frame echoed across the hallway. A smell of antiseptic pervaded the thin air. As Marr began to cough, the familiar figure of Diggle ambled slowly into the desolate room. He nodded a greeting and looked immensely sad. His summer youth was also spent and gone. Together they faced the coldness of the tomb. He approached Marr slowly, struggling with the weight of his own sad bones. His knees trembled with every tiny step. Diggle loomed over Marr as he sat despondently inside his wheel chair. He wished to make sweet and tender love to his old companion, but their bodies seemed too old and tragic now. Diggle moved his hand slowly from the sturdy walking frame. He trembled for a moment and then stumbled. Crying softly, he fell to his knees and quivered. His face fell into Marr’s lap. Once his loins had been rich and fruitful. Now they felt wasted like grapes left dead upon the vine. Once he had drunken from Johnny’s sweet wine. It had made him wild and frisky. But now there was only a sad memory that could not bring warmth to the cold and ugly room. The dull white walls claimed any memory of happiness from these old men.

Out of habit, Marr pushed his skeletal hand into Diggle’s spotted neck, encouraging him to go further. But his mouth was dry and sore. His dentures moved about across his tried gums. There was no sweet love to be had. Marr was suddenly resolute. He would consume Diggle once more. Again, he would take him as a lover. No longer could he be a wild stallion upon which to gallop. There would be no path of rainbows, for this was the way of youth. But they could forge another path! Marr unbuttoned his cardigan, letting it hang across his narrow shoulders. He coughed until his lungs ached. The phlegm slid down his throat like the seeds of Diggle’s love once did in a better and more happy time. Diggle moved his arthritic fingers slowly over Marr's liver spots, savouring every detail. “Take me now” he grunted as Marr reached for his heart medication. There was a deep longing in his eyes. Diggle’s shirt was stained with soup from his trembling fingers. Marr took in every inch of his lover. His nose hair was white and long. His ears were stained and ruddy. The veins rose up in his long and slender hands. Diggle lay down upon Marr’s frail body. There was so little life inside his chest. Yet Diggle wanted to consume it all. His cold body rested against Marr. They gently touched lips and faded away into the darkness beyond.

When the doctor made his evening rounds, his eyes fell to the floor where the two cold bodies lay; linked together in a final embrace.
“Once a dirty homo fag, always a dirty homo fag” he said meaningfully as the nurse picked up Diggle’s blue wrist for a faint sign of life. But there was no life to be found. The lonely fields of Manchester had claimed another pair of lovers who would live once again in the Lord’s endless castle. Somewhere across the waves, Morrissey was weeping.

[User Picture]From: lobsterbelle
2007-08-26 05:40 am (UTC)
I am to please. And slowly stroke your soul.
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[User Picture]From: mykidsister
2007-08-27 09:17 pm (UTC)
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)