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mayqueen517So, for the month of January, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fictionalfaerie, rainbowsyay and I are doing a prompty thing. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hardtospark is where we're getting our prompts, ones that fictionalfaerie pulled together from all of us.
Soooo, here's the first piece of fic!
Title: To Find
Pairing: Sean Van Vleet/Tom Conrad
Rating: G
Word Count: 684
Disclaimer: OWN NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. HONEST.
Summary: He doesn't know when he first found the keys. They were always around, for as long as he can remember.
::Prompted from this picture.::
He doesn't know when he first found the keys. They were always around, for as long as he can remember. Burnished metal that glows in the dim light. He was sixteen the first time he found a door it went to. The key had grown hot in his hand and he had stepped through into heat and sunlight. It hadn't been the right one, he had known that when he had sat down for the first time.
Sean has a key for every life he's had or will have. He puts them in his pocket, holding them close, feeling the throb of lives yet to be lived. The lives he abandons, the ones that don't hurt at all, get hung up. They chime in the wind and sometimes he gets tired of looking at them.
He puts them in his closet, able to be seen, but never looked at. They are small, old-fashioned, like they've been stored in someone's attic, and Sean wonders if they belonged to someone he knew.
Tom paints them, time and time again. Sean thinks, sometimes, that he can sense what they really are. Sean wonders if he wants to know, if he could tell him what they are.
"Sometimes you look really sad when you see them," Tom says after a long day of sitting on the porch, watching them sway from the comfort of a warm, wooden porch-swing. Sean looks at him, and then at the green (so fucking green) grass before he sighs. It's not the right one, he thinks, not the right key or life for him. Tom looks the same as he always does, and Sean feels a soft pain before he leans over and presses their lips together.
Sean can feel a door opening, can feel the keys in his pocket heating up in response. Tom presses against him and Sean chokes out a rough laugh, gripping the edges of Tom's zippered hoodie until the metal teeth bite into his fingers.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, standing to pull down the keys on strings, the metal clinking dully as he steps through the new door.
There is the feeling of being squeezed so tight he can't breathe before he smells exhaust and rain, and it smells like home; like Chicago. Sean looks at the tarnished key that sits in his hand, warm but not hot, and he adds it to the abandoned lives. He can see them hanging up somewhere, swaying in the breeze, reminding him of lives that don't feel right. This one is larger than the others - heavier, somehow - and he thinks about it for only a moment before he puts it away.
Sean walks down the sidewalk, pushing his right hand into his pocket, feeling the abandoned keys, cold and distinctly metal. He stops at the corner, pushing his hand into his left pocket, shocking himself when he feels nothing. He wonders where they went and what it means for him now.
A warm body bumps into him, immediately apologizing and Sean stares in amazement (in shock?), as hands hold onto his arms, trying not bowl him over. In front of him, like always (he has lived in five different lives now, and in each one, he meets Tom. It's never hard, it's never sad, but it's always something he looks for), Sean is left smiling harder than ever.
"Dude, I am so sorry." Tom says (because even with longer hair and the shine of a piercing in his nose, it's still Tom). He looks dismayed and horrified as he shifts his camera over his shoulder, letting it hang by his hip. Sean notes, to himself, that it's the first time he's seen Tom with a camera. Tom has always been creating, no matter where or when Sean meets him, but this is the first time that Sean can see the camera as a part of Tom.
"No, no, don't worry about it. I was up in my own head," Sean says, watching Tom relax and the keys in his pocket are a cool, gentle reminder and he knows that this is the right life for him.
fictionalfaerie, rainbowsyay and I are doing a prompty thing. hardtospark is where we're getting our prompts, ones that fictionalfaerie pulled together from all of us.Soooo, here's the first piece of fic!
Title: To Find
Pairing: Sean Van Vleet/Tom Conrad
Rating: G
Word Count: 684
Disclaimer: OWN NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. HONEST.
Summary: He doesn't know when he first found the keys. They were always around, for as long as he can remember.
::Prompted from this picture.::
He doesn't know when he first found the keys. They were always around, for as long as he can remember. Burnished metal that glows in the dim light. He was sixteen the first time he found a door it went to. The key had grown hot in his hand and he had stepped through into heat and sunlight. It hadn't been the right one, he had known that when he had sat down for the first time.
Sean has a key for every life he's had or will have. He puts them in his pocket, holding them close, feeling the throb of lives yet to be lived. The lives he abandons, the ones that don't hurt at all, get hung up. They chime in the wind and sometimes he gets tired of looking at them.
He puts them in his closet, able to be seen, but never looked at. They are small, old-fashioned, like they've been stored in someone's attic, and Sean wonders if they belonged to someone he knew.
Tom paints them, time and time again. Sean thinks, sometimes, that he can sense what they really are. Sean wonders if he wants to know, if he could tell him what they are.
"Sometimes you look really sad when you see them," Tom says after a long day of sitting on the porch, watching them sway from the comfort of a warm, wooden porch-swing. Sean looks at him, and then at the green (so fucking green) grass before he sighs. It's not the right one, he thinks, not the right key or life for him. Tom looks the same as he always does, and Sean feels a soft pain before he leans over and presses their lips together.
Sean can feel a door opening, can feel the keys in his pocket heating up in response. Tom presses against him and Sean chokes out a rough laugh, gripping the edges of Tom's zippered hoodie until the metal teeth bite into his fingers.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, standing to pull down the keys on strings, the metal clinking dully as he steps through the new door.
There is the feeling of being squeezed so tight he can't breathe before he smells exhaust and rain, and it smells like home; like Chicago. Sean looks at the tarnished key that sits in his hand, warm but not hot, and he adds it to the abandoned lives. He can see them hanging up somewhere, swaying in the breeze, reminding him of lives that don't feel right. This one is larger than the others - heavier, somehow - and he thinks about it for only a moment before he puts it away.
Sean walks down the sidewalk, pushing his right hand into his pocket, feeling the abandoned keys, cold and distinctly metal. He stops at the corner, pushing his hand into his left pocket, shocking himself when he feels nothing. He wonders where they went and what it means for him now.
A warm body bumps into him, immediately apologizing and Sean stares in amazement (in shock?), as hands hold onto his arms, trying not bowl him over. In front of him, like always (he has lived in five different lives now, and in each one, he meets Tom. It's never hard, it's never sad, but it's always something he looks for), Sean is left smiling harder than ever.
"Dude, I am so sorry." Tom says (because even with longer hair and the shine of a piercing in his nose, it's still Tom). He looks dismayed and horrified as he shifts his camera over his shoulder, letting it hang by his hip. Sean notes, to himself, that it's the first time he's seen Tom with a camera. Tom has always been creating, no matter where or when Sean meets him, but this is the first time that Sean can see the camera as a part of Tom.
"No, no, don't worry about it. I was up in my own head," Sean says, watching Tom relax and the keys in his pocket are a cool, gentle reminder and he knows that this is the right life for him.
