mywholecry | i've seen love go by my door

I'm supposed to be writing the rough draft of my essay on masculine identity and Southern tradition in Faulkner's Barn Burning. . .

This is close enough.

Title: until the water takes me
Rating: PG13
Fandom: The Sound and the Fury
Pairing: Quentin/Shreve
Summary: “it’s not your fault,” shreve jokes, later, and presses fingers against the inside of my arm, “that you’re a proper southern lady.”

i know that it’s better– –because shreve, shreve doesn’t let things bother him, like this. he knows how to put on masks and walk away while i blush and blush, while i think of home and think of shame. they don’t matter, he says. late at night, cold nights in my room where the moon barely shows through the clouds and the window. the moon is beautiful, caddie would yell, never whisper, white arms spread wide for the greedy dark sky. the moon is always full in mississippi. fuck them, shreve says. they don’t matter. and i take his words on the promise of his lips, and i repeat them like a smooth stone hymn. fuck them, fuck them, fuck–

"it’s not your fault," shreve jokes, later, and presses fingers against the inside of my arm, "that you’re a proper southern lady." and i smiled wry and twisted, moved my hand away on the sheets, twisted it into the air. i wanted to say something, because didn’t i come from a long line of proper southern ladies, but i think and think and turn my head away. is caddie a lady, is she a lady. you. it’s you that’s beautiful. why can’t i make you see what you’re worth. lips on the tips of my fingers, and i don’t turn away, the way i do sometimes. let them talk. i feel less empty now. the water doesn’t run through my skin. our feet are rough from our young years on rock and dirt. i don’t feel the pain, if there’s any pain.you weren’t there when i was growing up, and i think that helps. if i remembered you there, it wouldn’t be right to do this. i don’t know how to tell you, tell you that when i fall asleep close by it’s mostly you, before i wake. it’s not them until i am alone. you fall asleep on the grass, in sleep, and you’re not her. a pin through your stomach and a fire in your mouth. your arms are longer, against green black, one hand curled behind your head.

i touch you, in sleep. i stay closer, and the moths find rest in the curve of your bare hipbone. like i should now, when i cannot find the words to say what you do to me, what you do when you don’t realize. like i should instead of lingering.

"delicate." shreve whispers, softly, not quite mocking. "i think that’s it, hmm." he doesn’t have to hesitate with me. i lean into a gesture, raising my head to accept a sharp, wet kiss, a hand on my collarbone. cold water, river water, sliding on the sun white rocks. he arches his body over mine. my toes on the edge, waiting.

i've seen love go by my door

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