metamorphosis

Title: Shambled Messes
Characters: Spain, England
Rating: PG-13

The place is filled with trees; what appears to be a tea garden is now a shambled mess, still peaceful and reserved as it was in its infancy. Rapture is a beautiful, if haunting place, and Arcadia is no exception.

He pauses tenderly at the edge of the room, not sure if he should go on. People mill about him, chatting excitedly, girls saucily tugging up their skirts and letting the men kiss them, romantic.

He hesitates, but enters anyways, licking his lips in worry. The talking and kissing stops – they can tell he's different from them – then continues after what seems like an eternity. He breathes out softly (so far, so good) and moves ahead, to the Waterfall Grotto.

There he finds his date, sitting directly under the water and tilting his head into it, letting it wash over him as if he was trying to emerge himself in the beauty and drown in the shallows. He laughs and joins him, except farther away, only his feet lightly touching the edge of the water.

Antonio looks over and shakes his head of the water, splattering Arthur and laughing at his indignant howl.

“You're always damp anyways, so it shouldn't be much of a chance.”

“This is sea water, you git.”

“You're always soaked by that, too.”

They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the people going about their business. For a moment, Arthur wonders why no one was here – such a beautiful place, such a deadly design – until Antonio murmurs he paid extra to have this reserved for just the two of them.

Then he kisses him and draws him close to the waterfall, drowns them both in it, laughing the whole way and nonchalantly pulling off his socks and shoes and unbuttoning his shirt. Arthur follows suit, pulling the cotton blouse (how else was he to describe it?) off of Antonio and straight into the water, hands roving his chest, as hot as a flame. He hates this warmth, this heat – it's too much like the sun, and he had always muttered hotly into his ear that too much sun was unhealthy – so he immerses him into the pool, works at the tightening pants and bubbling past a gasp when he feels Antonio's hand, calloused from work and disease, curve sharply around his half-hardened erection. He bites viciously, freeing Antonio of his trousers and underwear, chuckling when the country of passion pulls away and screams at how cold the water was.

“It isn't that cold, love.”

And Arthur proceeds to attack from all sides, swearing and biting and kissing and proclaiming his love, his hate, his everything for Antonio. He hates him for making him love him; he loves him for being him. Antonio responds feverishly, muttering sweet nothings in Spanish – 'Te quiero. Te deseo. Te neccessito' – and Arthur pretends not to know them, pretends not to hear them, because they desperately aren't true.

The sex is vague for them, having done this ritual far too long to escape it or to remember every movement. The only thing he remembers is the rough rocks scratching and pressing into his back, emphasized with every damn thrust and every keening whine, of every word of love and hate and passion spited.

When they finished they tore away from each other; Arthur stood naked under the waterfall, washed himself clean over Antonio, hiding the tears that streamed down his face with the pouring water, while Antonio himself lavishly soaped water onto himself, humming a tired if cheerful tune. They connect gazes – hate, hurt, pain, anger, happiness, tenderness, forgiveness, love – and Antonio smiles, sincere, waves slightly and admits that Rolling Hills was looking very pretty this time of year.

“Well, it should be perfect for you to go alone.”

“No, Arturo. Contigo.”

He shakes his head and mutters an apology – he had to get back to the Research Lab, that was all – and stands to find his clothes, scattered about the grotto by water pulsating in the darkness. Antonio frowns in disappointment and stands as well, quietly makes his way to Arthur and litters the top of his back with kisses and well-meanings.

“But I want to go with you.”

“I have a job, and my lunch break is nearly over, and --”

“I understand.”

He presses another kiss, firm and meaningful, to Arthur's neck and lets him go again, steps away and finds his clothes quicker, puts them on, and sprints out of the grotto.

Arthur pauses, concerned for a millisecond, then dresses and exits, straightening his tie and ignoring the tell-tale stares of the citizens, flushing under the heated gazes and lights and sounds. He made his way to the Research Center – he passed Antonio in the Rolling Hills garden, brushing against him in a meager response to the words earlier – and makes it through security without much problem. After a pause he sits down and holds his head. What was he thinking?

Antonio was an enemy to Arcadia. He was a purchaser of illegal plasmids, a seller of illegally-gotten ADAM, a producer of raw EVE and he sincerely didn't want to know how he accomplished that, he really didn't.

It was his own damn fault for falling in love.

72;